Whose Blood Makes the Glory: 12/12
Title: Whose Blood Makes the Glory, 12/12
Author: sariagray
Rating: PG13
Characters/Pairings: Ianto, Jack, Gwen, Andy, OCs (Canon pairings)
Word Count: ~13k, 700 this chapter.
Things To Be Aware Of: Brief mentions of sexual acts, swearing, and gross (but not graphic) things. Some chapters will contain only OCs, in case you’re put off by that sort of thing.
Summary: Weevils are disappearing again. Torchwood is determined to find out why.
Beta: usakiwigirl & analineblue, who have all of my love for their assurances and edits.
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, its characters, or…Wales.
Author Notes: I just wanted to thank you all for reading along with this. It's been great to read all your comments, encouragements, and speculations. Thanks! :D I had a blast writing this, and posting. I hope you enjoy the last chapter!
Whose Blood Makes the Glory
A soldier is he whose blood makes the glory of the general.
--Adapted from Henry G. Bohn--
Chapter Twelve
Jack’s hands are warm and soft, a bit hesitant, as he wraps the bandage around Ianto’s hand. He’d cleansed the wound carefully with antiseptic first, and then dabbed it with a foul-scented antibiotic ointment that Owen had preferred to use, and now he is wrapping it up. Slow and methodical, steady.
Ianto watches him work.
He’d cut his fist on the teeth of Henry Jameson; the wounds hadn’t been deep, but they were angry, ringed in red, and bleeding. They hurt, too, and sting even more since the application of the antiseptic.
Gwen leans over the railing of the medical (they’re no longer allowed to call it “autopsy,” even if that’s what it is) bay and watches them, too. She does it silently for a while, actively hushed, like she’s trying to hear something just out of range. The only thing to hear, though, is the whir of the Hub and Ianto’s own occasional murmurings of discomfort (followed by Jack’s soft hushing). That’s all.
“I just got off the phone with UNIT. They’re going to retrieve the basic tech from the warehouse and shut down the operation. They have all of the involved parties in custody already. The weevils will be released, so I’m told.”
“Good work,” Jack says without looking up. “Be sure to touch base with UNIT tomorrow. I don’t trust them.”
“Right. Well, I’m off. It’s late. You should head home soon.”
“Will do,” Ianto says and smiles up at her. “Good night.”
She waves and leaves and Ianto returns to the silence of the Hub. It’s soothing, lulling, or maybe his exhaustion is just finally catching up with him. His eyes close, his eyelids are made of lead.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Jack says. “Almost done.”
“Hmm.” After a moment, “I didn’t want you to choose.”
“Choose?”
Ianto keeps his eyes closed. It’s much easier this way. “Between me and Gwen. It was a risk. I know that, but I didn’t want you to choose.”
Jack’s hands are still around his own. There’s a cold thing, probably the metal of a clip, and then Jack’s hands are gone.
“I didn’t need to choose,” he says, and Ianto feels his heart race. “I was going to shoot Dr. Nielson.”
Tosh had once told him how it felt to hear inside people’s thoughts, how hard it had been to have incontrovertible proof that Owen preferred Gwen to her, that Owen was sleeping with her. She’d said she felt like her heart turned to stone and dropped through the floor. “It’s better to know,” she’d said, “but it’s easier to pretend.”
He hadn’t understood then; his tragic relationships had left him feeling more rattled and anxious than heavy. Jittery, like his heart was feathers that could be blown away by the tiniest stream of air. But now? Now he understands.
“Ianto. Ianto, look at me.”
Despite his better judgment, he opens his eyes and blinks back the light.
“I would’ve shot her because Dr. Nielson knew how to shoot to kill. Even if she didn’t, she had the gun to Gwen’s temple. Jameson had no idea what he was doing with that scalpel. It was at the wrong angle, the pressure was off. It would’ve hurt like hell if he’d used it, but you would’ve been fine. Bloody, but alive. Besides, I figured you’d be able to get free in the distraction.”
They’re both silent for a stretch. Ianto tries to flex his hand within the bandage, feeling his way around the immobility. It distracts him for a moment, as he’d intended, so when Jack speaks again, it takes him a moment to catch up.
“It was the only thing I could do to try to keep you both alive.”
Ianto nods, and smiles. He’s sure it’s a fairly good job. Meanwhile, all he can think about is how he is decidedly not going to ask what Jack would have chosen if both of them had been at risk. No matter the answer, he doesn’t want to know. Either way, it’d be too much of a burden.
“Let’s go,” he says, instead.
The End
Author: sariagray
Rating: PG13
Characters/Pairings: Ianto, Jack, Gwen, Andy, OCs (Canon pairings)
Word Count: ~13k, 700 this chapter.
Things To Be Aware Of: Brief mentions of sexual acts, swearing, and gross (but not graphic) things. Some chapters will contain only OCs, in case you’re put off by that sort of thing.
Summary: Weevils are disappearing again. Torchwood is determined to find out why.
Beta: usakiwigirl & analineblue, who have all of my love for their assurances and edits.
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, its characters, or…Wales.
Author Notes: I just wanted to thank you all for reading along with this. It's been great to read all your comments, encouragements, and speculations. Thanks! :D I had a blast writing this, and posting. I hope you enjoy the last chapter!
Whose Blood Makes the Glory
A soldier is he whose blood makes the glory of the general.
--Adapted from Henry G. Bohn--
Chapter Twelve
Jack’s hands are warm and soft, a bit hesitant, as he wraps the bandage around Ianto’s hand. He’d cleansed the wound carefully with antiseptic first, and then dabbed it with a foul-scented antibiotic ointment that Owen had preferred to use, and now he is wrapping it up. Slow and methodical, steady.
Ianto watches him work.
He’d cut his fist on the teeth of Henry Jameson; the wounds hadn’t been deep, but they were angry, ringed in red, and bleeding. They hurt, too, and sting even more since the application of the antiseptic.
Gwen leans over the railing of the medical (they’re no longer allowed to call it “autopsy,” even if that’s what it is) bay and watches them, too. She does it silently for a while, actively hushed, like she’s trying to hear something just out of range. The only thing to hear, though, is the whir of the Hub and Ianto’s own occasional murmurings of discomfort (followed by Jack’s soft hushing). That’s all.
“I just got off the phone with UNIT. They’re going to retrieve the basic tech from the warehouse and shut down the operation. They have all of the involved parties in custody already. The weevils will be released, so I’m told.”
“Good work,” Jack says without looking up. “Be sure to touch base with UNIT tomorrow. I don’t trust them.”
“Right. Well, I’m off. It’s late. You should head home soon.”
“Will do,” Ianto says and smiles up at her. “Good night.”
She waves and leaves and Ianto returns to the silence of the Hub. It’s soothing, lulling, or maybe his exhaustion is just finally catching up with him. His eyes close, his eyelids are made of lead.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Jack says. “Almost done.”
“Hmm.” After a moment, “I didn’t want you to choose.”
“Choose?”
Ianto keeps his eyes closed. It’s much easier this way. “Between me and Gwen. It was a risk. I know that, but I didn’t want you to choose.”
Jack’s hands are still around his own. There’s a cold thing, probably the metal of a clip, and then Jack’s hands are gone.
“I didn’t need to choose,” he says, and Ianto feels his heart race. “I was going to shoot Dr. Nielson.”
Tosh had once told him how it felt to hear inside people’s thoughts, how hard it had been to have incontrovertible proof that Owen preferred Gwen to her, that Owen was sleeping with her. She’d said she felt like her heart turned to stone and dropped through the floor. “It’s better to know,” she’d said, “but it’s easier to pretend.”
He hadn’t understood then; his tragic relationships had left him feeling more rattled and anxious than heavy. Jittery, like his heart was feathers that could be blown away by the tiniest stream of air. But now? Now he understands.
“Ianto. Ianto, look at me.”
Despite his better judgment, he opens his eyes and blinks back the light.
“I would’ve shot her because Dr. Nielson knew how to shoot to kill. Even if she didn’t, she had the gun to Gwen’s temple. Jameson had no idea what he was doing with that scalpel. It was at the wrong angle, the pressure was off. It would’ve hurt like hell if he’d used it, but you would’ve been fine. Bloody, but alive. Besides, I figured you’d be able to get free in the distraction.”
They’re both silent for a stretch. Ianto tries to flex his hand within the bandage, feeling his way around the immobility. It distracts him for a moment, as he’d intended, so when Jack speaks again, it takes him a moment to catch up.
“It was the only thing I could do to try to keep you both alive.”
Ianto nods, and smiles. He’s sure it’s a fairly good job. Meanwhile, all he can think about is how he is decidedly not going to ask what Jack would have chosen if both of them had been at risk. No matter the answer, he doesn’t want to know. Either way, it’d be too much of a burden.
“Let’s go,” he says, instead.
The End