What Happened to My Life? (5/34ish)
Title: What Happened to My Life?
Author: Otrame
Summary: Ianto Jones is an ordinary bloke. Maybe a little on the geeky side. Works for a big insurance company. Married, first baby on the way. So, why won’t his kidnappers believe him when he tells them that he has never, ever heard the word Torchwood before?
Rating: PG 13 for mature themes.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Warnings:This story contains some descriptions of torture, most of which is psychological. Occasional highly charged sexual language, frequent cursing, etc. There will be some explicit violence and occasional brief sexual scenes, though these will be not be detailed or terribly explicit. It is an AU.
Spoilers: Potentially all of S1 and S2 until after Owen's first death.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction and is intended as a tribute to characters and stories developed and owned by Russell T. Davies and the BBC. No copyright infringement is intended.
The story begins here.
5. “Did it feel good?”
In which the fantasy begins to crack.
Interlude 4
The silence was long and painful. Finally Owen said, “He can rebuild his associations?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen some signs that it may be possible, but…”
“But what?” Owen said.
“I am going to have to change my game plan in mid-stream.” She looked at each of them. Then her gaze settled on Jack. “Does Mr. Jones have family?”
Jack shook his head. In a dull voice he said, “Just a few cousins, but none of them are close.”
She sighed. “So, given that he is currently incapable of making a medical decision on his own behalf, you are the nearest thing to a family member available?”
Jack was watching the monitor again. “I guess so.”
“Then to salve my conscious if not to save my professional standing, I am going to explain exactly what I intend to do, what I think the risks and benefits are, and then get your consent to proceed.”
“Wait,” Owen said, “with everything you’ve already done, now you want to get consent?”
She looked at him bleakly. “I told you. I have to change the game plan.” She glanced at the anxious faces around her. “I’m going to have to put a lot of pressure on him. I need you to tell me about something in his past that will do that, something that is an unpleasant memory.” She sighed. “He sometimes has reactions that only make sense if he has at least some residual emotions left related to those memories he has lost. I am going to use some of that to try to crack the shell they built around those memories. Then I will drive a wedge into the crack.” She rubbed her fingers across her eyes. “It’s not going to be pretty.”
***
Ianto reflected that it was always important to consider what you wish for carefully, in the event you get it. He had wished to be out of that room. Well, he was now, but now he was strapped to a gurney with tubes running in and out of him, equipment beeping and his overall dread quotient rapidly rising. He was, he knew, completely helpless. He’d even given up trying to figure out what these insane people wanted him for, and he’d found that that acquiescence had actually helped him control his fear.
He was currently involved in an attempt at harassing the only apparently vulnerable person he ever saw, so now looked up at the impassive face of Dr. Harper and said, “Tell me what happened to your Captain.”
Harper looked startled. Then his face became expressionless again as he fiddled with the equipment. He did not reply. Ianto felt an odd combination of a sense of satisfaction with the dread that he’d begun to feel from the moment that they’d told him the American had been replaced. He understood the former feeling. The later left him mystified.
A few minutes later, the prim Colonel Sato came into the room. She stood looking down at Ianto where he was bound helplessly on the guerney.
“Well, Mr. Jones, I think it’s time we deal with these questions I never got answered.”
“Fuck you.”
The woman looked over her glasses at him. “Mr. Jones, we cannot allow you to be non-responsive.”
“What do you want? What do you want?”
“I want you to tell me the first time you heard of the Torchwood Institute.”
Ianto stared. “What?”
The Colonel went on, “I want you to tell me when you were recruited and by whom. I want you to tell me why you were not killed like almost everyone else in the battle. And finally I want you to tell me why we should not charge you with the murder of Lisa Hallett?”
Ianto stared at her in bewilderment, while a horrible, sick weight seemed to settle on his chest. “I don’t know what the hell you are talking about,” he croaked.
The woman leaned forward, close to Ianto’s face and said with a certain satisfaction, “That, Mr. Jones, is non-responsive.”
Ianto tried to think of what to say. The word Torchwood sounded vaguely familiar. Then he remembered. “The Captain, the bloke you replaced. He said you were Torchwood.”
The Colonel’s Asian eyes narrowed. “That is still not responsive, Mr. Jones. When did you first hear of the Torchwood Institute?”
“That day. When ever it was. I never heard of this Torchwood until that day.”
“Mr. Jones-“
“I am telling you the truth. I have no reason to lie. I don’t know what you are talking about.”
She gazed at him a long moment, then stood. “Very well, you force us to use alternative techniques.”
She got up and left the room.
***
“What is your name?”
“Ianto.”
He floated in peace, in a quiet place. The only sounds were a woman’s voice and a faint beeping noise.
“Where are you”
“Don’t know. Dark.”
“Open your eyes. There you are. Now, do you know where you are?
“No.”
“Do you remember how you got here?”
“No,”
“Where were you before you were here?”
“Room.”
“What room?”
“Don’t know. The door was locked.”
“Okay, good. Now, where were you before you were in the room?”
“At work.”
“What were you doing?”
“Writing programs.”
“Before you were at work, where were you.”
“Home.”
“What were you doing?”
“Eating breakfast.”
“Before you ate breakfast where were you?”
No answer. Ianto’s expression looked troubled.
“Before you ate breakfast where were you?”
“In the shower. I must have been in the shower.”
“You don’t remember?”
Again Ianto’s expression was troubled.
“I take a shower every day before work.”
“You do?”
Ianto seemed to relax. “Yes.”
“Before you ate breakfast where were you?”
“I… Mary Elizabeth and I were…”
“What were you and Mary Elizabeth doing?”
“Fucking.”
“Did it feel good to fuck?”
Nothing. A hand changed a setting on a machine.
“Did it feel good?”
“It felt…”
“Did it feel good?”
“I love my wife.”
“Did it feel good?”
A small whimper. “Please stop.”
“Stop what?”
No answer. The machine setting was changed again.
“Tell me about fucking Mary Elizabeth. How did you do it?”
“She was on top because her belly is getting so big, and I like to rub it while we fuck.”
“Did it feel good?”
“I love my wife. So smart, so funny, so loving, so eager to make me happy. She is everything to me.”
“Did it feel good?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I’m confused. I’m getting confused. I don’t remember.”
“Yes you do. Did it feel good?”
There was no answer, but the low beeping that had been in the background turned into a steady tone. The interrogator said, “God damn it!”
***
Ianto’s eyes opened blearily. Every single part of his body hurt. His hair hurt. He groaned and tried to shift position. He couldn’t. He was laying on his side, his wrists in padded cuffs, a restraining belt across his knees, holding them drawn up at right angles to the rest of his body. He could feel more padded cuffs around his ankles. There was a sheet covering him to his neck, but even as he realized this, he felt it being lowered. Something warm and wet touched his back and he flinched away from it.
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think you were awake.”
He tried to turn to look, but his cuffs prevented much movement. The woman obligingly came around to the side of the bed he was facing. Ianto looked at her warily. She was rather short, slightly plump, in her mid to upper forties and appeared to be of South Asian decent, either Indian or Pakistani. Her eyes were huge, and dominated her face. She was smiling at him now, holding up a blue cloth.
“Just giving you a bed bath.” She went back around to the other side of the bed. The warm wetness began again on his shoulders, and Ianto suddenly wondered if anything had ever felt so good.
“Who are you?”
The cloth on his back stopped. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
She continued, washing his back, then drying it with a towel. She pulled the sheet down more and began on his buttocks and the backs of his legs while he tried, without much success, not to blush.
“What am I not remembering?”
“Well, last time, you were a bit more groggy. My name is Maggie.”
“And I take it you are a nurse?”
She was drying him, rubbing his skin vigorously with the towel. It felt wonderful. “That’s right.”
“So what’s a nice nurse like you doing hanging around with this bunch of torturers.”
There was a pause. Then Ianto felt something cool between shoulder blades. Small but strong hands spread lotion on his back and began to massage him. It was all he could do to keep from moaning at the simple pleasure of hands moving the skin and muscles that had not been able move for… Well, however long it had been. He had no idea anymore how long he had been in this madhouse. It seemed to him that he had always been strapped to this gurney with tubes running in and out of him, chunks of time disappearing. He was finding even the memories of being alone in his prison room seemed a long time ago.
“Did they tell you my wife is expecting? We’re going to name our daughter Maggie.” The hands on his back stopped.
“When is she due?” Maggie asked, resuming her backrub.
“Early March.”
Maggie pulled up the sheet to his waist and said, “There we go. Feel better?”
“What about the front half?”
He could hear a chuckle, then she said, “I did that while you were unconscious. Would you like some water?” He was silent. “Mr. Jones?”
“What did they tell you about me?”
There was a pause, then in a low voice she said, “You are a prisoner being interrogated.”
“And did they tell you what my crime is?” He could see her fiddling with things on a tray a few feet away. “Did they?”
“Mr. Jones, my job is to provide nursing care while you are confined to this bed. That is all.” She turned and left the room, but apparently she left the door open, because Ianto heard a conversation,
“Maggie, what the hell are you doing here?” It was Dr. Harper’s voice.
“I was assigned here. Owen, it’s good to see you-“
But Harper was moaning, “No, no, no, no. The bastards, the fucking bastards. Getting you involved with this.”
“I’m not involved with this. I’m just taking care of a patient, like always.”
“No, Maggie. Look, if you left now they might… You could tell them you are sick, or something. You have to get out of here.” His voice sounded desperate.
“Owen, for God’s sake, what is wrong with you.”
“They are deadly serious about this. And I do mean deadly. I probably deserve what I am going to get for ever letting them talk me into this but you-”
“Owen, what are you talking about?”
“They killed him, Maggie.”
“Who?”
“The Captain.”
“What?”
“Jack is dead, Maggie.”
Then there was silence. And Ianto could not understand the wail of grief that tried to climb up into his chest and out his throat. It was ridiculous. The man had been one of them. Why should he care if they turned on each other.
But he did care. The name “Jack” kept echoing around in his head. The grief threatened to overwhelm him, and he could not understand why and that frightened him more than anything that had happened so far. He lay bound on the bed, sobbing, and wondering if they had finally driven him insane.
Interlude 5
They all watched as Ianto buried his face in his forearms and wept.
Jack said, softly, “Is that for me?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“But he doesn’t even know who I am.”
“Part of him does.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a good sign, Jack. I think we are making progress.”
“We are? He nearly died during that last session.”
“Yes, they have planted some very nasty neurological bombs that get set off by the stress. That’s why I told you to have resuscitation equipment available.”
“So what can we do now?”
“Oh, we keep on.”
“Using the same stuff?”
“Yes, of course.”
There was a long pause. Jack’s voice was almost a whisper. “Please don’t let him die. He’s been through so much. He doesn’t deserve this.”
Part 6
Author: Otrame
Summary: Ianto Jones is an ordinary bloke. Maybe a little on the geeky side. Works for a big insurance company. Married, first baby on the way. So, why won’t his kidnappers believe him when he tells them that he has never, ever heard the word Torchwood before?
Rating: PG 13 for mature themes.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Warnings:This story contains some descriptions of torture, most of which is psychological. Occasional highly charged sexual language, frequent cursing, etc. There will be some explicit violence and occasional brief sexual scenes, though these will be not be detailed or terribly explicit. It is an AU.
Spoilers: Potentially all of S1 and S2 until after Owen's first death.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction and is intended as a tribute to characters and stories developed and owned by Russell T. Davies and the BBC. No copyright infringement is intended.
The story begins here.
5. “Did it feel good?”
In which the fantasy begins to crack.
Interlude 4
The silence was long and painful. Finally Owen said, “He can rebuild his associations?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen some signs that it may be possible, but…”
“But what?” Owen said.
“I am going to have to change my game plan in mid-stream.” She looked at each of them. Then her gaze settled on Jack. “Does Mr. Jones have family?”
Jack shook his head. In a dull voice he said, “Just a few cousins, but none of them are close.”
She sighed. “So, given that he is currently incapable of making a medical decision on his own behalf, you are the nearest thing to a family member available?”
Jack was watching the monitor again. “I guess so.”
“Then to salve my conscious if not to save my professional standing, I am going to explain exactly what I intend to do, what I think the risks and benefits are, and then get your consent to proceed.”
“Wait,” Owen said, “with everything you’ve already done, now you want to get consent?”
She looked at him bleakly. “I told you. I have to change the game plan.” She glanced at the anxious faces around her. “I’m going to have to put a lot of pressure on him. I need you to tell me about something in his past that will do that, something that is an unpleasant memory.” She sighed. “He sometimes has reactions that only make sense if he has at least some residual emotions left related to those memories he has lost. I am going to use some of that to try to crack the shell they built around those memories. Then I will drive a wedge into the crack.” She rubbed her fingers across her eyes. “It’s not going to be pretty.”
***
Ianto reflected that it was always important to consider what you wish for carefully, in the event you get it. He had wished to be out of that room. Well, he was now, but now he was strapped to a gurney with tubes running in and out of him, equipment beeping and his overall dread quotient rapidly rising. He was, he knew, completely helpless. He’d even given up trying to figure out what these insane people wanted him for, and he’d found that that acquiescence had actually helped him control his fear.
He was currently involved in an attempt at harassing the only apparently vulnerable person he ever saw, so now looked up at the impassive face of Dr. Harper and said, “Tell me what happened to your Captain.”
Harper looked startled. Then his face became expressionless again as he fiddled with the equipment. He did not reply. Ianto felt an odd combination of a sense of satisfaction with the dread that he’d begun to feel from the moment that they’d told him the American had been replaced. He understood the former feeling. The later left him mystified.
A few minutes later, the prim Colonel Sato came into the room. She stood looking down at Ianto where he was bound helplessly on the guerney.
“Well, Mr. Jones, I think it’s time we deal with these questions I never got answered.”
“Fuck you.”
The woman looked over her glasses at him. “Mr. Jones, we cannot allow you to be non-responsive.”
“What do you want? What do you want?”
“I want you to tell me the first time you heard of the Torchwood Institute.”
Ianto stared. “What?”
The Colonel went on, “I want you to tell me when you were recruited and by whom. I want you to tell me why you were not killed like almost everyone else in the battle. And finally I want you to tell me why we should not charge you with the murder of Lisa Hallett?”
Ianto stared at her in bewilderment, while a horrible, sick weight seemed to settle on his chest. “I don’t know what the hell you are talking about,” he croaked.
The woman leaned forward, close to Ianto’s face and said with a certain satisfaction, “That, Mr. Jones, is non-responsive.”
Ianto tried to think of what to say. The word Torchwood sounded vaguely familiar. Then he remembered. “The Captain, the bloke you replaced. He said you were Torchwood.”
The Colonel’s Asian eyes narrowed. “That is still not responsive, Mr. Jones. When did you first hear of the Torchwood Institute?”
“That day. When ever it was. I never heard of this Torchwood until that day.”
“Mr. Jones-“
“I am telling you the truth. I have no reason to lie. I don’t know what you are talking about.”
She gazed at him a long moment, then stood. “Very well, you force us to use alternative techniques.”
She got up and left the room.
***
“What is your name?”
“Ianto.”
He floated in peace, in a quiet place. The only sounds were a woman’s voice and a faint beeping noise.
“Where are you”
“Don’t know. Dark.”
“Open your eyes. There you are. Now, do you know where you are?
“No.”
“Do you remember how you got here?”
“No,”
“Where were you before you were here?”
“Room.”
“What room?”
“Don’t know. The door was locked.”
“Okay, good. Now, where were you before you were in the room?”
“At work.”
“What were you doing?”
“Writing programs.”
“Before you were at work, where were you.”
“Home.”
“What were you doing?”
“Eating breakfast.”
“Before you ate breakfast where were you?”
No answer. Ianto’s expression looked troubled.
“Before you ate breakfast where were you?”
“In the shower. I must have been in the shower.”
“You don’t remember?”
Again Ianto’s expression was troubled.
“I take a shower every day before work.”
“You do?”
Ianto seemed to relax. “Yes.”
“Before you ate breakfast where were you?”
“I… Mary Elizabeth and I were…”
“What were you and Mary Elizabeth doing?”
“Fucking.”
“Did it feel good to fuck?”
Nothing. A hand changed a setting on a machine.
“Did it feel good?”
“It felt…”
“Did it feel good?”
“I love my wife.”
“Did it feel good?”
A small whimper. “Please stop.”
“Stop what?”
No answer. The machine setting was changed again.
“Tell me about fucking Mary Elizabeth. How did you do it?”
“She was on top because her belly is getting so big, and I like to rub it while we fuck.”
“Did it feel good?”
“I love my wife. So smart, so funny, so loving, so eager to make me happy. She is everything to me.”
“Did it feel good?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I’m confused. I’m getting confused. I don’t remember.”
“Yes you do. Did it feel good?”
There was no answer, but the low beeping that had been in the background turned into a steady tone. The interrogator said, “God damn it!”
***
Ianto’s eyes opened blearily. Every single part of his body hurt. His hair hurt. He groaned and tried to shift position. He couldn’t. He was laying on his side, his wrists in padded cuffs, a restraining belt across his knees, holding them drawn up at right angles to the rest of his body. He could feel more padded cuffs around his ankles. There was a sheet covering him to his neck, but even as he realized this, he felt it being lowered. Something warm and wet touched his back and he flinched away from it.
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think you were awake.”
He tried to turn to look, but his cuffs prevented much movement. The woman obligingly came around to the side of the bed he was facing. Ianto looked at her warily. She was rather short, slightly plump, in her mid to upper forties and appeared to be of South Asian decent, either Indian or Pakistani. Her eyes were huge, and dominated her face. She was smiling at him now, holding up a blue cloth.
“Just giving you a bed bath.” She went back around to the other side of the bed. The warm wetness began again on his shoulders, and Ianto suddenly wondered if anything had ever felt so good.
“Who are you?”
The cloth on his back stopped. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
She continued, washing his back, then drying it with a towel. She pulled the sheet down more and began on his buttocks and the backs of his legs while he tried, without much success, not to blush.
“What am I not remembering?”
“Well, last time, you were a bit more groggy. My name is Maggie.”
“And I take it you are a nurse?”
She was drying him, rubbing his skin vigorously with the towel. It felt wonderful. “That’s right.”
“So what’s a nice nurse like you doing hanging around with this bunch of torturers.”
There was a pause. Then Ianto felt something cool between shoulder blades. Small but strong hands spread lotion on his back and began to massage him. It was all he could do to keep from moaning at the simple pleasure of hands moving the skin and muscles that had not been able move for… Well, however long it had been. He had no idea anymore how long he had been in this madhouse. It seemed to him that he had always been strapped to this gurney with tubes running in and out of him, chunks of time disappearing. He was finding even the memories of being alone in his prison room seemed a long time ago.
“Did they tell you my wife is expecting? We’re going to name our daughter Maggie.” The hands on his back stopped.
“When is she due?” Maggie asked, resuming her backrub.
“Early March.”
Maggie pulled up the sheet to his waist and said, “There we go. Feel better?”
“What about the front half?”
He could hear a chuckle, then she said, “I did that while you were unconscious. Would you like some water?” He was silent. “Mr. Jones?”
“What did they tell you about me?”
There was a pause, then in a low voice she said, “You are a prisoner being interrogated.”
“And did they tell you what my crime is?” He could see her fiddling with things on a tray a few feet away. “Did they?”
“Mr. Jones, my job is to provide nursing care while you are confined to this bed. That is all.” She turned and left the room, but apparently she left the door open, because Ianto heard a conversation,
“Maggie, what the hell are you doing here?” It was Dr. Harper’s voice.
“I was assigned here. Owen, it’s good to see you-“
But Harper was moaning, “No, no, no, no. The bastards, the fucking bastards. Getting you involved with this.”
“I’m not involved with this. I’m just taking care of a patient, like always.”
“No, Maggie. Look, if you left now they might… You could tell them you are sick, or something. You have to get out of here.” His voice sounded desperate.
“Owen, for God’s sake, what is wrong with you.”
“They are deadly serious about this. And I do mean deadly. I probably deserve what I am going to get for ever letting them talk me into this but you-”
“Owen, what are you talking about?”
“They killed him, Maggie.”
“Who?”
“The Captain.”
“What?”
“Jack is dead, Maggie.”
Then there was silence. And Ianto could not understand the wail of grief that tried to climb up into his chest and out his throat. It was ridiculous. The man had been one of them. Why should he care if they turned on each other.
But he did care. The name “Jack” kept echoing around in his head. The grief threatened to overwhelm him, and he could not understand why and that frightened him more than anything that had happened so far. He lay bound on the bed, sobbing, and wondering if they had finally driven him insane.
Interlude 5
They all watched as Ianto buried his face in his forearms and wept.
Jack said, softly, “Is that for me?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“But he doesn’t even know who I am.”
“Part of him does.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a good sign, Jack. I think we are making progress.”
“We are? He nearly died during that last session.”
“Yes, they have planted some very nasty neurological bombs that get set off by the stress. That’s why I told you to have resuscitation equipment available.”
“So what can we do now?”
“Oh, we keep on.”
“Using the same stuff?”
“Yes, of course.”
There was a long pause. Jack’s voice was almost a whisper. “Please don’t let him die. He’s been through so much. He doesn’t deserve this.”
Part 6