Fic: The Oncoming Storm (Slash, AU, Janto 14/40)
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17 (betaed)
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on. Be sure to read the warnings.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: Ianto/Lisa moments, non-sexual, some imagery may be disturbing (illness-related)
Notes For This Chapter: it's not necessary, but please note there are parallels to DW's "Doomsday", "Army of Ghosts", and TW's "Fragments". No spoilers, but history and ages are based and parallel the episodes. Again, not required viewing but you may want to go to a Wiki and consider reading. :)
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 14
One week later…
Ring.
Ring.
A hand fumbled out of the folds of a thick duvet. It flailed as it blindly searched for the ringing culprit. A few random slaps to the nightstand eventually reaped success. There was no hurry. It wasn't his mobile, just his telephone.
He'd forgotten how it worked. His mobile was his connection to life outside his loft these days. But after a few muzzy squints at the handset, he finally figured out the Talk function.
"…Owen 'arper," he yawned. His head emerged out of the covers. He scratched his jaw with his other hand.
There was a long pause that made Owen think the connection was lost.
"Hullo?" Owen yawned again, into his duvet, as his other hand crawled under the covers to scratch his stomach idly. "Hullo?" Owen was about to hang up when a solemn, far too polite of a voice for this hour, spoke.
"Is this Dr. Owen Harper?"
Blimey, Owen hoped it wasn't a marketer. "I just said I am, didn't I, mate?" He sank back into his pillows. Ah, his nice, plush, thick pillows. He missed his bed. Damn Alex and his crusades; left them one man short during his abrupt trips to Whitehall. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Twenty three thirty seven."
Owen rolled his eyes. Of course the bloke knows.
"I'm uh…my name's Ianto Jones."
"Great." Owen yawned so hard, tears sprang to his eyes. "Thrilled for you. Listen, mate. I haven't been home in three days so unless the world is ending and I mean really ending, I'm going to hang-"
"I'm from Torchwood London," Jones blurted out.
Oh, better and better. Owen's temper flared. "London? Is that supposed to impress me? You fascist blokes may think London is up there with the Queen but last I checked, you're still in the same time zone as every other working slob! You couldn't call during working hours? And how-how the bloody hell did you get my home number?"
"You were listed and…" Jones could be heard swallowing. "I'm an acquaintance of Dr. Gorman."
The anger eased a fraction. "Freddie?"
"He prefers Frederick."
Owen smirked. "I know. Right, so you're a friend of Freddie. What is it that you can't wait to call at work?"
"I wanted to ask you something…off Torchwood's logging systems."
Okay, now he was awake. "Are you taking the piss? You mean like a conspiracy of sorts?"
Jones sounded extremely uncomfortable. "More like…a hypothetical question," he hedged.
Owen grinned. He liked hypothetical questions. They're usually more interesting than the official ones. "Go on," he encouraged. "I'm listening…hypothetically speaking, of course."
"Of course," Jones said in dry return. "Let's say…hypothetically…I have someone who has been put under PV-35 for say…in estimation…damn, I'm not sure-"
"Hours? Days?" Owen offered.
The reply was bleak. "Weeks."
Owen exploded. "Weeks? Are you blokes there out of your sodding minds? What kit did you prats get your medical degrees from? What makes you think-"
"Listen!"
Owen shut up.
"They've moved him two days ago. To isolation until he…stabilizes." Jones spat out the last part. "I'd been assigned to watch over him and alert them on any improvements."
Owen arched an eyebrow. "And have there been any?" he asked with a smirk in his voice.
Jones wasn't fooling anyone when he sighed dramatically. "Sadly, no."
"How tragic," Owen drawled.
"Indeed." Jones paused again. He lowered his voice. Owen had to strain to hear. "The thing is, he's still hooked up to that PV-35. I want to know if…let's say…he was accidentally disconnected, will he be safe?"
Owen frowned. He searched his memory about the new substance they were sent. "I've only started experimenting with it. I synthesized an aerosol and tranquilizer for the Weevils, but…" Owen sighed. "Wish you called me at Torchwood, Jones. All my work's there."
"You know I can't do that."
"Right. Uh…from what I can remember, the effects build up in the system like plaque to your arteries. If-" Owen paused. "We are talking human, aren't we? I mean, hypothetically."
There was a brief pause before Jones answered slowly. "Yes, I believe so. He seems to have…no, he's human." Jones sounded surer.
"Well, for human physiology, he'll be groggy for about the same amount of time he was under. Maybe longer." Owen stared up to the ceiling. "I found it too strong for the Weevils actually. I had to breakdown the components and dilute it into an aerosol. It suppresses the immune system."
"Damn."
"It severely dehydrates as well. Have you got a saline solution set up?"
"Veins are all collapsed. I can't get an I.V in anywhere. I could probably try one near his ankle."
"You a nurse or something?"
"…or something. I…had a relative I cared for."
Owen winced. He picked up on the past tense. "Sorry, Jones." He scrubbed his face wearily with his hand. "Listen, find a way to hydrate him; might help with weaning him off PV-35. After that…" Owen stopped. "Oi, what are you planning after?"
Jones sounded taken aback. "I…I don't know really."
Brilliant. Owen covered his eyes with his hand. "Right. Let's get him weaned off first and then figure the next step."
The sigh on the other side told Owen they were in agreement. Jones, Ianto Jon-wait a second.
"Aye…You're Captain Kirk, aren't you?" Owen grinned when he heard the teeny sputter.
"I don't know what you are talking about," Jones said stiffly. "I'm sorry for calling so late."
Owen looked at his watch on the end table and groaned. "Yeah. You owe me Jones."
"Owe what?" Jones replied innocently. "We were talking hypothetically."
Now Owen sputtered. "Listen you-"
"Good night, Dr. Harper."
Owen pulled the phone off his ear and glowered at the phone. He hung up and began punching another number.
"Cheeky bastard," Owen grumbled as he waited impatiently until a sleepily voice finally replied.
"Tosh? Yes…I know what time it is. Listen, I need a favor. Can you get my number unlisted from the telephone reg-Tosh? Hello?"
"Ianto?"
The sleepy inquiry made him jerk and Ianto nearly dropped the phone. He looked over his shoulder, glad the dark hid his expression.
"Sorry," Ianto said as he hung up the phone gingerly. "Did I wake you?"
Lisa padded over to Ianto. She knuckled her eyes and squinted at Ianto.
"Can't sleep?" Lisa guessed.
Ianto flinched. "That obvious?" He smiled a little crooked curve that he knew looked as tired as he felt.
Slender arms wrapped around his middle.
"It's too much, isn't it?" Lisa's mouth turned down unhappily. "This is bothering you. I can tell."
Ianto rested his chin on her hair. He looked beyond her into the darkness. "It'll be fine."
"Maybe you should request a transfer to my department. Didn't you say the Doctor recommended you to the Rift Program? Someone should have realized and not put you in this horrible position! Maybe-"
"It'll be fine," Ianto ground out. Lisa tensed against him. He closed his eyes briefly and kissed her temple. "Sorry." He smiled faintly. "I'll admit, being there does bring up some unpleasant…memories, but no one else is doing anything, Lisa. They're just…" Ianto sucked in his breath. "They just say wait and see, wait and see."
Lisa nodded thoughtfully, sighed and settled her head on his shoulder. Absently, she slipped her cool hands under his shirt and rubbed his back.
"Always taking care of someone, Ianto Jones."
Ianto smiled sardonically. "I guess I can't help myself."
"Yet you wouldn't let me keep the puppy we found under my car."
"He soiled every shoe he could find and chewed on every single tie." Ianto grimaced. He was never much of a pet person, oddly enough.
Lisa chuckled. "Yes, there was that." She tilted her head up, her eyes opened with concern. "Just while you're taking care of Harkness, be sure you take care of yourself as well."
Ianto felt her arms tighten around him. He pressed his face into Lisa's hair and breathed deeply, washing away the scent of ammonia and sterile air from his mind-past and present.
"It'll be fine," Ianto repeated, wondering for the hundredth time who he was trying to convince.
"Of course, it will be," Lisa murmured. She stood and took his hands. "Come to bed."
Ianto followed. He wondered why, as he entered their bedroom, that it felt a little like betrayal.
And for whom.
Nine days later…
"…a martini?" Ianto shook his head as he reread the report. "Poker and a martini? I'm not surprised the Queen did not approve." He looked over with reproach but no rancor in his voice. "Not quite the style of Torchwood, but whatever works, Captain."
Exhaling tiredly, Ianto sat back in the chair he'd been occupying for the past few days. Someone had pulled it off the waiting lounge outside the fifth floor. He ignored the telly. He wasn't interested in the reports on ghosts appearing all over the world. They were beginning to sound repetitive. Ianto spent most of his time reading Harkness' reports from Torchwood out loud as he tried to find out how they've crossed paths so many times.
"Considering your non-traditional methods," Ianto joked lightly, "they've been highly effective." He considered the figure on the bed before getting up to his feet. Ianto gazed down at Harkness, heartened to note there was some color finally returning to what was once a waxy pallor.
The isolation room they had set up was below the cargo bay floor, behind the infirmary. Portable medical equipment surrounded Harkness like Stonehenge. The bed was borrowed from the infirmary. And a defibrillator was set on the wall by Harkness' head-per his insistence. There were no windows. The walls were gray and pocked with holes where the cables' frayed ends poked out marking where the processors once stood. And a little television, given by Lisa's friends to occupy his time (little did they know how much Ianto did in here) sat on the only other chair in the room, a plastic lounger Ianto thought wasn't even fit to rest his feet on. Aside from Granger or Cohn visiting to check vitals or the nurse replacing the PV-35 bags Ianto kept emptying out into the sink, no one had visited the room. Or Ianto. Or Harkness. There wasn't even a guard by the door.
What little humor Ianto tried to instill in his smile faded. His shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry about this," Ianto quietly told him. "Torchwood's…this is not the same institute I joined. I assure you; not all of us are like this."
Soft steady beeps replaced any response Ianto hoped for. Then again, Dr. Harper warned it would take a while for the PV-35 to completely flush out of Harkness' system. Ianto drained the bag a little each day over the wall mounted utility sink, leaving the I.V. line in for appearance's sake.
Harkness was placed in isolation after Granger had protested the captain needed to "recharge" before he could be relied on again. Ianto had fought the urge to hit someone while Granger gave a passionate argument to Hartman in front of his staff, referring to the captain as the Doctor's companion.
He hated that word. But he said nothing, only smiling tightly when Granger recommended him for the task of watching over the captain. Clive joked it was because Ianto fancied himself to be an "A&E doctor".
Speaking of which…
Ianto didn't need to check his PDA for a list. He knew by heart what needed to be done.
Temperature. Check.
Breathing. Check.
Blood pressure. Check.
Heart rate. Thank God. Check.
Ianto took great care in lifting Harkness, one arm under his neck to stabilize his head, another around his shoulders. He didn't feel strange talking to the captain about what he was going to do next. Ianto's voice stayed low, sometimes inaudible, but always by the captain's ear.
He sat on the bed, his shoulder a prop for the captain. And like many times before-he could do this by touch now-Ianto cleaned the diminishing sores. Very few now. He didn't even need dressings. Ianto could splay both hands across the unmarred parts of the warm, smooth back. He tried then realized his palms were tingling against the firm, muscled back, and hastily pulled his hands away.
Ianto found that resting his head against Harkness' on his shoulder was an odd yet reassuring feeling. Whereas Lisa was warm, soft and rounded in places that fit against him, Harkness was a solid, sturdy weight-even now-that seemed to fit into him.
Ianto…he had no explanation for it.
The feeling of being needed again, to be of some good, however, was a familiar one; it was like he was the final puzzle piece that fitted and his place in the universe reaffirmed. Ianto knew what to do next. He could see the next step. There was no mystery, no uncertainty, no strange unidentifiable emotion churning through his gut. Here, Ianto knew the simple emotion coursing through his blood when he cradled Harkness against him and wiped him down as carefully as he could.
Lisa was right. This…this was too much; to try to make a person as comfortable as humanly possible, only to realize it wasn't enough to keep the ailing here. Human pain was far too powerful to be canceled out with a simple gesture of water and a soothing washcloth to a feverish face.
Human life was too fragile.
Ianto swallowed hard and clenched his jaw. He dammed up the familiar feeling of despair before it could overwhelm him again. He took slow, deep breaths before he found he could focus once more on the captain. Ianto glanced down at him.
"For a fellow who hasn't showered in weeks," Ianto remarked softly to the ear turned towards him. He wrung out the flannel in the bowl of saline. "You don't smell entirely horrible."
Ianto had wiped him down, schooling his nerves as he pulled down the thin gown and cleaned Harkness. He was glad the captain wasn't awake to see this. Ianto still remembered the shame in eyes like his, grief for putting him into this situation, grief for their own failings. There was nothing that could have been said or done to make it easier. It didn't matter if you loved the person your whole life; somehow, that made it worse.
Shaving a man was yet another strange experience. Ianto could shave himself, with or without a mirror, but stroking a razor along someone else's strong jaw line, under the cleft chin, under the pale parted lips that had sealed over his so perfectly before his tongue gently probed his mouth, seeking shy entrance-
"Not to brag, but I think I could have been a barber," Ianto said shakily as he withdrew. He dabbed at the captain's face with a refreshed flannel then smoothed his hand over to make sure he hadn't missed any spots. Harkness' face filled his hand with lines and angles, very unlike a woman yet Ianto remembered cupping his face and his fingers tingled like they had been charged when he had stroked Harkness' surprisingly soft skin…
Ianto jerked his hand back. "Sorry," he blurted out, but he wasn't sure if the apology was for Harkness, Lisa, or himself.
Ianto hesitated, afraid to reach out again but he did, his arm curled under Harkness' neck again. He sat on the bed far enough to cradle Harkness halfway across his lap. Water. Dr. Harper said water could help, but Ianto had found, to his dismay, that all the vessels were too bruised, too discolored to tolerate the invasion of yet another needle. Even if the intentions were far purer than before.
Swallowing usually led to the danger of choking and ice chips would only ensure the same. Ianto had seriously considered trying to find a viable line on Harkness' ankle when he remembered something he'd seen the hospice nurse do.
Ianto had dipped his tie-there was nothing else available at the time-into the glass of water and gently coaxed the soaked fabric between Harkness' lips. There was an odd mix of emotions that had swept over Ianto when Harkness, after an almost discernable fidget, mouthed the material and began to suck the moisture out of his tie like a straw.
"You did almost a glass yesterday. Perhaps a little more today?" Ianto told the sleeping face turned towards him. It was only because of the position he was holding Harkness in, Ianto told himself, that he found himself brushing back the dark fringe from the captain's cool forehead.
Ianto dipped a thick washcloth he had taken from their flat into the drinking glass, letting the flannel soak up the water.
As before, it took a moment before instinct-or whatever it was that drove Harkness to seek the water-made the cracked lips feebly mouth the sopping corner Ianto pressed to his lips.
Ianto exhaled the breath he didn't realize he was holding and he blinked rapidly as he held Harkness carefully. He didn't mind that his arm ached or his thighs burned with needles from the weight. Harkness was getting water. It was all Ianto could think about and he found himself grinning weakly as he squeezed the washcloth occasionally so more water could trickle into the captain's lips. Harkness made a small sound-amazing as Ianto didn't think he would be coming out of the PV-35 so quickly-and turned towards Ianto, pressed against his chest.
A well of emotion flooded over him and took his breath away. Ianto curled over the captain and it no longer mattered that maybe he shouldn't be here doing this.
A thin crack of blue surprised him. Ianto stared back transfixed as Harkness opened his eyes a slit, but he doubted the captain could see anything.
"Hello," Ianto choked. "Good morning-no, it would be good afternoon, although perhaps since you're waking now, we could count that as-" Ianto gave a disparaging laugh. "…Hello again."
Harkness' lips parted. He frowned mildly when nothing would come out.
"It's alright," Ianto told the bleary face. "You're safe." He pulled the drying washcloth away and used the remaining moisture to wipe the older man's face.
The puzzled furrow of Harkness' brow made him pause. Harkness made like he wanted to speak, but all that came out was a painful sounding rasp. The frustration was clear on the captain's face.
"Give it time," Ianto said. He kept his voice low and soft. He couldn't look away. He was riveted by the light blue eyes looking so intensely at him. "You're doing far better than I'd expected, Captain."
Harkness was looking at his mouth as if trying to understand what he was saying. Then, the gaze looked at Ianto's arm, followed it up to Ianto's eyes. An eyebrow lifted, just a little, but the amusement was clear. Cracked lips twitched as if trying to smile.
Ianto couldn't believe it; he blushed. He was suddenly very aware of the fact Harkness was practically naked over his lap. The hospital gown was a poor excuse for a barrier and it was like he could feel Harkness' skin through his suit and lab coat.
"Yes…well…" Ianto eased him back down on the bed and was about to back away when Harkness weakly grabbed at his sleeve. It wasn't strong enough to really stop him, but Ianto stilled, bent over him.
"You're in an isolation room, in Torchwood," Ianto answered the look pinned to him. "You've…you've been unwell. You've been…" Ianto swallowed. He couldn't finish.
Harkness' fingers feebly twisted his jacket cuff.
Ianto leaned closer. "Captain," he whispered urgently. "Do you know what happened to you?"
Blue eyes made the effort to widen. Harkness gave a little nod, barely moving his chin.
Ianto's mouth went dry. He gripped Harkness' shoulders, but was careful not to squeeze too hard. "Did we do this to you?" Ianto glanced around the room, then back down at Harkness. "Does the Doctor know what has happened to you?"
Harkness closed his eyes for a moment before he shook his head, then, he nodded. When he opened his eyes again, they were bleak.
Ianto felt his throat tightened. "The Doctor knew?" he choked out. The dullness in Harkness' gaze was the only thing stopping him from doing…something. "And he did nothing?"
"On the contrary," Director Hartman interjected all of the sudden. She strode briskly into the room. Ianto jumped back. "The good Doctor helped."
"D-director," Ianto tried to recover as he stood by the bed. He could see Harkness, out of the corner of his eye, tensing, his eyes tracking the director until she was at the foot of his bed.
"I must applaud you, Jones," Hartman exchanged a nod with Granger who stood by her. "I was concerned there had been ill progress for quite some time. Doctor Granger was most insistent that a bit of reprieve was in order."
"Still do," Granger grumbled under his breath. He scowled at Ianto as if it was his fault.
Hartman sniffed, "Yes, that's all and good, but we've depleted our reserves and we're too close to completely opening the breach to stop now." Her smile made Ianto inwardly cringe and he shuffled closer to the bed.
"Thanks to you, Jones, it looks like a remarkable recovery."
"Yes, good show, Jones," Granger said begrudgingly.
Ianto could feel Harkness looking at him. "T-thank you," he replied flatly. "I do feel Captain Harkness needs a few more days, p-perhaps weeks to properly recover-"
"Nonsense," Hartman scoffed. "The Doctor insisted we mustn't allow the vortex energies to fully regenerate. Otherwise, it can't be fixed. Isn't that right, Captain?"
To Ianto's horror, Harkness averted his eyes and gave a small nod.
"…Jack," Ianto whispered. "No…"
Harkness looked startled, his eyes flying back to Ianto.
The Director seemed pleased with the response, however from the captain.
"Excellent." Her voice dropped an octave. Her mouth curved and she gave a thin pleased smile.
"Then we shall continue. We're almost there, gentlemen…England's reentry to power."
There was a chill that rippled throughout Ianto's body as she continued with an inky gleam in her eyes.
"It will be a day in history when the breach opens. Torchwood will announce England's triumphant with drums…"
Chapter 15
Additional Notes: Many thanks to soullessminion for betaing this chapter.
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17 (betaed)
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on. Be sure to read the warnings.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: Ianto/Lisa moments, non-sexual, some imagery may be disturbing (illness-related)
Notes For This Chapter: it's not necessary, but please note there are parallels to DW's "Doomsday", "Army of Ghosts", and TW's "Fragments". No spoilers, but history and ages are based and parallel the episodes. Again, not required viewing but you may want to go to a Wiki and consider reading. :)
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 14
One week later…
Ring.
Ring.
A hand fumbled out of the folds of a thick duvet. It flailed as it blindly searched for the ringing culprit. A few random slaps to the nightstand eventually reaped success. There was no hurry. It wasn't his mobile, just his telephone.
He'd forgotten how it worked. His mobile was his connection to life outside his loft these days. But after a few muzzy squints at the handset, he finally figured out the Talk function.
"…Owen 'arper," he yawned. His head emerged out of the covers. He scratched his jaw with his other hand.
There was a long pause that made Owen think the connection was lost.
"Hullo?" Owen yawned again, into his duvet, as his other hand crawled under the covers to scratch his stomach idly. "Hullo?" Owen was about to hang up when a solemn, far too polite of a voice for this hour, spoke.
"Is this Dr. Owen Harper?"
Blimey, Owen hoped it wasn't a marketer. "I just said I am, didn't I, mate?" He sank back into his pillows. Ah, his nice, plush, thick pillows. He missed his bed. Damn Alex and his crusades; left them one man short during his abrupt trips to Whitehall. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Twenty three thirty seven."
Owen rolled his eyes. Of course the bloke knows.
"I'm uh…my name's Ianto Jones."
"Great." Owen yawned so hard, tears sprang to his eyes. "Thrilled for you. Listen, mate. I haven't been home in three days so unless the world is ending and I mean really ending, I'm going to hang-"
"I'm from Torchwood London," Jones blurted out.
Oh, better and better. Owen's temper flared. "London? Is that supposed to impress me? You fascist blokes may think London is up there with the Queen but last I checked, you're still in the same time zone as every other working slob! You couldn't call during working hours? And how-how the bloody hell did you get my home number?"
"You were listed and…" Jones could be heard swallowing. "I'm an acquaintance of Dr. Gorman."
The anger eased a fraction. "Freddie?"
"He prefers Frederick."
Owen smirked. "I know. Right, so you're a friend of Freddie. What is it that you can't wait to call at work?"
"I wanted to ask you something…off Torchwood's logging systems."
Okay, now he was awake. "Are you taking the piss? You mean like a conspiracy of sorts?"
Jones sounded extremely uncomfortable. "More like…a hypothetical question," he hedged.
Owen grinned. He liked hypothetical questions. They're usually more interesting than the official ones. "Go on," he encouraged. "I'm listening…hypothetically speaking, of course."
"Of course," Jones said in dry return. "Let's say…hypothetically…I have someone who has been put under PV-35 for say…in estimation…damn, I'm not sure-"
"Hours? Days?" Owen offered.
The reply was bleak. "Weeks."
Owen exploded. "Weeks? Are you blokes there out of your sodding minds? What kit did you prats get your medical degrees from? What makes you think-"
"Listen!"
Owen shut up.
"They've moved him two days ago. To isolation until he…stabilizes." Jones spat out the last part. "I'd been assigned to watch over him and alert them on any improvements."
Owen arched an eyebrow. "And have there been any?" he asked with a smirk in his voice.
Jones wasn't fooling anyone when he sighed dramatically. "Sadly, no."
"How tragic," Owen drawled.
"Indeed." Jones paused again. He lowered his voice. Owen had to strain to hear. "The thing is, he's still hooked up to that PV-35. I want to know if…let's say…he was accidentally disconnected, will he be safe?"
Owen frowned. He searched his memory about the new substance they were sent. "I've only started experimenting with it. I synthesized an aerosol and tranquilizer for the Weevils, but…" Owen sighed. "Wish you called me at Torchwood, Jones. All my work's there."
"You know I can't do that."
"Right. Uh…from what I can remember, the effects build up in the system like plaque to your arteries. If-" Owen paused. "We are talking human, aren't we? I mean, hypothetically."
There was a brief pause before Jones answered slowly. "Yes, I believe so. He seems to have…no, he's human." Jones sounded surer.
"Well, for human physiology, he'll be groggy for about the same amount of time he was under. Maybe longer." Owen stared up to the ceiling. "I found it too strong for the Weevils actually. I had to breakdown the components and dilute it into an aerosol. It suppresses the immune system."
"Damn."
"It severely dehydrates as well. Have you got a saline solution set up?"
"Veins are all collapsed. I can't get an I.V in anywhere. I could probably try one near his ankle."
"You a nurse or something?"
"…or something. I…had a relative I cared for."
Owen winced. He picked up on the past tense. "Sorry, Jones." He scrubbed his face wearily with his hand. "Listen, find a way to hydrate him; might help with weaning him off PV-35. After that…" Owen stopped. "Oi, what are you planning after?"
Jones sounded taken aback. "I…I don't know really."
Brilliant. Owen covered his eyes with his hand. "Right. Let's get him weaned off first and then figure the next step."
The sigh on the other side told Owen they were in agreement. Jones, Ianto Jon-wait a second.
"Aye…You're Captain Kirk, aren't you?" Owen grinned when he heard the teeny sputter.
"I don't know what you are talking about," Jones said stiffly. "I'm sorry for calling so late."
Owen looked at his watch on the end table and groaned. "Yeah. You owe me Jones."
"Owe what?" Jones replied innocently. "We were talking hypothetically."
Now Owen sputtered. "Listen you-"
"Good night, Dr. Harper."
Owen pulled the phone off his ear and glowered at the phone. He hung up and began punching another number.
"Cheeky bastard," Owen grumbled as he waited impatiently until a sleepily voice finally replied.
"Tosh? Yes…I know what time it is. Listen, I need a favor. Can you get my number unlisted from the telephone reg-Tosh? Hello?"
"Ianto?"
The sleepy inquiry made him jerk and Ianto nearly dropped the phone. He looked over his shoulder, glad the dark hid his expression.
"Sorry," Ianto said as he hung up the phone gingerly. "Did I wake you?"
Lisa padded over to Ianto. She knuckled her eyes and squinted at Ianto.
"Can't sleep?" Lisa guessed.
Ianto flinched. "That obvious?" He smiled a little crooked curve that he knew looked as tired as he felt.
Slender arms wrapped around his middle.
"It's too much, isn't it?" Lisa's mouth turned down unhappily. "This is bothering you. I can tell."
Ianto rested his chin on her hair. He looked beyond her into the darkness. "It'll be fine."
"Maybe you should request a transfer to my department. Didn't you say the Doctor recommended you to the Rift Program? Someone should have realized and not put you in this horrible position! Maybe-"
"It'll be fine," Ianto ground out. Lisa tensed against him. He closed his eyes briefly and kissed her temple. "Sorry." He smiled faintly. "I'll admit, being there does bring up some unpleasant…memories, but no one else is doing anything, Lisa. They're just…" Ianto sucked in his breath. "They just say wait and see, wait and see."
Lisa nodded thoughtfully, sighed and settled her head on his shoulder. Absently, she slipped her cool hands under his shirt and rubbed his back.
"Always taking care of someone, Ianto Jones."
Ianto smiled sardonically. "I guess I can't help myself."
"Yet you wouldn't let me keep the puppy we found under my car."
"He soiled every shoe he could find and chewed on every single tie." Ianto grimaced. He was never much of a pet person, oddly enough.
Lisa chuckled. "Yes, there was that." She tilted her head up, her eyes opened with concern. "Just while you're taking care of Harkness, be sure you take care of yourself as well."
Ianto felt her arms tighten around him. He pressed his face into Lisa's hair and breathed deeply, washing away the scent of ammonia and sterile air from his mind-past and present.
"It'll be fine," Ianto repeated, wondering for the hundredth time who he was trying to convince.
"Of course, it will be," Lisa murmured. She stood and took his hands. "Come to bed."
Ianto followed. He wondered why, as he entered their bedroom, that it felt a little like betrayal.
And for whom.
Nine days later…
"…a martini?" Ianto shook his head as he reread the report. "Poker and a martini? I'm not surprised the Queen did not approve." He looked over with reproach but no rancor in his voice. "Not quite the style of Torchwood, but whatever works, Captain."
Exhaling tiredly, Ianto sat back in the chair he'd been occupying for the past few days. Someone had pulled it off the waiting lounge outside the fifth floor. He ignored the telly. He wasn't interested in the reports on ghosts appearing all over the world. They were beginning to sound repetitive. Ianto spent most of his time reading Harkness' reports from Torchwood out loud as he tried to find out how they've crossed paths so many times.
"Considering your non-traditional methods," Ianto joked lightly, "they've been highly effective." He considered the figure on the bed before getting up to his feet. Ianto gazed down at Harkness, heartened to note there was some color finally returning to what was once a waxy pallor.
The isolation room they had set up was below the cargo bay floor, behind the infirmary. Portable medical equipment surrounded Harkness like Stonehenge. The bed was borrowed from the infirmary. And a defibrillator was set on the wall by Harkness' head-per his insistence. There were no windows. The walls were gray and pocked with holes where the cables' frayed ends poked out marking where the processors once stood. And a little television, given by Lisa's friends to occupy his time (little did they know how much Ianto did in here) sat on the only other chair in the room, a plastic lounger Ianto thought wasn't even fit to rest his feet on. Aside from Granger or Cohn visiting to check vitals or the nurse replacing the PV-35 bags Ianto kept emptying out into the sink, no one had visited the room. Or Ianto. Or Harkness. There wasn't even a guard by the door.
What little humor Ianto tried to instill in his smile faded. His shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry about this," Ianto quietly told him. "Torchwood's…this is not the same institute I joined. I assure you; not all of us are like this."
Soft steady beeps replaced any response Ianto hoped for. Then again, Dr. Harper warned it would take a while for the PV-35 to completely flush out of Harkness' system. Ianto drained the bag a little each day over the wall mounted utility sink, leaving the I.V. line in for appearance's sake.
Harkness was placed in isolation after Granger had protested the captain needed to "recharge" before he could be relied on again. Ianto had fought the urge to hit someone while Granger gave a passionate argument to Hartman in front of his staff, referring to the captain as the Doctor's companion.
He hated that word. But he said nothing, only smiling tightly when Granger recommended him for the task of watching over the captain. Clive joked it was because Ianto fancied himself to be an "A&E doctor".
Speaking of which…
Ianto didn't need to check his PDA for a list. He knew by heart what needed to be done.
Temperature. Check.
Breathing. Check.
Blood pressure. Check.
Heart rate. Thank God. Check.
Ianto took great care in lifting Harkness, one arm under his neck to stabilize his head, another around his shoulders. He didn't feel strange talking to the captain about what he was going to do next. Ianto's voice stayed low, sometimes inaudible, but always by the captain's ear.
He sat on the bed, his shoulder a prop for the captain. And like many times before-he could do this by touch now-Ianto cleaned the diminishing sores. Very few now. He didn't even need dressings. Ianto could splay both hands across the unmarred parts of the warm, smooth back. He tried then realized his palms were tingling against the firm, muscled back, and hastily pulled his hands away.
Ianto found that resting his head against Harkness' on his shoulder was an odd yet reassuring feeling. Whereas Lisa was warm, soft and rounded in places that fit against him, Harkness was a solid, sturdy weight-even now-that seemed to fit into him.
Ianto…he had no explanation for it.
The feeling of being needed again, to be of some good, however, was a familiar one; it was like he was the final puzzle piece that fitted and his place in the universe reaffirmed. Ianto knew what to do next. He could see the next step. There was no mystery, no uncertainty, no strange unidentifiable emotion churning through his gut. Here, Ianto knew the simple emotion coursing through his blood when he cradled Harkness against him and wiped him down as carefully as he could.
Lisa was right. This…this was too much; to try to make a person as comfortable as humanly possible, only to realize it wasn't enough to keep the ailing here. Human pain was far too powerful to be canceled out with a simple gesture of water and a soothing washcloth to a feverish face.
Human life was too fragile.
Ianto swallowed hard and clenched his jaw. He dammed up the familiar feeling of despair before it could overwhelm him again. He took slow, deep breaths before he found he could focus once more on the captain. Ianto glanced down at him.
"For a fellow who hasn't showered in weeks," Ianto remarked softly to the ear turned towards him. He wrung out the flannel in the bowl of saline. "You don't smell entirely horrible."
Ianto had wiped him down, schooling his nerves as he pulled down the thin gown and cleaned Harkness. He was glad the captain wasn't awake to see this. Ianto still remembered the shame in eyes like his, grief for putting him into this situation, grief for their own failings. There was nothing that could have been said or done to make it easier. It didn't matter if you loved the person your whole life; somehow, that made it worse.
Shaving a man was yet another strange experience. Ianto could shave himself, with or without a mirror, but stroking a razor along someone else's strong jaw line, under the cleft chin, under the pale parted lips that had sealed over his so perfectly before his tongue gently probed his mouth, seeking shy entrance-
"Not to brag, but I think I could have been a barber," Ianto said shakily as he withdrew. He dabbed at the captain's face with a refreshed flannel then smoothed his hand over to make sure he hadn't missed any spots. Harkness' face filled his hand with lines and angles, very unlike a woman yet Ianto remembered cupping his face and his fingers tingled like they had been charged when he had stroked Harkness' surprisingly soft skin…
Ianto jerked his hand back. "Sorry," he blurted out, but he wasn't sure if the apology was for Harkness, Lisa, or himself.
Ianto hesitated, afraid to reach out again but he did, his arm curled under Harkness' neck again. He sat on the bed far enough to cradle Harkness halfway across his lap. Water. Dr. Harper said water could help, but Ianto had found, to his dismay, that all the vessels were too bruised, too discolored to tolerate the invasion of yet another needle. Even if the intentions were far purer than before.
Swallowing usually led to the danger of choking and ice chips would only ensure the same. Ianto had seriously considered trying to find a viable line on Harkness' ankle when he remembered something he'd seen the hospice nurse do.
Ianto had dipped his tie-there was nothing else available at the time-into the glass of water and gently coaxed the soaked fabric between Harkness' lips. There was an odd mix of emotions that had swept over Ianto when Harkness, after an almost discernable fidget, mouthed the material and began to suck the moisture out of his tie like a straw.
"You did almost a glass yesterday. Perhaps a little more today?" Ianto told the sleeping face turned towards him. It was only because of the position he was holding Harkness in, Ianto told himself, that he found himself brushing back the dark fringe from the captain's cool forehead.
Ianto dipped a thick washcloth he had taken from their flat into the drinking glass, letting the flannel soak up the water.
As before, it took a moment before instinct-or whatever it was that drove Harkness to seek the water-made the cracked lips feebly mouth the sopping corner Ianto pressed to his lips.
Ianto exhaled the breath he didn't realize he was holding and he blinked rapidly as he held Harkness carefully. He didn't mind that his arm ached or his thighs burned with needles from the weight. Harkness was getting water. It was all Ianto could think about and he found himself grinning weakly as he squeezed the washcloth occasionally so more water could trickle into the captain's lips. Harkness made a small sound-amazing as Ianto didn't think he would be coming out of the PV-35 so quickly-and turned towards Ianto, pressed against his chest.
A well of emotion flooded over him and took his breath away. Ianto curled over the captain and it no longer mattered that maybe he shouldn't be here doing this.
A thin crack of blue surprised him. Ianto stared back transfixed as Harkness opened his eyes a slit, but he doubted the captain could see anything.
"Hello," Ianto choked. "Good morning-no, it would be good afternoon, although perhaps since you're waking now, we could count that as-" Ianto gave a disparaging laugh. "…Hello again."
Harkness' lips parted. He frowned mildly when nothing would come out.
"It's alright," Ianto told the bleary face. "You're safe." He pulled the drying washcloth away and used the remaining moisture to wipe the older man's face.
The puzzled furrow of Harkness' brow made him pause. Harkness made like he wanted to speak, but all that came out was a painful sounding rasp. The frustration was clear on the captain's face.
"Give it time," Ianto said. He kept his voice low and soft. He couldn't look away. He was riveted by the light blue eyes looking so intensely at him. "You're doing far better than I'd expected, Captain."
Harkness was looking at his mouth as if trying to understand what he was saying. Then, the gaze looked at Ianto's arm, followed it up to Ianto's eyes. An eyebrow lifted, just a little, but the amusement was clear. Cracked lips twitched as if trying to smile.
Ianto couldn't believe it; he blushed. He was suddenly very aware of the fact Harkness was practically naked over his lap. The hospital gown was a poor excuse for a barrier and it was like he could feel Harkness' skin through his suit and lab coat.
"Yes…well…" Ianto eased him back down on the bed and was about to back away when Harkness weakly grabbed at his sleeve. It wasn't strong enough to really stop him, but Ianto stilled, bent over him.
"You're in an isolation room, in Torchwood," Ianto answered the look pinned to him. "You've…you've been unwell. You've been…" Ianto swallowed. He couldn't finish.
Harkness' fingers feebly twisted his jacket cuff.
Ianto leaned closer. "Captain," he whispered urgently. "Do you know what happened to you?"
Blue eyes made the effort to widen. Harkness gave a little nod, barely moving his chin.
Ianto's mouth went dry. He gripped Harkness' shoulders, but was careful not to squeeze too hard. "Did we do this to you?" Ianto glanced around the room, then back down at Harkness. "Does the Doctor know what has happened to you?"
Harkness closed his eyes for a moment before he shook his head, then, he nodded. When he opened his eyes again, they were bleak.
Ianto felt his throat tightened. "The Doctor knew?" he choked out. The dullness in Harkness' gaze was the only thing stopping him from doing…something. "And he did nothing?"
"On the contrary," Director Hartman interjected all of the sudden. She strode briskly into the room. Ianto jumped back. "The good Doctor helped."
"D-director," Ianto tried to recover as he stood by the bed. He could see Harkness, out of the corner of his eye, tensing, his eyes tracking the director until she was at the foot of his bed.
"I must applaud you, Jones," Hartman exchanged a nod with Granger who stood by her. "I was concerned there had been ill progress for quite some time. Doctor Granger was most insistent that a bit of reprieve was in order."
"Still do," Granger grumbled under his breath. He scowled at Ianto as if it was his fault.
Hartman sniffed, "Yes, that's all and good, but we've depleted our reserves and we're too close to completely opening the breach to stop now." Her smile made Ianto inwardly cringe and he shuffled closer to the bed.
"Thanks to you, Jones, it looks like a remarkable recovery."
"Yes, good show, Jones," Granger said begrudgingly.
Ianto could feel Harkness looking at him. "T-thank you," he replied flatly. "I do feel Captain Harkness needs a few more days, p-perhaps weeks to properly recover-"
"Nonsense," Hartman scoffed. "The Doctor insisted we mustn't allow the vortex energies to fully regenerate. Otherwise, it can't be fixed. Isn't that right, Captain?"
To Ianto's horror, Harkness averted his eyes and gave a small nod.
"…Jack," Ianto whispered. "No…"
Harkness looked startled, his eyes flying back to Ianto.
The Director seemed pleased with the response, however from the captain.
"Excellent." Her voice dropped an octave. Her mouth curved and she gave a thin pleased smile.
"Then we shall continue. We're almost there, gentlemen…England's reentry to power."
There was a chill that rippled throughout Ianto's body as she continued with an inky gleam in her eyes.
"It will be a day in history when the breach opens. Torchwood will announce England's triumphant with drums…"
Chapter 15
Additional Notes: Many thanks to soullessminion for betaing this chapter.