To Save A Life - Ch.7
Title: To Save A Life
Topic: Torchwood
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Summary: Sometimes, surviving isn't enough. Sometimes, you need more. Sometimes, you need to loose in order to gain.
Rating: T
Genre: AU, angst, comfort, friendship
He stood in the hallway, shrinking against the wall, wanting to be invisible, and feeling as if he had gotten his wish. He watched with empty eyes as the hospital bed was rolled out of the room, a body covered by a thin blanket on top of it. Ianto reached his hand out towards it, trying - needing - to touch it. At the last moment he pulled back, curling his fingers into his chest and pressing himself against the wall to prevent himself from collapsing. His whole body felt numb, his tears long ago causing his face to grow cold. His fingers and legs shook, and his throat constricted with the silent scream that had been slowly building inside of him. He asked himself the same question over and over again in his mind as he watched the bed grow further and further away - 'why?'
A hand touched his shoulder, trying to comfort him but he didn't respond. Words were spoken, but he was too far gone to hear them. He was retreating inside of himself - wanting to just curl up and go to sleep, hoping that, when he woke up, things would be back to how they were.
Then the touch was gone, and he was by himself in every sense of the word.
He let himself go - gave up - gave in - allowed his body to do what it wanted to. He sunk to the floor and just stayed there, his legs sticking out in the middle of the hallway, his arms laying limply by his sides. His head leaned back against the wall as his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. His breathing was ragged and irregular and loud, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore. He would be content just to sit there and wallow in self-pity for the rest of his young life - because why shouldn't he? Everyone he knew gave him pity, so why shouldn't he?
'Except for Jack.' A small voice inside of his head said, and Ianto let out a half-cry half-laugh that sounded like a dieing creatures last breath. Jack Harkness was long gone, across the world, moving on with his life, like he himself should have a long time ago.
Then, that familiar squeaking filled his ears, and Ianto came back into his body. His head lulled to the side in order to give his eyes a clear line of sight down the long corridor - what he saw was impossible.
Captain Jack Harkness was coming down the hallway, wheelchair and all. Ianto closed his eyes tight for several seconds before re-opening them. Relief flooded him, the man was still there. "Jack…" He croaked out in a death-like whisper.
The man's wheelchair bumped lightly into his legs, and there was silence for a few moments as he struggled to get out of the chair and sit himself on the floor next to Ianto. When he was situated, the Captain leaned against the other man and threw his arms around him, holding him tight. "I'm so sorry Yan."
Ianto automatically buried his face into the other man's chest, sobbing into his shirt, grasping him tightly. Jack laid there, hugging the man within inches of death, his chin resting on the Welshman's hair, not saying a word.
"E-everyone…..l-leaves….s-she p-promised." Ianto cried into Jack's shirt, and the words positively broke Jack's heart.
--xXx--
The funeral was two days later. It was a sunny day - the type of day that Ianto wished was dark and rainy, but the sky wouldn't even give him that - cover for his tears. Even though it was warm, he stood by the open grave with a large heavy coat buttoned up to his throat, it's collar popped up, his chin buried under the hem. His face was pale as a ghost, and his hair stuck out in all different directions - he hadn't brushed it in so long. His eyes were puffy and rimmed with red.
There was one other person at the funeral other than the priest and the men paid to lower the casket into the grave. This man was considerably shorter than Ianto, although that probably had to do with the fact that he was in a wheelchair. He wore an old World War II RAF coat, and looked more put-together than the Welshman. He wore a grim expression, but his eyes were dry, and his coat unbuttoned.
The priest droned in the background, but Ianto wasn't really listening. He never really did believe in all that God stuff anyway, even though Lisa did. He believed that the things he saw in his line of work wouldn't be possible if there really was an invisible man watching over them all and loving them. He had been completely alone before, and had felt nothing.
His right hand, deep within his coat pocket, fingered the slender engagement ring that he had been holding onto the past two years. It no longer brought a ghosted smile to his lips. In fact, all it did was remind him of what he would never have - could never have.
It was sad, how only two people showed. Although, Ianto knew that two years ago Lisa's family had taken part in their own funeral - minus the body. Ianto had refused to show up, refused to acknowledge that his fiancé was already dead. Everyone else had moved on, while he had been left in the past. He was so alone.
Something warm wormed itself into his left coat pocket, and Ianto startled, glancing to his left, where Jack sat, looking at him. Ianto didn't smile or say anything - he didn't have it in himself to smile. He did, however, pull his hand out of his pocket and wrapped his fingers around Jack's strong hang. He wasn't completely alone - he had Jack. And for the moment, that was enough to keep himself there.
The funeral rites finished, the priest gave the go ahead for Lisa's casket to be buried. The pall-bearers lowered her into the ground, and then picked up shovels and proceeded to cover it with dirt. Ianto approached the edge of the grave and watched, for a moment considering just jumping in and allowing them to continue. The constant warmth from Jack's hand was the only thing that persuaded him otherwise. Ianto's right hand closed around the ring in his pocket, and before he could stop himself, he tossed it into the grave. The men with shovels didn't say a thing. They were around death all the time, Ianto thought. They dealt with it every day. They dealt with grief every day too. Did it become something normal, after a while?
Ianto let out a slow breath and grazed over the headstone. 'Beloved Daughter, Sister, and Fiancé.'
The two of them stood there until the dirt was replaced and the pall-bearers had left. The priest, on his way out, tried to offer words of consolidation to Ianto, but he had been met by a blank stare and a few whispers from Jack. Finally, they were alone in the cemetery.
"What now?" Ianto asked, his own voice sounding foreign and small to his ears.
Jack squeezed his hand gently and stared out past the headstone, past the cemetery, the trees. He glanced up and watched the sky. "The only thing we can do…move on."
"I…I don't know if I can." Ianto whispered, voicing his fears.
Jack tore his gaze away from the sky and locked eyes with Ianto, a fierce determination in his eyes. "You have to."
Silence. Ianto didn't move to say anything, there was nothing more that he could say on the topic. Then, Jack spoke again. "I know what we need."
--xXx--
The bar was small and old fashioned, but clean. The only source of music was the juke box sitting neglected in the corner, running through it's pre-selected songs. The place was almost empty, but those who were there stayed quiet, murmuring softly to their drinking buddies, or nursing their solitary drink by themselves. This was a place to come when you wanted to forget, not have fun.
Two men sat back in the corner - one in a booth, the other in a wheelchair. They had long ago surpassed beers for something a little more stronger - and judging by the amount of alcohol that they had already consumed, it was obvious that they were there to get absolutely pissed.
"…an' they start'd ta shout, 'Stop the plane!'" Jack proclaimed a bit louder, causing several eye-daggers to be shot his way, all of which he ignored.
The man sitting across from Jack let out a soft giggle and proceeded to drain his glass of whiskey before reaching for the bottle - the bar maid had long ago left it there, growing tired of walking back and forth. They had both come by way of taxi, so she hadn't need to worry about them leaving in their own vehicle.
"It. Was. EPIC." Jack waved his arms to prove his point, then laughed. Ianto gave a small smirk.
The table grew quiet as both men took a drink, then Ianto set his glass down, fiddling with it as Jack dove into his next story. That was how most of their trip to the bar had been so far - Jack talking about funny stories, sad stories, scary stories. About how he and his team mates had done all these crazy things - those stories came after the Captain was past the 'thoroughly pissed' stage of their drinking. He had stopped once to let Ianto talk, but the man had just stayed silent. He didn't have any exciting stories, not like what Jack told. He was a "simple PR guy," what kind of excitement was there in his life that he had wanted to recall at the moment?
Ianto cleared his throat, and stared into his glass. Jack immediately grew silent, waiting for the other man to say what he wanted. Minutes passed. "Um…how long will you be here?"
Jack opened his mouth to say something, but Ianto cut him off quickly, his words jumbling all together into a string of syllables. "I mean, I know you missed your plane, but you'll be going to this institute, obviously, and, I mean, you see, I was wondering…wondering if your previous offer - of me…me going with you - was still open…?"
Jack stared at Ianto then, swallowing hard as he deciphered the young man's words. The Captain then grimaced and reached for the bottle, tempted to drain the whole thing, but knew it would make him sick. It was silent for so long that Ianto was getting ready to apologize. "You can't come, Ianto."
The man's heart instantly plummeted, and he felt the walls of his mind pull tighter. That was it, then. Jack would be gone, moving on with his life in a few days, and poor Ianto would once again be stuck to wallow in his grief. "I…I understand…I hurt you - I'm sorry, but I under…"
He paused as he watched Jack shake his head. When the Captain stilled his head, there were tears brimming in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice caught. "Y-you can't go, Yan, because I'm not going back…I can't."
Ianto froze, feeling sick to his stomach as he heard the words. His mouth grew dry, and all he wanted to do was waste away. He asked why, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew what Jack would say.
"The Doctor has a very long waiting list…that plane was my chance…" Jack spoke to the wooden table, unable to hide the tears, the feelings in his voice.
"Oh god…" Ianto said, shrinking in the booth as he himself started to cry. He put his head in his hands and shook his head. Why did he do it, why did he have to go and ruin Jack's life too?
"Don't." Jack said, anger in his voice. "Don't you dare say you are sorry, Ianto Jones. I'm an adult, and I know how to make choices. I made one on that plane, and I wouldn't change it for the world. I know exactly where I want to be, and who I want to be there with."
Ianto looked up at that, and when he looked in Jack's eyes, he didn't see regret, or anger, or spit. He saw caring, and understanding…and love. "You…you've done so much for me…why…?"
Jack reached across the table and took Ianto's hand, squeezing it hard. The younger man squeezed back. "Because you saved me, Ianto. You saved me on that roof that night, and you saved me every day after that…" and because I Love you. Jack wanted to lean across the table and kiss him, then. Kiss him fully on the lips and say those three words and then hug him and tell him that everything would be ok and that they would get through it together. But he couldn't, so instead he just gave a genuine smile - it was small, just the slight upturn of the corner of the lips - and asked the barmaid loudly if she would please call a cab.
"It's going to be ok." Jack whispered then, and for the first time in a long time, Ianto believed it.
--xXx--
Captain John Hart sat at his desk in his office at the UNIT headquarters in Great Britain, flipping idly through reports that he was supposed to have finished ages ago. He hadn't been given any new assignments in a while, and was growing quiet bored.
His thoughts drifted toward Jack, and he wondered briefly how the man was doing. He had wanted to go back and visit him several times, but never was able to bring up the courage to. The way that Jack has sounded when he told him to leave had positively broken John's heart, and he didn't want to make things any worse than they already were. They had had a great four years - though John still insists it was five - and he wasn't one to try and rekindle old loves, especially not one like what he had with Jack Harkness. That was a once in a lifetime experience, right?
But John wasn't one to just give up, and he shook his head, wondering what had gotten into him.
Then a knock came at the door, and John allowed a large, lecherous grin to grow on his face, and he put his red UNIT cap on, purposefully allowing it to slide sideways on his head. No matter who walked through that door, John was pretty sure there would be at least one good quality on which he could dote on - ah, the benefits of being single and unattached.
A young soldier came in then, carrying a large file. He looked like a rookie; cut out of the cloth that they use to make the uniforms. He saluted, then handed the file to John. The Captain just rolled his eyes then grabbed the information, opening the file and scanning the information. By the time he was finished, his eyebrows were well-above his hairline. "Who knows about this?" He asked.
The soldier cleared his throat. "Um, just you and me, sir. That's the only copy."
John frowned and stared at the young man, boring holes through his eyes. "Who?"
The soldier understood the silent question, and tried again. "Only you, sir."
John smirked and gave a good-hearted laugh. "Good lad, learnin' quick. Now go."
The soldier left, and John let out a large puff of breath and fell backwards into his chair, a heavy, twisted feeling growing in his gut as he read the file more thoroughly. So the computers were finally able to crack the coding in the messages that UNIT had uncovered between the enemy and the mole in Jack's special air force squad. John stared at the name printed within the first line of the text, and shook his head. He didn't understand how someone so decorated could do something so horrible.
John reached for the phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. He let it ring twice, then hung up, letting out a large breath of hot air, knowing what he was about to do.
"If I loose my job, I'm bloody blaming you, Jack." He mumbled as he turned on his paper shredder.
Slowly, paper by paper, sheet by sheet, Captain John Hart destroyed the evidence, until all that was left of the RAF soldier named Gray Harkness was a pile of unreadable, scrap paper.
Topic: Torchwood
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Summary: Sometimes, surviving isn't enough. Sometimes, you need more. Sometimes, you need to loose in order to gain.
Rating: T
Genre: AU, angst, comfort, friendship
He stood in the hallway, shrinking against the wall, wanting to be invisible, and feeling as if he had gotten his wish. He watched with empty eyes as the hospital bed was rolled out of the room, a body covered by a thin blanket on top of it. Ianto reached his hand out towards it, trying - needing - to touch it. At the last moment he pulled back, curling his fingers into his chest and pressing himself against the wall to prevent himself from collapsing. His whole body felt numb, his tears long ago causing his face to grow cold. His fingers and legs shook, and his throat constricted with the silent scream that had been slowly building inside of him. He asked himself the same question over and over again in his mind as he watched the bed grow further and further away - 'why?'
A hand touched his shoulder, trying to comfort him but he didn't respond. Words were spoken, but he was too far gone to hear them. He was retreating inside of himself - wanting to just curl up and go to sleep, hoping that, when he woke up, things would be back to how they were.
Then the touch was gone, and he was by himself in every sense of the word.
He let himself go - gave up - gave in - allowed his body to do what it wanted to. He sunk to the floor and just stayed there, his legs sticking out in the middle of the hallway, his arms laying limply by his sides. His head leaned back against the wall as his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. His breathing was ragged and irregular and loud, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore. He would be content just to sit there and wallow in self-pity for the rest of his young life - because why shouldn't he? Everyone he knew gave him pity, so why shouldn't he?
'Except for Jack.' A small voice inside of his head said, and Ianto let out a half-cry half-laugh that sounded like a dieing creatures last breath. Jack Harkness was long gone, across the world, moving on with his life, like he himself should have a long time ago.
Then, that familiar squeaking filled his ears, and Ianto came back into his body. His head lulled to the side in order to give his eyes a clear line of sight down the long corridor - what he saw was impossible.
Captain Jack Harkness was coming down the hallway, wheelchair and all. Ianto closed his eyes tight for several seconds before re-opening them. Relief flooded him, the man was still there. "Jack…" He croaked out in a death-like whisper.
The man's wheelchair bumped lightly into his legs, and there was silence for a few moments as he struggled to get out of the chair and sit himself on the floor next to Ianto. When he was situated, the Captain leaned against the other man and threw his arms around him, holding him tight. "I'm so sorry Yan."
Ianto automatically buried his face into the other man's chest, sobbing into his shirt, grasping him tightly. Jack laid there, hugging the man within inches of death, his chin resting on the Welshman's hair, not saying a word.
"E-everyone…..l-leaves….s-she p-promised." Ianto cried into Jack's shirt, and the words positively broke Jack's heart.
--xXx--
The funeral was two days later. It was a sunny day - the type of day that Ianto wished was dark and rainy, but the sky wouldn't even give him that - cover for his tears. Even though it was warm, he stood by the open grave with a large heavy coat buttoned up to his throat, it's collar popped up, his chin buried under the hem. His face was pale as a ghost, and his hair stuck out in all different directions - he hadn't brushed it in so long. His eyes were puffy and rimmed with red.
There was one other person at the funeral other than the priest and the men paid to lower the casket into the grave. This man was considerably shorter than Ianto, although that probably had to do with the fact that he was in a wheelchair. He wore an old World War II RAF coat, and looked more put-together than the Welshman. He wore a grim expression, but his eyes were dry, and his coat unbuttoned.
The priest droned in the background, but Ianto wasn't really listening. He never really did believe in all that God stuff anyway, even though Lisa did. He believed that the things he saw in his line of work wouldn't be possible if there really was an invisible man watching over them all and loving them. He had been completely alone before, and had felt nothing.
His right hand, deep within his coat pocket, fingered the slender engagement ring that he had been holding onto the past two years. It no longer brought a ghosted smile to his lips. In fact, all it did was remind him of what he would never have - could never have.
It was sad, how only two people showed. Although, Ianto knew that two years ago Lisa's family had taken part in their own funeral - minus the body. Ianto had refused to show up, refused to acknowledge that his fiancé was already dead. Everyone else had moved on, while he had been left in the past. He was so alone.
Something warm wormed itself into his left coat pocket, and Ianto startled, glancing to his left, where Jack sat, looking at him. Ianto didn't smile or say anything - he didn't have it in himself to smile. He did, however, pull his hand out of his pocket and wrapped his fingers around Jack's strong hang. He wasn't completely alone - he had Jack. And for the moment, that was enough to keep himself there.
The funeral rites finished, the priest gave the go ahead for Lisa's casket to be buried. The pall-bearers lowered her into the ground, and then picked up shovels and proceeded to cover it with dirt. Ianto approached the edge of the grave and watched, for a moment considering just jumping in and allowing them to continue. The constant warmth from Jack's hand was the only thing that persuaded him otherwise. Ianto's right hand closed around the ring in his pocket, and before he could stop himself, he tossed it into the grave. The men with shovels didn't say a thing. They were around death all the time, Ianto thought. They dealt with it every day. They dealt with grief every day too. Did it become something normal, after a while?
Ianto let out a slow breath and grazed over the headstone. 'Beloved Daughter, Sister, and Fiancé.'
The two of them stood there until the dirt was replaced and the pall-bearers had left. The priest, on his way out, tried to offer words of consolidation to Ianto, but he had been met by a blank stare and a few whispers from Jack. Finally, they were alone in the cemetery.
"What now?" Ianto asked, his own voice sounding foreign and small to his ears.
Jack squeezed his hand gently and stared out past the headstone, past the cemetery, the trees. He glanced up and watched the sky. "The only thing we can do…move on."
"I…I don't know if I can." Ianto whispered, voicing his fears.
Jack tore his gaze away from the sky and locked eyes with Ianto, a fierce determination in his eyes. "You have to."
Silence. Ianto didn't move to say anything, there was nothing more that he could say on the topic. Then, Jack spoke again. "I know what we need."
--xXx--
The bar was small and old fashioned, but clean. The only source of music was the juke box sitting neglected in the corner, running through it's pre-selected songs. The place was almost empty, but those who were there stayed quiet, murmuring softly to their drinking buddies, or nursing their solitary drink by themselves. This was a place to come when you wanted to forget, not have fun.
Two men sat back in the corner - one in a booth, the other in a wheelchair. They had long ago surpassed beers for something a little more stronger - and judging by the amount of alcohol that they had already consumed, it was obvious that they were there to get absolutely pissed.
"…an' they start'd ta shout, 'Stop the plane!'" Jack proclaimed a bit louder, causing several eye-daggers to be shot his way, all of which he ignored.
The man sitting across from Jack let out a soft giggle and proceeded to drain his glass of whiskey before reaching for the bottle - the bar maid had long ago left it there, growing tired of walking back and forth. They had both come by way of taxi, so she hadn't need to worry about them leaving in their own vehicle.
"It. Was. EPIC." Jack waved his arms to prove his point, then laughed. Ianto gave a small smirk.
The table grew quiet as both men took a drink, then Ianto set his glass down, fiddling with it as Jack dove into his next story. That was how most of their trip to the bar had been so far - Jack talking about funny stories, sad stories, scary stories. About how he and his team mates had done all these crazy things - those stories came after the Captain was past the 'thoroughly pissed' stage of their drinking. He had stopped once to let Ianto talk, but the man had just stayed silent. He didn't have any exciting stories, not like what Jack told. He was a "simple PR guy," what kind of excitement was there in his life that he had wanted to recall at the moment?
Ianto cleared his throat, and stared into his glass. Jack immediately grew silent, waiting for the other man to say what he wanted. Minutes passed. "Um…how long will you be here?"
Jack opened his mouth to say something, but Ianto cut him off quickly, his words jumbling all together into a string of syllables. "I mean, I know you missed your plane, but you'll be going to this institute, obviously, and, I mean, you see, I was wondering…wondering if your previous offer - of me…me going with you - was still open…?"
Jack stared at Ianto then, swallowing hard as he deciphered the young man's words. The Captain then grimaced and reached for the bottle, tempted to drain the whole thing, but knew it would make him sick. It was silent for so long that Ianto was getting ready to apologize. "You can't come, Ianto."
The man's heart instantly plummeted, and he felt the walls of his mind pull tighter. That was it, then. Jack would be gone, moving on with his life in a few days, and poor Ianto would once again be stuck to wallow in his grief. "I…I understand…I hurt you - I'm sorry, but I under…"
He paused as he watched Jack shake his head. When the Captain stilled his head, there were tears brimming in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice caught. "Y-you can't go, Yan, because I'm not going back…I can't."
Ianto froze, feeling sick to his stomach as he heard the words. His mouth grew dry, and all he wanted to do was waste away. He asked why, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew what Jack would say.
"The Doctor has a very long waiting list…that plane was my chance…" Jack spoke to the wooden table, unable to hide the tears, the feelings in his voice.
"Oh god…" Ianto said, shrinking in the booth as he himself started to cry. He put his head in his hands and shook his head. Why did he do it, why did he have to go and ruin Jack's life too?
"Don't." Jack said, anger in his voice. "Don't you dare say you are sorry, Ianto Jones. I'm an adult, and I know how to make choices. I made one on that plane, and I wouldn't change it for the world. I know exactly where I want to be, and who I want to be there with."
Ianto looked up at that, and when he looked in Jack's eyes, he didn't see regret, or anger, or spit. He saw caring, and understanding…and love. "You…you've done so much for me…why…?"
Jack reached across the table and took Ianto's hand, squeezing it hard. The younger man squeezed back. "Because you saved me, Ianto. You saved me on that roof that night, and you saved me every day after that…" and because I Love you. Jack wanted to lean across the table and kiss him, then. Kiss him fully on the lips and say those three words and then hug him and tell him that everything would be ok and that they would get through it together. But he couldn't, so instead he just gave a genuine smile - it was small, just the slight upturn of the corner of the lips - and asked the barmaid loudly if she would please call a cab.
"It's going to be ok." Jack whispered then, and for the first time in a long time, Ianto believed it.
--xXx--
Captain John Hart sat at his desk in his office at the UNIT headquarters in Great Britain, flipping idly through reports that he was supposed to have finished ages ago. He hadn't been given any new assignments in a while, and was growing quiet bored.
His thoughts drifted toward Jack, and he wondered briefly how the man was doing. He had wanted to go back and visit him several times, but never was able to bring up the courage to. The way that Jack has sounded when he told him to leave had positively broken John's heart, and he didn't want to make things any worse than they already were. They had had a great four years - though John still insists it was five - and he wasn't one to try and rekindle old loves, especially not one like what he had with Jack Harkness. That was a once in a lifetime experience, right?
But John wasn't one to just give up, and he shook his head, wondering what had gotten into him.
Then a knock came at the door, and John allowed a large, lecherous grin to grow on his face, and he put his red UNIT cap on, purposefully allowing it to slide sideways on his head. No matter who walked through that door, John was pretty sure there would be at least one good quality on which he could dote on - ah, the benefits of being single and unattached.
A young soldier came in then, carrying a large file. He looked like a rookie; cut out of the cloth that they use to make the uniforms. He saluted, then handed the file to John. The Captain just rolled his eyes then grabbed the information, opening the file and scanning the information. By the time he was finished, his eyebrows were well-above his hairline. "Who knows about this?" He asked.
The soldier cleared his throat. "Um, just you and me, sir. That's the only copy."
John frowned and stared at the young man, boring holes through his eyes. "Who?"
The soldier understood the silent question, and tried again. "Only you, sir."
John smirked and gave a good-hearted laugh. "Good lad, learnin' quick. Now go."
The soldier left, and John let out a large puff of breath and fell backwards into his chair, a heavy, twisted feeling growing in his gut as he read the file more thoroughly. So the computers were finally able to crack the coding in the messages that UNIT had uncovered between the enemy and the mole in Jack's special air force squad. John stared at the name printed within the first line of the text, and shook his head. He didn't understand how someone so decorated could do something so horrible.
John reached for the phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. He let it ring twice, then hung up, letting out a large breath of hot air, knowing what he was about to do.
"If I loose my job, I'm bloody blaming you, Jack." He mumbled as he turned on his paper shredder.
Slowly, paper by paper, sheet by sheet, Captain John Hart destroyed the evidence, until all that was left of the RAF soldier named Gray Harkness was a pile of unreadable, scrap paper.