FIC: The Carriage held but just Ourselves (Pt. 5/10)
Title: The Carriage held but just Ourselves (Pt. 5/10)
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Gwen, Tosh, Jack, Ianto (this section)
Word length: 2625
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Crime novel AU w/ alternating POVs from Gwen and Jack.
A/N: Huge thanks to my beta, paragraphs, for kicking me in the ass. All mistakes are mine! Also, though I still have this down for 10 parts, I think 9 would be more accurate. Title comes from Emily Dickinson.
Gwen
“Dr. Eugene Jones, to the Paediatric Ward. Dr. Eugene Jones to Paediatrics. Thank you.”
Gwen took a sip of her watery hospital coffee and glanced around the waiting room. Tosh’s partner was in the corridor with another tall man, arguing. Gwen wasn’t sure what his role was, but he sounded American and he’d definitely been trying to order around Cardiff police earlier. Gwen frowned and looked into her coffee. He also had a gun. She took another hesitant sip and made a face. Cold weak coffee and envy. Lovely mix.
A nurse she was rather friendly with went bustling by, and Gwen sat up straighter, fingers clenching around the envelope she had promised to give to DI Swanson. The nurse shook her head as she rushed past. “I’m not on it,” she mouthed, and gave a sympathetic smile.
Gwen slumped back down into her chair and looked back at the corridor. The American had his finger in the Welsh boy’s face. She could hear them throwing out “manhunt” and “fault” and possibly “insensitive bastard” if she strained her ears.
Tosh slid into the seat next to hers. “I’ve just got permission to let Dr. Harper in on the case,” she announced. “There are several murders that we may be able to link now from that needle prick. Some hard copy files are being scanned in, and we should be able to go over everything by 8 tomorrow!”
Gwen nodded, heart pounding. “Who will you be liaising with on my end?” she asked cautiously.
Tosh chewed her lower lip. “Do you want some tea?” she asked finally. “We can get some that’s not from a machine downstairs.” Gwen hesitated, and Tosh added, “Ianto will call if there’s news.” Tosh rose to her feet and led the way, and Gwen quickly chucked her cold coffee into a bin before following.
“Who is … Ianto … talking to? Do you mind my asking?” she asked as they entered the stairwell.
Tosh grimaced. “You mean arguing? That’s Jack Harkness.”
Gwen opened her mouth to ask more, but Tosh laid a hand on her arm. “I’ll tell you a bit more over tea.”
Half an hour later, Gwen laid her hand flat on the pressed-wood table of the hospital tearoom and took a breath, her head reeling. She knew Tosh had not felt at liberty to tell her everything, but what she had said painted a rather fantastical picture. A woman named Suzie Costello was murdering people, seemingly at random, all over the world. One of those people had been a CIA Agent, Jack Harkness’s partner. With each murder, she left a nod to Emily Dickinson. The big question remained why. Why these particular people, and why Emily Dickinson? And now, why insert a needle into their bones? Was she taking something (probably), or putting something there (not very probable).
“And Jack thinks she’s after her father, here in this hospital?” Gwen asked incredulously.
Tosh nodded and sipped at her tea. “One of the reasons we requested additional police presence here.”
“Spire’s a private hospital. They could shut down completely, as a trap for Suzie!” Gwen leaned forward, fingers white around her mug handle.
Tosh shrugged noncommittally. “Private, yes. But it would be incredibly obvious if we were to evacuate the building.”
Gwen sat back and began to tap out a rhythm on the table. “DI Carter will probably be assigned this case now,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. “He’s … pleasant.”
Tosh arched a brow at her. “Pleasant.”
She nodded. “Gerald Carter is good police. He wants to protect people.”
Tosh smiled. “He’s an arrogant wanker who always thinks he’s right, you mean.”
“Indeed.” Gwen smiled back.
“We have them, too.” Tosh wrapped her fingers around her mug and furrowed her brow at the contents. “Come to the briefing tomorrow morning regardless.”
“Thank you.” Gwen bit her lip. “What’s Interpol like?” she asked in a rush.
Tosh didn’t hesitate. “It’s amazing. The places I’ve seen, the people I’ve met … we have our arrogant wankers, and there’s a lot of bureaucracy to shift through, and sometimes I want to scream at the people who can’t believe that I am the one giving the orders - but when you’re on the trail of a criminal, Gwen, and you can feel the noose tightening around them, and it’s your skill and brains against theirs … it’s worth it.”
Gwen met her shining eyes and lifted her mug. “Here’s to catching Suzie Costello.”
Tosh raised her own mug, and clinked Gwen’s. “We will.”
Jack
”Auld lang syne, old chap.” Alex leaned on the doorjamb, the answer to the question ‘what’s wrong with this picture?’ His cheap paper party hat was tilted at a comical angle, the bright orange and red an incongruous burst of brightness to frame his dour face.
Jack glanced out the window. Tokyo was ablaze with color and explosions, the noise of the new year reaching even them, high on the 37th floor. “You getting sentimental in your old age? And what’s with the phony accent?” Jack picked up his beer and took a long swallow. “You know you can’t pass for a Scotsman.”
Alex shrugged. “Just trying out a new character.” He scooped up the binoculars, and peered at the skyscraper across from them. Jack’s lips twitched in a smile. They had a table full of high-tech spy gadgetry, so of course Alex chose the old-fashioned and clunky tool.
“Jack,” Alex breathed. “They’re getting ready.”
Jack hurriedly downed the rest of his beer, and Alex tried not to look disapproving. “Ready, Mr. Tyler?” Alex asked, snapping off his party hat.
Jack offered his arm and affected a French accent. “If you are, Mr. Smith.”
“Mr. Harkness? Excuse me, Mr. Harkness?”
Jack turned from his contemplation of the wall and blinked blearily at the young nurse, shaking off the past. She essayed what she probably thought was a calming smile and said, “Agent Sato asked me to get you? Dr. Manger would like to brief you?”
Jack nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. Ianto was conferring with Toshiko in the private waiting area. Toshiko looked up and gave him a half-smile, but Ianto ignored him. Jack set to ignoring him as well, and focused on the pretty young copper. She was still clutching the envelope he had seen her holding earlier, one corner all dog-eared now. Jack sat next to her, and flashed his “charming, but subdued because of the circumstances” smile. She answered with a “charmed, in spite of myself” smile of her own.
“Hrmmmm,” Dr. Manger began, “ah. Yes. The Detective Inspector.” He surveyed them all with a rather dead-eyed stare. “I am of the opinion that the Detective Inspector will recover, eventually, as the bullet …”
Jack stopped listening. Swanson would recover. That was one Suzie wouldn’t get. And Ianto had no cause to shoot him death glares, now that he was no longer being insensitive. He itched to be gone, to be a part of the massive manhunt for Suzie instead of stymied at this hospital, tied down by the force of a cool blue gaze.
He risked a glance at Ianto now. The other man was nodding in interest to Manger’s droning list of cautions. His long fingers gripped a biro tightly as he scrawled notes into a tiny notebook. The very tip of Ianto’s tongue poked out between his lips, and Jack had to stifle the urge to go to him and suck on that tongue. He mentally berated himself for being such a slave to his libido, and gripped his forearms tight in his hands.
Ianto suddenly froze in his henscratchings and looked down at his mobile vibrating on his hip. Dr. Manger began to wrap up his dry recitation as Ianto slipped outside the room, face even whiter than usual. The doctor didn’t look up, and Jack willed him to finish already. He glanced over at Toshiko, frowning at the door.
“…or suppurations,” Dr. Manger finished, and Jack’s head snapped back to him.
“Thank you, Dr. Manger, for that enlightening discourse.” Jack strode forward and shook the man’s hand. Toshiko shot him a grateful look as she also slipped out the door, looking for Ianto.
Dr. Manger dry-coughed into his hand. “Well, I’m pleased some of you could stay and pay attention to my expertise.” He swept from the room with a loud sniff.
“Rude old goat, isn’t he?” The copper whispered to him as the door shut.
Jack turned to her and brought out his megawatt grin. “He is at that. Jack Harkness. I don’t believe we’ve been officially introduced.”
“PC Gwen Cooper,” she said with a crooked little smile. Her hand was small and warm, and her hair smelled of coconut. Jack breathed it in with a smile. The door opened, and he turned, lips parted to ask Ianto what the hell he thought he was doing, leaving a briefing, but it was Toshiko. She looked a little red around the eyes.
“Right,” she said, closing the door. “I think we should finalize a monitoring schedule for DI Swanson and Mr. Costello, and -”
“That’s great, Toshiko,” Jack interrupted her, “but shouldn’t we wait for Ianto?”
She took a deep breath. “He won’t be back tonight. But, Jack,” she hurriedly continued, “I think we finally have some new information on the murder weapon.”
His heart began to race as Gwen nodded enthusiastically. The two women went back and forth on needles and bones, and he followed along as best he could. Things were finally coming to a head on his hunt for Suzie, but when he looked down at the pictures Gwen was still carrying, his mind kept returning to Ianto in the SUV, staring out the window, or Ianto at the bar, tapping his wedding band against his glass.
“… and I really think that if we all put our heads together tomorrow morning, we can really narrow down what Suzie is after!” Toshiko finished, and Jack looked up guiltily.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Right, tomorrow morning. I’ll bring my files to police headquarters then.” He glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Ianto had left an hour ago. “I’m going to just double-check on things here and turn in for the night. Need to rest up.”
Both women nodded vaguely to him as he made his farewells, Gwen already posing a theory on Emily Dickinson, as he closed the door behind him. He checked on the coppers outside DI Swanson’s door, and Max’s reinforcements, before leaving the hospital. Max himself was hunched, rock-like, in the same position Jack had first seen him, just that morning. He made a mental note to get in to see Mr. Costello no matter what the next day.
Outside the hospital he paused for a moment, debating, before calling a cab to take him to his seedy little motel. Once inside his room, he dug his files out from under a loose floorboard and tried to concentrate on the autopsy reports. The clinical descriptions kept blurring before his eyes, and after a couple of hours, he had to give it up as a bad job. There was only one place he wanted to be. He shoved the files into a carryall and exited the motel.
***
“Ianto? Come on, open the door.” Jack leaned his forehead against the door, as if by pressing so close to it, he would suddenly be able to see through the compressed wood. “Ianto?” he called again.
The door was abruptly yanked open, and Jack took a stumbling step inside before Ianto grabbed him roughly by his greatcoat and righted him. “Thanks,” Jack muttered, and attempted to recover his usual aplomb. Ianto turned his back and shambled away.
Jack squinted into the dim lighting. The room was a mess, an overflowing suitcase taking up the dinette table, precarious stacks of files teetering on both chairs, shoes strewn haphazardly in the middle of the floor, the wardrobe doors wide open (Jack could see two more suits hanging inside, and he breathed an inadvertent sigh of relief that those, at least, reflected Ianto’s usually well-ordered mind), and the contents of the minibar leaving sticky stains across the nightstand.
Ianto sat heavily on the bed. “What do you want, Jack?” he mumbled, fingers clumsily moving through the selection of remaining bottles before deciding on the tequila.
“Nothing to drink for me, thanks,” he responded airily, and kicked himself when Ianto just gave him a flat stare. Time and place, Jack. “I … wanted to apologize,” he said slowly, “for being a little rude at the hospital.” He sat himself gingerly down on the foot of the bed. Ianto made no move to shove him off; just continued drinking from his bottle. Jack frowned. Something about the image bothered him, but he couldn’t place it. “It wasn’t your fault Suzie got away,” he continued, “and I did not mean to imply it.” He paused, waiting for Ianto to chime in, maybe apologize too, but the other man seemed dead-set on getting as drunk as possible and ignoring all else. “Toshiko told me you got a call about your family.”
Ianto looked out into the corner of the room, as far from Jack as he could, and his fingers trembled on the bottle. Jack stifled a curse when it finally clicked what was off. Ianto’s left hand plucked at the duvet, pinching and smoothing and roaming restlessly. He was not wearing the gold wedding band.
“Ianto,” Jack whispered.
“Stop. Just … stop,” Ianto said thickly.
An icy hand clenched around Jack’s heart, and he rose abruptly to his feet, stumbling a couple of steps before kneeling at Ianto’s feet, and gently tugged off his shoes and socks. The tequila bottle was empty now, and Jack twisted it out of Ianto’s grasp. He toed off his own shoes and reached over to the lamp on the nightstand, the only source of light in the room. He met Ianto’s eyes briefly before he flicked the switch. Jack knew that broken look. He’d had it before, himself. The lights went out.
Jack made his way over to the other side of the bed and finally shrugged out of his greatcoat. He stretched out on the bed and reached out for Ianto. Ianto let out a whimpering little moan as Jack helped him lay down, and then threw his greatcoat over the both of them. Jack said nothing, but lifted Ianto’s clammy right hand in both of his and finally Ianto started to cry. He moved under the coat, so that both of his bare hands were engulfed by Jack’s, buried his face in Jack’s shoulder, and let out a shuddering, keening sob.
There’s a sound that grief makes that can only be offered up in the darkness. Light dilutes it, makes it something that a well-placed platitude will wrestle with until the grief gives in and carries on with the business of living. But in the darkness, with no eyes to see, grief can be its raw self, full of regret, recrimination, devastation, abandonment, anger, hatred, fear, remorse, pain, and piercing love.
Jack held Ianto close and let the tide flow over them. Ghosts manifested in the darkness. Alex. Mark Brisco from the alley. Emily Holroyd, who’d trained him. His parents. Suzie’s other victims. A beautiful young woman who came right up to the edge of the bed and laid a ghostly hand on Ianto’s ankle. Lisa. Jack stared at her, though he knew he could not really be seeing her. She smiled at him, laid a finger to her lips, and walked away. The rest of the ghosts faded into mists then nothingness behind her.
Jack closed his eyes and tightened his grip.
Part Six
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Gwen, Tosh, Jack, Ianto (this section)
Word length: 2625
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Crime novel AU w/ alternating POVs from Gwen and Jack.
A/N: Huge thanks to my beta, paragraphs, for kicking me in the ass. All mistakes are mine! Also, though I still have this down for 10 parts, I think 9 would be more accurate. Title comes from Emily Dickinson.
Gwen
“Dr. Eugene Jones, to the Paediatric Ward. Dr. Eugene Jones to Paediatrics. Thank you.”
Gwen took a sip of her watery hospital coffee and glanced around the waiting room. Tosh’s partner was in the corridor with another tall man, arguing. Gwen wasn’t sure what his role was, but he sounded American and he’d definitely been trying to order around Cardiff police earlier. Gwen frowned and looked into her coffee. He also had a gun. She took another hesitant sip and made a face. Cold weak coffee and envy. Lovely mix.
A nurse she was rather friendly with went bustling by, and Gwen sat up straighter, fingers clenching around the envelope she had promised to give to DI Swanson. The nurse shook her head as she rushed past. “I’m not on it,” she mouthed, and gave a sympathetic smile.
Gwen slumped back down into her chair and looked back at the corridor. The American had his finger in the Welsh boy’s face. She could hear them throwing out “manhunt” and “fault” and possibly “insensitive bastard” if she strained her ears.
Tosh slid into the seat next to hers. “I’ve just got permission to let Dr. Harper in on the case,” she announced. “There are several murders that we may be able to link now from that needle prick. Some hard copy files are being scanned in, and we should be able to go over everything by 8 tomorrow!”
Gwen nodded, heart pounding. “Who will you be liaising with on my end?” she asked cautiously.
Tosh chewed her lower lip. “Do you want some tea?” she asked finally. “We can get some that’s not from a machine downstairs.” Gwen hesitated, and Tosh added, “Ianto will call if there’s news.” Tosh rose to her feet and led the way, and Gwen quickly chucked her cold coffee into a bin before following.
“Who is … Ianto … talking to? Do you mind my asking?” she asked as they entered the stairwell.
Tosh grimaced. “You mean arguing? That’s Jack Harkness.”
Gwen opened her mouth to ask more, but Tosh laid a hand on her arm. “I’ll tell you a bit more over tea.”
Half an hour later, Gwen laid her hand flat on the pressed-wood table of the hospital tearoom and took a breath, her head reeling. She knew Tosh had not felt at liberty to tell her everything, but what she had said painted a rather fantastical picture. A woman named Suzie Costello was murdering people, seemingly at random, all over the world. One of those people had been a CIA Agent, Jack Harkness’s partner. With each murder, she left a nod to Emily Dickinson. The big question remained why. Why these particular people, and why Emily Dickinson? And now, why insert a needle into their bones? Was she taking something (probably), or putting something there (not very probable).
“And Jack thinks she’s after her father, here in this hospital?” Gwen asked incredulously.
Tosh nodded and sipped at her tea. “One of the reasons we requested additional police presence here.”
“Spire’s a private hospital. They could shut down completely, as a trap for Suzie!” Gwen leaned forward, fingers white around her mug handle.
Tosh shrugged noncommittally. “Private, yes. But it would be incredibly obvious if we were to evacuate the building.”
Gwen sat back and began to tap out a rhythm on the table. “DI Carter will probably be assigned this case now,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. “He’s … pleasant.”
Tosh arched a brow at her. “Pleasant.”
She nodded. “Gerald Carter is good police. He wants to protect people.”
Tosh smiled. “He’s an arrogant wanker who always thinks he’s right, you mean.”
“Indeed.” Gwen smiled back.
“We have them, too.” Tosh wrapped her fingers around her mug and furrowed her brow at the contents. “Come to the briefing tomorrow morning regardless.”
“Thank you.” Gwen bit her lip. “What’s Interpol like?” she asked in a rush.
Tosh didn’t hesitate. “It’s amazing. The places I’ve seen, the people I’ve met … we have our arrogant wankers, and there’s a lot of bureaucracy to shift through, and sometimes I want to scream at the people who can’t believe that I am the one giving the orders - but when you’re on the trail of a criminal, Gwen, and you can feel the noose tightening around them, and it’s your skill and brains against theirs … it’s worth it.”
Gwen met her shining eyes and lifted her mug. “Here’s to catching Suzie Costello.”
Tosh raised her own mug, and clinked Gwen’s. “We will.”
Jack
”Auld lang syne, old chap.” Alex leaned on the doorjamb, the answer to the question ‘what’s wrong with this picture?’ His cheap paper party hat was tilted at a comical angle, the bright orange and red an incongruous burst of brightness to frame his dour face.
Jack glanced out the window. Tokyo was ablaze with color and explosions, the noise of the new year reaching even them, high on the 37th floor. “You getting sentimental in your old age? And what’s with the phony accent?” Jack picked up his beer and took a long swallow. “You know you can’t pass for a Scotsman.”
Alex shrugged. “Just trying out a new character.” He scooped up the binoculars, and peered at the skyscraper across from them. Jack’s lips twitched in a smile. They had a table full of high-tech spy gadgetry, so of course Alex chose the old-fashioned and clunky tool.
“Jack,” Alex breathed. “They’re getting ready.”
Jack hurriedly downed the rest of his beer, and Alex tried not to look disapproving. “Ready, Mr. Tyler?” Alex asked, snapping off his party hat.
Jack offered his arm and affected a French accent. “If you are, Mr. Smith.”
“Mr. Harkness? Excuse me, Mr. Harkness?”
Jack turned from his contemplation of the wall and blinked blearily at the young nurse, shaking off the past. She essayed what she probably thought was a calming smile and said, “Agent Sato asked me to get you? Dr. Manger would like to brief you?”
Jack nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. Ianto was conferring with Toshiko in the private waiting area. Toshiko looked up and gave him a half-smile, but Ianto ignored him. Jack set to ignoring him as well, and focused on the pretty young copper. She was still clutching the envelope he had seen her holding earlier, one corner all dog-eared now. Jack sat next to her, and flashed his “charming, but subdued because of the circumstances” smile. She answered with a “charmed, in spite of myself” smile of her own.
“Hrmmmm,” Dr. Manger began, “ah. Yes. The Detective Inspector.” He surveyed them all with a rather dead-eyed stare. “I am of the opinion that the Detective Inspector will recover, eventually, as the bullet …”
Jack stopped listening. Swanson would recover. That was one Suzie wouldn’t get. And Ianto had no cause to shoot him death glares, now that he was no longer being insensitive. He itched to be gone, to be a part of the massive manhunt for Suzie instead of stymied at this hospital, tied down by the force of a cool blue gaze.
He risked a glance at Ianto now. The other man was nodding in interest to Manger’s droning list of cautions. His long fingers gripped a biro tightly as he scrawled notes into a tiny notebook. The very tip of Ianto’s tongue poked out between his lips, and Jack had to stifle the urge to go to him and suck on that tongue. He mentally berated himself for being such a slave to his libido, and gripped his forearms tight in his hands.
Ianto suddenly froze in his henscratchings and looked down at his mobile vibrating on his hip. Dr. Manger began to wrap up his dry recitation as Ianto slipped outside the room, face even whiter than usual. The doctor didn’t look up, and Jack willed him to finish already. He glanced over at Toshiko, frowning at the door.
“…or suppurations,” Dr. Manger finished, and Jack’s head snapped back to him.
“Thank you, Dr. Manger, for that enlightening discourse.” Jack strode forward and shook the man’s hand. Toshiko shot him a grateful look as she also slipped out the door, looking for Ianto.
Dr. Manger dry-coughed into his hand. “Well, I’m pleased some of you could stay and pay attention to my expertise.” He swept from the room with a loud sniff.
“Rude old goat, isn’t he?” The copper whispered to him as the door shut.
Jack turned to her and brought out his megawatt grin. “He is at that. Jack Harkness. I don’t believe we’ve been officially introduced.”
“PC Gwen Cooper,” she said with a crooked little smile. Her hand was small and warm, and her hair smelled of coconut. Jack breathed it in with a smile. The door opened, and he turned, lips parted to ask Ianto what the hell he thought he was doing, leaving a briefing, but it was Toshiko. She looked a little red around the eyes.
“Right,” she said, closing the door. “I think we should finalize a monitoring schedule for DI Swanson and Mr. Costello, and -”
“That’s great, Toshiko,” Jack interrupted her, “but shouldn’t we wait for Ianto?”
She took a deep breath. “He won’t be back tonight. But, Jack,” she hurriedly continued, “I think we finally have some new information on the murder weapon.”
His heart began to race as Gwen nodded enthusiastically. The two women went back and forth on needles and bones, and he followed along as best he could. Things were finally coming to a head on his hunt for Suzie, but when he looked down at the pictures Gwen was still carrying, his mind kept returning to Ianto in the SUV, staring out the window, or Ianto at the bar, tapping his wedding band against his glass.
“… and I really think that if we all put our heads together tomorrow morning, we can really narrow down what Suzie is after!” Toshiko finished, and Jack looked up guiltily.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Right, tomorrow morning. I’ll bring my files to police headquarters then.” He glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Ianto had left an hour ago. “I’m going to just double-check on things here and turn in for the night. Need to rest up.”
Both women nodded vaguely to him as he made his farewells, Gwen already posing a theory on Emily Dickinson, as he closed the door behind him. He checked on the coppers outside DI Swanson’s door, and Max’s reinforcements, before leaving the hospital. Max himself was hunched, rock-like, in the same position Jack had first seen him, just that morning. He made a mental note to get in to see Mr. Costello no matter what the next day.
Outside the hospital he paused for a moment, debating, before calling a cab to take him to his seedy little motel. Once inside his room, he dug his files out from under a loose floorboard and tried to concentrate on the autopsy reports. The clinical descriptions kept blurring before his eyes, and after a couple of hours, he had to give it up as a bad job. There was only one place he wanted to be. He shoved the files into a carryall and exited the motel.
***
“Ianto? Come on, open the door.” Jack leaned his forehead against the door, as if by pressing so close to it, he would suddenly be able to see through the compressed wood. “Ianto?” he called again.
The door was abruptly yanked open, and Jack took a stumbling step inside before Ianto grabbed him roughly by his greatcoat and righted him. “Thanks,” Jack muttered, and attempted to recover his usual aplomb. Ianto turned his back and shambled away.
Jack squinted into the dim lighting. The room was a mess, an overflowing suitcase taking up the dinette table, precarious stacks of files teetering on both chairs, shoes strewn haphazardly in the middle of the floor, the wardrobe doors wide open (Jack could see two more suits hanging inside, and he breathed an inadvertent sigh of relief that those, at least, reflected Ianto’s usually well-ordered mind), and the contents of the minibar leaving sticky stains across the nightstand.
Ianto sat heavily on the bed. “What do you want, Jack?” he mumbled, fingers clumsily moving through the selection of remaining bottles before deciding on the tequila.
“Nothing to drink for me, thanks,” he responded airily, and kicked himself when Ianto just gave him a flat stare. Time and place, Jack. “I … wanted to apologize,” he said slowly, “for being a little rude at the hospital.” He sat himself gingerly down on the foot of the bed. Ianto made no move to shove him off; just continued drinking from his bottle. Jack frowned. Something about the image bothered him, but he couldn’t place it. “It wasn’t your fault Suzie got away,” he continued, “and I did not mean to imply it.” He paused, waiting for Ianto to chime in, maybe apologize too, but the other man seemed dead-set on getting as drunk as possible and ignoring all else. “Toshiko told me you got a call about your family.”
Ianto looked out into the corner of the room, as far from Jack as he could, and his fingers trembled on the bottle. Jack stifled a curse when it finally clicked what was off. Ianto’s left hand plucked at the duvet, pinching and smoothing and roaming restlessly. He was not wearing the gold wedding band.
“Ianto,” Jack whispered.
“Stop. Just … stop,” Ianto said thickly.
An icy hand clenched around Jack’s heart, and he rose abruptly to his feet, stumbling a couple of steps before kneeling at Ianto’s feet, and gently tugged off his shoes and socks. The tequila bottle was empty now, and Jack twisted it out of Ianto’s grasp. He toed off his own shoes and reached over to the lamp on the nightstand, the only source of light in the room. He met Ianto’s eyes briefly before he flicked the switch. Jack knew that broken look. He’d had it before, himself. The lights went out.
Jack made his way over to the other side of the bed and finally shrugged out of his greatcoat. He stretched out on the bed and reached out for Ianto. Ianto let out a whimpering little moan as Jack helped him lay down, and then threw his greatcoat over the both of them. Jack said nothing, but lifted Ianto’s clammy right hand in both of his and finally Ianto started to cry. He moved under the coat, so that both of his bare hands were engulfed by Jack’s, buried his face in Jack’s shoulder, and let out a shuddering, keening sob.
There’s a sound that grief makes that can only be offered up in the darkness. Light dilutes it, makes it something that a well-placed platitude will wrestle with until the grief gives in and carries on with the business of living. But in the darkness, with no eyes to see, grief can be its raw self, full of regret, recrimination, devastation, abandonment, anger, hatred, fear, remorse, pain, and piercing love.
Jack held Ianto close and let the tide flow over them. Ghosts manifested in the darkness. Alex. Mark Brisco from the alley. Emily Holroyd, who’d trained him. His parents. Suzie’s other victims. A beautiful young woman who came right up to the edge of the bed and laid a ghostly hand on Ianto’s ankle. Lisa. Jack stared at her, though he knew he could not really be seeing her. She smiled at him, laid a finger to her lips, and walked away. The rest of the ghosts faded into mists then nothingness behind her.
Jack closed his eyes and tightened his grip.
Part Six