Fic: Things Lost and Found Along The Way (9/10)
Title: Things Lost and Found Along The Way (9/10)
Rating: pg13
Characters/Pairings: Jack. AU Ianto, Owen and Tosh. Owen/Tosh, eventual Jack/Ianto.
Word Count: 3.5k (of 28k/30k posted)
Contains: Serious illness of an alien variety. Death of original alien character.
Summary: Travelling back to Earth with Ianto, Owen and Toshiko on board the freighter Ariadne, Jack has growing concerns that the glove he'd used to bring them into this universe has somehow affected him. He's still trying to deal with these worries on his own when they receive a distress call from another ship. A call which is about to change everything.
A/N: This is a sequel to The Spaces in Between. This is a sequel to 'The Spaces in Between.' which was a CoE sort of fix it. Any similarity to Miracle Day with regards to what is going on with Jack is totally accidental as this aspect of the fic had already been decided on last year. Updated weekly on Friday.
This part beta'd by mcparrot
Starts here.
Part nine:
The twenty four hours that follow the administration of the chlorine gas are some of the worse of Jack's life.
The pain, the feeling of being on the edge of suffocation, and coughing are almost continuous, while the low grade fever that he's been running since falling ill gradually rises higher and higher until he's soaked in sweat, the thin sheet on the bed sticking to damply to him.
Everything going on around him seems to be happening through a fog, with little more than jumbled actions and fragments of conversations filtering through the haze.
Owen fixing an IV line into the cannula in his hand, his voice urgent and insistent.
Ianto moving the oxygen mask aside for a moment to feed him some ice chips. The coldness soothing against his dry lips and tongue.
Owen snapping at Ianto to get out. “You've been here for nearly twenty hours straight, and if you don't go and get some rest I'll sedate you too.”
Tosh laying a damp cloth on his forehead, fingers brushing back sweat soaked hair.
And Ianto again, talking to him, the words blurring into nothingness, but the soft accent, which evokes better times, is comforting all the same.
Gradually though things start to improve, the fever dropping and the pain and breathlessness starting to decrease.
Three days after breathing the chlorine Jack is starting to feel better, although it’s certainly nothing that could be considered anything like well. He still feels weak, and the hacking cough continues to bring up more phlegm and dead fungus than he thinks he's lungs should by any right be able to contain. There's no more blood in what he's coughing up though, his temperature has dropped to near normal levels, and Owen has removed the IV from his hand, content that Jack can manage to drink enough to keep himself hydrated. He’s only used the oxygen once in the last twelve hours, needing it for a few minutes after a particularly heavy bout of coughing that had made him feel like he was going pass out.
Lying in bed, Jack watches as Owen fixes up the scanner that he'd used a few days previously to check the state of his lungs.
“Time to see how you’re doing,” Owen says, switching the scanner on. Looking at Jack he asks, “Do you want some help to sit up?”
“No.” Sitting up slowly, Jack is relieved to find that apart from slight stiffness from having been lying down for most of the time there’s no flare of pain or additional breathlessness.
It doesn’t take Owen long to complete the scan, humming and nodding to himself as he does. Putting down the scanner once he’s finished, Owen asks, “So do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
“The bad,” Jack says, not seeing any point in prolonging not knowing.
“You're going to be feeling like crap for a few more days.”
“That's not bad.” Jack manages a slightly wheezy laugh, relieved that an end of his illness is in sight. “That's obvious.”
“It's bad enough. It means I’ve got a few more days of reminding Ianto to get some sleep,” says Owen. “Now for the good news. It looks like the fungus has bought it, and your healing thing is sort of working.”
“Sort of?” Jack asks, torn between relief that he's healing and the fear that this could be last of the energy that has keep him immortal all these years finally draining away.
“Well you're healing faster than a normal human should, probably about three to four times as fast. But having gone through that file you got Gwen to send me I know that nothing like what's normal for you.”
It's an understatement if Jack's ever heard one. Breathing in chlorine gas at the concentration that he's done should have healed within minutes or a couple of hours at the outside if it had been working how it used to do. There's still one question though. “Is it getting faster?”
“Faster than what?” Owen asks with a confused frown.
“Than it was.” The hope that this might be the thing that proves Tosh's theory as to whether his immortality is fading away or slowly coming back, feeling like the only piece of good news that will come out of this.
“How should I know? This is only the second scan I've done,” Owen says looking at the readings again. “I can run the scan every six hours or so if you want, to try and test it out?”
“Do it,” Jack says wearily, the relief fading away. “I need to know.”
“I know you do.” Owen sighed, slightly exasperated. “You've been used to running round being Captain Invincible for a long time, but until we know what's going on with it you're going to have to start living like us normal people, just in case.”
Owen’s blunt honesty hurts, and Jack closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to have to deal with it. Not the fact that even though he is getting better, that his life might never go back to how it was, and certainly not the thoughts that are now crowding in about how, even when he was immortal and throwing himself into danger in their place, he’d still lost everybody, and that how it will now surely be even worse. Feeling his lip start to shake, he bites it, trying to get his emotions back under control.
“Hey, are you going to be sick?” Owen interrupts his thoughts, placing a bowl on the bed in front of him.
“No.” Jack opens his eyes. “It’s just…” he sighs and shakes his head. It’s too many things. “I’m just tired.”
“Yeah, and I’m the king of China,” Owen says annoyed. “If you’re feeling sick, or worse, or anything, tell me. I’m supposed to be taking care of you, and I can’t do that if you’re going to start lying to me. So you want to try that again?”
Jack sighs. He knows that Owen won’t be easily fooled, but he doesn’t want to go into detail. As a compromise he says, “It’s just getting to me more than it should. I'll be alright in a minute.”
“More than it should,” Owen repeats leaning back against the wall next to Jack's bed. “In the last year or so you've been killed repeatedly including being buried alive by your own brother. You lost your friends, some of your family, your boyfriend, your home, and your job. You're getting over an infection that nearly killed you, and trying to deal with the fact you might be mortal again, and you're wondering why it's getting to you?”
Jack nods. He wonders whether he should tell Owen that, when it's put like that, with the exception of questionable state of his immortality, it's actually only worse than the The Year That Never Was because everyone’s deaths had stuck. The things that the Master had made him witness, the choices he'd been forced to make as one by one his team, and any family living on Earth, had been caught and dragged in front of him, will, he's sure, be burnt into his memory for as long as he lives.
Owen gives him an incredulous look. “You really think you should just be able to carry on like nothings happened, don't you?”
Jack nods again. It's what he has always done, what has always been expected of him. Although perhaps expected is the wrong word, needed would be more accurate. Everybody has always needed him to be the one who carried on, and for their sakes he always has.
“Nobody is that strong,” Owen says, sitting down next to Jack. “And you know what? Nobody should have to be. Look, I admit I'm rubbish at the whole taking about feelings and stuff, but if you need to, and don't want to bother Tosh or do the baring your soul thing with Ianto, I guess I'm just saying I'm here, alright?”
Jack swallows back tears, surprised and touched that Owen would offer to do something that is obviously outside his comfort zone.
He’s not sure if he’ll ever take up Owen’s offer, but knowing that it’s there does, in some small way, help.
* * *
Morning drifts into afternoon, with boredom finally winning out over worry as Jack's prevailing mood.
He doesn't feel tired enough to be able to go back to sleep yet, and he's read the book that Tosh had given him the previous evening. Which only really leaves getting up and finding something to do.
The only problem with that is that it requires walking about, something which he's found still leaves him feeling rather shaky and breathless, a Although he's sure he could make it to the breakroom if he takes it steady.
A lot of the weakness he suspects is down to the fact that he's eaten very little for the last few days, and most of what he has has comprised of Owen's nutrient drinks and some toast. Despite that he doesn't feel particularly hungry, but he knows that's down to his stomach having got used to very little food.
Jack is still trying to decide whether getting up and getting some proper food might actually help, when there's a knock at the door. The knock is closely followed by Ianto saying, “Jack, are you awake?”
“Awake and bored.”
Ianto walks in, a towel over his arm, and carrying a jug and a bowl.
Jack looks at the bowl with a bemused expression, before asking, “Has Owen sent you to give me a bed bath?”
“No.” Ianto says putting the jug and bowl down on the table by the bed. “I just thought you might like the chance to freshen up a bit.”
“Are you trying to say I smell?”
“I like to think I’m a little more tactful than that,” Ianto says, with a small smile. “I find that when I’ve been ill that getting cleaned up helps me feel better.”
Jack rubs a hand along the week or so worth of stubble on his chin. It would nice to get rid of it.
Ianto takes a disposable razor and a small bottle of shaving gel from the bowl and puts them on the table next to it. “I didn't want to search through your things to see if you'd got one, and I had a spare bought at the spaceport that I've not used, so it seemed sensible to let you have it.”
“Thank you,” Jack says. He knows that there is one somewhere amongst the things he brought with him on the Ariadne, but even he’s not sure where it is. Or if he’s honest how well it works - he’d been mostly using the ones in the hotels and motels on the planets he’d been on.
“At least it doesn't seem to grow too fast,” Ianto says, “If I left mine for a week I think the crew would be reporting a stray yeti on board.”
“Tried to grow a moustache once,” Jack says, with an amused smile. “Summer 1917. All the guys in the Royal Flying Corp had them. After three months and with what looked like a dead caterpillar stuck to my face I gave up.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Ianto says, trying not to laugh.
“Oh it was.” Jack grins at the memory of Billy Wilson teasing him about. “My co-pilot reckoned that if we could have got enough pictures of it we could have patented it as a new weapon. Everybody who saw it would be too busy laughing to fight.”
Ianto laughs. “You really are starting to feel better, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am.” Looking at the shaving things, Jack asks, “I don’t suppose you’ve got a mirror?”
“No, sorry. I couldn't find one,” Ianto says apologetically. “Well not one that wasn't attached to a wall in the showers.”
“Guess I'll have to skip it then,” Jack says, regretfully. He knows he could probably just about manage without, but accidentally cutting his face when it'll take a while to heal doesn't hold any appeal.
“I could do it for you, if you want?”
“If you're sure,” Jack says a little doubtfully, not wanting Ianto to think that he has to do it.
“I wouldn't have offered if I weren't,” Ianto points out.
“I prefer a straight razor myself,” Ianto says, opening the shaving gel. “But they didn't have any of those. I'll have to find somewhere that sells them once we get to Earth.”
“You didn’t fancy something a bit more up to date?” Jack asks knowing that it would have probably been more difficult to find something like this in shops around the spaceport than something with a bit more technology behind it.
“No.” Ianto shakes his head. “Putting an alien device with either blades or lasers in it that close to my throat really doesn’t seem like a good way to start the day.”
“I suppose there is that.”
They lapse into comfortable silence as Ianto carefully shaves away the week’s worth of stubble.
“I’ve been thinking,” Ianto says, putting down the razor, and handing Jack a towel.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Jack wipes the last traces of foam from his face.
“About what I’d said, about not working with you and not staying in Cardiff.”
“And what have you decided?” Jack asks, trying not to sound too hopeful, just in case he's wrong.
“That I’ve changed my mind.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking stressed. “It’s not going to always be easy seeing you every day, remembering my Jack, but being away from you, worrying about how you are and knowing that I won't be there if you need me will be worse.”
“You never told Owen or Tosh, did you?”
“No,” Ianto admits. “The more I thought about it the more I realised I couldn’t do it. Working for Torchwood is lonely enough without cutting yourself off from the friends that you do have.”
“I know,” Jack says sadly. He's seen far too many people over the years lose so much more than their lives to Torchwood.
“I should get rid of this.” Ianto gestures at the bowl of now cold and rather hair filled water, looking for a way out of this particular part of the conversation. “I can come straight back, or I could get us some food, if you want. We could talk.”
There's a slightly nervous eagerness to Ianto's voice that makes Jack wonder just what it is that Ianto wants to talk about. “That would be good.”
Ianto smiles. “I'll try to find us something nice.”
* * *
Jack is still waiting for Ianto to return when the ship shudders and the engines abruptly cut out.
Lying in bed, tension growing, he waits for Celesti's voice to come over the intercom telling them that it's nothing to worry about, that it's just the electrical systems or the solar couplings that are playing up again.
Long seconds drag out before the static crackle that always seems to precede an announcement breaks the silence. “Looks like we've got company, folks. Seems like our dead drug grower's friends are here to collect their cargo, and they don't seem to want any witnesses.”
There's a noise that Jack recognises as laser fire hitting the Ariadne's hull, and Celesti swears, “So get your arses over to the weapons locker, arm up and go to the airlocks. I'll keep you posted.”
The announcement is barely over when Jack hears the swoosh-clunk of a nearby door opening and closing.
There's no way of knowing for certain who it is, but Jack suspects that it's Ianto.
The ship shakes again, the lights flickering as another volley of laser fire strikes its hull.
Taking as deep a breath as he can, Jack gets out of bed, determined to get to the weapons locker and assist in any way he can.
Frustrated at not having healed yet, and knowing that running is out of the question, Jack leans against the wall for support as he walks as quickly as he can.
The ship shudders again as makes his way along the corridor, a series of metallic clangs echoing dully through the ship.
Docking clamps.
Gritting his teeth, Jack tries to increase his speed, knowing that they’ll be on board within a matter of minutes.
Cold sweat beading on his forehead, and breathing starting to wheeze, Jack pushes himself on until he finally reaches the weapons locker room.
“Didn't expect to see you here,” Pol says as Jack stumbles through the door. “You look like crap.”
Jack manages half hearted smile. “At least I still look better than I feel.”
Pol shakes his head. “You think you're up to a fight?”
“I don't think they're going to give us much of a choice.” Jack staggers as the ship gives another lurch, having to cling to the side of the door so he doesn’t fall down.
“You might be right there.” Pol gives him a grim smile.
“Have you seen Ianto?”
“Your man?” Pol says, handing Jack a gun.
“He's not mine.” Jack checks the laser pistol. It looks like it has seen better days, but it'll have to do.
Pol gives him a slightly disbelieving look. “I saw him. He wanted a couple of guns, so I gave them to him and he went towards the engine room. He said he needed to find Tosh, to make sure she was armed too.”
Jack nods. It sounds just the sort of thing that Ianto would do. “What’s the quickest way there?”
“Down there.” Pol points to a door in the corner of the room. “You think you can make it?”
Whether he can or not feels irrelevant at the moment, all Jack knows is that he’s got to try. “I've got to find him.”
“Alright,” says Pol, patting Jack on the shoulder. “Keep safe.”
“You too,” Jack says hoping they can get through this without any loss of life.
The corridor that Pol said Ianto had taken seems endless, and Jack can feel his chest starting to ache, breath starting to wheeze from the effort, but he pushes himself on.
The sound of ship to ship laser fire has stopped, replaced by the occasional echoing sound of gun fire inside the ship.
The corridor turns a corner, and ahead Jack can see a body slumped on the ground.
His breath catches in his throat, legs nearly buckling under him, and he turns away, leaning against the wall for support.
As he gets closer, Jack recognises the body as that of the ships engineer, Kelda. She’s sprawled on the floor, greenish blood pooled around her, her normally iridescent scales now as grey and lifeless as the metal gratings.
Bending down, he closes her eyes, torn between the relief that it isn’t Ianto and the sadness of seeing yet another young, promising life taken away too soon.
Ahead there is the sound of more laser fire, the air burnt with the smell of ozone and scorched metal. Keeping his back flat against the wall, Jack cautiously approaches it.
The corridor opens into one of the cargo bays. On the other end of the bay, Ianto shoots off a couple of bursts of laser fire to keep the drug smugglers, Chelvosians, the same as had been on the Meridian Star, pinned down before ducking back behind a stack of crates hiding him from their view.
Protected by the cover of the crates, Ianto looks around, seeking a way out or a better shooting position. Seeing Jack, Ianto stares wide eyed at him for a moment, shocked to see him there. Recovering from it quickly, he nods at Jack, then gestures towards the two smugglers with his gun, before holding up three fingers.
Realising what Ianto wants him to do, Jack moves as close as can without letting the smugglers see him, and waits for his signal.
As soon as Jack is in position, Ianto holds up three fingers, then two, then one. Lowering his hand, he stands up, and takes aim in a single smooth movement.
Taken by surprise, Ianto’s shot takes the taller of the two smugglers high in the chest, and he falls to the floor.
Taking aim, Jack presses the trigger. There's a popping noise followed by the smell of melting plastic and then the power display on his gun goes blank.
“Oh you've got to be kidding me,” Jack says, glancing down at his gun. Jack hears rather than sees the second smuggler fire in the split second that he's looking away. Looking up he sees Ianto stagger and then fall limply to the floor.
“No!” It's torn from him, raw and desolate. Throwing his useless gun at the smuggler, Jack rushes him, blind fury driving him on.
Jack hits him with enough force than they are both carried to the floor. Blood is pounding in his ears and he can barely breathe, but Jack keeps up his attack. Kicking and punching, he lashes out indiscriminately, all the frustration, anger and loss he's kept inside coming out in a burst of mindless violence.
He stops only when his arms and legs feel too leaden to move, the smuggler is still beneath him.
Shaking with exhaustion, Jack rolls off of him and lies on the floor, listening to the sound of laser fire that's still echoing round the ship. He can't tell which side might be winning, and he hasn't got the energy to assist or to find out.
Even standing requires more energy that he's got, and Jack crawls across the floor to where Ianto is still lying where he'd fallen.
He has covered most of the distance when his arms give way, and he slumps forward onto the deck. Unable to manage crawling the last couple of feet to him, Jack reaches out his hand and curls his fingers through Ianto's.
“I'm sorry, 'm so so sorry,” Jack slurs, before he passes out.
Part ten: http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/149293.html
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I know I don't usually have a foot note in my fic, but I'm guessing a few readers might appreciate one about now. So what I can say is I know everything looks pretty back right now - but have I ever written a truly sad ending?
Rating: pg13
Characters/Pairings: Jack. AU Ianto, Owen and Tosh. Owen/Tosh, eventual Jack/Ianto.
Word Count: 3.5k (of 28k/30k posted)
Contains: Serious illness of an alien variety. Death of original alien character.
Summary: Travelling back to Earth with Ianto, Owen and Toshiko on board the freighter Ariadne, Jack has growing concerns that the glove he'd used to bring them into this universe has somehow affected him. He's still trying to deal with these worries on his own when they receive a distress call from another ship. A call which is about to change everything.
A/N: This is a sequel to The Spaces in Between. This is a sequel to 'The Spaces in Between.' which was a CoE sort of fix it. Any similarity to Miracle Day with regards to what is going on with Jack is totally accidental as this aspect of the fic had already been decided on last year. Updated weekly on Friday.
This part beta'd by mcparrot
Starts here.
Part nine:
The twenty four hours that follow the administration of the chlorine gas are some of the worse of Jack's life.
The pain, the feeling of being on the edge of suffocation, and coughing are almost continuous, while the low grade fever that he's been running since falling ill gradually rises higher and higher until he's soaked in sweat, the thin sheet on the bed sticking to damply to him.
Everything going on around him seems to be happening through a fog, with little more than jumbled actions and fragments of conversations filtering through the haze.
Owen fixing an IV line into the cannula in his hand, his voice urgent and insistent.
Ianto moving the oxygen mask aside for a moment to feed him some ice chips. The coldness soothing against his dry lips and tongue.
Owen snapping at Ianto to get out. “You've been here for nearly twenty hours straight, and if you don't go and get some rest I'll sedate you too.”
Tosh laying a damp cloth on his forehead, fingers brushing back sweat soaked hair.
And Ianto again, talking to him, the words blurring into nothingness, but the soft accent, which evokes better times, is comforting all the same.
Gradually though things start to improve, the fever dropping and the pain and breathlessness starting to decrease.
Three days after breathing the chlorine Jack is starting to feel better, although it’s certainly nothing that could be considered anything like well. He still feels weak, and the hacking cough continues to bring up more phlegm and dead fungus than he thinks he's lungs should by any right be able to contain. There's no more blood in what he's coughing up though, his temperature has dropped to near normal levels, and Owen has removed the IV from his hand, content that Jack can manage to drink enough to keep himself hydrated. He’s only used the oxygen once in the last twelve hours, needing it for a few minutes after a particularly heavy bout of coughing that had made him feel like he was going pass out.
Lying in bed, Jack watches as Owen fixes up the scanner that he'd used a few days previously to check the state of his lungs.
“Time to see how you’re doing,” Owen says, switching the scanner on. Looking at Jack he asks, “Do you want some help to sit up?”
“No.” Sitting up slowly, Jack is relieved to find that apart from slight stiffness from having been lying down for most of the time there’s no flare of pain or additional breathlessness.
It doesn’t take Owen long to complete the scan, humming and nodding to himself as he does. Putting down the scanner once he’s finished, Owen asks, “So do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
“The bad,” Jack says, not seeing any point in prolonging not knowing.
“You're going to be feeling like crap for a few more days.”
“That's not bad.” Jack manages a slightly wheezy laugh, relieved that an end of his illness is in sight. “That's obvious.”
“It's bad enough. It means I’ve got a few more days of reminding Ianto to get some sleep,” says Owen. “Now for the good news. It looks like the fungus has bought it, and your healing thing is sort of working.”
“Sort of?” Jack asks, torn between relief that he's healing and the fear that this could be last of the energy that has keep him immortal all these years finally draining away.
“Well you're healing faster than a normal human should, probably about three to four times as fast. But having gone through that file you got Gwen to send me I know that nothing like what's normal for you.”
It's an understatement if Jack's ever heard one. Breathing in chlorine gas at the concentration that he's done should have healed within minutes or a couple of hours at the outside if it had been working how it used to do. There's still one question though. “Is it getting faster?”
“Faster than what?” Owen asks with a confused frown.
“Than it was.” The hope that this might be the thing that proves Tosh's theory as to whether his immortality is fading away or slowly coming back, feeling like the only piece of good news that will come out of this.
“How should I know? This is only the second scan I've done,” Owen says looking at the readings again. “I can run the scan every six hours or so if you want, to try and test it out?”
“Do it,” Jack says wearily, the relief fading away. “I need to know.”
“I know you do.” Owen sighed, slightly exasperated. “You've been used to running round being Captain Invincible for a long time, but until we know what's going on with it you're going to have to start living like us normal people, just in case.”
Owen’s blunt honesty hurts, and Jack closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to have to deal with it. Not the fact that even though he is getting better, that his life might never go back to how it was, and certainly not the thoughts that are now crowding in about how, even when he was immortal and throwing himself into danger in their place, he’d still lost everybody, and that how it will now surely be even worse. Feeling his lip start to shake, he bites it, trying to get his emotions back under control.
“Hey, are you going to be sick?” Owen interrupts his thoughts, placing a bowl on the bed in front of him.
“No.” Jack opens his eyes. “It’s just…” he sighs and shakes his head. It’s too many things. “I’m just tired.”
“Yeah, and I’m the king of China,” Owen says annoyed. “If you’re feeling sick, or worse, or anything, tell me. I’m supposed to be taking care of you, and I can’t do that if you’re going to start lying to me. So you want to try that again?”
Jack sighs. He knows that Owen won’t be easily fooled, but he doesn’t want to go into detail. As a compromise he says, “It’s just getting to me more than it should. I'll be alright in a minute.”
“More than it should,” Owen repeats leaning back against the wall next to Jack's bed. “In the last year or so you've been killed repeatedly including being buried alive by your own brother. You lost your friends, some of your family, your boyfriend, your home, and your job. You're getting over an infection that nearly killed you, and trying to deal with the fact you might be mortal again, and you're wondering why it's getting to you?”
Jack nods. He wonders whether he should tell Owen that, when it's put like that, with the exception of questionable state of his immortality, it's actually only worse than the The Year That Never Was because everyone’s deaths had stuck. The things that the Master had made him witness, the choices he'd been forced to make as one by one his team, and any family living on Earth, had been caught and dragged in front of him, will, he's sure, be burnt into his memory for as long as he lives.
Owen gives him an incredulous look. “You really think you should just be able to carry on like nothings happened, don't you?”
Jack nods again. It's what he has always done, what has always been expected of him. Although perhaps expected is the wrong word, needed would be more accurate. Everybody has always needed him to be the one who carried on, and for their sakes he always has.
“Nobody is that strong,” Owen says, sitting down next to Jack. “And you know what? Nobody should have to be. Look, I admit I'm rubbish at the whole taking about feelings and stuff, but if you need to, and don't want to bother Tosh or do the baring your soul thing with Ianto, I guess I'm just saying I'm here, alright?”
Jack swallows back tears, surprised and touched that Owen would offer to do something that is obviously outside his comfort zone.
He’s not sure if he’ll ever take up Owen’s offer, but knowing that it’s there does, in some small way, help.
* * *
Morning drifts into afternoon, with boredom finally winning out over worry as Jack's prevailing mood.
He doesn't feel tired enough to be able to go back to sleep yet, and he's read the book that Tosh had given him the previous evening. Which only really leaves getting up and finding something to do.
The only problem with that is that it requires walking about, something which he's found still leaves him feeling rather shaky and breathless, a Although he's sure he could make it to the breakroom if he takes it steady.
A lot of the weakness he suspects is down to the fact that he's eaten very little for the last few days, and most of what he has has comprised of Owen's nutrient drinks and some toast. Despite that he doesn't feel particularly hungry, but he knows that's down to his stomach having got used to very little food.
Jack is still trying to decide whether getting up and getting some proper food might actually help, when there's a knock at the door. The knock is closely followed by Ianto saying, “Jack, are you awake?”
“Awake and bored.”
Ianto walks in, a towel over his arm, and carrying a jug and a bowl.
Jack looks at the bowl with a bemused expression, before asking, “Has Owen sent you to give me a bed bath?”
“No.” Ianto says putting the jug and bowl down on the table by the bed. “I just thought you might like the chance to freshen up a bit.”
“Are you trying to say I smell?”
“I like to think I’m a little more tactful than that,” Ianto says, with a small smile. “I find that when I’ve been ill that getting cleaned up helps me feel better.”
Jack rubs a hand along the week or so worth of stubble on his chin. It would nice to get rid of it.
Ianto takes a disposable razor and a small bottle of shaving gel from the bowl and puts them on the table next to it. “I didn't want to search through your things to see if you'd got one, and I had a spare bought at the spaceport that I've not used, so it seemed sensible to let you have it.”
“Thank you,” Jack says. He knows that there is one somewhere amongst the things he brought with him on the Ariadne, but even he’s not sure where it is. Or if he’s honest how well it works - he’d been mostly using the ones in the hotels and motels on the planets he’d been on.
“At least it doesn't seem to grow too fast,” Ianto says, “If I left mine for a week I think the crew would be reporting a stray yeti on board.”
“Tried to grow a moustache once,” Jack says, with an amused smile. “Summer 1917. All the guys in the Royal Flying Corp had them. After three months and with what looked like a dead caterpillar stuck to my face I gave up.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Ianto says, trying not to laugh.
“Oh it was.” Jack grins at the memory of Billy Wilson teasing him about. “My co-pilot reckoned that if we could have got enough pictures of it we could have patented it as a new weapon. Everybody who saw it would be too busy laughing to fight.”
Ianto laughs. “You really are starting to feel better, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am.” Looking at the shaving things, Jack asks, “I don’t suppose you’ve got a mirror?”
“No, sorry. I couldn't find one,” Ianto says apologetically. “Well not one that wasn't attached to a wall in the showers.”
“Guess I'll have to skip it then,” Jack says, regretfully. He knows he could probably just about manage without, but accidentally cutting his face when it'll take a while to heal doesn't hold any appeal.
“I could do it for you, if you want?”
“If you're sure,” Jack says a little doubtfully, not wanting Ianto to think that he has to do it.
“I wouldn't have offered if I weren't,” Ianto points out.
“I prefer a straight razor myself,” Ianto says, opening the shaving gel. “But they didn't have any of those. I'll have to find somewhere that sells them once we get to Earth.”
“You didn’t fancy something a bit more up to date?” Jack asks knowing that it would have probably been more difficult to find something like this in shops around the spaceport than something with a bit more technology behind it.
“No.” Ianto shakes his head. “Putting an alien device with either blades or lasers in it that close to my throat really doesn’t seem like a good way to start the day.”
“I suppose there is that.”
They lapse into comfortable silence as Ianto carefully shaves away the week’s worth of stubble.
“I’ve been thinking,” Ianto says, putting down the razor, and handing Jack a towel.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Jack wipes the last traces of foam from his face.
“About what I’d said, about not working with you and not staying in Cardiff.”
“And what have you decided?” Jack asks, trying not to sound too hopeful, just in case he's wrong.
“That I’ve changed my mind.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking stressed. “It’s not going to always be easy seeing you every day, remembering my Jack, but being away from you, worrying about how you are and knowing that I won't be there if you need me will be worse.”
“You never told Owen or Tosh, did you?”
“No,” Ianto admits. “The more I thought about it the more I realised I couldn’t do it. Working for Torchwood is lonely enough without cutting yourself off from the friends that you do have.”
“I know,” Jack says sadly. He's seen far too many people over the years lose so much more than their lives to Torchwood.
“I should get rid of this.” Ianto gestures at the bowl of now cold and rather hair filled water, looking for a way out of this particular part of the conversation. “I can come straight back, or I could get us some food, if you want. We could talk.”
There's a slightly nervous eagerness to Ianto's voice that makes Jack wonder just what it is that Ianto wants to talk about. “That would be good.”
Ianto smiles. “I'll try to find us something nice.”
* * *
Jack is still waiting for Ianto to return when the ship shudders and the engines abruptly cut out.
Lying in bed, tension growing, he waits for Celesti's voice to come over the intercom telling them that it's nothing to worry about, that it's just the electrical systems or the solar couplings that are playing up again.
Long seconds drag out before the static crackle that always seems to precede an announcement breaks the silence. “Looks like we've got company, folks. Seems like our dead drug grower's friends are here to collect their cargo, and they don't seem to want any witnesses.”
There's a noise that Jack recognises as laser fire hitting the Ariadne's hull, and Celesti swears, “So get your arses over to the weapons locker, arm up and go to the airlocks. I'll keep you posted.”
The announcement is barely over when Jack hears the swoosh-clunk of a nearby door opening and closing.
There's no way of knowing for certain who it is, but Jack suspects that it's Ianto.
The ship shakes again, the lights flickering as another volley of laser fire strikes its hull.
Taking as deep a breath as he can, Jack gets out of bed, determined to get to the weapons locker and assist in any way he can.
Frustrated at not having healed yet, and knowing that running is out of the question, Jack leans against the wall for support as he walks as quickly as he can.
The ship shudders again as makes his way along the corridor, a series of metallic clangs echoing dully through the ship.
Docking clamps.
Gritting his teeth, Jack tries to increase his speed, knowing that they’ll be on board within a matter of minutes.
Cold sweat beading on his forehead, and breathing starting to wheeze, Jack pushes himself on until he finally reaches the weapons locker room.
“Didn't expect to see you here,” Pol says as Jack stumbles through the door. “You look like crap.”
Jack manages half hearted smile. “At least I still look better than I feel.”
Pol shakes his head. “You think you're up to a fight?”
“I don't think they're going to give us much of a choice.” Jack staggers as the ship gives another lurch, having to cling to the side of the door so he doesn’t fall down.
“You might be right there.” Pol gives him a grim smile.
“Have you seen Ianto?”
“Your man?” Pol says, handing Jack a gun.
“He's not mine.” Jack checks the laser pistol. It looks like it has seen better days, but it'll have to do.
Pol gives him a slightly disbelieving look. “I saw him. He wanted a couple of guns, so I gave them to him and he went towards the engine room. He said he needed to find Tosh, to make sure she was armed too.”
Jack nods. It sounds just the sort of thing that Ianto would do. “What’s the quickest way there?”
“Down there.” Pol points to a door in the corner of the room. “You think you can make it?”
Whether he can or not feels irrelevant at the moment, all Jack knows is that he’s got to try. “I've got to find him.”
“Alright,” says Pol, patting Jack on the shoulder. “Keep safe.”
“You too,” Jack says hoping they can get through this without any loss of life.
The corridor that Pol said Ianto had taken seems endless, and Jack can feel his chest starting to ache, breath starting to wheeze from the effort, but he pushes himself on.
The sound of ship to ship laser fire has stopped, replaced by the occasional echoing sound of gun fire inside the ship.
The corridor turns a corner, and ahead Jack can see a body slumped on the ground.
His breath catches in his throat, legs nearly buckling under him, and he turns away, leaning against the wall for support.
As he gets closer, Jack recognises the body as that of the ships engineer, Kelda. She’s sprawled on the floor, greenish blood pooled around her, her normally iridescent scales now as grey and lifeless as the metal gratings.
Bending down, he closes her eyes, torn between the relief that it isn’t Ianto and the sadness of seeing yet another young, promising life taken away too soon.
Ahead there is the sound of more laser fire, the air burnt with the smell of ozone and scorched metal. Keeping his back flat against the wall, Jack cautiously approaches it.
The corridor opens into one of the cargo bays. On the other end of the bay, Ianto shoots off a couple of bursts of laser fire to keep the drug smugglers, Chelvosians, the same as had been on the Meridian Star, pinned down before ducking back behind a stack of crates hiding him from their view.
Protected by the cover of the crates, Ianto looks around, seeking a way out or a better shooting position. Seeing Jack, Ianto stares wide eyed at him for a moment, shocked to see him there. Recovering from it quickly, he nods at Jack, then gestures towards the two smugglers with his gun, before holding up three fingers.
Realising what Ianto wants him to do, Jack moves as close as can without letting the smugglers see him, and waits for his signal.
As soon as Jack is in position, Ianto holds up three fingers, then two, then one. Lowering his hand, he stands up, and takes aim in a single smooth movement.
Taken by surprise, Ianto’s shot takes the taller of the two smugglers high in the chest, and he falls to the floor.
Taking aim, Jack presses the trigger. There's a popping noise followed by the smell of melting plastic and then the power display on his gun goes blank.
“Oh you've got to be kidding me,” Jack says, glancing down at his gun. Jack hears rather than sees the second smuggler fire in the split second that he's looking away. Looking up he sees Ianto stagger and then fall limply to the floor.
“No!” It's torn from him, raw and desolate. Throwing his useless gun at the smuggler, Jack rushes him, blind fury driving him on.
Jack hits him with enough force than they are both carried to the floor. Blood is pounding in his ears and he can barely breathe, but Jack keeps up his attack. Kicking and punching, he lashes out indiscriminately, all the frustration, anger and loss he's kept inside coming out in a burst of mindless violence.
He stops only when his arms and legs feel too leaden to move, the smuggler is still beneath him.
Shaking with exhaustion, Jack rolls off of him and lies on the floor, listening to the sound of laser fire that's still echoing round the ship. He can't tell which side might be winning, and he hasn't got the energy to assist or to find out.
Even standing requires more energy that he's got, and Jack crawls across the floor to where Ianto is still lying where he'd fallen.
He has covered most of the distance when his arms give way, and he slumps forward onto the deck. Unable to manage crawling the last couple of feet to him, Jack reaches out his hand and curls his fingers through Ianto's.
“I'm sorry, 'm so so sorry,” Jack slurs, before he passes out.
Part ten: http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/149293.html
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I know I don't usually have a foot note in my fic, but I'm guessing a few readers might appreciate one about now. So what I can say is I know everything looks pretty back right now - but have I ever written a truly sad ending?