To Save A Life - Ch.3
Chapter 1:
kausingkayn.livejournal.com/599.html
Chapter 2:
kausingkayn.livejournal.com/4078.html#cutid1
Jack sat in his bed, pretending to be asleep while listening in on the conversation happening right outside of his door. The man in a suit was there, the one who had stopped him, and was talking to a nurse about his little trip out of the room. Jack was worried. If they found out why he was on the roof, they would take away any privileges he had, including his wheelchair, and probably move him to some psycho ward for evaluation. He knew how these things went. He had a friend who had been captured by the enemy and was rescued after a week. The poor guy would have stayed in the crazy ward for life if he hadn't strangled himself with the IV tube.
"I heard his wheelchair, and followed him up to the roof." The suit man was saying.
"The roof?" That was the nurse. Here it came. Jack squeezed his eyes shut just a little more, praying for the words not to come.
"That's right. He was laying in the middle of the roof, just staring up at the stars. I think the poor guy just wanted to get out of this room. They do get quiet claustrophobic after a while."
Wait. Jack's eyes flew open, unable to stop himself. Did he really just hear what he thought he heard? A stranger just covered for him. But it wasn't a 'Jack didn't break the vase, mam.' It was a 'Jack didn't just try to kill himself.'
The two in his doorway talked a little bit more, then the nurse left. The suit man looked in, connecting his eyes with Jack's. However, this time, instead of walking away, he came into the room and sat down in the visitors chair with a sigh, running his hands through his rather disheveled hair.
Neither said anything for a moment, until Jack decided to speak. "Why?"
The young man glanced at Jack and let out a sigh. He knew the man wasn't asking why lying was his job, nor why he had covered for him by telling the nurse a fib. No, the Captain was asking why he saved him. "You should die for something, not nothing."
Then he stood up and faced the Captain, hesitating a moment before thrusting his hand out. It was awkward, but Jack took it, weakly shaking it, holding on to his hand a little longer than was necessary. "Captain Jack Harkness."
"Jones. Ianto Jones."
Then their hands parted, and Ianto walked out of Jack's room. The Captain watched him go, silently begging the man to stay. He was tired of being alone.
"Thank you Jones, Ianto Jones." Jack whispered once the man was out of sight.
--xXx--
"Well, Captain, it seems like you have another visitor!" Stated one of Jack's long-term nurses, Beth. The woman was entering his room with a large smile on her face. The man had only been in the ward for a couple of days, and the only visitor that he had gotten ended up leaving in tears. Why, the nursing staff talked about that for hours, but never reached a solid conclusion.
Jack looked up looked up from the book he was reading -Well, there wasn't much else to do- and gave a curious look. The only other real friend of his who was…breathing had been Gwen, and he hadn't exactly made her seem welcome for another visit. However, the days in the hospital were long, and he was increasingly lonely, especially since he hadn't seen the young Ianto Jones since he had 'saved' him on the roof. "Who?"
The nurse smiled again, and Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't know why they all had to do that, it was as if they were trying to make up for all of the pain and suffering going on in the ward by smiling all the time. Frankly, it was annoying. "He said he wanted it to be a surprise."
He? Jack ran through the list of men that he knew who didn't want him dead, or at least castrated. It wasn't a long list.
He didn't have to wait any longer, however, for at that moment, the mysterious man in question entered. Short, slightly curly red hair, prominent cheekbones, outfit that only a UNIT field agent would wear.
"John?"
The man gave a smile that would be classified more as a smirk, and put his hands on his hips. "Never thought I'd see the day when Captain Jack Harkness was sitting idle when there was a woman that beautiful tending to his every whim."
Nurse Beth turned a bright shade of red and muttered out a thank you before leaving the room. As soon as she left, John cleared the space between him and Jack, grasping the back of Jack's head with his hands. "Hello sexy."
John mashed his lips against Jacks, the other man responding eagerly, his hands roaming John's sides and back, both men moaning at the other's skilled tongue. Then, almost like he was realizing exactly what he was doing, Jack pulled back, panting and holding the other man at arm's length. John had a confused look on his face, silently wondering why Jack had stopped.
"Why are you here?" Jack asked, letting go of John.
"What, I'm not allowed to come visit an ex-boyfriend to see how he is recovering?" John crossed his arms in defense, but his eyes told a different story.
"Yeah, sure, if that is your only motive." Jack said, leaning back against his large pillows and closing his eyes. He really didn't feel like dealing with John at the moment.
The other man frowned and sat down in the chair next to the hospital bed, his hand snaking out to grab Jack's. The Captain flinched, but didn't pull away.
"I miss you, you know." John said, any humour or deception that he had previously had, gone.
Jack sighed, but stayed silent, opening his eyes to look at John. There were a few things different about the man, there were more wrinkles around his eyes, a few more tiny scars that Jack could see, and… "Is that grey hair?"
John chuckled, but didn't answer. "How are you? Really?"
Jack hesitated. Should he lie, like he did to anyone the past few days who asked him how he felt, or should he tell the truth? Should he let out everything that was building inside of him to an ex-lover? John had definitely been the wild one in their long relationship, but he had always been there as well. "Any word about Gray?"
John frowned at the obvious change in subject, but didn't call him on it. "Nothing. We still have several units out looking for him, but the chances are slim."
Jack pressed his lips together, rolling his hand into a fist then biting down on his knuckles with his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as a defense to the tears and unwanted emotions that threatened to overtake him. The Captain let out a large breath of air then opened his eyes, wiping away any hint of tears. Then he glanced back at John, determination in his eyes. "Promise me you won't stop looking."
"I…I did come here to tell you something." John said, purposefully ignoring Jack's question. "The attack on your team…we have reliable intel that says it wasn't an accident."
"Well, did you find out who did it?" Jack asked, suddenly sitting up quickly in the bed. He felt anger boiling up inside of him at the news that John had given him, and wanted to know who had done it.
John looked away and withdrew his hand from Jack's before speaking. "It was one of yours, Jack. Someone on your team."
"Stop lying." Jack said automatically, staring into John's eyes, looking for any kind of deceit or humour. Waiting for the man to laugh and proclaim it as one of his sick jokes then move on with the conversation. But all he saw was pity. Pity for him, the man who had everything he ever cared about taken from him, chewed up, and whatever left spit back in his face. He shook his head. "Stop it. Don't…don't you dare pity me."
Tears -those damn tears- welled up in his eyes again. What was wrong with him? He never used to cry before, certainly not for himself. He would shed a few at a funeral for a lost comrade, to show respect, but when it came to himself or his team, he would slap them on the back, give them a reassuring squeeze of their hand, and tell then, somewhat unkindly, to man up. But this place…it leaked grief. It was as if it wanted you to break down, to cry, to pity yourself. And Jack hated pity. He hated this place. His situation. His life -if you could call what he had a life. He felt all of his suppressed emotions boiling up inside of him, and so he did the only thing he knew to do when he needed to express them.
He leaned over and kissed John again. He grabbed the sides of the man and tried to pull him up onto the bed. His arms shook with the effort, being weak due to inactivity in the past few days, and sore because the movements he has to make to push his wheelchair used muscles in a way that he normally didn't use them.
John, however, knew exactly what Jack wanted, and even though the other man knew that what he was about to do was wrong -taking advantage of Jack- he didn't care. He crawled onto the small hospital bed, straddling his ex lover, never disconnecting their lips. He felt Jack's desperate hands claw at his clothes and was more than accommodating, sitting up only long enough to take off all of his top layer. While he was doing that, Jack had been struggling to get out of his hospital garb, and almost snarled when John tried to help. "No."
John attached his lips to Jack's neck, slowly working downward, waiting until Jack had removed his clothes to make his way to his chest. The man's skin was pale, and it made his hesitate. What was he doing? Then Jack kissed him senseless, pouring all of his pent up anger and feelings into the task at hand, and John was lost in it all.
--xXx--
"Don't think I've ever done that before." John commented between pants as he rolled off of Jack, trying to situate himself on the small hospital bed without falling off.
Jack snorted, his breathing just as labored. "What, a paraplegic or in a hospital bed."
"Both." John replied, and the two men laughed.
Jack smiled, his hands laying on his chest, feeling his heartbeat as it slowed, and his breathing as it became almost normal. It was just like old times, when he and John would excuse themselves from those rare occasions when UNIT decided to have a joint meeting with the RAF and find some small, isolated closet. Owen would yell at him for days, while the others shunned him for leaving them defenseless against the rueful UNIT, but Jack would take it all as smiles and crack some jokes about them needing to get laid more…
Owen. The screams over the radio. The sounds of pure terror, then relief that was short lived. The image of the defenseless parachute being torn apart by enemy fire, forever burned in his mind. The moment of bliss was over, and suddenly Jack was disgusted. Disgusted at the man lying next to him, but mostly at himself. "Get out."
John looked at Jack in surprise. "What, was I that bad?"
Jack's eyes connected with John's. "Just leave."
The smile dropped off of John's face, replaced with a worried frown. There is was again, that pity. The Captain started to get angry again, getting ready to yell. John realized this and sat up, reaching off the side of the hospital bed for his clothes, quickly yanking them on before smoothing them down, glancing at himself to make sure he looked at least halfway presentable. John gave Jack one last glance, hoping to see something that told him that his ex-lover wanted him to stay, but there was nothing of the sort.
"When you're ready to leave, I've got room at my place." John said, hesitating by the door.
Jack just rolled over, facing the wall, staring at the bland white paint. "Don't come back." He whispered.
And John left.
--xXx--
Jack stayed in his room for the rest of the day, along with the next two. He drifted in and out of sleep, refusing to eat or drink. When the nurses' finally decided to force-feed him, he threw up anything they were able to get down. He wouldn't talk to anyone, and just stared at the wall or the ceiling, not even reacting when Doctor Martha came the second night and told him she would take him outside to gaze at the stars.
When he was sleeping, it wasn't peaceful. He would cry, thrashing about, calling for someone to save him. The names of his deceased team members spilled from his lips as he begged them not to leave him. Other times he would yell and scream, lashing out at any of the nursing staff that attempted to contain him. They finally had to inject him with some sedatives to calm him down long enough to wake him up. When conscious, he had no recollection of his nightmares, and reverted to staring at the walls, as silent as ever.
The whole time he was running a fever that was near lethal. Everyone was worried, afraid that when the next morning came, he wouldn't come with it.
Ianto Jones overheard this talking as he came back from lunch, toting with him the now-relied on coffee, while a bag containing the rest of his uneaten lunch was hidden safely away in his bag. Instead of burying himself in Lisa's room, he went straight into Jack's, silently closing the door behind him so not to be disturbed. The man was sleeping, tears running down his closed eyes as he turned this way and that, mumbling words incoherent to the listener. Ianto sat down the items he was carrying, and then got to work untangling the bed sheets from Jack's legs, where they had gotten all twisted. Once that was finished, the young Welshman sat down in the visitors chair, which he had moved directly next to the bed, and reached into the inside pocket of his suit. Withdrawing a small book of poems, he began to read.
Ianto's voice was soft, yet it carried. His soothing tone made its way into Jack's unconscious state, falling over him like a blanket. There was no outward sign at first, but slowly, very slowly, the mumbling stopped, and so did the tears. The Captain's arms stopping thrashing, and for the first time in the past few days, Jack slept peacefully.
kausingkayn.livejournal.com/599.html
Chapter 2:
kausingkayn.livejournal.com/4078.html#cutid1
Jack sat in his bed, pretending to be asleep while listening in on the conversation happening right outside of his door. The man in a suit was there, the one who had stopped him, and was talking to a nurse about his little trip out of the room. Jack was worried. If they found out why he was on the roof, they would take away any privileges he had, including his wheelchair, and probably move him to some psycho ward for evaluation. He knew how these things went. He had a friend who had been captured by the enemy and was rescued after a week. The poor guy would have stayed in the crazy ward for life if he hadn't strangled himself with the IV tube.
"I heard his wheelchair, and followed him up to the roof." The suit man was saying.
"The roof?" That was the nurse. Here it came. Jack squeezed his eyes shut just a little more, praying for the words not to come.
"That's right. He was laying in the middle of the roof, just staring up at the stars. I think the poor guy just wanted to get out of this room. They do get quiet claustrophobic after a while."
Wait. Jack's eyes flew open, unable to stop himself. Did he really just hear what he thought he heard? A stranger just covered for him. But it wasn't a 'Jack didn't break the vase, mam.' It was a 'Jack didn't just try to kill himself.'
The two in his doorway talked a little bit more, then the nurse left. The suit man looked in, connecting his eyes with Jack's. However, this time, instead of walking away, he came into the room and sat down in the visitors chair with a sigh, running his hands through his rather disheveled hair.
Neither said anything for a moment, until Jack decided to speak. "Why?"
The young man glanced at Jack and let out a sigh. He knew the man wasn't asking why lying was his job, nor why he had covered for him by telling the nurse a fib. No, the Captain was asking why he saved him. "You should die for something, not nothing."
Then he stood up and faced the Captain, hesitating a moment before thrusting his hand out. It was awkward, but Jack took it, weakly shaking it, holding on to his hand a little longer than was necessary. "Captain Jack Harkness."
"Jones. Ianto Jones."
Then their hands parted, and Ianto walked out of Jack's room. The Captain watched him go, silently begging the man to stay. He was tired of being alone.
"Thank you Jones, Ianto Jones." Jack whispered once the man was out of sight.
--xXx--
"Well, Captain, it seems like you have another visitor!" Stated one of Jack's long-term nurses, Beth. The woman was entering his room with a large smile on her face. The man had only been in the ward for a couple of days, and the only visitor that he had gotten ended up leaving in tears. Why, the nursing staff talked about that for hours, but never reached a solid conclusion.
Jack looked up looked up from the book he was reading -Well, there wasn't much else to do- and gave a curious look. The only other real friend of his who was…breathing had been Gwen, and he hadn't exactly made her seem welcome for another visit. However, the days in the hospital were long, and he was increasingly lonely, especially since he hadn't seen the young Ianto Jones since he had 'saved' him on the roof. "Who?"
The nurse smiled again, and Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't know why they all had to do that, it was as if they were trying to make up for all of the pain and suffering going on in the ward by smiling all the time. Frankly, it was annoying. "He said he wanted it to be a surprise."
He? Jack ran through the list of men that he knew who didn't want him dead, or at least castrated. It wasn't a long list.
He didn't have to wait any longer, however, for at that moment, the mysterious man in question entered. Short, slightly curly red hair, prominent cheekbones, outfit that only a UNIT field agent would wear.
"John?"
The man gave a smile that would be classified more as a smirk, and put his hands on his hips. "Never thought I'd see the day when Captain Jack Harkness was sitting idle when there was a woman that beautiful tending to his every whim."
Nurse Beth turned a bright shade of red and muttered out a thank you before leaving the room. As soon as she left, John cleared the space between him and Jack, grasping the back of Jack's head with his hands. "Hello sexy."
John mashed his lips against Jacks, the other man responding eagerly, his hands roaming John's sides and back, both men moaning at the other's skilled tongue. Then, almost like he was realizing exactly what he was doing, Jack pulled back, panting and holding the other man at arm's length. John had a confused look on his face, silently wondering why Jack had stopped.
"Why are you here?" Jack asked, letting go of John.
"What, I'm not allowed to come visit an ex-boyfriend to see how he is recovering?" John crossed his arms in defense, but his eyes told a different story.
"Yeah, sure, if that is your only motive." Jack said, leaning back against his large pillows and closing his eyes. He really didn't feel like dealing with John at the moment.
The other man frowned and sat down in the chair next to the hospital bed, his hand snaking out to grab Jack's. The Captain flinched, but didn't pull away.
"I miss you, you know." John said, any humour or deception that he had previously had, gone.
Jack sighed, but stayed silent, opening his eyes to look at John. There were a few things different about the man, there were more wrinkles around his eyes, a few more tiny scars that Jack could see, and… "Is that grey hair?"
John chuckled, but didn't answer. "How are you? Really?"
Jack hesitated. Should he lie, like he did to anyone the past few days who asked him how he felt, or should he tell the truth? Should he let out everything that was building inside of him to an ex-lover? John had definitely been the wild one in their long relationship, but he had always been there as well. "Any word about Gray?"
John frowned at the obvious change in subject, but didn't call him on it. "Nothing. We still have several units out looking for him, but the chances are slim."
Jack pressed his lips together, rolling his hand into a fist then biting down on his knuckles with his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as a defense to the tears and unwanted emotions that threatened to overtake him. The Captain let out a large breath of air then opened his eyes, wiping away any hint of tears. Then he glanced back at John, determination in his eyes. "Promise me you won't stop looking."
"I…I did come here to tell you something." John said, purposefully ignoring Jack's question. "The attack on your team…we have reliable intel that says it wasn't an accident."
"Well, did you find out who did it?" Jack asked, suddenly sitting up quickly in the bed. He felt anger boiling up inside of him at the news that John had given him, and wanted to know who had done it.
John looked away and withdrew his hand from Jack's before speaking. "It was one of yours, Jack. Someone on your team."
"Stop lying." Jack said automatically, staring into John's eyes, looking for any kind of deceit or humour. Waiting for the man to laugh and proclaim it as one of his sick jokes then move on with the conversation. But all he saw was pity. Pity for him, the man who had everything he ever cared about taken from him, chewed up, and whatever left spit back in his face. He shook his head. "Stop it. Don't…don't you dare pity me."
Tears -those damn tears- welled up in his eyes again. What was wrong with him? He never used to cry before, certainly not for himself. He would shed a few at a funeral for a lost comrade, to show respect, but when it came to himself or his team, he would slap them on the back, give them a reassuring squeeze of their hand, and tell then, somewhat unkindly, to man up. But this place…it leaked grief. It was as if it wanted you to break down, to cry, to pity yourself. And Jack hated pity. He hated this place. His situation. His life -if you could call what he had a life. He felt all of his suppressed emotions boiling up inside of him, and so he did the only thing he knew to do when he needed to express them.
He leaned over and kissed John again. He grabbed the sides of the man and tried to pull him up onto the bed. His arms shook with the effort, being weak due to inactivity in the past few days, and sore because the movements he has to make to push his wheelchair used muscles in a way that he normally didn't use them.
John, however, knew exactly what Jack wanted, and even though the other man knew that what he was about to do was wrong -taking advantage of Jack- he didn't care. He crawled onto the small hospital bed, straddling his ex lover, never disconnecting their lips. He felt Jack's desperate hands claw at his clothes and was more than accommodating, sitting up only long enough to take off all of his top layer. While he was doing that, Jack had been struggling to get out of his hospital garb, and almost snarled when John tried to help. "No."
John attached his lips to Jack's neck, slowly working downward, waiting until Jack had removed his clothes to make his way to his chest. The man's skin was pale, and it made his hesitate. What was he doing? Then Jack kissed him senseless, pouring all of his pent up anger and feelings into the task at hand, and John was lost in it all.
--xXx--
"Don't think I've ever done that before." John commented between pants as he rolled off of Jack, trying to situate himself on the small hospital bed without falling off.
Jack snorted, his breathing just as labored. "What, a paraplegic or in a hospital bed."
"Both." John replied, and the two men laughed.
Jack smiled, his hands laying on his chest, feeling his heartbeat as it slowed, and his breathing as it became almost normal. It was just like old times, when he and John would excuse themselves from those rare occasions when UNIT decided to have a joint meeting with the RAF and find some small, isolated closet. Owen would yell at him for days, while the others shunned him for leaving them defenseless against the rueful UNIT, but Jack would take it all as smiles and crack some jokes about them needing to get laid more…
Owen. The screams over the radio. The sounds of pure terror, then relief that was short lived. The image of the defenseless parachute being torn apart by enemy fire, forever burned in his mind. The moment of bliss was over, and suddenly Jack was disgusted. Disgusted at the man lying next to him, but mostly at himself. "Get out."
John looked at Jack in surprise. "What, was I that bad?"
Jack's eyes connected with John's. "Just leave."
The smile dropped off of John's face, replaced with a worried frown. There is was again, that pity. The Captain started to get angry again, getting ready to yell. John realized this and sat up, reaching off the side of the hospital bed for his clothes, quickly yanking them on before smoothing them down, glancing at himself to make sure he looked at least halfway presentable. John gave Jack one last glance, hoping to see something that told him that his ex-lover wanted him to stay, but there was nothing of the sort.
"When you're ready to leave, I've got room at my place." John said, hesitating by the door.
Jack just rolled over, facing the wall, staring at the bland white paint. "Don't come back." He whispered.
And John left.
--xXx--
Jack stayed in his room for the rest of the day, along with the next two. He drifted in and out of sleep, refusing to eat or drink. When the nurses' finally decided to force-feed him, he threw up anything they were able to get down. He wouldn't talk to anyone, and just stared at the wall or the ceiling, not even reacting when Doctor Martha came the second night and told him she would take him outside to gaze at the stars.
When he was sleeping, it wasn't peaceful. He would cry, thrashing about, calling for someone to save him. The names of his deceased team members spilled from his lips as he begged them not to leave him. Other times he would yell and scream, lashing out at any of the nursing staff that attempted to contain him. They finally had to inject him with some sedatives to calm him down long enough to wake him up. When conscious, he had no recollection of his nightmares, and reverted to staring at the walls, as silent as ever.
The whole time he was running a fever that was near lethal. Everyone was worried, afraid that when the next morning came, he wouldn't come with it.
Ianto Jones overheard this talking as he came back from lunch, toting with him the now-relied on coffee, while a bag containing the rest of his uneaten lunch was hidden safely away in his bag. Instead of burying himself in Lisa's room, he went straight into Jack's, silently closing the door behind him so not to be disturbed. The man was sleeping, tears running down his closed eyes as he turned this way and that, mumbling words incoherent to the listener. Ianto sat down the items he was carrying, and then got to work untangling the bed sheets from Jack's legs, where they had gotten all twisted. Once that was finished, the young Welshman sat down in the visitors chair, which he had moved directly next to the bed, and reached into the inside pocket of his suit. Withdrawing a small book of poems, he began to read.
Ianto's voice was soft, yet it carried. His soothing tone made its way into Jack's unconscious state, falling over him like a blanket. There was no outward sign at first, but slowly, very slowly, the mumbling stopped, and so did the tears. The Captain's arms stopping thrashing, and for the first time in the past few days, Jack slept peacefully.