Fanfic: Torchwood - Shell Shock (1/4)
Title: Shell Shock (1/4)
Author: Kuzibah
Rating: Not particularly explicit- nothing worse than the show.
Length: approx. 3,600/16,000
Spoilers: Spoilers through CoE, but NOT CoE compliant.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Warnings: None for this part.
Disclaimer: Character and situations are the property of the BBC and affiliated producers and writers. This story is not written for profit and no copyright infringement is intended or implied.
Summary: I was pretty disappointed with CoE, to say the least ( click here for more on why). This fic is a response to CoE, a rewriting that I hope still deals with the issues raised, but in a new way. It also goes into why “it was all just a dream” isn’t always the end of the story.
“There's a condition in combat. Most people know about it. It's when a fighting person's nervous system has been stressed to its absolute peak and maximum. Can't take anymore input. The nervous system has either snapped or is about to snap.
In the First World War, that condition was called Shell Shock. Simple, honest, direct language. Two syllables, Shell Shock. Almost sounds like the guns themselves. That was seventy years ago.
Then a whole generation went by and the Second World War came along and the very same combat condition was called Battle Fatigue. Four syllables now. Takes a little longer to say. Doesn't seem to hurt as much. Fatigue is a nicer word than shock. Shell Shock! Battle Fatigue.
Then we had the war in Korea, 1950. Madison Avenue was riding high by that time, and the very same combat condition was called Operational Exhaustion. Hey, we’re up to eight syllables now! And the humanity has been squeezed completely out of the phrase. It's totally sterile now. Operational exhaustion. Sounds like something that might happen to your car.
Then of course, came the war in Viet Nam, which has only been over for about sixteen or seventeen years, and thanks to the lies and deceits surrounding that war, I guess it's no surprise that the very same condition was called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Still eight syllables, but we've added a hyphen! And the pain is completely buried under jargon. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
I'll bet you if we’d still been calling it Shell Shock, some of those Viet Nam veterans might have gotten the attention they needed at the time. I'll betcha. I'll betcha.”
-George Carlin
++++
Jack’s gasp was quiet, even in the still bedroom a few hours before dawn, but Ianto was suddenly as wide-awake as if a claxon had gone off. He looked over at Jack, having no trouble seeing that he was pale with a fine layer of sweat on his face now that they slept with the hall light burning and the door open. It wasn’t uncommon for Jack to wake this way these days, but Ianto still found it profoundly unsettling.
He leaned across to give Jack a reassuring kiss, and was disappointed (but not surprised) when Jack jerked away from the contact. Jack looked immediately apologetic, but Ianto noticed he didn’t try to recover the kiss, but only opened his arms instead. “Just let me hold you, Ianto,” he said.
Ianto moved into Jack’s embrace, both of them clammy where they touched.
“Was it the same ones?” Ianto asked. “From when you were a kid?”
Ianto felt, rather than saw, Jack’s nod, and then felt one of Jack’s hands lightly stroking his hair.
“They were on Earth again,” Jack said. “The same dream. And Clem was there this time, only different. I’d done something terrible to him.” Jack scrubbed one hand over his face. “I can’t remember the details.”
“It was a dream, Jack,” Ianto said, even though that logic had stopped working a long time ago.
“I remember the shame,” Jack said. “And the horror on his face. Horror of me.”
“Never,” Ianto said as reasonably as he could muster. “The man adores you. Even if he rebuffs all your flirting.”
That drew the smallest chuckle from Jack, which Ianto chose to regard as a moral victory.
“Why is this happening? Why now?” Jack asked, his voice so small it made Ianto’s blood freeze in his stomach. “I’ve been at war since I was a boy. I’ve seen things that should have made me crazy long before now. But nothing for almost a year…”
“You’re not crazy,” Ianto interrupted. “It’s just... it’s catching up with you. You need a break. A holiday, maybe.”
“Maybe…” Jack said, then abruptly sat up. “Go back to sleep,” he told Ianto. “I’m going downstairs for something to drink.”
Ianto started to push himself out of bed. “Let me,” he said. “I’ll make you some of that catnip tea Lois gave you.”
Jack put his hands back on Ianto, not quite pushing him back down. “No, go to sleep. I’ve got more sleep than I need for one night. I’ll stay right here. I’ll get a book and sit by the desk.”
And watch me all night, Ianto finished in his mind. Oh, Jack.
++++
“Was it the nightmares again?”
Gwen and Ianto had retreated to the tiny commissary where Ianto kept the coffee and other provisions, the only space in the hub that was neither monitored by CCTV nor able to be seen by curious eyes.
“Fourth time this week,” Ianto said.
“Must be some nightmares,” Gwen said.
“I think it’s all the same one,” Ianto said. “The aliens that took Gray and killed Jack’s best friend come to Earth, and then all hell breaks loose. Jack wakes up terrified.”
“Poor Jack,” Gwen said.
“He’s worse than ever,” Ianto said, feeling oddly relieved at finally being able to express the worry he’d been feeling for weeks. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t worry, Ianto,” Gwen said, then added thoughtfully, “it may be time to admit we need help on this one. I’ll take care of it and let you know what I find. Give me a day, yeah?”
Ianto pulled himself together, and nodded.
Gwen squeezed out from between the shelves first, and Ianto noted ruefully that these private conversations would soon have to be put on hold, at least until after the baby was born. He grabbed a pound French roast and headed for the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later he was distributing mugs to the latest iteration of Torchwood: Cardiff. Black, two sugars in a neutral tan mug placed carefully on the mug mat woven by one of John’s daughters on his meticulously organized desk. Milk and three sugars in an oversized hand-painted mug from holiday in Morocco as far from Lois’s flying fingertips as possible, lest they need to replace another keyboard. Masala Chai in a wide-brimmed teacup (and Ianto was secretly proud of how well he’d mastered the skill of simmering the tea leaves perfectly in milk and water) on the railing of the medical bay for Rupesh. Decaf with cream accepted gratefully by Gwen. Black and strong in a hastily-cleared space on Clem’s horrifyingly cluttered work table.
“Listen, Yan, did I do something wrong?”
Ianto winced at Clem’s nickname for him, reminding himself it was meant as an endearment, but replied, “no, not that I know of.”
Clem glanced towards Jack’s office. “It’s just, the old man’s been giving me the stink-eye all morning,” he said. “I’m afraid the hammer’s about to drop, you know?”
Ianto looked towards Jack’s office, too, and saw Jack quickly avert his eyes and begin to shuffle papers on his desk. “He’s just got a lot on his mind, Clem,” Ianto soothed. “Probably has something big in the works and is trying to figure out what part you’re going to play.”
Clem grinned, pleased at the thought of a major project to attack. “Yeah, well, alright,” he said. “But why don’t you go up there and do whatever it is you do to take the edge off. He’s giving me the bloody jitters.”
Ianto sighed and headed up to Jack’s office, careful to make a bit of noise going up the stairs.
Gwen stepped over to Lois’s desk and touched her shoulder lightly. “Lois, sweetheart, I need you to do a favor for me,” she said. “I need you to look into treatment facilities for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. And keep this close to the vest, will you?”
++++
“Cream and sugar, sir,” Ianto announced. “And is there anything for the post?”
Jack looked up and smiled. “My beautiful caffeine angel,” he said, holding out both hands for the mug.
Ianto handed it to him and stood, waiting. Jack took a large sip of the coffee and shuffled through his papers again. “Have a seat, Ianto,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on. Everybody okay down there?”
Ianto took a deep breath and perched on the edge of the chair at the end of Jack’s desk. “Things seem to be going very well, sir,” he said, then steeled himself. “Except Clem seems to have gotten the impression that he’s somehow gotten on your bad side.”
Jack looked up, startled. “No, Ianto, never,” he insisted. “He’s doing a wonderful job. I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“Then you may want to do a little less staring at him,” Ianto said.
Jack frowned. “Do I do that?”
“You seem to have picked up the habit today,” Ianto hedged.
Jack slumped in his chair. “It’s these nightmares,” he said. “They’re so vivid. More real than reality. And I can’t shake them. It’s like my mind’s trying to justify them, somehow. I have these bizarre thoughts, like maybe I’m experiencing an alternate reality in my dreams.”
Ianto’s eyes widened, just a bit. “Is that possible?”
Jack smiled at him again. “Well, after a century with Torchwood, I hesitate to say something’s not possible, but no, I don’t really think that’s it.” Jack reached across the desk, and Ianto took his hand. “Just be patient with me, Ianto. This will shake itself out, eventually. I just… need something to do. It’s been too quiet.”
Ianto squeezed Jack’s hand, trying to stop it shaking by force of will.
++++
Gwen pulled Ianto straight into the commissary the next morning. “I’ve got some news to share,” she said, nearly laughing.
“Is it about Jack?”
Gwen paused, blinked as her train of though changed tracks. “No, but I’m working on that. Don’t you worry… Did he have nightmares again last night?”
“No. But that was because he never went to sleep,” Ianto said.
“Oh, no.”
“He says he doesn’t need to sleep,” Ianto said. “And I have seen him go without for days, but it can’t be good for him. But you. What’s your news?”
Gwen took a dramatically deep breath and smiled. “I felt the baby moving last night.”
Ianto broke into a ridiculously wide smile himself. “That’s wonderful, Gwen! Can I..?” One hand hovered above her rounded stomach.
“You can if you want, though Rhys couldn’t feel anything yet.”
Ianto put his palm on her belly and spread his fingers, just barely touching.
“It wasn’t a large movement, he’s… or she… is still too small to kick, but it was definitely movement. A little flutter.”
“It’s amazing,” Ianto said. “I’m so happy for you, Gwen.”
Suddenly the commissary door swung open, and Gwen and Ianto looked up into Jack’s face. Ianto snatched his hand back, but Gwen laughed. “Come on in, ‘Uncle’ Jack. The more, the merrier.”
Jack was staring at Gwen’s belly, his expression unreadable.
“It’s all right,” Gwen said. “One of my mates tells me everyone will want to rub it for luck soon enough.”
Jack only gave a quick jerk of his head and closed the door.
“I should go after him,” Ianto said, squeezing past Gwen and out.
“You do that, yeah,” Gwen said, straightening her shirt and following.
Ianto thought he did an admirable job not racing after his boss like a teenage girl, but when he got to the central room of the hub, there was Jack, carrying on asking John questions about some cases as though nothing had occurred.
“Well, I’ll just go make everyone’s drinks,” Ianto announced. Four confused pairs of eyes turned to him. Jack’s was not one of them.
++++
When Ianto brought Jack his coffee, he found Jack hunched in his chair flipping the cover of his wrist strap open and closed, distracted. Ianto didn’t see how Jack could not have heard him coming, but cleared his throat anyway.
“Just put it down,” Jack said without looking up.
Ianto did, but did not leave. After another minute of watching Jack fiddle with his wrist strap, he cleared his throat again. This time Jack looked up.
“Did you need anything else?” Ianto asked. “Is something wrong… Jack?”
Jack pursed his lips then leaned back, looking directly at Ianto. “There’s a starship passing through the solar system.”
“I’ll get the team,” Ianto said quickly. “What do you need us to do?”
“No, Ianto,” Jack said. “Just a freighter, on its way from one place to another. Happens a few times a year.”
Ianto frowned. “Not dangerous, then?”
“Not at all,” Jack said, then opened his wrist strap. “I know the species. Non-aggressive, if a bit on the dull side. Totally agreeable to taking on passengers.” He held one finger over the manipulator keypad. “I could try to signal them. See if they’d take me with them.”
Ianto’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Jack…”
Jack darted forward and caught Ianto’s hand. “Come with me. I could show you the galaxy.”
Ianto pulled back without quite pulling free, and shook his head slowly. They held that way for a long moment, then Jack released Ianto and snapped the strap shut.
“You’re right. Crazy idea,” he said. “Forget I brought it up.”
Ianto stared at his lover for what seemed like a long time, then moved to massage Jack’s shoulders. “You seem very tense,” he said. “Maybe you ought to go downstairs and rest.”
He felt Jack go even tenser under his fingers, then begin to tremble slightly as he stole a glance towards the hatch that led to his quarters. “No, I’m fine,” Jack said. “I’ll catch up at your place tonight. I promise.”
Ianto’s hands continued to work the knots from Jack’s muscles, steady and strong, but his mind was racing. Has Jack gone down there since Gray? Ianto couldn’t say for sure, but neither could he remember a specific incidence where he did. That room is so close, so dark. Does it remind him of being buried alive?
++++
Though Ianto slept lightly these days, he nearly shot straight up when Jack woke up that night screaming. Ianto grabbed Jack’s upper arms, shaking him and calling his name. Jack gasped, his eyes wide, and it seemed to Ianto like it took ages for him to come out of the disorientation of his nightmare.
“Euonal tay shan kedso,” he said, then turned to Ianto. Jack blinked, and Ianto saw recognition dawn in his eyes. Then he was being crushed in Jack’s embrace.
“Oh, Ianto,” Jack panted. “Oh, God. I had to… I had to…”
He trailed off, too breathless to speak, and Ianto simply hugged him back, letting him clutch at Ianto’s skin and hair.
Finally, Jack seemed to calm, and Ianto eased him back, petting and soothing him, whispering quiet endearments that would have been unthinkable in his and Jack’s relationship a few months ago, but seemed a necessary element now. Jack put his hands over his face, and let out a shuddering breath, too close to a sob for Ianto’s comfort.
“It was my daughter, and my grandson,” Jack said, still sheltering his eyes under his fingers. “I had to kill the little boy, torture him to death, to save the Earth from those… things.”
Ianto couldn’t quite process this. “You… have a daughter?”
Jack fixed him with an angry glare. “Of course not! Don’t be an idiot!”
Ianto winced, wounded by Jack’s words. “You’ve been here a long time,” he said. “You must have been lonely. No one would blame you…”
Jack pulled him into another embrace, less fierce this time. “No, Ianto, no children,” he said gently. “Courtesy of the Time Agency. Potential for paradox is high enough, without one of us fathering our own ancestors.”
“Oh,” Ianto said. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Jack said. “It’s just the dream, it was so real. It actually felt like they were my family.” He took another deep, shaking breath. “It was horrible, Ianto, horrible…”
They lay still for several minutes, until Jack’s breathing quieted, although Ianto could still feel his heart pound.
“What you said,” Ianto said. “When you woke up. What did it mean?”
“What? What did I say?”
“I didn’t recognize the language,” Ianto said. “Something Asian, maybe. You-wa-nal… tay…”
Jack hissed in surprise, then spoke what sounded to Ianto like several sentences made up of random syllables.
“Yes,” Ianto confirmed. “What is that?”
“That’s the language I spoke growing up,” Jack said. “Fifty-first-century galactic standard. Spoken by every species in the galaxy with lips and a few without. ‘Euonal tay’ means ‘help me.’ Although it’s never sounded so lovely as with a Welsh accent.”
“I never thought… I guess I assumed you spoke English.”
Jack chuckled. “English is long dead by my time,” he said. “But I haven’t spoken galactic standard since being sent to the 1940s. They imprinted me with the culture of that time, and English became my natural tongue.”
Ianto hesitated before asking his next question, but knew he had to. “Then why now?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “Coll shuur trea tessea di naala.” He leaned close to Ianto’s ear and whispered, “that means, ‘go to sleep now, my dear one.’”
And though Ianto knew Jack was still a long way from okay, he did.
++++
The next day seemed better. Jack was affectionate as Ianto woke in the morning, and calm and focused at work. So when a routine weevil sighting came in the early evening, and Jack yelled for Gwen, Rupesh, and John to meet him at the SUV, Ianto slid into his usual role and helped Jack into his coat, handed him his guns, and went to prepare fresh clothes for their return.
An hour later he emerged from the kitchen to angry shouting, Jack and Rupesh both so infuriated that Ianto could barely make out what either was saying.
“If you want to go back to stitching up drunks at St. Helen’s, you just let me know,” Jack barked. “I’ll have you retconned and back in A&E by midnight.”
“What is the point of having a doctor if you never listen to his medical opinion?” Rupesh shot back. “Do I have the authority to make these decisions or not?”
“Not with me!” Jack said, and then silence.
“What happened?” Ianto asked, his stomach twisting.
“Just a bit more complicated than we thought,” Gwen said. “There were witnesses; John’s giving an ‘official’ report to the police.”
“It can’t go on like this, Jack,” Rupesh fumed. “If you won’t listen to me, think of the rest of the team. You’re endangering their lives.”
Jack looked about to rip Rupesh’s head off, when Gwen stepped between them. “I think I need this seen to,” she said, and Ianto saw that her wrist was swollen and dark. Probably broken, then.
Rupesh sobered. “Of course,” he said, and led Gwen down into the medical bay. Then Jack was gone, too, up to the roof, as usual.
“Jesus,” Lois muttered. “It’s worse than Coronation Street around here.”
“Lois, monitor the media,” Ianto said. “See if we can keep a lid on this.”
“Yes, sir,” Lois replied, tucking her earpiece back into her ear.
Clem came up behind Ianto and laid one hand on his shoulder. “Give him a bit of time,” he said. “My second wife got that way, and everything was an excuse for a fight.”
“Thank you,” Ianto said drily. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Then he retreated to the kitchen. Get a mug of coffee, he thought. Go up with the excuse of keeping him warm.
++++
Ianto wasn’t sure why he checked the CCTV cameras before he went to the roof, but when he did twenty minutes later, it was deserted. “Lois? Did Jack come back down?”
“Not that I saw.”
Ianto rewound the recording, and felt the blood drain from his face. “Shit,” he said, then moved as quickly as he could without actually running to the lift and out to the Plass.
Jack was just coming to when Ianto reached him. “Jack! What the fuck were you doing?” he shouted, hearing the hysterical note in his voice and just not caring.
“I can’t stand this anymore!” Jack shouted back. “I can’t lead this team if I’m afraid to run into tunnels!”
Ianto knelt beside Jack, wrapping his arms around him and grateful when Jack let him. “It’s bad enough when you get killed in the line of duty,” Ianto said. “How am I supposed to bear it if you start doing it to yourself?”
Jack began to shake, and Ianto realized with dread that his strong, brave captain was crying.
“Don’t, Jack, please, don’t,” Ianto said, not loosening his hold.
“This isn’t the first time, Ianto,” Jack confessed. “I’ve tried… so many times. I know nothing can kill me, but now, I just want to come back right.”
“You are right. You’re perfect,” Ianto insisted.
“I’m not,” Jack said. “I’m broken, and nothing will fix me.”
Ianto held Jack for a long time, rocking them both slowly back and forth. Finally he said, “Gwen and I… we’ve been looking for a way to help you. We found a place, a medical center, in Switzerland…”
Jack began laughing, a grim, dry sound. “A mental hospital, you mean. An insane asylum.”
“I’d go with you,” Ianto insisted. “We’d have a cottage of our own. It could be like a holiday. Please, Jack…”
Jack went very still, all energy suddenly gone, and he leaned limply into Ianto’s embrace. “For you, Ianto. If you think it will help, I’m willing to try.”
Ianto kissed Jack on his brow, his temple. “Thank you,” he said.
To Part Two: Gebirgshaus
Author: Kuzibah
Rating: Not particularly explicit- nothing worse than the show.
Length: approx. 3,600/16,000
Spoilers: Spoilers through CoE, but NOT CoE compliant.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Warnings: None for this part.
Disclaimer: Character and situations are the property of the BBC and affiliated producers and writers. This story is not written for profit and no copyright infringement is intended or implied.
Summary: I was pretty disappointed with CoE, to say the least ( click here for more on why). This fic is a response to CoE, a rewriting that I hope still deals with the issues raised, but in a new way. It also goes into why “it was all just a dream” isn’t always the end of the story.
“There's a condition in combat. Most people know about it. It's when a fighting person's nervous system has been stressed to its absolute peak and maximum. Can't take anymore input. The nervous system has either snapped or is about to snap.
In the First World War, that condition was called Shell Shock. Simple, honest, direct language. Two syllables, Shell Shock. Almost sounds like the guns themselves. That was seventy years ago.
Then a whole generation went by and the Second World War came along and the very same combat condition was called Battle Fatigue. Four syllables now. Takes a little longer to say. Doesn't seem to hurt as much. Fatigue is a nicer word than shock. Shell Shock! Battle Fatigue.
Then we had the war in Korea, 1950. Madison Avenue was riding high by that time, and the very same combat condition was called Operational Exhaustion. Hey, we’re up to eight syllables now! And the humanity has been squeezed completely out of the phrase. It's totally sterile now. Operational exhaustion. Sounds like something that might happen to your car.
Then of course, came the war in Viet Nam, which has only been over for about sixteen or seventeen years, and thanks to the lies and deceits surrounding that war, I guess it's no surprise that the very same condition was called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Still eight syllables, but we've added a hyphen! And the pain is completely buried under jargon. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
I'll bet you if we’d still been calling it Shell Shock, some of those Viet Nam veterans might have gotten the attention they needed at the time. I'll betcha. I'll betcha.”
-George Carlin
++++
Jack’s gasp was quiet, even in the still bedroom a few hours before dawn, but Ianto was suddenly as wide-awake as if a claxon had gone off. He looked over at Jack, having no trouble seeing that he was pale with a fine layer of sweat on his face now that they slept with the hall light burning and the door open. It wasn’t uncommon for Jack to wake this way these days, but Ianto still found it profoundly unsettling.
He leaned across to give Jack a reassuring kiss, and was disappointed (but not surprised) when Jack jerked away from the contact. Jack looked immediately apologetic, but Ianto noticed he didn’t try to recover the kiss, but only opened his arms instead. “Just let me hold you, Ianto,” he said.
Ianto moved into Jack’s embrace, both of them clammy where they touched.
“Was it the same ones?” Ianto asked. “From when you were a kid?”
Ianto felt, rather than saw, Jack’s nod, and then felt one of Jack’s hands lightly stroking his hair.
“They were on Earth again,” Jack said. “The same dream. And Clem was there this time, only different. I’d done something terrible to him.” Jack scrubbed one hand over his face. “I can’t remember the details.”
“It was a dream, Jack,” Ianto said, even though that logic had stopped working a long time ago.
“I remember the shame,” Jack said. “And the horror on his face. Horror of me.”
“Never,” Ianto said as reasonably as he could muster. “The man adores you. Even if he rebuffs all your flirting.”
That drew the smallest chuckle from Jack, which Ianto chose to regard as a moral victory.
“Why is this happening? Why now?” Jack asked, his voice so small it made Ianto’s blood freeze in his stomach. “I’ve been at war since I was a boy. I’ve seen things that should have made me crazy long before now. But nothing for almost a year…”
“You’re not crazy,” Ianto interrupted. “It’s just... it’s catching up with you. You need a break. A holiday, maybe.”
“Maybe…” Jack said, then abruptly sat up. “Go back to sleep,” he told Ianto. “I’m going downstairs for something to drink.”
Ianto started to push himself out of bed. “Let me,” he said. “I’ll make you some of that catnip tea Lois gave you.”
Jack put his hands back on Ianto, not quite pushing him back down. “No, go to sleep. I’ve got more sleep than I need for one night. I’ll stay right here. I’ll get a book and sit by the desk.”
And watch me all night, Ianto finished in his mind. Oh, Jack.
++++
“Was it the nightmares again?”
Gwen and Ianto had retreated to the tiny commissary where Ianto kept the coffee and other provisions, the only space in the hub that was neither monitored by CCTV nor able to be seen by curious eyes.
“Fourth time this week,” Ianto said.
“Must be some nightmares,” Gwen said.
“I think it’s all the same one,” Ianto said. “The aliens that took Gray and killed Jack’s best friend come to Earth, and then all hell breaks loose. Jack wakes up terrified.”
“Poor Jack,” Gwen said.
“He’s worse than ever,” Ianto said, feeling oddly relieved at finally being able to express the worry he’d been feeling for weeks. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t worry, Ianto,” Gwen said, then added thoughtfully, “it may be time to admit we need help on this one. I’ll take care of it and let you know what I find. Give me a day, yeah?”
Ianto pulled himself together, and nodded.
Gwen squeezed out from between the shelves first, and Ianto noted ruefully that these private conversations would soon have to be put on hold, at least until after the baby was born. He grabbed a pound French roast and headed for the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later he was distributing mugs to the latest iteration of Torchwood: Cardiff. Black, two sugars in a neutral tan mug placed carefully on the mug mat woven by one of John’s daughters on his meticulously organized desk. Milk and three sugars in an oversized hand-painted mug from holiday in Morocco as far from Lois’s flying fingertips as possible, lest they need to replace another keyboard. Masala Chai in a wide-brimmed teacup (and Ianto was secretly proud of how well he’d mastered the skill of simmering the tea leaves perfectly in milk and water) on the railing of the medical bay for Rupesh. Decaf with cream accepted gratefully by Gwen. Black and strong in a hastily-cleared space on Clem’s horrifyingly cluttered work table.
“Listen, Yan, did I do something wrong?”
Ianto winced at Clem’s nickname for him, reminding himself it was meant as an endearment, but replied, “no, not that I know of.”
Clem glanced towards Jack’s office. “It’s just, the old man’s been giving me the stink-eye all morning,” he said. “I’m afraid the hammer’s about to drop, you know?”
Ianto looked towards Jack’s office, too, and saw Jack quickly avert his eyes and begin to shuffle papers on his desk. “He’s just got a lot on his mind, Clem,” Ianto soothed. “Probably has something big in the works and is trying to figure out what part you’re going to play.”
Clem grinned, pleased at the thought of a major project to attack. “Yeah, well, alright,” he said. “But why don’t you go up there and do whatever it is you do to take the edge off. He’s giving me the bloody jitters.”
Ianto sighed and headed up to Jack’s office, careful to make a bit of noise going up the stairs.
Gwen stepped over to Lois’s desk and touched her shoulder lightly. “Lois, sweetheart, I need you to do a favor for me,” she said. “I need you to look into treatment facilities for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. And keep this close to the vest, will you?”
++++
“Cream and sugar, sir,” Ianto announced. “And is there anything for the post?”
Jack looked up and smiled. “My beautiful caffeine angel,” he said, holding out both hands for the mug.
Ianto handed it to him and stood, waiting. Jack took a large sip of the coffee and shuffled through his papers again. “Have a seat, Ianto,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on. Everybody okay down there?”
Ianto took a deep breath and perched on the edge of the chair at the end of Jack’s desk. “Things seem to be going very well, sir,” he said, then steeled himself. “Except Clem seems to have gotten the impression that he’s somehow gotten on your bad side.”
Jack looked up, startled. “No, Ianto, never,” he insisted. “He’s doing a wonderful job. I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“Then you may want to do a little less staring at him,” Ianto said.
Jack frowned. “Do I do that?”
“You seem to have picked up the habit today,” Ianto hedged.
Jack slumped in his chair. “It’s these nightmares,” he said. “They’re so vivid. More real than reality. And I can’t shake them. It’s like my mind’s trying to justify them, somehow. I have these bizarre thoughts, like maybe I’m experiencing an alternate reality in my dreams.”
Ianto’s eyes widened, just a bit. “Is that possible?”
Jack smiled at him again. “Well, after a century with Torchwood, I hesitate to say something’s not possible, but no, I don’t really think that’s it.” Jack reached across the desk, and Ianto took his hand. “Just be patient with me, Ianto. This will shake itself out, eventually. I just… need something to do. It’s been too quiet.”
Ianto squeezed Jack’s hand, trying to stop it shaking by force of will.
++++
Gwen pulled Ianto straight into the commissary the next morning. “I’ve got some news to share,” she said, nearly laughing.
“Is it about Jack?”
Gwen paused, blinked as her train of though changed tracks. “No, but I’m working on that. Don’t you worry… Did he have nightmares again last night?”
“No. But that was because he never went to sleep,” Ianto said.
“Oh, no.”
“He says he doesn’t need to sleep,” Ianto said. “And I have seen him go without for days, but it can’t be good for him. But you. What’s your news?”
Gwen took a dramatically deep breath and smiled. “I felt the baby moving last night.”
Ianto broke into a ridiculously wide smile himself. “That’s wonderful, Gwen! Can I..?” One hand hovered above her rounded stomach.
“You can if you want, though Rhys couldn’t feel anything yet.”
Ianto put his palm on her belly and spread his fingers, just barely touching.
“It wasn’t a large movement, he’s… or she… is still too small to kick, but it was definitely movement. A little flutter.”
“It’s amazing,” Ianto said. “I’m so happy for you, Gwen.”
Suddenly the commissary door swung open, and Gwen and Ianto looked up into Jack’s face. Ianto snatched his hand back, but Gwen laughed. “Come on in, ‘Uncle’ Jack. The more, the merrier.”
Jack was staring at Gwen’s belly, his expression unreadable.
“It’s all right,” Gwen said. “One of my mates tells me everyone will want to rub it for luck soon enough.”
Jack only gave a quick jerk of his head and closed the door.
“I should go after him,” Ianto said, squeezing past Gwen and out.
“You do that, yeah,” Gwen said, straightening her shirt and following.
Ianto thought he did an admirable job not racing after his boss like a teenage girl, but when he got to the central room of the hub, there was Jack, carrying on asking John questions about some cases as though nothing had occurred.
“Well, I’ll just go make everyone’s drinks,” Ianto announced. Four confused pairs of eyes turned to him. Jack’s was not one of them.
++++
When Ianto brought Jack his coffee, he found Jack hunched in his chair flipping the cover of his wrist strap open and closed, distracted. Ianto didn’t see how Jack could not have heard him coming, but cleared his throat anyway.
“Just put it down,” Jack said without looking up.
Ianto did, but did not leave. After another minute of watching Jack fiddle with his wrist strap, he cleared his throat again. This time Jack looked up.
“Did you need anything else?” Ianto asked. “Is something wrong… Jack?”
Jack pursed his lips then leaned back, looking directly at Ianto. “There’s a starship passing through the solar system.”
“I’ll get the team,” Ianto said quickly. “What do you need us to do?”
“No, Ianto,” Jack said. “Just a freighter, on its way from one place to another. Happens a few times a year.”
Ianto frowned. “Not dangerous, then?”
“Not at all,” Jack said, then opened his wrist strap. “I know the species. Non-aggressive, if a bit on the dull side. Totally agreeable to taking on passengers.” He held one finger over the manipulator keypad. “I could try to signal them. See if they’d take me with them.”
Ianto’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Jack…”
Jack darted forward and caught Ianto’s hand. “Come with me. I could show you the galaxy.”
Ianto pulled back without quite pulling free, and shook his head slowly. They held that way for a long moment, then Jack released Ianto and snapped the strap shut.
“You’re right. Crazy idea,” he said. “Forget I brought it up.”
Ianto stared at his lover for what seemed like a long time, then moved to massage Jack’s shoulders. “You seem very tense,” he said. “Maybe you ought to go downstairs and rest.”
He felt Jack go even tenser under his fingers, then begin to tremble slightly as he stole a glance towards the hatch that led to his quarters. “No, I’m fine,” Jack said. “I’ll catch up at your place tonight. I promise.”
Ianto’s hands continued to work the knots from Jack’s muscles, steady and strong, but his mind was racing. Has Jack gone down there since Gray? Ianto couldn’t say for sure, but neither could he remember a specific incidence where he did. That room is so close, so dark. Does it remind him of being buried alive?
++++
Though Ianto slept lightly these days, he nearly shot straight up when Jack woke up that night screaming. Ianto grabbed Jack’s upper arms, shaking him and calling his name. Jack gasped, his eyes wide, and it seemed to Ianto like it took ages for him to come out of the disorientation of his nightmare.
“Euonal tay shan kedso,” he said, then turned to Ianto. Jack blinked, and Ianto saw recognition dawn in his eyes. Then he was being crushed in Jack’s embrace.
“Oh, Ianto,” Jack panted. “Oh, God. I had to… I had to…”
He trailed off, too breathless to speak, and Ianto simply hugged him back, letting him clutch at Ianto’s skin and hair.
Finally, Jack seemed to calm, and Ianto eased him back, petting and soothing him, whispering quiet endearments that would have been unthinkable in his and Jack’s relationship a few months ago, but seemed a necessary element now. Jack put his hands over his face, and let out a shuddering breath, too close to a sob for Ianto’s comfort.
“It was my daughter, and my grandson,” Jack said, still sheltering his eyes under his fingers. “I had to kill the little boy, torture him to death, to save the Earth from those… things.”
Ianto couldn’t quite process this. “You… have a daughter?”
Jack fixed him with an angry glare. “Of course not! Don’t be an idiot!”
Ianto winced, wounded by Jack’s words. “You’ve been here a long time,” he said. “You must have been lonely. No one would blame you…”
Jack pulled him into another embrace, less fierce this time. “No, Ianto, no children,” he said gently. “Courtesy of the Time Agency. Potential for paradox is high enough, without one of us fathering our own ancestors.”
“Oh,” Ianto said. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Jack said. “It’s just the dream, it was so real. It actually felt like they were my family.” He took another deep, shaking breath. “It was horrible, Ianto, horrible…”
They lay still for several minutes, until Jack’s breathing quieted, although Ianto could still feel his heart pound.
“What you said,” Ianto said. “When you woke up. What did it mean?”
“What? What did I say?”
“I didn’t recognize the language,” Ianto said. “Something Asian, maybe. You-wa-nal… tay…”
Jack hissed in surprise, then spoke what sounded to Ianto like several sentences made up of random syllables.
“Yes,” Ianto confirmed. “What is that?”
“That’s the language I spoke growing up,” Jack said. “Fifty-first-century galactic standard. Spoken by every species in the galaxy with lips and a few without. ‘Euonal tay’ means ‘help me.’ Although it’s never sounded so lovely as with a Welsh accent.”
“I never thought… I guess I assumed you spoke English.”
Jack chuckled. “English is long dead by my time,” he said. “But I haven’t spoken galactic standard since being sent to the 1940s. They imprinted me with the culture of that time, and English became my natural tongue.”
Ianto hesitated before asking his next question, but knew he had to. “Then why now?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “Coll shuur trea tessea di naala.” He leaned close to Ianto’s ear and whispered, “that means, ‘go to sleep now, my dear one.’”
And though Ianto knew Jack was still a long way from okay, he did.
++++
The next day seemed better. Jack was affectionate as Ianto woke in the morning, and calm and focused at work. So when a routine weevil sighting came in the early evening, and Jack yelled for Gwen, Rupesh, and John to meet him at the SUV, Ianto slid into his usual role and helped Jack into his coat, handed him his guns, and went to prepare fresh clothes for their return.
An hour later he emerged from the kitchen to angry shouting, Jack and Rupesh both so infuriated that Ianto could barely make out what either was saying.
“If you want to go back to stitching up drunks at St. Helen’s, you just let me know,” Jack barked. “I’ll have you retconned and back in A&E by midnight.”
“What is the point of having a doctor if you never listen to his medical opinion?” Rupesh shot back. “Do I have the authority to make these decisions or not?”
“Not with me!” Jack said, and then silence.
“What happened?” Ianto asked, his stomach twisting.
“Just a bit more complicated than we thought,” Gwen said. “There were witnesses; John’s giving an ‘official’ report to the police.”
“It can’t go on like this, Jack,” Rupesh fumed. “If you won’t listen to me, think of the rest of the team. You’re endangering their lives.”
Jack looked about to rip Rupesh’s head off, when Gwen stepped between them. “I think I need this seen to,” she said, and Ianto saw that her wrist was swollen and dark. Probably broken, then.
Rupesh sobered. “Of course,” he said, and led Gwen down into the medical bay. Then Jack was gone, too, up to the roof, as usual.
“Jesus,” Lois muttered. “It’s worse than Coronation Street around here.”
“Lois, monitor the media,” Ianto said. “See if we can keep a lid on this.”
“Yes, sir,” Lois replied, tucking her earpiece back into her ear.
Clem came up behind Ianto and laid one hand on his shoulder. “Give him a bit of time,” he said. “My second wife got that way, and everything was an excuse for a fight.”
“Thank you,” Ianto said drily. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Then he retreated to the kitchen. Get a mug of coffee, he thought. Go up with the excuse of keeping him warm.
++++
Ianto wasn’t sure why he checked the CCTV cameras before he went to the roof, but when he did twenty minutes later, it was deserted. “Lois? Did Jack come back down?”
“Not that I saw.”
Ianto rewound the recording, and felt the blood drain from his face. “Shit,” he said, then moved as quickly as he could without actually running to the lift and out to the Plass.
Jack was just coming to when Ianto reached him. “Jack! What the fuck were you doing?” he shouted, hearing the hysterical note in his voice and just not caring.
“I can’t stand this anymore!” Jack shouted back. “I can’t lead this team if I’m afraid to run into tunnels!”
Ianto knelt beside Jack, wrapping his arms around him and grateful when Jack let him. “It’s bad enough when you get killed in the line of duty,” Ianto said. “How am I supposed to bear it if you start doing it to yourself?”
Jack began to shake, and Ianto realized with dread that his strong, brave captain was crying.
“Don’t, Jack, please, don’t,” Ianto said, not loosening his hold.
“This isn’t the first time, Ianto,” Jack confessed. “I’ve tried… so many times. I know nothing can kill me, but now, I just want to come back right.”
“You are right. You’re perfect,” Ianto insisted.
“I’m not,” Jack said. “I’m broken, and nothing will fix me.”
Ianto held Jack for a long time, rocking them both slowly back and forth. Finally he said, “Gwen and I… we’ve been looking for a way to help you. We found a place, a medical center, in Switzerland…”
Jack began laughing, a grim, dry sound. “A mental hospital, you mean. An insane asylum.”
“I’d go with you,” Ianto insisted. “We’d have a cottage of our own. It could be like a holiday. Please, Jack…”
Jack went very still, all energy suddenly gone, and he leaned limply into Ianto’s embrace. “For you, Ianto. If you think it will help, I’m willing to try.”
Ianto kissed Jack on his brow, his temple. “Thank you,” he said.
To Part Two: Gebirgshaus