FIC: Magic and Mayhem at the Rift (13/?)
Name: Magic and Mayhem at the Rift
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/Ianto, Buffy/Spike, Xander/Anya, Willow/Tosh, Gwen/Rhys, implied Owen/Faith
Warning: Crossover insanity, the presence of vampires and demons on the rift and some mature content. Darkness and abuse.
Summary: The gang from Buffy come through the rift. Set after Torchwood episode Meat (2.04) and immediately after Buffy episode Older and Far Away (6.14) (just before the end, in fact), spoilers for all six seasons of Buffy and the first season of Torchwood.
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, if I did there would be a helluva lot more of Jack and Ianto teasing each other. If I owned Buffy, which I don't, Xander and Anya and Spike and Buffy would be together forever (not to say they will be together forever in this fic *evil grin*) and Willow wouldn't have so much damn bad luck.
CHAPTER Summary: Ianto and Owen get mad and Spike and Buffy exchange banter.
Darkness abound. Light flashback smut and no fluff at all in this chapter last time I checked, in fact this chapter was so dark I couldn't sleep until it was written. The next one won't be very light, either. Oh and, WOW! Two long chapters in one day ... uh *looks at clock* okay ... in 24 hours. Be happy!
~Chapter one~ ~Chapter two~ ~Chapter three~ ~Chapter four~ ~Chapter five~ ~Crack!fic smut (not required reading, but slots in here)~ ~Chapter six~ ~Chapter seven~ ~Chapter eight~ ~Chapter nine~ ~Chapter ten~ ~Chapter eleven~ ~Chapter twelve~
Wednesday
21st November 2007
Jack still hadn’t gotten used to coming back from the dead; every time he came back it was as if part of him stayed dead. The act of dying itself wasn’t too pleasant either, Jack thought, as he walked out of the morgue with Gwen. He smiled when he saw Ianto’s face, something that always made him feel whole again. He hugged Tosh but, when Ianto extended his arm, he threw caution to the wind and kissed his lover in front of the whole team. Then he forgave Owen for what he had done, after all, Jack himself had done worse.
But the time it took him to forgive Owen made him crave Ianto’s touch again, his warmth, his caress ... so, as soon as everyone had calmed down a bit, he took Ianto down to his bedroom and kissed him hard.
Clothes were discarded; even Ianto’s suit being thrown to the floor carelessly and, wanting more than just release, Jack begged Ianto to take him.
Mouths tangling, breaths mingling, they kissed and groped on the bed until Ianto entered him, gently, every thrust screaming of love rather than passion, both of them whispering each other’s names with every movement. “I love you,” they’d both said as they came, something neither of them had had the guts to say until then but something that was now needed. Love overwhelming him, Jack didn’t want to move from his bed, Ianto still buried inside of him, the younger man not wanting to move either.
But eventually they did have to move and Ianto, Owen and Tosh went out for coffee while Gwen quizzed him. He felt like he was being interrogated: he dreaded Owen’s eventual questioning, after all, Gwen had already known about Jack’s immortality, Owen however would have all those questions about how it was possible.
Then the TARDIS came and he left, not even saying goodbye to the man he claimed to love.
Friday 23rd February 2008
08:21
The images of his and Ianto’s time together before he left bled together, overlapping with the Master’s cruel laughter, the sounds of Jack sobbing and begging for Cole’s life and the terrible scream Jack had let out as he watched him die.
He jerked upright with a strangled cry, opening his eyes to find himself sitting on the sofa with Martha lying against his lap, still fast asleep. Jack moved his head and discovered, to his chagrin, that his neck was hurting with every movement, his head pounding from the night before. He wondered why he had ever thought getting everyone drunk and relaxed would be a good thing.
Then the memories of Owen singing ‘Lucky’ came back to him and he grinned to himself as he stroked Martha’s head, trying to gently rouse her back to consciousness. She woke, smacking her lips quietly and stretching. “You’re very comfortable, Harkness,” she informed him, with a small smile.
“So I’ve been told,” he replied, helping her sit up. He stood and walked over to the coffee machine, poking it a few times and wishing Ianto was there to make good coffee. After a minute he worked out how to make two bad cups of coffee and brought them across to Martha. “Not as good as Ianto’s I’m afraid,” he said, as Martha took her cup. He sat back down next to her and sipped the disgusting liquid. “Ugh ...” he complained.
“It’s not that bad,” Martha assured him as she drank hers. “I’ve had worse.”
“So,” Jack said, after a long moment. “You and Ianto were very cosy last night. Weren’t talking about me were you?” He put on a big grin, but it was very much fake.
“We were,” Martha said, honestly. “But I promised you I wouldn’t tell him about Cole and I didn’t.” She sighed and nudged him with her shoulder. “What do you take me for?” she asked, as she gritted her teeth from the pain in her arm. “Now, I’m going to go back to my room and get changed. Last thing your Mister Jones needs is to find us together with bed hair and me in the same clothes as last night. After all, we all know what a flirt you are.” She smiled as she stood up, putting the undrunk coffee on the table. “Ask him for some proper coffee when he gets in, would you?”
With that she exited the hub, walking through the hotel back to her room. It was lonely in the hotel now the Scoobies had gone and it was eerily quiet. Yes, there were a couple of boys staying downstairs, but without the constant kafuffle of the Scooby gang making their way around to each other’s rooms it was pretty much silent.
So, glad she was one of the few people who didn’t get hung-over, Martha made her way into her brightly lit room and over towards her suitcases. She hadn’t unpacked them yet, after all they’d only been delivered that morning on her request the evening before. She wasn’t planning on staying in Cardiff forever, but she did plan on staying for a little while, if only until Jack finally came clean to Ianto about Cole.
Cole.
Sighing deeply, Martha walked to the mirror and pulled off her jacket. It wasn’t easy being the only one that knew about Cole. In fact, she couldn’t help wondering why Jack had chosen her to confide in not the Doctor. Maybe it was the doctor/patient confidentiality, but she somehow doubted the Doctor would go running to Torchwood to spill all Jack’s secrets.
She pulled her shirt out of her trousers and over her head, leaving herself in only her bra. She turned sideways to the mirror and inspected the damage: five livid bruises on each of her arms from when Jack had grabbed her. She grimaced. She knew it was her fault, really, that he had done it; she should never have threatened to betray his confidence, she realised that now, and she couldn’t be resentful towards Jack for getting angry.
Martha let her hair down and walked into the bathroom, stripping the rest of her clothes off and standing under the cold water of the shower, hoping the low temperature would reduce the swelling on her arms. During what she had dubbed The Year of Hell (in homage to Star Trek: Voyager), Martha had learned never to take a shower for granted. In that year she’d spent most of it dirty and smelly, unable to find a safe place to sleep at night, let alone somewhere to get clean. She was glad that when she finally got back to the Doctor she had managed to have a shower not long before.
She shivered at the icy droplets hitting her warm skin, bringing relief to the pain on her upper arms, and cleaned herself off, quickly, so as not to have to stay under the cold spray for any longer than necessary. She stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, wrapping it around her torso so that it hung down to her knees; you could never tell when Jack would drop in uninvited.
She was just rummaging around in her bag for bruise cream when there was a knock on the door. Ironically, she was grateful, deciding to ask whoever was there, as long as she trusted them, of course, to help her apply it. It wasn’t easy rubbing cream into your own arms.
Checking to see who it was first through the peephole, Martha opened the door to Ianto, hoping he wouldn’t ask questions. “Ianto, hi,” she said, holding her towel with one hand and gesturing with the other that he should come in. She wasn’t sure whether she was impressed or insulted that his eyes didn’t even wander once as he smiled at her and walked in.
“I didn’t realise you weren’t dressed,” he said, apologetically. “Jack sent me with this.” He held out a steaming cup of coffee which, still holding her towel with one hand, Martha took and sipped.
“I think I love you,” she said, with a big grin. “Just what I needed. How’s your head?” she asked, referring to the hangover she assumed he had.
“I’ve had worse,” he replied, taking the empty mug back off her. She walked across the room and reached into her bag, careful not to bend over too much.
“Could you help me a moment, please, Ianto?” she asked, with a smile, holding up the bruise cream, which Ianto took. She turned sideways. “Could you just rub some into my bruises please?” She was silently chanting: Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask, don't ask...
“What happened?” he asked. She swore mentally, the kind of word that would make the Doctor blush.
“It’s nothing,” she replied as he started rubbing a small amount of the cream onto her arm, the soothing effect of the cream and the massage making her sigh.
“It looks like someone grabbed you,” Ianto said. He still looked calm, but something in her eyes said he wasn’t pleased. He rubbed the cream around the bruise in a circular motion, both soothing and painful. Martha shrugged. “Who did it?” Ianto demanded, after a moment.
“It’s nothing,” she repeated.
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Is someone abusing you?” Ianto asked the question, his eyes full of concern.
Martha bit her lip. “No ...” she said, resisting the urge to say ‘not anymore’. She’d never told anyone about Sammy. After all, it had been between her and him and, after he hit her and knocked her out for an hour she had left. The next day she’d ended up on the moon, infatuated with an alien and then travelling to the end of the universe. She closed her eyes to block out memories and Ianto reached out, tilting her head so that when her eyes reopened they locked with his.
“Who did this to you?” he asked. “Was it Owen?” He doubted, somehow, that even Owen could physically harm a woman (especially Martha) and, as he asked, he began listing the possibilities in his head. Tosh? Unless Martha had made a pass at Willow or had destroyed her computer, he doubted Tosh would (or could) get violent. There was the Scoobies, but she didn’t really know them, anyway, and they seemed mostly harmless, except for Spike, who was neutered. Finally his mind landed on Jack...
“It wasn’t Owen.”
...he doubted Jack was capable of hurting someone he loved, either, but something was screaming in the back of his head that he didn’t really know Jack, did he? He didn’t even know his real name. “Was it Jack?”
Martha flinched visibly and Ianto’s blood boiled. “You don't understand!” she exclaimed, seeing the rage in his eyes. “It was my fault ...”
“It was your fault he caused you these?” He grabbed Martha gently and manoeuvred her in front of the mirror, pointing at the large, purple bruises.
“Yes,” she said, nodding as Ianto released his grip. “I ... I said something I shouldn’t have.”
“That’s hardly justification,” Ianto snarled.
Martha held the towel tight against her chest. “I threatened to betray his confidence to yo- someone,” she quickly corrected. “He trusted me and I ... Oh God ...” She sighed, leaning against the cool glass of the mirror.
“You said you’d tell me whatever it is Jack isn’t telling me.”
She nodded. “I wouldn’t ... I just wanted him to tell you about C-” She stopped herself before the truth could escape.
“About what, Martha?” Ianto demanded, taking the bruise cream and rubbing it tenderly into her other arm. “What is it he won’t tell me?”
“It’s not my place,” she said, firmly, as he finished, handing her back the tube. “Now, stay here a second, I’ll come back to the hub with you.” She turned to her bag and retrieved some clothing, holding it as she walked into the bathroom.
Not even five minutes later she emerged, wearing a purple long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. “Ah, it’s nice to not be on duty,” she said, with a grin, walking to her door and opening it, stepping through, followed by Ianto. As they got into the hall he offered her his arm and she put her hand in the crook of his elbow with a small smile. “Ever the gentleman,” she complimented.
“I try,” he replied.
09:12
Buffy opened her eyes and was hit by the blinding light of the sun streaming in through her window. With that thought in mind, she jumped out of bed and drew the curtains a couple of seconds before the power of her hangover hit. She groaned as she collapsed back on the bed and, a minute later Spike emerged from under the bed. “Thanks for that,” he said, gesturing at the window. “I woke to find myself on fire.”
She smiled wanly as she climbed out of bed, noting to herself that she was wearing pyjamas (had she not slept with Spike the night before? She couldn’t quite remember.), that her mouth felt like something dead had been in it (again, he wondered if she’d had sex with Spike) and that her head was pounding like there was no tomorrow. “Ugh,” she complained, running a hand through her blonde locks.
“Hung over?” Spike enquired, approaching from behind to kiss her neck, softly. She pushed him away.
“Yes and ... oh God ...” She ran into the bathroom and threw up, one of the reactions she got from alcohol resurfacing. “I am never drinking again,” she yelled at Spike as she emerged a few minutes later.
“Join the club,” Spike replied, with a grin, as she reached for her clothing. He noted she was going for the same mini-skirt she had worn the day before, but then she paused.
“Is it still snowing out?” she asked. Spike shrugged. “Well, can you check?”
He glowered at her. “You fancy me as dust then?”
Buffy sighed. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think.”
He sighed and flopped back on the bed. “No one ever does,” he complained, irritably.
“No one else cares,” Buffy replied, pulling on her skirt over her pyjama bottoms and slipping them off underneath, pulling her underwear on under her skirt.
“Now you’re modest,” Spike commented. “You weren’t the other day.”
“Being naked during ... you know ... is different to being your private striptease.”
“Actually, it’s my dresstease,” he corrected. “Wait ... did you say you cared?”
She turned to look at him, shrugging. “I don't know,” she replied, awkwardly.
“No, no, no, I’m sure you said you cared!” Spike exclaimed, excitedly.
“I said no one else cares ...” Buffy pointed out, putting on her bra under her top before taking the top off. “I didn’t say I, specifically, cared.”
“But you do,” he said, pouting adorably.
“I ...” She sighed deeply. “If I said yes, would you shut up?”
“Maybe.”
“Fine, I care, okay?”
Spike jumped off the bed, walking around to stand behind Buffy, wrapping his arms around her waist and, much to her chagrin, nuzzling her neck. “Why don't you stay here then, with me?”
“I thought you said you’d shut up?” Buffy demanded, arching into the touch nonetheless.
“I said maybe if you said yes, and you didn’t say ‘yes’.”
Buffy sighed and pulled away. “I want to go into ... work ...” she said. “I want to be reliable and earn my wage.”
Spike sighed and stepped back a bit. For the first time Buffy noticed he was stark naked - and aroused. She averted her eyes. “Shy now,” Spike commented, with a smirk.
“No, late,” Buffy said. “Contract said the working day starts at nine.” She picked up her moderately-sized leather bag of axes, stakes and other pointy things and left the flat, leaving Spike to grumble to himself and go back to sleep.
Buffy soon learned that public transport in this universe really, really sucked.
10:44
He had tried to restrain himself. Really he had. For the past hour and a quarter he had watched Jack talking, jovially, on the phone to the Prime Minister and the leader of U.N.I.T., talking quietly to Martha, Gwen and Owen in his office and laughing loudly at a joke Owen told.
He was too happy, in Ianto’s opinion, he should be a lot guiltier after the bruises he had inflicted on his so-called friend. Ianto idly wondered if, one day, Jack would hurt him, too. He thought fondly of his stun-gun as he piled coffee on a tray and carried it up to Jack and the others.
“Thanks Ianto,” Jack said, with a smile. “Is everything alright?” He had caught Ianto’s expression. He wasn’t surprised.
“Of course, Sir,” Ianto replied, using the word ‘sir’ like a swearword.
“Hang on a sec,” Jack said, as Ianto turned away, putting his hand on Ianto’s arm. Ianto turned on him, glaring. “What’s the matter with you?”
Ianto’s blood boiled, not caring that Owen, Gwen and Martha were in the room. “What’s wrong with me?” he snarled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Jack jerked back like he’d been stung. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Ianto gestured widely at Martha. “Have you seen her?” Jack glanced at her then back at Ianto. “Her arms, Jack!”
Jack paled and he looked at Martha, who averted her eyes. “Martha?”
“It’s fine,” she muttered, hoping to stop Ianto from making a scene.
“It’s not fine,” Ianto insisted. “She’s black and blue from where you grabbed her!”
Jack flinched, not even wondering how Ianto knew. “I didn’t ...”
“You didn’t what?” Ianto snarled as Gwen backed out of the room, pulling Owen with her. Martha looked at Jack and Ianto helplessly before Owen grabbed her hand and dragged her out too.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her ...” Jack said, staring at his feet. “I just ... I didn’t want you to know ...”
“Know what?”
“About him.”
Ianto’s blood froze. Him. Did that mean what he thought it meant? “You hurt Martha because you didn’t want me to know you cheated on me while you were away?”
Jack’s head snapped up, anger in his eyes. “I never - would never - cheat on you, Ianto!” Jack insisted. “It wasn’t that.”
“Well what was it, Jack?” Ianto said, almost crying. “What was so important about ‘him’ that it was worth manhandling Martha to keep from me?”
Jack averted his eyes. “I don't want to hurt you.”
“But you want to hurt Martha?” Jack shook his head and Ianto reached out, touching him on the arms, gently. “Tell me, Jack!” he yelled. “You told me about the end of the world ... what’s so bad about this?”
“His name was Cole,” Jack said, his voice shaking.
Ianto nodded. “Okay, good start. Who was he?”
Jack locked his eyes with Ianto’s. The pain in them made the younger man start. “Not here ...” he said. “Downstairs ... private ... away from the CCTV.” He slipped his hand into Ianto’s. “I’ll tell you everything about him.”
Ianto nodded, not missing the way Jack breathed, a moment later, the word ‘everything’ a second time, as he pulled Ianto down into his bedroom.
10:47
Buffy walked into the hub to the sound of shouting. Two sets of shouting, in fact. One was coming from the office upstairs: Jack was surprisingly silent, but Ianto was shouting something indecipherable. The other set of shouting was coming from the autopsy bay.
“Just let me have a look!” Owen yelled as Martha resisted his inspection.
“It’s fine, Owen, I’m a doctor too, remember?” Martha retorted, angrily. “They’ll heal.”
“What did he do to you?” Owen demanded, angrily, as Buffy approached.
“He just grabbed me. It was my fault,” Martha reiterated for a fourth time. It seemed to be that Owen wanted to think that Jack had tried to sexually assault her, which, of course, was so far from the truth it was in an entirely different galaxy.
“What’s going on?” Buffy asked Gwen, deadpan.
“Jack hurt Martha, Ianto got mad, Owen got madder, Ianto took it out on Jack, Owen took it out on the victim” - she gestured at Martha - “at least Ianto has some shred of sense.”
“Why did Jack do it?” Buffy probed.
Gwen shrugged. “Don't know,” she said, “but he probably had a good reason. Will you leave her alone, Owen?!” Gwen shouted the last bit at Owen, who moved back from Martha. Martha sent Gwen a grateful look and stood up, putting her shirt back on to cover up the bruises.
“They’ll fade,” she said, coldly, to Owen. She glanced up at Jack’s office.
But his wounds will never heal.
~Next Chapter~
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/Ianto, Buffy/Spike, Xander/Anya, Willow/Tosh, Gwen/Rhys, implied Owen/Faith
Warning: Crossover insanity, the presence of vampires and demons on the rift and some mature content. Darkness and abuse.
Summary: The gang from Buffy come through the rift. Set after Torchwood episode Meat (2.04) and immediately after Buffy episode Older and Far Away (6.14) (just before the end, in fact), spoilers for all six seasons of Buffy and the first season of Torchwood.
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, if I did there would be a helluva lot more of Jack and Ianto teasing each other. If I owned Buffy, which I don't, Xander and Anya and Spike and Buffy would be together forever (not to say they will be together forever in this fic *evil grin*) and Willow wouldn't have so much damn bad luck.
CHAPTER Summary: Ianto and Owen get mad and Spike and Buffy exchange banter.
Darkness abound. Light flashback smut and no fluff at all in this chapter last time I checked, in fact this chapter was so dark I couldn't sleep until it was written. The next one won't be very light, either. Oh and, WOW! Two long chapters in one day ... uh *looks at clock* okay ... in 24 hours. Be happy!
~Chapter one~ ~Chapter two~ ~Chapter three~ ~Chapter four~ ~Chapter five~ ~Crack!fic smut (not required reading, but slots in here)~ ~Chapter six~ ~Chapter seven~ ~Chapter eight~ ~Chapter nine~ ~Chapter ten~ ~Chapter eleven~ ~Chapter twelve~
Wednesday
21st November 2007
Jack still hadn’t gotten used to coming back from the dead; every time he came back it was as if part of him stayed dead. The act of dying itself wasn’t too pleasant either, Jack thought, as he walked out of the morgue with Gwen. He smiled when he saw Ianto’s face, something that always made him feel whole again. He hugged Tosh but, when Ianto extended his arm, he threw caution to the wind and kissed his lover in front of the whole team. Then he forgave Owen for what he had done, after all, Jack himself had done worse.
But the time it took him to forgive Owen made him crave Ianto’s touch again, his warmth, his caress ... so, as soon as everyone had calmed down a bit, he took Ianto down to his bedroom and kissed him hard.
Clothes were discarded; even Ianto’s suit being thrown to the floor carelessly and, wanting more than just release, Jack begged Ianto to take him.
Mouths tangling, breaths mingling, they kissed and groped on the bed until Ianto entered him, gently, every thrust screaming of love rather than passion, both of them whispering each other’s names with every movement. “I love you,” they’d both said as they came, something neither of them had had the guts to say until then but something that was now needed. Love overwhelming him, Jack didn’t want to move from his bed, Ianto still buried inside of him, the younger man not wanting to move either.
But eventually they did have to move and Ianto, Owen and Tosh went out for coffee while Gwen quizzed him. He felt like he was being interrogated: he dreaded Owen’s eventual questioning, after all, Gwen had already known about Jack’s immortality, Owen however would have all those questions about how it was possible.
Then the TARDIS came and he left, not even saying goodbye to the man he claimed to love.
Friday 23rd February 2008
08:21
The images of his and Ianto’s time together before he left bled together, overlapping with the Master’s cruel laughter, the sounds of Jack sobbing and begging for Cole’s life and the terrible scream Jack had let out as he watched him die.
He jerked upright with a strangled cry, opening his eyes to find himself sitting on the sofa with Martha lying against his lap, still fast asleep. Jack moved his head and discovered, to his chagrin, that his neck was hurting with every movement, his head pounding from the night before. He wondered why he had ever thought getting everyone drunk and relaxed would be a good thing.
Then the memories of Owen singing ‘Lucky’ came back to him and he grinned to himself as he stroked Martha’s head, trying to gently rouse her back to consciousness. She woke, smacking her lips quietly and stretching. “You’re very comfortable, Harkness,” she informed him, with a small smile.
“So I’ve been told,” he replied, helping her sit up. He stood and walked over to the coffee machine, poking it a few times and wishing Ianto was there to make good coffee. After a minute he worked out how to make two bad cups of coffee and brought them across to Martha. “Not as good as Ianto’s I’m afraid,” he said, as Martha took her cup. He sat back down next to her and sipped the disgusting liquid. “Ugh ...” he complained.
“It’s not that bad,” Martha assured him as she drank hers. “I’ve had worse.”
“So,” Jack said, after a long moment. “You and Ianto were very cosy last night. Weren’t talking about me were you?” He put on a big grin, but it was very much fake.
“We were,” Martha said, honestly. “But I promised you I wouldn’t tell him about Cole and I didn’t.” She sighed and nudged him with her shoulder. “What do you take me for?” she asked, as she gritted her teeth from the pain in her arm. “Now, I’m going to go back to my room and get changed. Last thing your Mister Jones needs is to find us together with bed hair and me in the same clothes as last night. After all, we all know what a flirt you are.” She smiled as she stood up, putting the undrunk coffee on the table. “Ask him for some proper coffee when he gets in, would you?”
With that she exited the hub, walking through the hotel back to her room. It was lonely in the hotel now the Scoobies had gone and it was eerily quiet. Yes, there were a couple of boys staying downstairs, but without the constant kafuffle of the Scooby gang making their way around to each other’s rooms it was pretty much silent.
So, glad she was one of the few people who didn’t get hung-over, Martha made her way into her brightly lit room and over towards her suitcases. She hadn’t unpacked them yet, after all they’d only been delivered that morning on her request the evening before. She wasn’t planning on staying in Cardiff forever, but she did plan on staying for a little while, if only until Jack finally came clean to Ianto about Cole.
Cole.
Sighing deeply, Martha walked to the mirror and pulled off her jacket. It wasn’t easy being the only one that knew about Cole. In fact, she couldn’t help wondering why Jack had chosen her to confide in not the Doctor. Maybe it was the doctor/patient confidentiality, but she somehow doubted the Doctor would go running to Torchwood to spill all Jack’s secrets.
She pulled her shirt out of her trousers and over her head, leaving herself in only her bra. She turned sideways to the mirror and inspected the damage: five livid bruises on each of her arms from when Jack had grabbed her. She grimaced. She knew it was her fault, really, that he had done it; she should never have threatened to betray his confidence, she realised that now, and she couldn’t be resentful towards Jack for getting angry.
Martha let her hair down and walked into the bathroom, stripping the rest of her clothes off and standing under the cold water of the shower, hoping the low temperature would reduce the swelling on her arms. During what she had dubbed The Year of Hell (in homage to Star Trek: Voyager), Martha had learned never to take a shower for granted. In that year she’d spent most of it dirty and smelly, unable to find a safe place to sleep at night, let alone somewhere to get clean. She was glad that when she finally got back to the Doctor she had managed to have a shower not long before.
She shivered at the icy droplets hitting her warm skin, bringing relief to the pain on her upper arms, and cleaned herself off, quickly, so as not to have to stay under the cold spray for any longer than necessary. She stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, wrapping it around her torso so that it hung down to her knees; you could never tell when Jack would drop in uninvited.
She was just rummaging around in her bag for bruise cream when there was a knock on the door. Ironically, she was grateful, deciding to ask whoever was there, as long as she trusted them, of course, to help her apply it. It wasn’t easy rubbing cream into your own arms.
Checking to see who it was first through the peephole, Martha opened the door to Ianto, hoping he wouldn’t ask questions. “Ianto, hi,” she said, holding her towel with one hand and gesturing with the other that he should come in. She wasn’t sure whether she was impressed or insulted that his eyes didn’t even wander once as he smiled at her and walked in.
“I didn’t realise you weren’t dressed,” he said, apologetically. “Jack sent me with this.” He held out a steaming cup of coffee which, still holding her towel with one hand, Martha took and sipped.
“I think I love you,” she said, with a big grin. “Just what I needed. How’s your head?” she asked, referring to the hangover she assumed he had.
“I’ve had worse,” he replied, taking the empty mug back off her. She walked across the room and reached into her bag, careful not to bend over too much.
“Could you help me a moment, please, Ianto?” she asked, with a smile, holding up the bruise cream, which Ianto took. She turned sideways. “Could you just rub some into my bruises please?” She was silently chanting: Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask, don't ask...
“What happened?” he asked. She swore mentally, the kind of word that would make the Doctor blush.
“It’s nothing,” she replied as he started rubbing a small amount of the cream onto her arm, the soothing effect of the cream and the massage making her sigh.
“It looks like someone grabbed you,” Ianto said. He still looked calm, but something in her eyes said he wasn’t pleased. He rubbed the cream around the bruise in a circular motion, both soothing and painful. Martha shrugged. “Who did it?” Ianto demanded, after a moment.
“It’s nothing,” she repeated.
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Is someone abusing you?” Ianto asked the question, his eyes full of concern.
Martha bit her lip. “No ...” she said, resisting the urge to say ‘not anymore’. She’d never told anyone about Sammy. After all, it had been between her and him and, after he hit her and knocked her out for an hour she had left. The next day she’d ended up on the moon, infatuated with an alien and then travelling to the end of the universe. She closed her eyes to block out memories and Ianto reached out, tilting her head so that when her eyes reopened they locked with his.
“Who did this to you?” he asked. “Was it Owen?” He doubted, somehow, that even Owen could physically harm a woman (especially Martha) and, as he asked, he began listing the possibilities in his head. Tosh? Unless Martha had made a pass at Willow or had destroyed her computer, he doubted Tosh would (or could) get violent. There was the Scoobies, but she didn’t really know them, anyway, and they seemed mostly harmless, except for Spike, who was neutered. Finally his mind landed on Jack...
“It wasn’t Owen.”
...he doubted Jack was capable of hurting someone he loved, either, but something was screaming in the back of his head that he didn’t really know Jack, did he? He didn’t even know his real name. “Was it Jack?”
Martha flinched visibly and Ianto’s blood boiled. “You don't understand!” she exclaimed, seeing the rage in his eyes. “It was my fault ...”
“It was your fault he caused you these?” He grabbed Martha gently and manoeuvred her in front of the mirror, pointing at the large, purple bruises.
“Yes,” she said, nodding as Ianto released his grip. “I ... I said something I shouldn’t have.”
“That’s hardly justification,” Ianto snarled.
Martha held the towel tight against her chest. “I threatened to betray his confidence to yo- someone,” she quickly corrected. “He trusted me and I ... Oh God ...” She sighed, leaning against the cool glass of the mirror.
“You said you’d tell me whatever it is Jack isn’t telling me.”
She nodded. “I wouldn’t ... I just wanted him to tell you about C-” She stopped herself before the truth could escape.
“About what, Martha?” Ianto demanded, taking the bruise cream and rubbing it tenderly into her other arm. “What is it he won’t tell me?”
“It’s not my place,” she said, firmly, as he finished, handing her back the tube. “Now, stay here a second, I’ll come back to the hub with you.” She turned to her bag and retrieved some clothing, holding it as she walked into the bathroom.
Not even five minutes later she emerged, wearing a purple long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. “Ah, it’s nice to not be on duty,” she said, with a grin, walking to her door and opening it, stepping through, followed by Ianto. As they got into the hall he offered her his arm and she put her hand in the crook of his elbow with a small smile. “Ever the gentleman,” she complimented.
“I try,” he replied.
09:12
Buffy opened her eyes and was hit by the blinding light of the sun streaming in through her window. With that thought in mind, she jumped out of bed and drew the curtains a couple of seconds before the power of her hangover hit. She groaned as she collapsed back on the bed and, a minute later Spike emerged from under the bed. “Thanks for that,” he said, gesturing at the window. “I woke to find myself on fire.”
She smiled wanly as she climbed out of bed, noting to herself that she was wearing pyjamas (had she not slept with Spike the night before? She couldn’t quite remember.), that her mouth felt like something dead had been in it (again, he wondered if she’d had sex with Spike) and that her head was pounding like there was no tomorrow. “Ugh,” she complained, running a hand through her blonde locks.
“Hung over?” Spike enquired, approaching from behind to kiss her neck, softly. She pushed him away.
“Yes and ... oh God ...” She ran into the bathroom and threw up, one of the reactions she got from alcohol resurfacing. “I am never drinking again,” she yelled at Spike as she emerged a few minutes later.
“Join the club,” Spike replied, with a grin, as she reached for her clothing. He noted she was going for the same mini-skirt she had worn the day before, but then she paused.
“Is it still snowing out?” she asked. Spike shrugged. “Well, can you check?”
He glowered at her. “You fancy me as dust then?”
Buffy sighed. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think.”
He sighed and flopped back on the bed. “No one ever does,” he complained, irritably.
“No one else cares,” Buffy replied, pulling on her skirt over her pyjama bottoms and slipping them off underneath, pulling her underwear on under her skirt.
“Now you’re modest,” Spike commented. “You weren’t the other day.”
“Being naked during ... you know ... is different to being your private striptease.”
“Actually, it’s my dresstease,” he corrected. “Wait ... did you say you cared?”
She turned to look at him, shrugging. “I don't know,” she replied, awkwardly.
“No, no, no, I’m sure you said you cared!” Spike exclaimed, excitedly.
“I said no one else cares ...” Buffy pointed out, putting on her bra under her top before taking the top off. “I didn’t say I, specifically, cared.”
“But you do,” he said, pouting adorably.
“I ...” She sighed deeply. “If I said yes, would you shut up?”
“Maybe.”
“Fine, I care, okay?”
Spike jumped off the bed, walking around to stand behind Buffy, wrapping his arms around her waist and, much to her chagrin, nuzzling her neck. “Why don't you stay here then, with me?”
“I thought you said you’d shut up?” Buffy demanded, arching into the touch nonetheless.
“I said maybe if you said yes, and you didn’t say ‘yes’.”
Buffy sighed and pulled away. “I want to go into ... work ...” she said. “I want to be reliable and earn my wage.”
Spike sighed and stepped back a bit. For the first time Buffy noticed he was stark naked - and aroused. She averted her eyes. “Shy now,” Spike commented, with a smirk.
“No, late,” Buffy said. “Contract said the working day starts at nine.” She picked up her moderately-sized leather bag of axes, stakes and other pointy things and left the flat, leaving Spike to grumble to himself and go back to sleep.
Buffy soon learned that public transport in this universe really, really sucked.
10:44
He had tried to restrain himself. Really he had. For the past hour and a quarter he had watched Jack talking, jovially, on the phone to the Prime Minister and the leader of U.N.I.T., talking quietly to Martha, Gwen and Owen in his office and laughing loudly at a joke Owen told.
He was too happy, in Ianto’s opinion, he should be a lot guiltier after the bruises he had inflicted on his so-called friend. Ianto idly wondered if, one day, Jack would hurt him, too. He thought fondly of his stun-gun as he piled coffee on a tray and carried it up to Jack and the others.
“Thanks Ianto,” Jack said, with a smile. “Is everything alright?” He had caught Ianto’s expression. He wasn’t surprised.
“Of course, Sir,” Ianto replied, using the word ‘sir’ like a swearword.
“Hang on a sec,” Jack said, as Ianto turned away, putting his hand on Ianto’s arm. Ianto turned on him, glaring. “What’s the matter with you?”
Ianto’s blood boiled, not caring that Owen, Gwen and Martha were in the room. “What’s wrong with me?” he snarled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Jack jerked back like he’d been stung. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Ianto gestured widely at Martha. “Have you seen her?” Jack glanced at her then back at Ianto. “Her arms, Jack!”
Jack paled and he looked at Martha, who averted her eyes. “Martha?”
“It’s fine,” she muttered, hoping to stop Ianto from making a scene.
“It’s not fine,” Ianto insisted. “She’s black and blue from where you grabbed her!”
Jack flinched, not even wondering how Ianto knew. “I didn’t ...”
“You didn’t what?” Ianto snarled as Gwen backed out of the room, pulling Owen with her. Martha looked at Jack and Ianto helplessly before Owen grabbed her hand and dragged her out too.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her ...” Jack said, staring at his feet. “I just ... I didn’t want you to know ...”
“Know what?”
“About him.”
Ianto’s blood froze. Him. Did that mean what he thought it meant? “You hurt Martha because you didn’t want me to know you cheated on me while you were away?”
Jack’s head snapped up, anger in his eyes. “I never - would never - cheat on you, Ianto!” Jack insisted. “It wasn’t that.”
“Well what was it, Jack?” Ianto said, almost crying. “What was so important about ‘him’ that it was worth manhandling Martha to keep from me?”
Jack averted his eyes. “I don't want to hurt you.”
“But you want to hurt Martha?” Jack shook his head and Ianto reached out, touching him on the arms, gently. “Tell me, Jack!” he yelled. “You told me about the end of the world ... what’s so bad about this?”
“His name was Cole,” Jack said, his voice shaking.
Ianto nodded. “Okay, good start. Who was he?”
Jack locked his eyes with Ianto’s. The pain in them made the younger man start. “Not here ...” he said. “Downstairs ... private ... away from the CCTV.” He slipped his hand into Ianto’s. “I’ll tell you everything about him.”
Ianto nodded, not missing the way Jack breathed, a moment later, the word ‘everything’ a second time, as he pulled Ianto down into his bedroom.
10:47
Buffy walked into the hub to the sound of shouting. Two sets of shouting, in fact. One was coming from the office upstairs: Jack was surprisingly silent, but Ianto was shouting something indecipherable. The other set of shouting was coming from the autopsy bay.
“Just let me have a look!” Owen yelled as Martha resisted his inspection.
“It’s fine, Owen, I’m a doctor too, remember?” Martha retorted, angrily. “They’ll heal.”
“What did he do to you?” Owen demanded, angrily, as Buffy approached.
“He just grabbed me. It was my fault,” Martha reiterated for a fourth time. It seemed to be that Owen wanted to think that Jack had tried to sexually assault her, which, of course, was so far from the truth it was in an entirely different galaxy.
“What’s going on?” Buffy asked Gwen, deadpan.
“Jack hurt Martha, Ianto got mad, Owen got madder, Ianto took it out on Jack, Owen took it out on the victim” - she gestured at Martha - “at least Ianto has some shred of sense.”
“Why did Jack do it?” Buffy probed.
Gwen shrugged. “Don't know,” she said, “but he probably had a good reason. Will you leave her alone, Owen?!” Gwen shouted the last bit at Owen, who moved back from Martha. Martha sent Gwen a grateful look and stood up, putting her shirt back on to cover up the bruises.
“They’ll fade,” she said, coldly, to Owen. She glanced up at Jack’s office.
But his wounds will never heal.
~Next Chapter~