Mind Games: Facing the Hydra (3/3)
Title: Facing the Hydra (3/3)
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: This part light R, over all hard R/nc17.
Warnings: Non-graphic, non-specific mentions of past abuse and torture.
Spoilers: Vague for DW Last of the Timelords, and TW To The Last Man. More specific spoilers for TW Meat.
Summary: Everybody has their breaking point, even Jack.
A/N: So finally here’s the last part, after much delay.
(1/3) Mind Games. http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/27719.html Warning: Non-con, mental violation.
(2/3) A Sort of Homecoming. http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/30217.html Warning: Non-graphic, non-specific mention of past abuse and torture.
Sitting at his desk, head bowed, Jack keeps his hands clenched tightly in his lap. In front of him the monitor still displays the CCTV feed of the steps outside the Sennedd, where earlier Gwen and Rhys had sat, talked, and even laughed as they tried to make sense of a day that had nearly destroyed their lives.
Not that Jack is watching the screen any more, it’s too painful a reminder of how far removed from normality he is, and how he can never truly be part of the world around him no matter how hard he tries and wants.
The whole day has been a complete nightmare. From the moment he’d walked in the warehouse, the smell of blood so thick in the air that it had almost choked him, Jack knows he’s been barely hanging on.
The creature’s pain had been overwhelming, its helpless terror in the face of what was being done to it had been too close to the fear that he’d felt at the hands of the Master.
And afterwards seeing Ianto’s wrists, red and sore from where he’d been restrained and from his escape, had been another reminder of his own captivity where he’d struggled against chains that had held him helplessly in place until his wrists had been bleeding and raw.
It’s too much, and Jack picks up the rarely used decanter of whiskey on his desk and pours himself a glass, trying ignore how his hands have started to shake.
He knows that he probably shouldn’t, that there are no answers to be found at the bottom of a glass, but he really can’t find it within himself to care. Right now all he wants is peace, to not think and to not remember all that he’s lost, and everything that still going to lose.
Because he is losing them, even if it’s not to death, he knows that they are all moving on and he’s not. The fact is, as much as it hurts to admit, they don’t need him any more, not really. Leaving them was probably the best thing that he could have done for them to make them into a closer team.
Gwen has learnt to lead, to make the hard choices and stick by them and is stronger for it. Owen has grown up, and started to move beyond the self-destructiveness that had marred his personality in previous months. While Toshiko is starting to realise her own brilliance and worth for whom she it really is: a truly amazing woman.
Ianto has new a calm about him, an authority, and growing certainty in his own abilities. He is most definitely not just the tea-boy. He has made it clear to Jack that one of the conditions of the resumption of their relationship would be that they would treat each other as equals, and that work would be kept separate or otherwise it would be doomed before it even began.
And Jack’s tried to do just that. He’s tried so damn hard for all of them, to be what they need him to be, what they expect him to be, and it’s not enough, it’s never going to be enough. Knocking back the glass, Jack blames the fact that his eyes are watering on the burn of the alcohol, because he can’t allow it to be anything else.
It’s getting harder too fool them, to pretend that he’s just the same as he was when he went away, most days he can’t even convince himself. Yet Jack can’t bring himself to tell them, to change how they think about him - he’s lost so damn much he’s not about jeopardize how they think of him just because he can’t get his head in order.
A couple of weeks have passed since he’d stood in this office telling Toshiko about soldiers who’d been sent back to the trenches too soon. About how they’d needed time and understanding to overcome the horrors that they’d witnessed, and how they’d never received it. Jack wonders now if maybe his own subconscious had been trying to tell him that he’d come back to the fight too soon. That he’d returned before he’d given his mind and emotions time to heal.
No, Jack tells himself firmly, rubbing a hand across tired eyes, unable to recall the last time he actually slept, it’s not the same at all. He can’t allow it to be the same. He can’t step back, he can’t leave, because if he does he’ll lose them. And he can’t do that, not yet, not so soon.
Things haven’t been easy since he came back, and Jack knows that he’s come close to losing it in front of his team on a few occasions. He’s let pieces of information slip, he’s told them that he was held captive, that he was away far longer than the three months that had passed for them, and, without giving any details, that a lot of what happened to him wasn’t pleasant.
Jack knows that Ianto already suspects something is wrong, how could do otherwise? But still he can’t bring himself to share even a fraction of those memories with him, to burden him with the horrors he’s been forced to endure.
The fear that he’ll slip and say more than he means to, or lose control entirely, has been a constant companion since his return. The fact that it’s already happened in private only makes the fear that it’ll happen in front of them all the more real.
It had just been a weevil, nothing to call the team in for in the early hours of the morning. The chase through the deserted streets had been familiar, exhilarating, and he’d been enjoying it up until he’d tripped and fallen in an alleyway just as he’d got the weevil cornered. Hands cut on broken glass, he’d just been getting back on his feet when he’d heard it move behind him, it’s claws against his back, pushing him back down against the rough ground. Everything after that had been a blur, his heart had been pounding and he couldn’t catch his breath, as he’d fled.
Then there had been nothing, just a blank, until he’d come back to his senses, soaking wet and shivering sitting on one of the little mooring jetties out in the Bay watching the sun rise with no memory of how he’d got there.
He’d still been shaken and on edge a few hours later when they’d brought Beth Halloran in for questioning - something that he knows that his team couldn’t have failed to miss.
Afternoon drifts into evening as time that longer matters passes, and Jack hears Owen and Tosh leave. Tosh sounds her usual calm self, talking quietly to Ianto as she gets ready to go home, asking him if he is all right and what his plans are for the evening. While Owen still sounds subdued, his experience with the creature having temporarily stripped him of his usual bravado.
Then the Hub is quiet. Jack is not sure whether to be relieved that Ianto has left with them and has given him space to try to get his head together, or if he should be angry that Ianto can’t even be bothered to see if he is all right. Somehow he’d expected more of him.
It’s not Ianto’s fault, Jack thinks bitterly, it’s nobody but his own. He knows how his actions towards Gwen combined with his own distantness must have seemed. It wasn’t like that, it really wasn't.
Jack pours himself another glass, the fifth or sixth he thinks, although it could easily be more - he’s not counting, he’s just hoping this one will be the one that dulls the pain. He’s not drunk like this in years, but today he welcomes the numbness that it will eventually bring, if only for a short while.
For years he’s resisted this, ever since he’d started waiting, knowing that he needed to be ready to travel at a moments notice. Now there's nothing but an eternity of losing everything and everyone he cares about stretching out in front of him, and the certain knowledge that the one person who’ll potentially be around as long as him thinks that he’s wrong and can’t bare to look at him.
Drinking the remainder of the glass quickly wanting the oblivion it will eventually bring if only he drinks enough of it, Jack starts to pour another.
“I think you’ve had enough.” Ianto carefully takes the glass from Jack’s hand and places it down on the desk.
“You’re right.” Jack’s voices wavers, his throat feeling raw from too much neat spirits. “I have.” He takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself and failing, the shock of having been snuck up on leaving his chest feeling tight. “I’ve had just about all I can take.”
“Jack?” Ianto asks, sounding concerned, as he moves closer. “What's wrong?”
“Me.” Jack feels like he’s choking, the room is hot and airless, and he staggers as tries to get up from his chair, legs feeling uncoordinated and weak. “I’m wrong, I’m all wrong.”
“No.” Ianto closes the distance between them again, putting a steadying hand on Jack’s arm.
“I’ve got it on good authority. The best.” Jack closes his eyes, the image of the Doctor telling him he’s wrong, and that he can’t bare to look at him, burning behind his eyelids.
“The Doctor,” Ianto says flatly, the annoyance in his voice barely contained. “He’s not perfect you know, he can make mistakes.” He smiles grimly for a moment. “I think anybody who saw or knew what happened at Torchwood One would know that.”
Jack doesn't answer, doesn't want to admit that Ianto could be right.
“I’ve tried not to push you for answers, but I know something’s wrong.” Ianto gently, but continues to firmly hold onto Jack’s arm, keeping him on his feet. “I thought that if you needed to talk about it you would.”
“I can’t.” Jack shakes his head, looking towards the door once more, wondering if he breaks free of Ianto’s grasp if he can make it out of the Hub before his legs give way.
“I guess what I’m saying is that whatever happened to you, whatever it was, you can tell me,” Ianto says, turning so that Jack is looking at him again.
“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
“I think I should be the judge of that, don’t you?”
“It won’t help.”
“I said that once, after Lisa.”
“Not the same. It really isn’t.” Jack hangs his head, knowing that he’s losing the argument, part of him scared that he’ll talk and the other part scared that he won’t.
“Maybe so,” Ianto says simply. “But I know that you were right and talking did help. Let me help you, please.”
“Ianto, I…” Jack’s voice fails him as he looks into Ianto’s eyes, seeing the love there.
“It doesn’t have to be here, or now.” Ianto lets go of Jack’s arm, trusting him not to run away. “Come home with me, you shouldn’t be alone not when you're like this, please.”
Nodding, not wanting to fight any more, Jack lets Ianto help him into his coat. Then, after setting the Hub’s alarms, Jack follows Ianto down to his car, and they drive the short distance to Ianto’s flat.
* * *
Ianto’s flat is cool and quiet, the muted colours and soft lighting calming, although Jack thinks that there is nothing could settle his nerves completely. His heart doesn’t feel like it’s trying to beat its way out of his chest anymore, and there’s enough air in the room so that every breath does feel like a battle.
Jack’s relieved that Ianto doesn’t start asking questions as soon as they arrive, choosing instead to make them tea and before settling on the sofa next to Jack.
“Talk to me,” Ianto says quietly, once they’ve finished their tea, his hand stroking through Jack’s hair, where Jack’s head rests against his shoulder.
“There’s so much you don’t know.” Jack wonders if Ianto can feel how much he’s shaking, or know how much effort it’s taking not to get up and run and never stop.
“Tell me what you can.” Leaning over, Ianto kisses Jack softly, looking in his eyes as he does. He’s still looking at Jack as he pulls back, saying, “Nothing you say could ever make me think less of you.”
“When I was gone there was this man, monster, he made me see things, feel things.” Jack closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, knowing that if he doesn’t tell Ianto now that maybe he never will. “I don’t know if any of it was true. I don’t even know what would be easier.”
* * *
It’s exhausting telling Ianto even a fraction of what happened to him during that nightmare year, the memories still so sharp and vivid that Jack finds he has to stop frequently just so that he doesn't break apart altogether.
Finally Jack stops, drained physically and emotionally. Closing his eyes he leans back against the sofa, sleep threatens, and Jack wonders whether he should try to fight it. He has on most nights since his return, certainly every night that he’s spent alone, tonight though he’s not alone, and he wonders whether he should try.
Jack is still trying to decide when Ianto gets up, saying, “You should try to rest.” His voice is less than steady as he turns away, starting towards the kitchen, adding, “You can have the bed, I’ll take the sofa. I’ve got extra bedding.”
“No.” Jack catches hold of Ianto’s wrist. “Come to bed with me.” He doesn’t want to be alone tonight, dreads the nightmares that will come if Ianto isn’t there to wake him and chase them away, and hold him close until he remembers where he is and knows that he’s safe.
Ianto looks shocked, stepping back from Jack, trying to pull away. “After what you’ve just told me? I don’t think…”
“You don’t think what?” Jack can feel anger start to flare up; hasn’t he lost enough without Ianto turning away from him as well? “That you can stand to be near me? Bear to touch me?”
“It’s not that.” Ianto looks distraught, just a hair’s breadth away from falling part himself.
“Then what?” Jack doesn’t think anything could possibly make him feel any more wretched than he does right now. He can’t believe how stupid he’s been, he should have kept his mouth shut, he shouldn’t have told Ianto, it was too much, too horrifying, he should have lied, said something else, anything else, because now he’s going to lose one of the few people that make his life bearable. It’s one final victory for Master, even though the bastard is months dead, or at least that’s how it feels.
“Jack, pleas…”
“No! I just want you to hold me. Is that so much to ask?” Jack can feel tears starting to well up. He can’t understand how he’s been able to tell Ianto even a fraction of what he’s been through and maintain some kind composure while the thought of having to spend just one night alone threatens to break him apart.
Ianto shakes his head, his own tears beginning to fall. “No, it’s not.” Then, walking over to Jack, he slowly puts his arms around him. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean...I still love you.”
Ianto’s words are barely heard as Jack clings to him, collapses against him, shaking, tears that he can’t stop spilling down his face. It’s a relief just to be able to let them out, to let go and know that there’s someone there to catch him. He’s been holding this inside for months, unable to let go, scared that if he did he’d never be able to stop.
* * *
How they get from clinging to each other in Ianto’s front room, to them lying in Ianto’s bed, him wearing a spare pair of Ianto’s pyjamas, Jack doesn’t know. It feels right though, natural, that they should be together like this.
Laying his head on Ianto’s chest, Jack listens to the steady single heartbeat. It’s alive, human, real, a connection to something that’s good about his life.
Jack’s half asleep, exhaustion finally winning out over the lingering fears about what nightmares will come, when Ianto takes his hand and places it over his heart, saying, “As long as you need me, Jack, I won’t leave you. I promise.”
Linking his fingers with Ianto’s, knowing that there really isn’t any need for words, Jack smiles and closes his eyes.
He’s not all right, not yet, and Jack knows that they are still going to be bad days - he works for Torchwood after all, bad days are kind of guaranteed - but if he’s got Ianto there to help him then perhaps one day he will be.
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: This part light R, over all hard R/nc17.
Warnings: Non-graphic, non-specific mentions of past abuse and torture.
Spoilers: Vague for DW Last of the Timelords, and TW To The Last Man. More specific spoilers for TW Meat.
Summary: Everybody has their breaking point, even Jack.
A/N: So finally here’s the last part, after much delay.
(1/3) Mind Games. http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/27719.html Warning: Non-con, mental violation.
(2/3) A Sort of Homecoming. http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/30217.html Warning: Non-graphic, non-specific mention of past abuse and torture.
Sitting at his desk, head bowed, Jack keeps his hands clenched tightly in his lap. In front of him the monitor still displays the CCTV feed of the steps outside the Sennedd, where earlier Gwen and Rhys had sat, talked, and even laughed as they tried to make sense of a day that had nearly destroyed their lives.
Not that Jack is watching the screen any more, it’s too painful a reminder of how far removed from normality he is, and how he can never truly be part of the world around him no matter how hard he tries and wants.
The whole day has been a complete nightmare. From the moment he’d walked in the warehouse, the smell of blood so thick in the air that it had almost choked him, Jack knows he’s been barely hanging on.
The creature’s pain had been overwhelming, its helpless terror in the face of what was being done to it had been too close to the fear that he’d felt at the hands of the Master.
And afterwards seeing Ianto’s wrists, red and sore from where he’d been restrained and from his escape, had been another reminder of his own captivity where he’d struggled against chains that had held him helplessly in place until his wrists had been bleeding and raw.
It’s too much, and Jack picks up the rarely used decanter of whiskey on his desk and pours himself a glass, trying ignore how his hands have started to shake.
He knows that he probably shouldn’t, that there are no answers to be found at the bottom of a glass, but he really can’t find it within himself to care. Right now all he wants is peace, to not think and to not remember all that he’s lost, and everything that still going to lose.
Because he is losing them, even if it’s not to death, he knows that they are all moving on and he’s not. The fact is, as much as it hurts to admit, they don’t need him any more, not really. Leaving them was probably the best thing that he could have done for them to make them into a closer team.
Gwen has learnt to lead, to make the hard choices and stick by them and is stronger for it. Owen has grown up, and started to move beyond the self-destructiveness that had marred his personality in previous months. While Toshiko is starting to realise her own brilliance and worth for whom she it really is: a truly amazing woman.
Ianto has new a calm about him, an authority, and growing certainty in his own abilities. He is most definitely not just the tea-boy. He has made it clear to Jack that one of the conditions of the resumption of their relationship would be that they would treat each other as equals, and that work would be kept separate or otherwise it would be doomed before it even began.
And Jack’s tried to do just that. He’s tried so damn hard for all of them, to be what they need him to be, what they expect him to be, and it’s not enough, it’s never going to be enough. Knocking back the glass, Jack blames the fact that his eyes are watering on the burn of the alcohol, because he can’t allow it to be anything else.
It’s getting harder too fool them, to pretend that he’s just the same as he was when he went away, most days he can’t even convince himself. Yet Jack can’t bring himself to tell them, to change how they think about him - he’s lost so damn much he’s not about jeopardize how they think of him just because he can’t get his head in order.
A couple of weeks have passed since he’d stood in this office telling Toshiko about soldiers who’d been sent back to the trenches too soon. About how they’d needed time and understanding to overcome the horrors that they’d witnessed, and how they’d never received it. Jack wonders now if maybe his own subconscious had been trying to tell him that he’d come back to the fight too soon. That he’d returned before he’d given his mind and emotions time to heal.
No, Jack tells himself firmly, rubbing a hand across tired eyes, unable to recall the last time he actually slept, it’s not the same at all. He can’t allow it to be the same. He can’t step back, he can’t leave, because if he does he’ll lose them. And he can’t do that, not yet, not so soon.
Things haven’t been easy since he came back, and Jack knows that he’s come close to losing it in front of his team on a few occasions. He’s let pieces of information slip, he’s told them that he was held captive, that he was away far longer than the three months that had passed for them, and, without giving any details, that a lot of what happened to him wasn’t pleasant.
Jack knows that Ianto already suspects something is wrong, how could do otherwise? But still he can’t bring himself to share even a fraction of those memories with him, to burden him with the horrors he’s been forced to endure.
The fear that he’ll slip and say more than he means to, or lose control entirely, has been a constant companion since his return. The fact that it’s already happened in private only makes the fear that it’ll happen in front of them all the more real.
It had just been a weevil, nothing to call the team in for in the early hours of the morning. The chase through the deserted streets had been familiar, exhilarating, and he’d been enjoying it up until he’d tripped and fallen in an alleyway just as he’d got the weevil cornered. Hands cut on broken glass, he’d just been getting back on his feet when he’d heard it move behind him, it’s claws against his back, pushing him back down against the rough ground. Everything after that had been a blur, his heart had been pounding and he couldn’t catch his breath, as he’d fled.
Then there had been nothing, just a blank, until he’d come back to his senses, soaking wet and shivering sitting on one of the little mooring jetties out in the Bay watching the sun rise with no memory of how he’d got there.
He’d still been shaken and on edge a few hours later when they’d brought Beth Halloran in for questioning - something that he knows that his team couldn’t have failed to miss.
Afternoon drifts into evening as time that longer matters passes, and Jack hears Owen and Tosh leave. Tosh sounds her usual calm self, talking quietly to Ianto as she gets ready to go home, asking him if he is all right and what his plans are for the evening. While Owen still sounds subdued, his experience with the creature having temporarily stripped him of his usual bravado.
Then the Hub is quiet. Jack is not sure whether to be relieved that Ianto has left with them and has given him space to try to get his head together, or if he should be angry that Ianto can’t even be bothered to see if he is all right. Somehow he’d expected more of him.
It’s not Ianto’s fault, Jack thinks bitterly, it’s nobody but his own. He knows how his actions towards Gwen combined with his own distantness must have seemed. It wasn’t like that, it really wasn't.
Jack pours himself another glass, the fifth or sixth he thinks, although it could easily be more - he’s not counting, he’s just hoping this one will be the one that dulls the pain. He’s not drunk like this in years, but today he welcomes the numbness that it will eventually bring, if only for a short while.
For years he’s resisted this, ever since he’d started waiting, knowing that he needed to be ready to travel at a moments notice. Now there's nothing but an eternity of losing everything and everyone he cares about stretching out in front of him, and the certain knowledge that the one person who’ll potentially be around as long as him thinks that he’s wrong and can’t bare to look at him.
Drinking the remainder of the glass quickly wanting the oblivion it will eventually bring if only he drinks enough of it, Jack starts to pour another.
“I think you’ve had enough.” Ianto carefully takes the glass from Jack’s hand and places it down on the desk.
“You’re right.” Jack’s voices wavers, his throat feeling raw from too much neat spirits. “I have.” He takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself and failing, the shock of having been snuck up on leaving his chest feeling tight. “I’ve had just about all I can take.”
“Jack?” Ianto asks, sounding concerned, as he moves closer. “What's wrong?”
“Me.” Jack feels like he’s choking, the room is hot and airless, and he staggers as tries to get up from his chair, legs feeling uncoordinated and weak. “I’m wrong, I’m all wrong.”
“No.” Ianto closes the distance between them again, putting a steadying hand on Jack’s arm.
“I’ve got it on good authority. The best.” Jack closes his eyes, the image of the Doctor telling him he’s wrong, and that he can’t bare to look at him, burning behind his eyelids.
“The Doctor,” Ianto says flatly, the annoyance in his voice barely contained. “He’s not perfect you know, he can make mistakes.” He smiles grimly for a moment. “I think anybody who saw or knew what happened at Torchwood One would know that.”
Jack doesn't answer, doesn't want to admit that Ianto could be right.
“I’ve tried not to push you for answers, but I know something’s wrong.” Ianto gently, but continues to firmly hold onto Jack’s arm, keeping him on his feet. “I thought that if you needed to talk about it you would.”
“I can’t.” Jack shakes his head, looking towards the door once more, wondering if he breaks free of Ianto’s grasp if he can make it out of the Hub before his legs give way.
“I guess what I’m saying is that whatever happened to you, whatever it was, you can tell me,” Ianto says, turning so that Jack is looking at him again.
“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
“I think I should be the judge of that, don’t you?”
“It won’t help.”
“I said that once, after Lisa.”
“Not the same. It really isn’t.” Jack hangs his head, knowing that he’s losing the argument, part of him scared that he’ll talk and the other part scared that he won’t.
“Maybe so,” Ianto says simply. “But I know that you were right and talking did help. Let me help you, please.”
“Ianto, I…” Jack’s voice fails him as he looks into Ianto’s eyes, seeing the love there.
“It doesn’t have to be here, or now.” Ianto lets go of Jack’s arm, trusting him not to run away. “Come home with me, you shouldn’t be alone not when you're like this, please.”
Nodding, not wanting to fight any more, Jack lets Ianto help him into his coat. Then, after setting the Hub’s alarms, Jack follows Ianto down to his car, and they drive the short distance to Ianto’s flat.
* * *
Ianto’s flat is cool and quiet, the muted colours and soft lighting calming, although Jack thinks that there is nothing could settle his nerves completely. His heart doesn’t feel like it’s trying to beat its way out of his chest anymore, and there’s enough air in the room so that every breath does feel like a battle.
Jack’s relieved that Ianto doesn’t start asking questions as soon as they arrive, choosing instead to make them tea and before settling on the sofa next to Jack.
“Talk to me,” Ianto says quietly, once they’ve finished their tea, his hand stroking through Jack’s hair, where Jack’s head rests against his shoulder.
“There’s so much you don’t know.” Jack wonders if Ianto can feel how much he’s shaking, or know how much effort it’s taking not to get up and run and never stop.
“Tell me what you can.” Leaning over, Ianto kisses Jack softly, looking in his eyes as he does. He’s still looking at Jack as he pulls back, saying, “Nothing you say could ever make me think less of you.”
“When I was gone there was this man, monster, he made me see things, feel things.” Jack closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, knowing that if he doesn’t tell Ianto now that maybe he never will. “I don’t know if any of it was true. I don’t even know what would be easier.”
* * *
It’s exhausting telling Ianto even a fraction of what happened to him during that nightmare year, the memories still so sharp and vivid that Jack finds he has to stop frequently just so that he doesn't break apart altogether.
Finally Jack stops, drained physically and emotionally. Closing his eyes he leans back against the sofa, sleep threatens, and Jack wonders whether he should try to fight it. He has on most nights since his return, certainly every night that he’s spent alone, tonight though he’s not alone, and he wonders whether he should try.
Jack is still trying to decide when Ianto gets up, saying, “You should try to rest.” His voice is less than steady as he turns away, starting towards the kitchen, adding, “You can have the bed, I’ll take the sofa. I’ve got extra bedding.”
“No.” Jack catches hold of Ianto’s wrist. “Come to bed with me.” He doesn’t want to be alone tonight, dreads the nightmares that will come if Ianto isn’t there to wake him and chase them away, and hold him close until he remembers where he is and knows that he’s safe.
Ianto looks shocked, stepping back from Jack, trying to pull away. “After what you’ve just told me? I don’t think…”
“You don’t think what?” Jack can feel anger start to flare up; hasn’t he lost enough without Ianto turning away from him as well? “That you can stand to be near me? Bear to touch me?”
“It’s not that.” Ianto looks distraught, just a hair’s breadth away from falling part himself.
“Then what?” Jack doesn’t think anything could possibly make him feel any more wretched than he does right now. He can’t believe how stupid he’s been, he should have kept his mouth shut, he shouldn’t have told Ianto, it was too much, too horrifying, he should have lied, said something else, anything else, because now he’s going to lose one of the few people that make his life bearable. It’s one final victory for Master, even though the bastard is months dead, or at least that’s how it feels.
“Jack, pleas…”
“No! I just want you to hold me. Is that so much to ask?” Jack can feel tears starting to well up. He can’t understand how he’s been able to tell Ianto even a fraction of what he’s been through and maintain some kind composure while the thought of having to spend just one night alone threatens to break him apart.
Ianto shakes his head, his own tears beginning to fall. “No, it’s not.” Then, walking over to Jack, he slowly puts his arms around him. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean...I still love you.”
Ianto’s words are barely heard as Jack clings to him, collapses against him, shaking, tears that he can’t stop spilling down his face. It’s a relief just to be able to let them out, to let go and know that there’s someone there to catch him. He’s been holding this inside for months, unable to let go, scared that if he did he’d never be able to stop.
* * *
How they get from clinging to each other in Ianto’s front room, to them lying in Ianto’s bed, him wearing a spare pair of Ianto’s pyjamas, Jack doesn’t know. It feels right though, natural, that they should be together like this.
Laying his head on Ianto’s chest, Jack listens to the steady single heartbeat. It’s alive, human, real, a connection to something that’s good about his life.
Jack’s half asleep, exhaustion finally winning out over the lingering fears about what nightmares will come, when Ianto takes his hand and places it over his heart, saying, “As long as you need me, Jack, I won’t leave you. I promise.”
Linking his fingers with Ianto’s, knowing that there really isn’t any need for words, Jack smiles and closes his eyes.
He’s not all right, not yet, and Jack knows that they are still going to be bad days - he works for Torchwood after all, bad days are kind of guaranteed - but if he’s got Ianto there to help him then perhaps one day he will be.