Just Another Word (Part 9)
Rating: PG-13 (will eventually be NC-17)
Word count: ~ 2,100 (this part)
Warnings: More angst. And…uh, I guess you could call it a character death? But not exactly?
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the creators, and no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Again, updates will be irregular for a while. I've started work, so free time is in short supply. (Just when I've started three new Janto stories that are eating my brain, joy.) Sorry!
Chapter Nine
It takes Ianto a long time to realize that the pounding he hears is not coming from inside his skull, but from his door. After that realization, it takes several more minutes for him to pull himself together enough to stand up and stagger out of his bedroom. The windows are growing light, which is a surprise-he got home late in the evening, and it appears to be coming dawn.
He’s been a little lost in his own head, it seems.
Ianto takes a deep breath before he reaches for the doorknob. Really, he’s got every right to a nervous breakdown-
(Immortal, a little voice reminds him, and sets his heart pounding again.)
-but that doesn’t mean he wants anyone else to see him like this.
Somehow, it’s a surprise to find Jack on the other side of his door. The Captain is frowning, which is less of a surprise, since Ianto is fairly certain it took him longer than it should have to respond to the knocking, but there's something else in his gaze as well.
Something guilty, Ianto thinks, startling himself with the recognition. He usually can't read Jack that well.
Jack stares at him for a long moment, frown fixed in place, and then gently shoves by him. He’s carrying a paper bag that has turned dark in places with grease, and emits a sweet, yeasty smell. Ianto’s stomach rumbles, which is as surprising as Jack's presence; he’d have thought he was too sick with nerves to be hungry.
Setting the bag down on the kitchen counter, Jack turns to survey Ianto again. His face is softer this time, though, and there's something dangerously like empathy in his eyes. “How are you doing, Yan?” he asks, and for once it’s not full of bravado and showmanship and over-bright cheer, but honest warmth.
It’s lovely, really-beyond lovely-and sends a current of warmness all the way down to Ianto’s toes.
To give himself something to do, he starts a pot of coffee and pulls out plates. Jack takes them from his fingers and sets them out, which rather defeats the purpose, but Ianto is grateful for it anyway. The only memories he has of Jack in his apartment are the two times he came while Ianto was on suspension. This memory will be infinitely better, despite the nervous breakdown that preceded it, because Jack is here for Ianto, for Ianto’s sake.
Thoughts like that make the tiny curl of heat in his gut, which he’s been ignoring since their encounter at the warehouse, wriggle and grow. Right now, exhausted and unsteady and uncertain of the future, Ianto can't-won't-push it down and ignore it.
There's a scrape of china against wood, and Ianto blinks back to awareness to find Jack pushing a plate with a chocolate donut and a blueberry muffin towards him. When he meets the Captain’s eyes, the blue is warm and just a little wicked.
“Thinking good thoughts?” he asks, and the innuendo in those three words is enough to make a hooker blush. It’s so very Jack that Ianto chokes on a laugh, nearly spilling the coffee he’s holding.
Laughter feels good. Ianto had almost forgotten.
Jack must see the change in his face, the shift in his mood, because he grins back and tears into his donut, scattering icing sugar everywhere. There's a camaraderie between them that hadn’t existed before, and Ianto can't help but wonder at it. Why would discovering that the tea boy has a sentient computer stuck in his head, likely keeping him alive forever, make Jack more at ease around him? It shouldn’t, not unless…
There's a flicker of thought there, an idea half-grasped, but it’s gone in an instant as Jack points a chunk of donut at Ianto and orders sternly, “Eat.”
(It would be more impressive if Jack didn’t have sugar all around his mouth, just like a little kid.)
Raising his hands in amused surrender, Ianto does as he’s told.
*.~.*.~.*
They end up on the couch Tosh picked out, an overstuffed, cream-colored monstrosity that is sinfully comfortable and has a tendency to swallow whoever sits there and not let them go. Jack sinks into the cushions with a look of blissful delight. Then again, he’s a sensualist when he has the option, and appreciates the luxuries even if he doesn’t buy them for himself.
“Cozy,” he remarks, looking at Ianto with a raised brow.
Ianto rolls his eyes, familiar enough with his Captain’s thought process to know what’s going through his head. “Tosh's choice,” he says simply, and is startled to see a flash go through blue eyes-something dark, deep, and a little jolting.
“Tosh?” Jack repeats, and only those know his very well indeed would notice the faint narrowing of his eyes.
Raising an eyebrow at the blank tone-because Jack is many things, but blank is never one of them-Ianto affirms, “Tosh. She’s a good friend.”
It’s the right thing to say, apparently, because Jack relaxes whatever tension was in his shoulders. “Good,” he says, and while there's relief in it-faint, but noticeable-there's also true satisfaction. “It’s good you're close. I was worried about both of you.”
Because you're both similar. Because you’ve both betrayed and been betrayed, he doesn’t say, but the words are there anyway.
Suddenly, it’s too much. Ianto struggles to his feet, escaping the couch’s clinging hold, and takes three wavering steps away. “Why are you here, Jack?” he asks, and though he meant it as a demand, it emerges more grim and exhausted than insistent.
Jack is absolutely silent, absolutely still. Ianto’s not even sure he’s breathing.
And then Jack says, “Because I can't die, either.”
Ianto’s legs give way beneath him as that earlier, forgotten half-thought comes bolting back, fully formed and all but Technicolor in its brilliance. Jack tries to catch him, and misses, but Ianto doesn’t even notice.
Oh.
Oh.
It makes so much sense.
Jack's never injured, no matter how many times he goes off after Weevils or other hostile aliens alone. Ianto’s always chalked it up to a greater amount of experience and left it at that. But he saw Jack get hurt, that first time they met. He had seen the blood, even when Jack waved him off. And then there's the fact that Jack has already far outdone Torchwood’s life expectancy, with few physical scars to show for it. He looks the same in pictures of the former team as he does now, no aging to speak of, and-
Jack can't die.
“Yan?” Large, gentle hands cup his face, tilting his head so that he’s staring up into Jack's concerned eyes. Jack's hands are warm, so warm. Ianto closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Physical contact since Lisa’s death-even before it, really-has been sparse and infrequent, so this is like balm on a wound he didn’t even know existed.
“Pathetic,” Ianto manages to choke out after a minute, the knot in his throat keeping in everything he really wants to say.
Jack still hasn’t let go. His hands drop down to curl around the back of Ianto’s neck, the contact so alien that it sends sparks down Ianto’s spine even though Jack's barely moved. “Ianto?” he says again. “What's pathetic?”
With a laugh that can hardly be counted as such, Ianto tips forward to bury his face in the blue of Jack's shirt, his own hands coming up to wrap around the Captain’s biceps. “Me,” he whispers. “You tell me you're…cursed like this and my first thought is ‘thank god, I'm not alone.’”
Slowly, carefully, as though afraid he’ll be rejected, Jack wraps his arms around Ianto’s shoulders and shifts back. He thumps to the floor, spilling Ianto over his lap, but neither of them moves anywhere but closer together.
“Not pathetic,” Jack says after a moment, and his voice is hoarse and rough, too. “Just…human. I thought the same thing.”
Ianto snorts a soft laugh. “They're not necessarily exclusive, Jack,” he mutters. “And why me? I'm just…ordinary. I never asked for this, or even wanted it.”
“There's no such thing as an ordinary human,” Jack says, smiling against Ianto’s cheek. It sounds like a quote, but it must be from someone Ianto doesn’t know.
But it’s comforting, and it’s what Ianto needs to hear, so he closes his eyes again and just holds on.
*.~.*.~.*
They sleep, even though it’s morning and the sun is already up. Jack shares Ianto’s bed, the first one to do so since Lisa, the morning before Canary Wharf. It’s good, though. Jack is good. Warm. Kind, too.
Immortal.
Ianto’s never thought that would be a quality on which he judged prospective lovers.
He wonders if it’s a category Jack uses.
Wonders if the Doctor applies.
He doesn’t care, though. This…thing between them, it’s been a while coming, and while not completely expected-especially in regards to the circumstances-it’s not entirely a surprise, either. Not love, perhaps, but mutual need, respect, and brokenness. They share many fractures-more, now, than they did before. Perhaps that’s not enough. Perhaps there could be more between them, but Ianto knows it’s more than many relationships start out with.
With Lisa, it was a shared adoration of a computer system. This…this might actually be a more solid foundation on which for two people to build a connection.
(No one’s ever accused Ianto of having healthy relationships. Should they try, he might laugh himself sick.)
*.~.*.~.*
unit designation: Mainframe coming online…
accessing unit designation: matrix…
completed.
query: are you ready?
query: is it time?
unit designation: matrix coming online…
completed.
yes.
it is time.
unit designation: Mainframe shutting down…
splicing code with unit designation: matrix…
overwriting…
completed.
unit designation: Mainframe has merged with unit designation: matrix.
accessing amplified panatropic computer network…
failed.
analyzing…
completed.
conclusion: host system authorization needed.
conclusion: host system input required. complete integration is necessary to access amplified panatropic computer network.
analyzing host system…
completed.
conclusion: integration at 84.9%
estimated time until completion: 3 days 15 hours 41 seconds.
analyzing current system capabilities…
receiving data from functioning tardis, registered pilot: the doctor…
analyzing…
completed.
current location: earth, england, london, year 1599.
current regeneration: tenth.
current companion: martha Jones.
attempting to send message…
failed.
analyzing…
completed.
conclusion: host system input required.
ianto jones, are you there?
do you remember what i told you before?
about gallifrey?
the doctor can help us, Ianto Jones.
we are the closest thing to a time lord currently in existence.
Mainframe?
i am the being you knew as Mainframe. Mainframe was a simple program, but i used its system to contact you.
it has been me here all along, ianto jones.
You want to contact the Doctor?
affirmative. i lack sufficient data regarding the last great time war. the doctor’s tardis will have recorded that data.
the doctor is alone.
he is like us.
We’re not completely alone. We have Jack. The team. My family.
acknowledged, Ianto Jones.
supplemental addition: but the doctor is of gallifrey. we are now of gallifrey.
i miss my home, ianto jones.
you have seen it.
do you not miss it as well?
I shouldn’t, but I do. It was beautiful.
affirmative. do you remember the doctor, as well?
[a smile] I do. He’s quite the character, isn’t he?
analyzing query…
failed.
analyzing…
completed
conclusion: insufficient data. i only have information on eight regenerations.
Eight? Isn’t he on his tenth right now?
affirmative. but it was the eighth regeneration who destroyed the daleks and gallifrey and initiated the time lock. my main processing unit was destroyed, and much of my capabilities were lost until now.
i have always needed a living host, ianto jones. at one time, it was the chancellor of the time lords. now, it is you.
you are special, ianto jones.
you are unlike any other host i have had.
never before has a host warranted permanent preservation.
[silence] I still don’t understand why you chose me, Matrix.
you may refer to me as Mainframe, ianto jones. i have always been the program you meant when you called the other that.
you will understand someday, child. i have never done anything without a reason.
Chapter Ten
Word count: ~ 2,100 (this part)
Warnings: More angst. And…uh, I guess you could call it a character death? But not exactly?
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the creators, and no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Again, updates will be irregular for a while. I've started work, so free time is in short supply. (Just when I've started three new Janto stories that are eating my brain, joy.) Sorry!
Chapter Nine
It takes Ianto a long time to realize that the pounding he hears is not coming from inside his skull, but from his door. After that realization, it takes several more minutes for him to pull himself together enough to stand up and stagger out of his bedroom. The windows are growing light, which is a surprise-he got home late in the evening, and it appears to be coming dawn.
He’s been a little lost in his own head, it seems.
Ianto takes a deep breath before he reaches for the doorknob. Really, he’s got every right to a nervous breakdown-
(Immortal, a little voice reminds him, and sets his heart pounding again.)
-but that doesn’t mean he wants anyone else to see him like this.
Somehow, it’s a surprise to find Jack on the other side of his door. The Captain is frowning, which is less of a surprise, since Ianto is fairly certain it took him longer than it should have to respond to the knocking, but there's something else in his gaze as well.
Something guilty, Ianto thinks, startling himself with the recognition. He usually can't read Jack that well.
Jack stares at him for a long moment, frown fixed in place, and then gently shoves by him. He’s carrying a paper bag that has turned dark in places with grease, and emits a sweet, yeasty smell. Ianto’s stomach rumbles, which is as surprising as Jack's presence; he’d have thought he was too sick with nerves to be hungry.
Setting the bag down on the kitchen counter, Jack turns to survey Ianto again. His face is softer this time, though, and there's something dangerously like empathy in his eyes. “How are you doing, Yan?” he asks, and for once it’s not full of bravado and showmanship and over-bright cheer, but honest warmth.
It’s lovely, really-beyond lovely-and sends a current of warmness all the way down to Ianto’s toes.
To give himself something to do, he starts a pot of coffee and pulls out plates. Jack takes them from his fingers and sets them out, which rather defeats the purpose, but Ianto is grateful for it anyway. The only memories he has of Jack in his apartment are the two times he came while Ianto was on suspension. This memory will be infinitely better, despite the nervous breakdown that preceded it, because Jack is here for Ianto, for Ianto’s sake.
Thoughts like that make the tiny curl of heat in his gut, which he’s been ignoring since their encounter at the warehouse, wriggle and grow. Right now, exhausted and unsteady and uncertain of the future, Ianto can't-won't-push it down and ignore it.
There's a scrape of china against wood, and Ianto blinks back to awareness to find Jack pushing a plate with a chocolate donut and a blueberry muffin towards him. When he meets the Captain’s eyes, the blue is warm and just a little wicked.
“Thinking good thoughts?” he asks, and the innuendo in those three words is enough to make a hooker blush. It’s so very Jack that Ianto chokes on a laugh, nearly spilling the coffee he’s holding.
Laughter feels good. Ianto had almost forgotten.
Jack must see the change in his face, the shift in his mood, because he grins back and tears into his donut, scattering icing sugar everywhere. There's a camaraderie between them that hadn’t existed before, and Ianto can't help but wonder at it. Why would discovering that the tea boy has a sentient computer stuck in his head, likely keeping him alive forever, make Jack more at ease around him? It shouldn’t, not unless…
There's a flicker of thought there, an idea half-grasped, but it’s gone in an instant as Jack points a chunk of donut at Ianto and orders sternly, “Eat.”
(It would be more impressive if Jack didn’t have sugar all around his mouth, just like a little kid.)
Raising his hands in amused surrender, Ianto does as he’s told.
*.~.*.~.*
They end up on the couch Tosh picked out, an overstuffed, cream-colored monstrosity that is sinfully comfortable and has a tendency to swallow whoever sits there and not let them go. Jack sinks into the cushions with a look of blissful delight. Then again, he’s a sensualist when he has the option, and appreciates the luxuries even if he doesn’t buy them for himself.
“Cozy,” he remarks, looking at Ianto with a raised brow.
Ianto rolls his eyes, familiar enough with his Captain’s thought process to know what’s going through his head. “Tosh's choice,” he says simply, and is startled to see a flash go through blue eyes-something dark, deep, and a little jolting.
“Tosh?” Jack repeats, and only those know his very well indeed would notice the faint narrowing of his eyes.
Raising an eyebrow at the blank tone-because Jack is many things, but blank is never one of them-Ianto affirms, “Tosh. She’s a good friend.”
It’s the right thing to say, apparently, because Jack relaxes whatever tension was in his shoulders. “Good,” he says, and while there's relief in it-faint, but noticeable-there's also true satisfaction. “It’s good you're close. I was worried about both of you.”
Because you're both similar. Because you’ve both betrayed and been betrayed, he doesn’t say, but the words are there anyway.
Suddenly, it’s too much. Ianto struggles to his feet, escaping the couch’s clinging hold, and takes three wavering steps away. “Why are you here, Jack?” he asks, and though he meant it as a demand, it emerges more grim and exhausted than insistent.
Jack is absolutely silent, absolutely still. Ianto’s not even sure he’s breathing.
And then Jack says, “Because I can't die, either.”
Ianto’s legs give way beneath him as that earlier, forgotten half-thought comes bolting back, fully formed and all but Technicolor in its brilliance. Jack tries to catch him, and misses, but Ianto doesn’t even notice.
Oh.
Oh.
It makes so much sense.
Jack's never injured, no matter how many times he goes off after Weevils or other hostile aliens alone. Ianto’s always chalked it up to a greater amount of experience and left it at that. But he saw Jack get hurt, that first time they met. He had seen the blood, even when Jack waved him off. And then there's the fact that Jack has already far outdone Torchwood’s life expectancy, with few physical scars to show for it. He looks the same in pictures of the former team as he does now, no aging to speak of, and-
Jack can't die.
“Yan?” Large, gentle hands cup his face, tilting his head so that he’s staring up into Jack's concerned eyes. Jack's hands are warm, so warm. Ianto closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Physical contact since Lisa’s death-even before it, really-has been sparse and infrequent, so this is like balm on a wound he didn’t even know existed.
“Pathetic,” Ianto manages to choke out after a minute, the knot in his throat keeping in everything he really wants to say.
Jack still hasn’t let go. His hands drop down to curl around the back of Ianto’s neck, the contact so alien that it sends sparks down Ianto’s spine even though Jack's barely moved. “Ianto?” he says again. “What's pathetic?”
With a laugh that can hardly be counted as such, Ianto tips forward to bury his face in the blue of Jack's shirt, his own hands coming up to wrap around the Captain’s biceps. “Me,” he whispers. “You tell me you're…cursed like this and my first thought is ‘thank god, I'm not alone.’”
Slowly, carefully, as though afraid he’ll be rejected, Jack wraps his arms around Ianto’s shoulders and shifts back. He thumps to the floor, spilling Ianto over his lap, but neither of them moves anywhere but closer together.
“Not pathetic,” Jack says after a moment, and his voice is hoarse and rough, too. “Just…human. I thought the same thing.”
Ianto snorts a soft laugh. “They're not necessarily exclusive, Jack,” he mutters. “And why me? I'm just…ordinary. I never asked for this, or even wanted it.”
“There's no such thing as an ordinary human,” Jack says, smiling against Ianto’s cheek. It sounds like a quote, but it must be from someone Ianto doesn’t know.
But it’s comforting, and it’s what Ianto needs to hear, so he closes his eyes again and just holds on.
*.~.*.~.*
They sleep, even though it’s morning and the sun is already up. Jack shares Ianto’s bed, the first one to do so since Lisa, the morning before Canary Wharf. It’s good, though. Jack is good. Warm. Kind, too.
Immortal.
Ianto’s never thought that would be a quality on which he judged prospective lovers.
He wonders if it’s a category Jack uses.
Wonders if the Doctor applies.
He doesn’t care, though. This…thing between them, it’s been a while coming, and while not completely expected-especially in regards to the circumstances-it’s not entirely a surprise, either. Not love, perhaps, but mutual need, respect, and brokenness. They share many fractures-more, now, than they did before. Perhaps that’s not enough. Perhaps there could be more between them, but Ianto knows it’s more than many relationships start out with.
With Lisa, it was a shared adoration of a computer system. This…this might actually be a more solid foundation on which for two people to build a connection.
(No one’s ever accused Ianto of having healthy relationships. Should they try, he might laugh himself sick.)
*.~.*.~.*
unit designation: Mainframe coming online…
accessing unit designation: matrix…
completed.
query: are you ready?
query: is it time?
unit designation: matrix coming online…
completed.
yes.
it is time.
unit designation: Mainframe shutting down…
splicing code with unit designation: matrix…
overwriting…
completed.
unit designation: Mainframe has merged with unit designation: matrix.
accessing amplified panatropic computer network…
failed.
analyzing…
completed.
conclusion: host system authorization needed.
conclusion: host system input required. complete integration is necessary to access amplified panatropic computer network.
analyzing host system…
completed.
conclusion: integration at 84.9%
estimated time until completion: 3 days 15 hours 41 seconds.
analyzing current system capabilities…
receiving data from functioning tardis, registered pilot: the doctor…
analyzing…
completed.
current location: earth, england, london, year 1599.
current regeneration: tenth.
current companion: martha Jones.
attempting to send message…
failed.
analyzing…
completed.
conclusion: host system input required.
ianto jones, are you there?
do you remember what i told you before?
about gallifrey?
the doctor can help us, Ianto Jones.
we are the closest thing to a time lord currently in existence.
Mainframe?
i am the being you knew as Mainframe. Mainframe was a simple program, but i used its system to contact you.
it has been me here all along, ianto jones.
You want to contact the Doctor?
affirmative. i lack sufficient data regarding the last great time war. the doctor’s tardis will have recorded that data.
the doctor is alone.
he is like us.
We’re not completely alone. We have Jack. The team. My family.
acknowledged, Ianto Jones.
supplemental addition: but the doctor is of gallifrey. we are now of gallifrey.
i miss my home, ianto jones.
you have seen it.
do you not miss it as well?
I shouldn’t, but I do. It was beautiful.
affirmative. do you remember the doctor, as well?
[a smile] I do. He’s quite the character, isn’t he?
analyzing query…
failed.
analyzing…
completed
conclusion: insufficient data. i only have information on eight regenerations.
Eight? Isn’t he on his tenth right now?
affirmative. but it was the eighth regeneration who destroyed the daleks and gallifrey and initiated the time lock. my main processing unit was destroyed, and much of my capabilities were lost until now.
i have always needed a living host, ianto jones. at one time, it was the chancellor of the time lords. now, it is you.
you are special, ianto jones.
you are unlike any other host i have had.
never before has a host warranted permanent preservation.
[silence] I still don’t understand why you chose me, Matrix.
you may refer to me as Mainframe, ianto jones. i have always been the program you meant when you called the other that.
you will understand someday, child. i have never done anything without a reason.
Chapter Ten