Served Cold | Chapter 15
Title: Served Cold
Author: mercury_pheonix
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Children of Earth Fix-It.
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Gray, The Eleventh Doctor, Amy Pond, Rory Williams, Alonso Frame
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Amy/Rory, Jack/Alonso, Ianto/Gray (one-sided, non-con)
Ratings/Warnings: R - sex, rape, abuse, torture.
Spoilers: All series.
Summary: When the Hub explodes, and the cryogenic chambers are flung open, one of its inhabitants manages to flee the wreckage. Seeking revenge, he decides that the best way to hurt Captain Jack Harkness is through a certain Welshman. There's one problem, however - Ianto Jones is dead…
Nominated for TWO Children of Time Awards.
Author's Note: Firstly, thank you to all of my reviewers for your continued patience. It's what keeps me going. Also, a big shout out to any new viewers *waves*. Welcome to my world of ultimate angst. And a big thank you to CrossoverSatellite for giving me the kick up the arse I needed to finish this chapter - your words were succint and heartfelt, and I thank you :). There have been several drafts and rewrites of this chapter - this is, finally, the actual reunion chapter, and getting it to work was very difficult. This is because it felt very in character than Jack and Ianto would struggle to speak about what has happened to them - whilst, of course, this helped me to keep the story in character, it also meant that I was confronted with days of nothing but two men staring silently at each other. Which made writing this chapter quite hard-going.
Thank you for your patience, and I hope it was worth the wait. I travel up to Wales on Saturday and move into my Uni on Sunday (and, as excited as I am, I am shitting myself). I am absolutely promising to have the next chapter up by then, because I don't know how frequent updates will be after that. I'll try my best to keep a schedule, but this is a new world for me. I honestly do not know what will happen.
Thank you again!
Chapter 14 | Masterlist | Chapter 16
Served Cold
Chapter 15
Ianto's breathing was even, his chest pulsing constantly with a steady rise-fall motion.
Jack rubbed a hand across his eyes as they followed the movement, his pupils moving gently beneath his eyelashes as he took note of every single nuance of the body in front of him. He could hear each breath; the slight whistle of air as it was forced past Ianto's lips sung gently in his ears, travelling through his hair like fingertips. The feeling sent a slight shiver down to the roots of his scalp, his skin imbued with the life of it all.
Jack sighed, his chin resting awkwardly against the backs of his hands as he watched Ianto sleep. His knuckles were knocking uncomfortably against his jaw as he readjusted his position, his fingers clenching against the sheets for some kind of purchase. He was irritable, he knew that; torn between two very different mindsets, the different emotions fighting to take a hold of his body. A part of him wanted to stay like this forever, to avoid the questions and the problems that would arise if Ianto woke up…and yet, the other part of him willed those eyes to open, to end the awkward silence that was hanging in the air.
He'd been assured by Rory that Ianto's body was reacting normally to the trauma it had suffered; his mind was exhausted and he needed time to recover. Jack knew, deep down, that this was a fair assessment. He knew that he could trust Rory's judgement as a nurse, but he could not fight away that nervous energy that was scratching at the back of his mind. He'd snapped at Rory - "You think? Can't you be more specific than that?" - demanding that concrete reassurance that he knew the young man would never offer to him. He was honest, at least, even if he did have his weakness.
Jack exhaled again, flexing his fingers against the mattress and turning his head.
Come on, he willed, his gaze fixing on the gently fluttering eyelashes covering those blue eyes. Ianto's eyelids were closed, drawn like blinds across the one part of him that Jack had ever really learnt to read. Even then, he'd always known it was a language he'd struggled with, a dialect that he'd never really managed to master. Still, he rationalised, surely it was better to have something to go on. Even limited understanding was better than no understand at all.
A sudden movement shook the bed, a slight twitching of Ianto's hand as it lay beneath the covers. Jack's head sprang from where it was rested on the sheets, his back tensed as he watched the movement travel up Ianto's neck, causing the stricken man to jerk violently against the mattress. Without thinking, Jack placed a handle on Ianto's chest, keeping him in place against the pillows.
Ianto's eyes flew open, his pupils wide and dilated as a ripple of pure fear shook through him. Mouth hanging open, fingers clenching against the sheets with such a force that his knuckles stood starkly against his skin, he turned his gaze to Jack. A brief flash of recognition ignited in his eyes, and Jack felt a wave of relief wash over him, ebbing like a calming fluid through his veins…
…only to have it jerked away from him as he realised just why Ianto had stopped moving. The arms that had been tensed had fallen limp against the sheets, his mouth slack and his head tipped back into the pillow; in his eyes was something Jack had never quite seen before, something that shook him to his very core.
Defeat.
Jack could see it, bobbing helplessly in his eyes like a body set adrift on the sea. It was such a dull greyness, an expression that clung to his face and seemed to drag him, willingly, to a place that Jack had never before seen him go.
Suddenly, Jack felt as though he understood.
He remembered his time on board the Valiant - all those months stretched out in some macabre religious posture, wrists chained against the walls and his body spread openly. He remembered how he had fought for so long, the hatred and loyalty that burned at his core overpowering the cold, icy waters of defeat. But that hadn't lasted; when the pain and the isolation had grown too much to bear he had shut himself off.
Closing his mind to what was happening.
Abandoned his body to spare his mind.
It was a survival mechanism. His body suffered less trauma if he just accepted the torture that was being inflicted upon him, and therefore he had systematically shut down his muscles, leaving them slack against the onslaught.
Of course, he was not Ianto. The situations were not the same. Jack had no expectations that this was something they would bond over, an experience that they would share and become stronger from the back of it. He had no idea how differently Ianto would be affected by his time stuck on that damnable ambulance, taken constantly to the brink of death before being wrenched back into life.
Jack had had one hundred and fifty years to acclimatise his body to the regeneration process. In a way, he supposed his body had morphed to accept it, to deal with it, however painful it was. And his mind had learnt to deal with the darkness. Ianto hadn't had that - he had literally been dragged back by an alien force beyond his own body.
Jack couldn't pretend to understand, no matter how similar their situations seemed at a purely superficial level.
But that one, small look of resignation in Ianto's eyes told Jack more than he wanted to know. It had been easier to sit back and let it happen; shutting himself off from his body to protect his soul.
And Jack knew who he looked like.
Something caught harshly in his throat, almost choking him. Unsure what else to do, he leant forward, gently brushing a lock of hair from Ianto's eyes.
"Ianto?" he whispered. "It's not…I'm not…"
He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again.
"Ianto," he tried again, as firmly as possible. "It's Jack."
At that one syllable something flashed in Ianto's eyes, overriding the look of defeat that had clouded the grey-blue of his irises. He blinked, his eyelids narrowing as his pupils seemed to travel the length and breadth of Jack's face. A journey that culminated with a wide-eyed understanding; completely enveloping his features.
"Jack…"
And then that understanding was replaced by yet another emotion.
Shame.
x
x
Jack had seen it.
That jaw line and those lips had seemed achingly familiar as his eyes had flown open, drinking in the sights and sounds too quickly to process. And he'd thought that that recognition must be because - well, must have been because it was that self same mouth that been sending all those words into his brain for these past few months.
And he'd reacted in the way that he had taught himself to react. Because that was what he did - order, system, that was what he liked, and if he was going to be tortured then he was going to have something, some kind of reaction. Something that he did.
And Jack had seen it.
Seen that moment when he'd given up, that moment when he'd willingly relinquished control of his body. It had been easier that way, so much easier - but he didn't want Jack to see that. He didn't want anyone to see that. If Jack saw it, then that meant it was real. That meant he had to accept himself like this.
He wasn't ready to do that. He didn't want it. He hated it. A deep sense of shame flushed through him and he forced himself up onto his elbows, pushing his body from the sheets with a force that his muscles couldn't quite contain. Pain shot through his arms and back, his head spinning as his elbows seemed to collapse beneath him, sending him plummeting back onto the sheets.
Jack reached for him, catching him before he could fall, easing him back into an upright position.
"Hey," he heard that accented lilt fall from those lips, each word reminding him of a time when…when what? He didn't even know anymore.
"Your body needs to rest, you need to let yourself recover…"
"No!" Ianto felt the word bolt from his chest like a bullet from a gun, the sound harsh and sharp against the quiet of the air. He flicked his eyes towards Jack, noting the surprise that hovered over his expression before being expertly covered. His eyes closed briefly, his chin dipping as he swallowed and tried to string a few words together in his mind.
"If I stay here…" his eyes opened again, catching Jack's gaze intently. "…if I stay here, then that means…I don't know…I…I have to get up."
"Ianto…"
"Dammit, Jack!" his fingers curled into a fist, thumping the sheet with an anger than he couldn't place…oh, he was so angry, so fucking furious, he just wanted to…
"No!" he shouted again, letting Jack support his full weight as his palm flew to his temple, kneading roughly against his eyes. "Jesus Christ!"
He felt Jack flinch against him, the hand at his back tensing until the fingers were digging into his flesh. But, within seconds, Ianto felt them fall back as if pieces of superficial jigsaw were slotting into place. The corners of Jack's mouth were forced upwards as his face fell into an old mask - a mask that Ianto recognised, forming an expression that was emblazoned onto his brain. That mask that meant - it's not okay, but I'm pretending it is.
"No, not quite, but you can call me that if you want."
It was a small thing. Something that Ianto had heard Jack say a million times, in various situations. Mostly, it was to cool tensions - after the heat of an orgasm, in the face of an angry police officer, during the deepest depths of a raging argument - to release the sharp, electric crackle that was hanging so dangerously in the air. But here…here it was different. Ianto had never heard Jack sound so desperate - he'd never heard him force the words from his throat like that.
He knew that it was a smoke screen, to cover up their vulnerability. Even as the words floated through his mind, Ianto could hear that gentle buzzing swimming in his brain. That gentle singing weaved its way through his synapses, draining that painful anger from his body and replacing it with a light-headed emptiness.
And, in the face of it all - of the uncertainty, and the words, and the singing, and the anger and hurt - Ianto did the only thing he could.
He laughed.
A great belly laugh that gathered in his diaphragm, forcing itself from his lungs and filling the air with a deep, rumbling sound. The more he laughed, the more laughter he could feel rising up from deep within him.
He didn't know why he was laughing.
It wasn't because he was happy.
It wasn't because anything was funny.
It was more like an expulsion of toxic gases - he was forcing everything from his system, all that anger and that hatred and that venom that had seemed to bubble up from nowhere. Catching in a little bubble of laughter and vomiting it out from deep inside him. His shoulders shook with the force of it, the laughter overtaking the need for air in his lungs - the need to release what was inside was far greater than the need to oxygenate his blood.
He could feel Jack move closer towards him, a hand resting worriedly on his shoulder; fussing over him like a child. Another wave of frustration washed over him, and he wanted to thrash and yell and scream and break every single fucking boundary that he had put around himself, break down that net of submission that he had trapped himself in over these past months.
And so he laughed some more, letting it rip through him violently until he felt his throat scream in protest. The sound scratched against his windpipe, his belly cramping and tightening with each movement. A sharp pain shot through him, and he was suddenly reminded of that knife - plunging into his flesh, tearing into his stomach.
The laughter died in his throat, stopping with a suddenness that caused him to jerk forward. He brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them to stop himself from falling back.
With a gulp he drew air into his screaming lungs, forcing it down and letting it swirl around his body. He suddenly felt his senses seem to heighten, the feel of Jack's hand on his back stark and bright against his skin. He could even feel the pulse thrumming through the fingers, travelling up the tiny veins at the pads of Jack's fingers and reverberating through the thinness of his shirt.
His shirt.
Gathering as much energy as he could, Ianto took a deep breath and kicked the warm duvet from his body. Jack leant backwards, giving him the room he needed as he dragged himself straight, surveying the tattered remnants of his shirt. Bile rose in Ianto's throat as he took it in, noting how the once silvery grey of the waistcoat hung limp from his shoulders, the pristine white of the shirt now a dark, shredded mess against his flesh.
He'd died in this shirt.
So many times…
x
x
Jack kept his hand steady against Ianto's body, his fingers moving in a figure of eight across his skin. A single tear pricked lightly at the corner of his eye, but he blinked it away, keeping his mouth set as he encouraged the air flowing through the lungs of the younger man.
Watching Ianto laugh that had been…well, in a way that seemed macabre and unnatural, the laugh had terrified him. Because Ianto didn't laugh, not like that. He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound bubbling from somewhere deep within himself. Jack had felt it many times before, the vibrations from Ianto's chest slowly reverberating through his body; usually in response to some comment made to break the post-coital awkwardness.
This had been hysterical, almost like a barely disguised scream breaking forth from his lungs.
He should have known that Ianto would never be able to release his tensions, his angers, or his pain in the way that would be the most obvious. Whereas most people would scream, Ianto chose to laugh.
Jack didn't quite know how to react to that.
So, instead, he inched forward onto the bed, perching himself awkwardly as his encircled Ianto's cold body with both of his arms. His muscles were tensed against Ianto's flesh, waiting for some kind of sign that this was what the young man wanted, that this was what he needed…because Jack had no idea. And, more than all the deaths he had ever suffered in his long, long life, that was something he feared with an intensity that froze the blood in his veins.
After what seemed like an eternity, he felt Ianto lean into his touch, his head resting absent-mindedly on his shoulder; eyes closed, hands still hooked with a vice-like grip around his knees. His spine had seemed to soften, becoming supple and pliant beneath the warmth of Jack's embrace.
"Jack…" his voice was a whisper, almost too quiet for Jack to hear. The older man swallowed as he loosened his grip ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on Ianto's face as those eyelids opened, fixing Jack with a veiled gaze.
"I'm not a child," he wriggled slightly in Jack's hold, using his shoulder to knock Jack's arm away from him.
"I'm sorry," Jack immediately released his hold, letting his arms fall to his side as he shifted his weight away from Ianto. "It's just…I don't know how to do this."
"No," Ianto smiled, something that Jack guessed he was doing only because it took less effort than frowning. "Me neither."
His legs stretched out in from of him, arms unlocking and moving to support his weight as he manoeuvred his way towards the edge of the bed. Jack caught him quickly, placing a steadying hand at the base of his spine as his body seemed to wobble precariously.
"I need to stand up, Jack," Ianto shot him a piercing look, a fire that was almost terrifying burning beneath the cool waters of his eyes. "I have to."
"But I don't think…"
"I don't give a fuck what you think!" Ianto caught himself almost immediately, his hand moving to his chest as he closed his eyes and blew air from between his cheeks. Jack moved away almost immediately, planting his feet on the ground and pushing himself from the bed to give Ianto whatever space it was he needed.
Not that he had any real idea what it was that Ianto needed.
He supposed he never had.
"Sorry…" it was Ianto who broke the silence, raising his gaze to Jack as he shifted, slowly edging his feet over the edge of the bed. "I just don't know. I don't want you to treat me like some kind of invalid, a mental case. I mean, maybe I am an invalid, maybe I am crazy, but I just want…I just want…"
He scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing his palm roughly, violently against his eye.
"I just want it to stop. I want these fucking things in my head to go away - I want them to shut up, and I want to close my eyes, and wake up and realise that none of this had ever happened. It would have been so much better, for everyone, if I'd just…if I'd just stayed…"
"No, it wouldn't," Jack sat down softly on the bed, resting a hand on the sheets next to Ianto's thigh; carefully avoiding skin contact. "Whatever else, that's not the solution. I don't know what the solution is. I don't know what to do, but we'll deal with it. We've done it before, after all. Between us both, I would say dealing is something that we've got pretty well rehearsed."
Ianto turned his head to face Jack. His eyes were unreadable, flicking between emotions like a record jumping incoherently between tracks.
"Yeah, I guess," he swallowed, his mouth twisting thoughtfully. "Do you know something?"
Jack blinked, worry and curiosity framing his features.
"What?"
"We should write a book. Or we could go on Jeremy Kyle. Either way, we could make a fortune - at least it'd pay the therapy bills."
Jack let a small laugh escape his lips, experimentally nudging Ianto's shoulder with his own.
"You do that if you want. I really don't need that kind of exposure."
"I'm sure you don't," Ianto leaned into Jack's touch for a brief moment before pulling away again, placing the soles of his feet against the floor and testing his weight. A slight grimace crossed his face as his unused leg muscles complained against the sudden movement, but he pressed harder, letting the pain shoot through his legs and ebb almost serenely through his veins.
"You okay, there?" Jack whispered, craning his head as Ianto scrunched his toes against the floor. Ianto took a deep breath, stretching his legs out in front of him and wincing again.
"I'd prefer not to answer that, if you don't mind."
He placed his foot on the floor once again, flexing the muscles experimentally before putting as much weight onto his leg as he could muster. Jack watched as the pain drained from Ianto's face, his leg placed firmly, confidently against the floor.
Suddenly Ianto glanced down, his eyes roving across the ripped material that adorned his pale skin. Jack followed his gaze, travelling down his body and drinking in the sight before him - noticing, for the first time, just how damaged the outfit truly was. The silvery sheen of the ripped waistcoat seemed to shimmer slightly under the gentle glare of the light, and Jack felt something catch in his throat. It had glimmered like that on the day he'd died, pulsating a deep crimson under the fierce flashing of the warning lights...
Ianto's gaze caught his own slightly awkwardly, and a small smile, a big a lie as he had ever told, twitched uncomfortably at his features.
"Jack…" he whispered, leaning forward and clutching at the hand that was rested beside him on the sheets. "I need to change my clothes…"
TBC…
Chapter 14 | Masterlist | Chapter 16
Thank you for reading!
As another quick reminder: the voting for the Children of Time Awards is still open, but it closes at the end of the month. This fiction has been nominated in the "Angst" and "Slash" categories. For more information on voting, please just pop over here for details.
If you have any comments to leave, please feel free to share. Your comments are the life blood of this story - you have no idea how much they mean to me. Thank you!
Author: mercury_pheonix
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Children of Earth Fix-It.
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Gray, The Eleventh Doctor, Amy Pond, Rory Williams, Alonso Frame
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Amy/Rory, Jack/Alonso, Ianto/Gray (one-sided, non-con)
Ratings/Warnings: R - sex, rape, abuse, torture.
Spoilers: All series.
Summary: When the Hub explodes, and the cryogenic chambers are flung open, one of its inhabitants manages to flee the wreckage. Seeking revenge, he decides that the best way to hurt Captain Jack Harkness is through a certain Welshman. There's one problem, however - Ianto Jones is dead…
Nominated for TWO Children of Time Awards.
Author's Note: Firstly, thank you to all of my reviewers for your continued patience. It's what keeps me going. Also, a big shout out to any new viewers *waves*. Welcome to my world of ultimate angst. And a big thank you to CrossoverSatellite for giving me the kick up the arse I needed to finish this chapter - your words were succint and heartfelt, and I thank you :). There have been several drafts and rewrites of this chapter - this is, finally, the actual reunion chapter, and getting it to work was very difficult. This is because it felt very in character than Jack and Ianto would struggle to speak about what has happened to them - whilst, of course, this helped me to keep the story in character, it also meant that I was confronted with days of nothing but two men staring silently at each other. Which made writing this chapter quite hard-going.
Thank you for your patience, and I hope it was worth the wait. I travel up to Wales on Saturday and move into my Uni on Sunday (and, as excited as I am, I am shitting myself). I am absolutely promising to have the next chapter up by then, because I don't know how frequent updates will be after that. I'll try my best to keep a schedule, but this is a new world for me. I honestly do not know what will happen.
Thank you again!
Chapter 14 | Masterlist | Chapter 16
Served Cold
Chapter 15
Ianto's breathing was even, his chest pulsing constantly with a steady rise-fall motion.
Jack rubbed a hand across his eyes as they followed the movement, his pupils moving gently beneath his eyelashes as he took note of every single nuance of the body in front of him. He could hear each breath; the slight whistle of air as it was forced past Ianto's lips sung gently in his ears, travelling through his hair like fingertips. The feeling sent a slight shiver down to the roots of his scalp, his skin imbued with the life of it all.
Jack sighed, his chin resting awkwardly against the backs of his hands as he watched Ianto sleep. His knuckles were knocking uncomfortably against his jaw as he readjusted his position, his fingers clenching against the sheets for some kind of purchase. He was irritable, he knew that; torn between two very different mindsets, the different emotions fighting to take a hold of his body. A part of him wanted to stay like this forever, to avoid the questions and the problems that would arise if Ianto woke up…and yet, the other part of him willed those eyes to open, to end the awkward silence that was hanging in the air.
He'd been assured by Rory that Ianto's body was reacting normally to the trauma it had suffered; his mind was exhausted and he needed time to recover. Jack knew, deep down, that this was a fair assessment. He knew that he could trust Rory's judgement as a nurse, but he could not fight away that nervous energy that was scratching at the back of his mind. He'd snapped at Rory - "You think? Can't you be more specific than that?" - demanding that concrete reassurance that he knew the young man would never offer to him. He was honest, at least, even if he did have his weakness.
Jack exhaled again, flexing his fingers against the mattress and turning his head.
Come on, he willed, his gaze fixing on the gently fluttering eyelashes covering those blue eyes. Ianto's eyelids were closed, drawn like blinds across the one part of him that Jack had ever really learnt to read. Even then, he'd always known it was a language he'd struggled with, a dialect that he'd never really managed to master. Still, he rationalised, surely it was better to have something to go on. Even limited understanding was better than no understand at all.
A sudden movement shook the bed, a slight twitching of Ianto's hand as it lay beneath the covers. Jack's head sprang from where it was rested on the sheets, his back tensed as he watched the movement travel up Ianto's neck, causing the stricken man to jerk violently against the mattress. Without thinking, Jack placed a handle on Ianto's chest, keeping him in place against the pillows.
Ianto's eyes flew open, his pupils wide and dilated as a ripple of pure fear shook through him. Mouth hanging open, fingers clenching against the sheets with such a force that his knuckles stood starkly against his skin, he turned his gaze to Jack. A brief flash of recognition ignited in his eyes, and Jack felt a wave of relief wash over him, ebbing like a calming fluid through his veins…
…only to have it jerked away from him as he realised just why Ianto had stopped moving. The arms that had been tensed had fallen limp against the sheets, his mouth slack and his head tipped back into the pillow; in his eyes was something Jack had never quite seen before, something that shook him to his very core.
Defeat.
Jack could see it, bobbing helplessly in his eyes like a body set adrift on the sea. It was such a dull greyness, an expression that clung to his face and seemed to drag him, willingly, to a place that Jack had never before seen him go.
Suddenly, Jack felt as though he understood.
He remembered his time on board the Valiant - all those months stretched out in some macabre religious posture, wrists chained against the walls and his body spread openly. He remembered how he had fought for so long, the hatred and loyalty that burned at his core overpowering the cold, icy waters of defeat. But that hadn't lasted; when the pain and the isolation had grown too much to bear he had shut himself off.
Closing his mind to what was happening.
Abandoned his body to spare his mind.
It was a survival mechanism. His body suffered less trauma if he just accepted the torture that was being inflicted upon him, and therefore he had systematically shut down his muscles, leaving them slack against the onslaught.
Of course, he was not Ianto. The situations were not the same. Jack had no expectations that this was something they would bond over, an experience that they would share and become stronger from the back of it. He had no idea how differently Ianto would be affected by his time stuck on that damnable ambulance, taken constantly to the brink of death before being wrenched back into life.
Jack had had one hundred and fifty years to acclimatise his body to the regeneration process. In a way, he supposed his body had morphed to accept it, to deal with it, however painful it was. And his mind had learnt to deal with the darkness. Ianto hadn't had that - he had literally been dragged back by an alien force beyond his own body.
Jack couldn't pretend to understand, no matter how similar their situations seemed at a purely superficial level.
But that one, small look of resignation in Ianto's eyes told Jack more than he wanted to know. It had been easier to sit back and let it happen; shutting himself off from his body to protect his soul.
And Jack knew who he looked like.
Something caught harshly in his throat, almost choking him. Unsure what else to do, he leant forward, gently brushing a lock of hair from Ianto's eyes.
"Ianto?" he whispered. "It's not…I'm not…"
He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again.
"Ianto," he tried again, as firmly as possible. "It's Jack."
At that one syllable something flashed in Ianto's eyes, overriding the look of defeat that had clouded the grey-blue of his irises. He blinked, his eyelids narrowing as his pupils seemed to travel the length and breadth of Jack's face. A journey that culminated with a wide-eyed understanding; completely enveloping his features.
"Jack…"
And then that understanding was replaced by yet another emotion.
Shame.
x
x
Jack had seen it.
That jaw line and those lips had seemed achingly familiar as his eyes had flown open, drinking in the sights and sounds too quickly to process. And he'd thought that that recognition must be because - well, must have been because it was that self same mouth that been sending all those words into his brain for these past few months.
And he'd reacted in the way that he had taught himself to react. Because that was what he did - order, system, that was what he liked, and if he was going to be tortured then he was going to have something, some kind of reaction. Something that he did.
And Jack had seen it.
Seen that moment when he'd given up, that moment when he'd willingly relinquished control of his body. It had been easier that way, so much easier - but he didn't want Jack to see that. He didn't want anyone to see that. If Jack saw it, then that meant it was real. That meant he had to accept himself like this.
He wasn't ready to do that. He didn't want it. He hated it. A deep sense of shame flushed through him and he forced himself up onto his elbows, pushing his body from the sheets with a force that his muscles couldn't quite contain. Pain shot through his arms and back, his head spinning as his elbows seemed to collapse beneath him, sending him plummeting back onto the sheets.
Jack reached for him, catching him before he could fall, easing him back into an upright position.
"Hey," he heard that accented lilt fall from those lips, each word reminding him of a time when…when what? He didn't even know anymore.
"Your body needs to rest, you need to let yourself recover…"
"No!" Ianto felt the word bolt from his chest like a bullet from a gun, the sound harsh and sharp against the quiet of the air. He flicked his eyes towards Jack, noting the surprise that hovered over his expression before being expertly covered. His eyes closed briefly, his chin dipping as he swallowed and tried to string a few words together in his mind.
"If I stay here…" his eyes opened again, catching Jack's gaze intently. "…if I stay here, then that means…I don't know…I…I have to get up."
"Ianto…"
"Dammit, Jack!" his fingers curled into a fist, thumping the sheet with an anger than he couldn't place…oh, he was so angry, so fucking furious, he just wanted to…
"No!" he shouted again, letting Jack support his full weight as his palm flew to his temple, kneading roughly against his eyes. "Jesus Christ!"
He felt Jack flinch against him, the hand at his back tensing until the fingers were digging into his flesh. But, within seconds, Ianto felt them fall back as if pieces of superficial jigsaw were slotting into place. The corners of Jack's mouth were forced upwards as his face fell into an old mask - a mask that Ianto recognised, forming an expression that was emblazoned onto his brain. That mask that meant - it's not okay, but I'm pretending it is.
"No, not quite, but you can call me that if you want."
It was a small thing. Something that Ianto had heard Jack say a million times, in various situations. Mostly, it was to cool tensions - after the heat of an orgasm, in the face of an angry police officer, during the deepest depths of a raging argument - to release the sharp, electric crackle that was hanging so dangerously in the air. But here…here it was different. Ianto had never heard Jack sound so desperate - he'd never heard him force the words from his throat like that.
He knew that it was a smoke screen, to cover up their vulnerability. Even as the words floated through his mind, Ianto could hear that gentle buzzing swimming in his brain. That gentle singing weaved its way through his synapses, draining that painful anger from his body and replacing it with a light-headed emptiness.
And, in the face of it all - of the uncertainty, and the words, and the singing, and the anger and hurt - Ianto did the only thing he could.
He laughed.
A great belly laugh that gathered in his diaphragm, forcing itself from his lungs and filling the air with a deep, rumbling sound. The more he laughed, the more laughter he could feel rising up from deep within him.
He didn't know why he was laughing.
It wasn't because he was happy.
It wasn't because anything was funny.
It was more like an expulsion of toxic gases - he was forcing everything from his system, all that anger and that hatred and that venom that had seemed to bubble up from nowhere. Catching in a little bubble of laughter and vomiting it out from deep inside him. His shoulders shook with the force of it, the laughter overtaking the need for air in his lungs - the need to release what was inside was far greater than the need to oxygenate his blood.
He could feel Jack move closer towards him, a hand resting worriedly on his shoulder; fussing over him like a child. Another wave of frustration washed over him, and he wanted to thrash and yell and scream and break every single fucking boundary that he had put around himself, break down that net of submission that he had trapped himself in over these past months.
And so he laughed some more, letting it rip through him violently until he felt his throat scream in protest. The sound scratched against his windpipe, his belly cramping and tightening with each movement. A sharp pain shot through him, and he was suddenly reminded of that knife - plunging into his flesh, tearing into his stomach.
The laughter died in his throat, stopping with a suddenness that caused him to jerk forward. He brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them to stop himself from falling back.
With a gulp he drew air into his screaming lungs, forcing it down and letting it swirl around his body. He suddenly felt his senses seem to heighten, the feel of Jack's hand on his back stark and bright against his skin. He could even feel the pulse thrumming through the fingers, travelling up the tiny veins at the pads of Jack's fingers and reverberating through the thinness of his shirt.
His shirt.
Gathering as much energy as he could, Ianto took a deep breath and kicked the warm duvet from his body. Jack leant backwards, giving him the room he needed as he dragged himself straight, surveying the tattered remnants of his shirt. Bile rose in Ianto's throat as he took it in, noting how the once silvery grey of the waistcoat hung limp from his shoulders, the pristine white of the shirt now a dark, shredded mess against his flesh.
He'd died in this shirt.
So many times…
x
x
Jack kept his hand steady against Ianto's body, his fingers moving in a figure of eight across his skin. A single tear pricked lightly at the corner of his eye, but he blinked it away, keeping his mouth set as he encouraged the air flowing through the lungs of the younger man.
Watching Ianto laugh that had been…well, in a way that seemed macabre and unnatural, the laugh had terrified him. Because Ianto didn't laugh, not like that. He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound bubbling from somewhere deep within himself. Jack had felt it many times before, the vibrations from Ianto's chest slowly reverberating through his body; usually in response to some comment made to break the post-coital awkwardness.
This had been hysterical, almost like a barely disguised scream breaking forth from his lungs.
He should have known that Ianto would never be able to release his tensions, his angers, or his pain in the way that would be the most obvious. Whereas most people would scream, Ianto chose to laugh.
Jack didn't quite know how to react to that.
So, instead, he inched forward onto the bed, perching himself awkwardly as his encircled Ianto's cold body with both of his arms. His muscles were tensed against Ianto's flesh, waiting for some kind of sign that this was what the young man wanted, that this was what he needed…because Jack had no idea. And, more than all the deaths he had ever suffered in his long, long life, that was something he feared with an intensity that froze the blood in his veins.
After what seemed like an eternity, he felt Ianto lean into his touch, his head resting absent-mindedly on his shoulder; eyes closed, hands still hooked with a vice-like grip around his knees. His spine had seemed to soften, becoming supple and pliant beneath the warmth of Jack's embrace.
"Jack…" his voice was a whisper, almost too quiet for Jack to hear. The older man swallowed as he loosened his grip ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on Ianto's face as those eyelids opened, fixing Jack with a veiled gaze.
"I'm not a child," he wriggled slightly in Jack's hold, using his shoulder to knock Jack's arm away from him.
"I'm sorry," Jack immediately released his hold, letting his arms fall to his side as he shifted his weight away from Ianto. "It's just…I don't know how to do this."
"No," Ianto smiled, something that Jack guessed he was doing only because it took less effort than frowning. "Me neither."
His legs stretched out in from of him, arms unlocking and moving to support his weight as he manoeuvred his way towards the edge of the bed. Jack caught him quickly, placing a steadying hand at the base of his spine as his body seemed to wobble precariously.
"I need to stand up, Jack," Ianto shot him a piercing look, a fire that was almost terrifying burning beneath the cool waters of his eyes. "I have to."
"But I don't think…"
"I don't give a fuck what you think!" Ianto caught himself almost immediately, his hand moving to his chest as he closed his eyes and blew air from between his cheeks. Jack moved away almost immediately, planting his feet on the ground and pushing himself from the bed to give Ianto whatever space it was he needed.
Not that he had any real idea what it was that Ianto needed.
He supposed he never had.
"Sorry…" it was Ianto who broke the silence, raising his gaze to Jack as he shifted, slowly edging his feet over the edge of the bed. "I just don't know. I don't want you to treat me like some kind of invalid, a mental case. I mean, maybe I am an invalid, maybe I am crazy, but I just want…I just want…"
He scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing his palm roughly, violently against his eye.
"I just want it to stop. I want these fucking things in my head to go away - I want them to shut up, and I want to close my eyes, and wake up and realise that none of this had ever happened. It would have been so much better, for everyone, if I'd just…if I'd just stayed…"
"No, it wouldn't," Jack sat down softly on the bed, resting a hand on the sheets next to Ianto's thigh; carefully avoiding skin contact. "Whatever else, that's not the solution. I don't know what the solution is. I don't know what to do, but we'll deal with it. We've done it before, after all. Between us both, I would say dealing is something that we've got pretty well rehearsed."
Ianto turned his head to face Jack. His eyes were unreadable, flicking between emotions like a record jumping incoherently between tracks.
"Yeah, I guess," he swallowed, his mouth twisting thoughtfully. "Do you know something?"
Jack blinked, worry and curiosity framing his features.
"What?"
"We should write a book. Or we could go on Jeremy Kyle. Either way, we could make a fortune - at least it'd pay the therapy bills."
Jack let a small laugh escape his lips, experimentally nudging Ianto's shoulder with his own.
"You do that if you want. I really don't need that kind of exposure."
"I'm sure you don't," Ianto leaned into Jack's touch for a brief moment before pulling away again, placing the soles of his feet against the floor and testing his weight. A slight grimace crossed his face as his unused leg muscles complained against the sudden movement, but he pressed harder, letting the pain shoot through his legs and ebb almost serenely through his veins.
"You okay, there?" Jack whispered, craning his head as Ianto scrunched his toes against the floor. Ianto took a deep breath, stretching his legs out in front of him and wincing again.
"I'd prefer not to answer that, if you don't mind."
He placed his foot on the floor once again, flexing the muscles experimentally before putting as much weight onto his leg as he could muster. Jack watched as the pain drained from Ianto's face, his leg placed firmly, confidently against the floor.
Suddenly Ianto glanced down, his eyes roving across the ripped material that adorned his pale skin. Jack followed his gaze, travelling down his body and drinking in the sight before him - noticing, for the first time, just how damaged the outfit truly was. The silvery sheen of the ripped waistcoat seemed to shimmer slightly under the gentle glare of the light, and Jack felt something catch in his throat. It had glimmered like that on the day he'd died, pulsating a deep crimson under the fierce flashing of the warning lights...
Ianto's gaze caught his own slightly awkwardly, and a small smile, a big a lie as he had ever told, twitched uncomfortably at his features.
"Jack…" he whispered, leaning forward and clutching at the hand that was rested beside him on the sheets. "I need to change my clothes…"
TBC…
Chapter 14 | Masterlist | Chapter 16
Thank you for reading!
As another quick reminder: the voting for the Children of Time Awards is still open, but it closes at the end of the month. This fiction has been nominated in the "Angst" and "Slash" categories. For more information on voting, please just pop over here for details.
If you have any comments to leave, please feel free to share. Your comments are the life blood of this story - you have no idea how much they mean to me. Thank you!