Fic: A Broken Man Clinging To The Dreams
Title: A Broken Man Clinging To The Dreams
Author: meloenijs
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Spoilers: Doctor Who 3x13 Last of The Time Lords
Word Count: 2.219
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, I'm merely borrowing them. Torchwood owned by the BBC.
Warnings: Torture, violence, character deaths
Summary: After The Year That Never Was, Jack has these nightmares... Or are they?
A/N: I hope this fic is clear for anyone who's not me. I'm sorry in advance if it isn't.
Jack lies on his side, head propped up on his hand. He watches Ianto breathe, watches the tiny movements of his eyelids as he dreams.
By morning, Jack’s patience dwindles and he brings up a hand to stroke Ianto’s thigh, slowly, knowing how ticklish Ianto is for any light touch. He trails his fingers over Ianto’s waist, up over his chest, and places his hand over Ianto’s heart. The feeling of the steady heartbeat grounds him.
The fluttering of eyelids warns him Ianto’s waking up, confirmed by the arm that’s suddenly slung over his waist and tugs him closer.
“Stop staring at me like that,” Ianto mumbles. “It’s creepy.”
“But you look so cute, all tousled and sleepy. Why would it be creepy I like to watch you?” Jack replies amused, his hand moving from its position on Ianto’s chest to the small of his back.
Ianto muffles a sigh and burrows his head deeper into Jack’s shoulder. “Because you’re an old man and a fool.”
Jack’s hand moves slowly up over Ianto’s back, stroking firmly. He bows his head down and brings his mouth down next to Ianto’s ear. “Ianto,” he whispers, “did you just quote Thor at me?”
He feels Ianto’s lip curl into a smile on his shoulder.
*
It’s late at night when they make it back to Ianto’s flat, the day spent trying to track down an alien that had managed to infiltrate Weevil population and started slaughtering them all over the city. Even after they’d managed to catch it, the clean-up had been hell. Nearly half of Cardiff had been administered a dose of Retcon, just enough to make sure their memories were hazy and surreal.
They both decide to forgo a shower, weariness taking over every base instinct. The only thing preventing their clothes from getting rumpled and spending the night on the floor is their evening ritual of undressing one another.
It had started as a game, to see who could hold out longest while being groped; meanwhile it has grown into careful undressing and folding of the clothes.
Jack crawls into bed first, throwing back the covers and positioning himself comfortably on his back, preparing himself for the onslaught when Ianto will be finished brushing his teeth. As predicted, Ianto slumps himself over Jack, placing them chest to chest. Jack brings up a hand to Ianto’s waist and is out cold before Ianto manages to turn off the light.
---
“I admire your persistence, Captain. Managing to lock your mind to me? Not many would be able to.” A sharp jolt of pain cuts through his abdomen. “But you forget that I’m not just anyone.” Another lash, across his back this time.
Gradually, his consciousness starts to stretch itself out in the lifeless body he’d left behind. He can slowly feel himself become aware of his surroundings, hears the slow pounding of an engine. He feels the heat of being close to an overworked machine, smells the grease. Notices how his shoulders are hurting, the burn in his stomach and back.
The voice returns, bringing with it awareness of his other senses. “Why don’t you open those pretty eyes for me, Captain? Look at the presents I gave you.”
A rotting smell makes itself known, protrudes in his nose. He knows what causes the smell. He’d seen it, the bodies dumped unceremoniously in front of him, a red ribbon tied around their throats.
His mind recoils from the knowledge, leaves behind the carnage his life currently is.
---
Jack gasps awake with a shock, immediately going into soldier-mode. He looks around the bedroom frantically, making sure that it had only been a nightmare.
He looks aside; as usual, Ianto had rolled off him sometime during the night and was sleeping on his side, his back to Jack. He drinks in the sight, Ianto’s familiar contours comforting him. Deciding he doesn’t want to wake Ianto up for this, he throws back the covers and silently gets out of bed.
Walking to the living room, Jack relishes the feeling of cold tiles underneath his bare feet, the swish of moving air against his chest when he pulls open the door. He focuses on those feelings, lets them ground him into reality.
His eyes land on the glowing display of the TiVo; only an hour or two left until they have to go back to Torchwood. Standing in front of the window in Ianto’s flat and watching out over the city isn’t nearly as dramatic as standing on a rooftop.
*
“Did you have another nightmare?” The soft voice startles Jack out of his reverie. He leans back into the solid body behind him and drawls, “Nah. Old men like me don’t need much sleep.”
Arms come up to encase his waist. He hears a sigh. “Jack. You were beat, we all were. I thought I’d have to drag you half asleep to the Hub this morning.”
Jack doesn’t reply, just lets himself be hold. Focusing once again on the simple things, like the hot puffs of air against his neck, the steady up and down of Ianto’s chest against his back. Ianto’s warmth, his smell.
After a while he turns around to kiss Ianto gently. He leans their foreheads together for a moment before breaking out of Ianto’s circled arms. “It’s nothing to worry about, Ianto. Want to join me in the shower?”
Ianto rolls his eyes before following him to the bathroom.
*
The desk is flooding with paperwork. Jack winces as another pile topples over and scatters the loose papers all over the floor. It’s the end of the year paperwork, meaning he has to fill in everything he avoided doing over the year in the span of only a month. He mourns the loss of Ianto’s organisational skills, who had refused to help him out so he would ‘learn something about his avoidance behaviour’.
Running a secret agency isn’t nearly as much fun as it’s made out to be.
Jack stoops to pick up the fallen papers, when a sudden sharp pain across his lower back brings him to his knees. He feels blood trickling out of the sudden injury, plastering his shirt to his back. Frantically, he starts stripping, pushing off his braces and nearly ripping the buttons of his shirt in his haste to get it off. As soon as his undershirt is removed he twists around and brings his hands up to the wound.
Unblemished skin meets his fingers. Jack brings his hand up in front of his face, free of blood. His eyes fall on the shirt he’d thrown across the floor, perfectly clean apart from the dust of the floor.
*
“Tosh, can you do a quick scan of the Hub?” Jack asks. Tosh looks at him enquiringly, but nods and starts typing.
“Did something get in, Jack?”
Jack grins charmingly and shrugs casually, “Just a routine check.”
Tosh doesn’t look up, nor responds, and Jack assumes she’ll let him know if she finds anything. Making the unconscious decision to avoid further paperwork and his office for a while, he starts wandering around the Hub, bothering Gwen by looking over her shoulder how she works. When she shoos him off, he walks up to the catwalk and watches over his team.
---
Cold fingers pull away from his temples, hands swipe at his shirt.
“That’s what you fought so hard to protect? Oh Captain, I expected more from you.”
He becomes aware of the smell of burning flesh. He fleetingly wonders if it might be his own.
Something sharp stabs through his stomach. The soldier part of his brain notes clinically that it’ll take hours before he bleeds to death.
He hears the voice sigh. “You’re just no fun. By the time you’re supposed to die it’ll be healed.”
The object returns, slicing through his guts, twisting and turning.
“I’ll make it quick this time. Just promise me to have fun with my other altering.” He hears the swoosh of something swinging through the air, feels himself getting stabbed in the heart.
His eyes fly open, taking in the face of his tormenter.
---
Jack comes to himself on the ratty couch in the Hub. Trying to keep the flailing to a minimum, he stands up to check on his team. Tosh and Gwen are both at their stations; Owen presumably still in the autopsy bay.
“Tosh, anything came up?” his voice croaks slightly.
She swirls around on her chair, “Nothing.” She frowns when she takes in the sight of him, sweating lightly and pale. “Are you feeling all right, Jack?”
He waves off her concern and smiles, “Always am. Is Owen still dissecting that Weevil murdering alien?”
She accepts his excuse with a frown and merely nods in answer before she turns back to her desk. Jack’s glad their little conversation hadn’t attracted Gwen’s attention, her stubborn nature more than he was currently able to deal with.
*
Trying to navigate one’s way through a maze one had avoided entering for nearly a century proved to be just as complicated as it sounded. Taking a left turn again, Jack hopes he’ll come across Ianto sooner rather than later.
Jack knew not knowing the way in a part of his own base was not recommended for a fearless leader, but then he’d never really had to deal with the archives before. Before he took over, someone else worked there; after he took over, there was simply no time to make sure everything was archived correctly.
Another corner, another dusty corridor. After several more turns, he ends up by the entrance again. Scowling at the desk where Ianto was supposed to be working, he decides to give up.
*
One look at the scattered paperwork on his desk convinces Jack to walk around the Hub just one more time. He walks past Gwen and Tosh again, lingering in the background.
When he hears soft footsteps coming from the kitchenette, he smiles and turns around. “I was looking for you earlier.”
Ianto smirks in response. “Shouldn’t you be catching up on your paperwork?”
Jack opens his mouth for a lewd remark, his eyes already ravishing Ianto’s body. He freezes when he sees what Ianto’s carrying.
“Ianto, you should put that down. It’s a Chula grenade, anything can set it off,” he keep his voice calm, ignoring the hammering of his heart.
Ianto’s eyes widen as he comes to a stop. He lifts the hand holding the grenade, studies it.
“You mean like this?” he asks, blinking slowly and turning his hand, dropping the grenade.
Time slows down as the grenade drops to the floor, tumbling round and falling right on the trigger.
Jack sprints forwards, just fast enough to get thrown back by the blast wave. He scrambles up immediately, hurrying over to where Ianto fell. Ianto’s still breathing, still conscious. Jack takes in the lack of blood and gore; unless the grenade was defective, it was aimed to wound internally.
He cups Ianto’s cheek in his palm, “Ianto. Don’t let go, we can save you. Owen will help you.”
Ianto’s eyes flutter open and closed, he grins, teeth bloodied, “Now you know how I feel every time you die.”
Jack ignores the clenching feeling in his gut caused by the words. “You’re not dying Ianto. I won’t let you.” He picks up Ianto’s body, cradles him carefully to his chest.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jack is aware that there is suspiciously little sound coming from behind him, where Gwen and Tosh’s stations are. He can’t afford to think about it now, and he hurries over to the autopsy bay, calling out for Owen.
At the top of the stairs he stands still, frozen. He takes in the scene before him where the weevil murderer sits upright on the slab, chomping away happily on Owen’s head.
Jack turns around to get Tosh, urged on by the wheezing sound of Ianto’s breathing. Ianto turns his head, taking in everything.
The blast wave caused by the grenade had pushed Gwen into the water, landing a heavy box on her. Her body bobbed gently in the water. It appeared Tosh had tried to pull her out, before she too got hit by a falling monitor, causing her to grab the nearest support around her. She’d grabbed the faulty wiring, which should’ve been fixed months ago.
Jack drops to his knees, gently lowering Ianto’s body to the ground. Ianto took his last shuddering breath, “This is your fault, Jack.”
---
“Back so soon? I knew you liked our little sessions together.”
This time he falls back into his body with a slam, instead of the slow awareness he’d become used to. Immediately he notices the rotting stink, still there to taunt him. He feels the manacles around his wrists, just not tight enough to cut off the blood flow entirely.
A chuckle floats through the air. “Still not speaking. That’s fine, as long as you’ve learned it’s not polite to hide.”
The sound of footsteps moving away. “Until next time, freak.”
Jack lifts his head and watches the Master step through the decaying bodies of his team, splattering them under his feet.
Ten months since Martha Jones left the Valiant. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to keep going, but he knows he will. He has faith in Marta.