FIC: Beyond the call (4/?) James Bond/Torchwood, Bond/Ianto, R
TITLE: Beyond the call - part 4
AUTHOR: Demon Faith
FANDOMS: Torchwood, James Bond
CONTINUITY: AU in Season 2; Pierce Brosnan-era films
PAIRINGS: Bond/Ianto (later: Bond/Ianto/Jack)
RATING: R
WARNINGS: Semi-explicit sexual encounters
WORD COUNT: 1,050
SUMMARY: James Bond faces his toughest mission yet - the seduction of Ianto Jones
DISCLAIMER: I own not Torchwood; I own not the Bond. All's well.
NOTES: So, kirke_novak rings me up and we wibble for an hour. And Kirke says she has a craving for James Bond to, somewhat reluctantly, seduce a man. This is what turned up in my head.
Thanks to skitty_kat for playing the M to my Bond ;) (It is still Tuesday, right?)
NOW WITH GORGEOUS ART by skitty_kat
Their stumble through reception went largely unnoticed, but the desk clerk gave them a sympathetic smile. Bond hoped that Ianto wouldn't mind the taint to his reputation, but at the moment, he had more pressing matters on his mind.
The lift doors opened as they approached and a well-dressed woman gave them a disdainful look. With care, they bundled Ianto into the lift and, as the doors closed, Bond placed a gentle hand on his cheek.
"Ianto? Can you hear me?"
"James...?"
The breathed word warmed him and he sighed. "Ianto, you've been shot. We're taking you back to the room, but I want you to stay calm. Can you do that?"
"Of course he can," Harkness said tersely, the wobble in his voice betraying his fear.
Ianto tensed in his arms, but didn't look away from Bond. "Jack."
Harkness made no move to draw him closer, and it seemed it would take more than a gunshot to heal their rift. Bond felt perversely pleased about this, which made no sense at all; despite himself, he had enjoyed their day together, but Ianto needed someone to come home to. Bond was excluded from this category on the basis of being solely interested for the sake of duty, and straight. Mostly.
The lift finally reached his floor and he guided their trio towards his room. Hurriedly unlocking the door, he helped lay Ianto on the bed. Harkness moved away, feigning disinterest, but Bond could see the furtive glances he sent Ianto's way.
"Ianto, I need to take off your jacket. It's going to hurt, but I have to do it."
"Yes..." he mumbled. "Trust you."
Bond ignored the sickening wrench in his stomach; a traitorous voice told him that he didn’t deserve that trust, especially as he was lying his way into the man’s bed for international secrets.
He lifted Ianto clear of the bed and held him close to his chest, easing the jacket over his left shoulder. Ianto gasped and Bond realised the bullet had passed through his shoulder, taking the material of the jacket, waistcoat and shirt into the wound.
He had the kit for removing it, but to move now would reveal his identity. Ianto winced, and Bond lowered him back to the bed. Moving swiftly across the room, he pulled his first aid kit from one of the cases and brought it to Ianto’s side. The kit sprung open and he plucked out the swabs, tweezers and sterilising agents, laying it out with ruthless efficiency. The wound wasn’t life-threatening in itself, but the sepsis from the cloth could be lethal. He cut away the waistcoat and dress shirt, hoping Mr Davies would forgive him for ruining the suit.
“What’s the damage?” Harkness said from the window, briefly turning to face them.
“Shoulder-wound, bullet in-situ. Removing the cloth now.”
Bond loaded up a syringe of local and squeezed Ianto’s hand. “Sharp scratch now, then blissfully numb. Sound good?”
“Great,” Ianto murmured, letting his eyes fall closed. Bond reluctantly released his hand and squirted the anaesthetic into the wound, before injecting the skin around it. Ianto hissed in pain, but bit down on his lip, drawing blood. Bond shook two pills out of a bottle and pressed them to his lips.
“Morphine. For the pain.”
Ianto swallowed them dry, his breathing settling and the tension leaving his face as the anaesthetic started to kick in. Bond waited a few more minutes, rubbing small circles into the palm of Ianto’s hand and watching his face for signs of discomfort.
“S’gone now,” Ianto whispered and Bond nodded, picking up his tweezers.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Harkness was suddenly very close; Bond glared up at him.
“Yes. Back off.”
Harkness looked affronted but turned away.
“Well, you MI6 boys sure know how to have a good time.”
Bond froze for a moment but held the tweezers steady as he picked up a swab and soaked it in iodine.
“Jack, don’t.”
No. It couldn’t be.
“Why the hell not?” Harkness was livid. “You’ve been shot, Ianto! How much more evidence do you need?”
Bond briefly considered this point. Who could have been shooting at them? And who was the target - Ianto? Himself? Or perhaps even Harkness? However, that was a point for later - right now, he had a man awaiting urgent medical attention, his cover in jeopardy and a screaming Captain. He wasn’t sure this was what M had in mind when she recruited him.
He placed the iodine swab to the wound; Ianto didn’t even blink, just regarded Harkness with hazy, bitter eyes.
“You know nothing about it,” he said, voice soft and deadly.
“You told me you were safe!”
Ianto shifted his gaze to Bond, who met his eyes with difficulty. “James, did you know I was in danger?”
“No,” he said, glad he could answer him honestly. Harkness muttered something behind him but he didn’t matter; it was just him and Ianto in the room.
Finally, he looked away and finished cleaning the wound. Then, dropping the swabs to one side, he prepared to extract the bullet.
“You might feel a sharp tug, but-”
“It may burn a hole in my shoulder.” Ianto smiled wanly. “I’m ready.”
Bond nodded once and thrust the tweezers into the wound; he hit metal and carefully closed the tweezers around the bullet. It came away quickly and Ianto’s sob barely broke his concentration, so quiet came the protest of pain. The three pieces of cloth were attached to the bullet’s tip and he sighed.
“Got it all, Ianto,” he said, swiping a final iodine swab across the wound before picking up his threaded needle. His neat stitches covered the wound in a couple of minutes and he placed the dressing delicately over his handiwork, before securing it with a bandage.
“No sudden moves now. And no…strenuous exercise.”
They both smiled and Bond felt relief flood through him. Then, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“We need to talk.”
“Jack, leave it,” Ianto said, annoyance creeping under his pain.
“No, Ianto,” Bond said, realising he’d have to face the music sooner or later. “We can talk.”
With one last squeeze of Ianto’s hand, he headed out onto the balcony, wondering if MI6 had sufficiently prepared him for this particular confrontation.
To be continued...
next thursday
x-posted to myfanwysbatcave