Turning Point - 3/64
Title: Turning Point
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairings: budding Jack/Ianto, references to past Ianto/Lisa
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: If I was the one who owned Torchwood, you think I'd admit it now?
Spoilers: Some information and events from s1,2. NONE for s3.
Summary: In the aftermath of Lisa's death, Ianto is struggling to cope - and new surprises don't help matters much. Can his friends on the team at Torchwood help him carry on?
Author's Note: Sequel to Guilt.
Thanks to: My lovely beta cazmalfoy, angelzbabe1989 for idea bouncing, and morbid_sparks for cheerleading even when she doesn't know what happens.
Previous chapters at master list
Chapter Three
Ianto wished he’d taken first aid classes. Thanks to the events of the past months, he had a lot more medical knowledge than he’d had before, but his first aid skills were still on the rudimentary side.
He’d attempted CPR, his hands becoming soaked in the blood covering Jack while he knelt in a puddle of the same, but he’d never had any training in it. He didn’t know if he’d even done it properly, with only vague recollections of things people had said and medical dramas to go on.
It hadn’t worked, anyway.
Jack wasn’t breathing. He had no pulse. Ianto had put his head to his chest just to check. His heart wasn’t beating.
He was dead.
Tears had started to trickle down Ianto’s cheeks when he’d known for sure.
This just couldn’t be happening. Jack couldn’t be dead. It had to be a nightmare, because the world just couldn’t be cruel enough to do this to him, could it? His whole world had been ripped from him barely two weeks before; Jack had been one of the few things helping him to carry on. Helping him get up every morning, put one foot in front of the other and keep faith that it would get better, eventually.
If Jack was gone…
Tears traced with ever increasing volume down Ianto’s face at the very thought.
He knew he should get up - contact the rest of the team and let them know what had happened - but he couldn’t bring himself to move.
He collapsed in on himself, bending over Jack’s still body and resting his head on his shoulder.
“Please, don’t be dead, Jack,” he whispered brokenly, knowing it was useless but not caring. “I need you.”
His shoulders shuddered as he wept into Jack’s shirt; wept in despair as he wondered what he’d do now.
There was a slight movement underneath him but he dismissed it, barely noticed it in the first place.
His heart rate shot through the roof when there was another, more pronounced movement, and then he was thrown off completely as Jack drew in a huge gasping breath and flailed wildly.
Ianto scrambled back a foot or two and stared at Jack in shock and disbelief as the older man sat up with a pained grimace.
He glanced down and noted in astonishment that, although the bottom half of Jack’s shirt was still shredded and soaked in blood, the skin beneath it was perfectly intact.
“But… But you were dead!” he spluttered. “I checked. You were definitely dead.”
Jack nodded and shrugged slightly. “It’s possible.”
Ianto shook his head incredulously. “What do you mean ‘it’s possible’? You were dead. Gone. No breathing. No pulse. Nothing. And now, you’re… not.”
“I can’t die,” said Jack, matter-of-factly.
“Yes, you can,” Ianto disputed. “I just saw you. You died!”
“Okay, you’re right, I can die,” Jack acquiesced. “I just don’t stay dead.”
Ianto bit his lip. “But… but… how?”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“You must have some idea. I mean, did you drink or touch something, or…?”
Jack shook his head again. “Nope. It’s… I…” He paused and seemed to be considering how best to continue. “I was travelling with some friends. We… got caught up in a bit of a war. I was killed.” He sighed deeply. “And then I woke up. And my friends were gone. Ever since then, I’ve had a problem staying dead. Been stabbed, shot, mauled, electrocuted, starved… Nothing sticks.”
Ianto didn’t know how to react to that, he really didn’t. “How… how long ago was that, then?” he eventually asked, quietly.
Jack tilted his head as he counted. “Nearly 140 years.”
Ianto gaped. “140 years?”
Jack nodded. “Looking pretty good for my age, aren’t I?” he quipped, trying to lighten the tone. “I haven’t aged a day. So for all intents and purposes, I’m immortal. I’ll live forever.” He punctuated the last with an ironic hand flourish.
Ianto was silent for a long moment. He couldn’t decide whether Jack’s ability was a blessing or a curse - although he sensed that Jack was leaning heavily towards the ‘curse’ end of the scale.
“Do the others know?”
Jack shook his head vehemently. “No! And please don’t tell them. Most… most people who find out tend to start thinking of me as a bit of a freak, and I don’t want to go through that again.”
Ianto opened his mouth to tell Jack he didn’t think he was a freak, but realised before he made a sound that Jack had already realised that. “I won’t say anything,” he promised. “Now, how about we get this Weevil down to the cells before it comes around, and get you cleaned up?”
Chapter Four
Comments and concrit are loved!
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairings: budding Jack/Ianto, references to past Ianto/Lisa
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: If I was the one who owned Torchwood, you think I'd admit it now?
Spoilers: Some information and events from s1,2. NONE for s3.
Summary: In the aftermath of Lisa's death, Ianto is struggling to cope - and new surprises don't help matters much. Can his friends on the team at Torchwood help him carry on?
Author's Note: Sequel to Guilt.
Thanks to: My lovely beta cazmalfoy, angelzbabe1989 for idea bouncing, and morbid_sparks for cheerleading even when she doesn't know what happens.
Previous chapters at master list
Chapter Three
Ianto wished he’d taken first aid classes. Thanks to the events of the past months, he had a lot more medical knowledge than he’d had before, but his first aid skills were still on the rudimentary side.
He’d attempted CPR, his hands becoming soaked in the blood covering Jack while he knelt in a puddle of the same, but he’d never had any training in it. He didn’t know if he’d even done it properly, with only vague recollections of things people had said and medical dramas to go on.
It hadn’t worked, anyway.
Jack wasn’t breathing. He had no pulse. Ianto had put his head to his chest just to check. His heart wasn’t beating.
He was dead.
Tears had started to trickle down Ianto’s cheeks when he’d known for sure.
This just couldn’t be happening. Jack couldn’t be dead. It had to be a nightmare, because the world just couldn’t be cruel enough to do this to him, could it? His whole world had been ripped from him barely two weeks before; Jack had been one of the few things helping him to carry on. Helping him get up every morning, put one foot in front of the other and keep faith that it would get better, eventually.
If Jack was gone…
Tears traced with ever increasing volume down Ianto’s face at the very thought.
He knew he should get up - contact the rest of the team and let them know what had happened - but he couldn’t bring himself to move.
He collapsed in on himself, bending over Jack’s still body and resting his head on his shoulder.
“Please, don’t be dead, Jack,” he whispered brokenly, knowing it was useless but not caring. “I need you.”
His shoulders shuddered as he wept into Jack’s shirt; wept in despair as he wondered what he’d do now.
There was a slight movement underneath him but he dismissed it, barely noticed it in the first place.
His heart rate shot through the roof when there was another, more pronounced movement, and then he was thrown off completely as Jack drew in a huge gasping breath and flailed wildly.
Ianto scrambled back a foot or two and stared at Jack in shock and disbelief as the older man sat up with a pained grimace.
He glanced down and noted in astonishment that, although the bottom half of Jack’s shirt was still shredded and soaked in blood, the skin beneath it was perfectly intact.
“But… But you were dead!” he spluttered. “I checked. You were definitely dead.”
Jack nodded and shrugged slightly. “It’s possible.”
Ianto shook his head incredulously. “What do you mean ‘it’s possible’? You were dead. Gone. No breathing. No pulse. Nothing. And now, you’re… not.”
“I can’t die,” said Jack, matter-of-factly.
“Yes, you can,” Ianto disputed. “I just saw you. You died!”
“Okay, you’re right, I can die,” Jack acquiesced. “I just don’t stay dead.”
Ianto bit his lip. “But… but… how?”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“You must have some idea. I mean, did you drink or touch something, or…?”
Jack shook his head again. “Nope. It’s… I…” He paused and seemed to be considering how best to continue. “I was travelling with some friends. We… got caught up in a bit of a war. I was killed.” He sighed deeply. “And then I woke up. And my friends were gone. Ever since then, I’ve had a problem staying dead. Been stabbed, shot, mauled, electrocuted, starved… Nothing sticks.”
Ianto didn’t know how to react to that, he really didn’t. “How… how long ago was that, then?” he eventually asked, quietly.
Jack tilted his head as he counted. “Nearly 140 years.”
Ianto gaped. “140 years?”
Jack nodded. “Looking pretty good for my age, aren’t I?” he quipped, trying to lighten the tone. “I haven’t aged a day. So for all intents and purposes, I’m immortal. I’ll live forever.” He punctuated the last with an ironic hand flourish.
Ianto was silent for a long moment. He couldn’t decide whether Jack’s ability was a blessing or a curse - although he sensed that Jack was leaning heavily towards the ‘curse’ end of the scale.
“Do the others know?”
Jack shook his head vehemently. “No! And please don’t tell them. Most… most people who find out tend to start thinking of me as a bit of a freak, and I don’t want to go through that again.”
Ianto opened his mouth to tell Jack he didn’t think he was a freak, but realised before he made a sound that Jack had already realised that. “I won’t say anything,” he promised. “Now, how about we get this Weevil down to the cells before it comes around, and get you cleaned up?”
Chapter Four
Comments and concrit are loved!