Kryptonite | Chapter 9
Title: Kryptonite
Rating: M (NC-17). Strong mentions of sex, suicide, and other angst in a similar vein.
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys, Martha, Rhiannon, others may crop up as well.
Spoilers: Set after Exit Wounds
Summary: After 2,000 years buried beneath Cardiff, Jack's mind is crumbling. Ianto will do anything to avoid losing him again - but how do you fix a broken man?
Disclaimer: If I owned Torchwood, the long-lasting repurcussions of actions and events would be properly explored. Obviously, I do not own Torchwood. Hence...FanFiction.
The lyrics to the song "Kryptonite" belong to the band 3 Doors Down. The song can be found here
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Kryptonite
"If not for me then you'd be dead"
The sound of the birds, chirping merrily, seemed oddly out of place in a world that had, for Ianto at least, turned upside down.
The noise irritated him, piercing through his brain like a spark of electricity. He could feel his hands tighten on the steering wheel of his stationary car, fingers gripping the cold leather until the blood vessels stood out starkly against his skin. It had been a while since he had left the Hub and the light of the sun seared into his eyes, forcing him to scrunch his face unattractively.
But, coupled with the bags under his eyes, the pallid complexion of his face and his less-than-flattering baggy shirt and jeans, attractiveness really wasn't something that was bothering him at the moment.
He was stalling, he knew that; complaining about the noises of the outside world, shielding his eyes from the light, contemplating on his attire and his appearance rather than doing what it was he needed to do. He cast a quick glance out of the partially opened window of the car, in the direction of the door he knew he'd have to knock on sooner or later.
A part of him didn't want to. But a larger part of him needed to be looked after, to be understood, to be cuffed around the ear and told what a stupid bastard he was really being. A small smile crept on his face as he thought of the reaction that would welcome him, the arms that would smother him, that berating tone that would fill his ears and give him some sense of sanity and grounding in a maddening world.
With that in mind he managed to drag his body, now aching with tiredness, out of the vehicle, locking the door behind him as he turned and made his tentative way towards that door.
Gwen slumped back in her chair, her brain short-circuiting as the last vestiges of strength left her body. It was no use - there was no way she was capable of deciphering the intricacies of Tosh's computer system, even with the help of those little pop ups. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry each time that little information bubble appeared cheekily on the screen, Tosh's exasperated tone shining through in the words she had written. That was Tosh, beautiful, genius Tosh: always prepared, always ready for any situation, even her own death.
Her fingers slammed onto the keyboard, her efforts seemingly futile as the screen once again flashed at her, the almost mocking tone in the incessant bleeping causing her to bristle angrily. Of all the things to go wrong recently, this was probably the easiest challenge she had faced; and, yet, she couldn't even seem to overcome this.
Something cracked within her and she blinked, forcing a disheartened sob back into her throat.
Oh for God's sake, you stupid fucking thing, just work! Can't something go right, for once? Please? Please?
"Gwen, can I borrow you for a second?"
Gwen jumped suddenly, a slight brush creeping onto her cheeks as she realised someone else may have witnessed her intellectual pissing match with the computer. Thankfully, though, the owner of the voice was out of her range of sight; she let out a sigh of relief, allowing herself the luxury of one more slamming of fingers against the mutinous keyboard before she left the infernal thing to its business.
Leaving her seat, grateful for the chance to forget her own technological failings, and longing for some fellow female company, Gwen turned towards Jack's office; Martha had taken temporary residence there in order to try and sort out some of the insanity that had fallen upon them. Before she passed through the doorframe, however, she cast a quick glance towards the couch. Jack was sleeping, again, although slightly less peacefully than he had been a few hours ago under Martha's delicate touch.
Sighing deeply, she turned away and made her way through the door into Jack's office.
"What can I get you…tea?"
Ianto shifted on the lumpy sofa, his shoulders stiff and uncomfortable as he watched his sister bustling about in the kitchen. The living room was small, oppressive almost, tinged with the unfamiliar smell of normal life; the lingering odour of cooked food, the scent of talcum power, creams and general bodily fluids that hinted at the presence of children.
"You listening?"
Ianto blinked, trying to focus his eyes.
"Sorry?"
"I said: what can I get you? You want tea?"
"Oh…er…" Ianto wrinkled his nose slightly, trying not to make his distaste too obvious. "Do you have any coffee?"
Rhiannon sighed, her hands on her hips as she turned back to the kitchen counter, opening various drawers with the expertise of a dancer. Her hand fumbled around in the depths of one of the top cupboards, finally catching a hold of its prize and bringing it down from its perch triumphantly.
"Only got decaf, Johnny goes mad if he gets caffeine in his system…that okay with you?"
Ianto nodded, his posture still betraying his discomfort as his older sibling made the coffee; swiftly and roughly as opposed to the painstaking attention to detail he himself employed. He struggled not to wince as he heard the clattering of the kettle and the clanging of spoons against china mugs. Rhiannon still managed to see through the veneer, however, as she placed the warm drink in his hands, her eyes narrowing indignantly at the sign of displeasure in his eyes. Her hand cuffed lightly against his ear, the action almost comforting in its familiarity.
"Now, don't give me that. This is my house, not your fancy pants civil service do, so you'll get what you're given," she stepped back, a small smile forming as she sank into the chair opposite him. "I know the only reason you even started drinking that bloody sludge was because no one else liked it - that was you, always having to be different. Even if you never even liked it to start with."
Ianto shot her an indignant look at the accusation.
"What? You didn't! In fact, the more Dad tried to tell you otherwise, the more you convinced yourself that you did like it - so bloody eager to go against everything he had to say that you actually managed to change your own taste buds! I can just see the look on his face when you told him you got that Saturday job in the coffee shop…"
"Rhi…" Ianto cut her off, his tone sharp, the timbre of his voice wavering slightly. It wasn't much, but it was enough to catch her attention. She closed her mouth, leaning forward ever so slightly, her teasing immediately transformed into that motherly demeanour that he loved so well.
"I didn't come here to talk about him…please don't talk about him…"
Rhiannon hooked her hands beneath her seat, moving it forward so that she could rest a hand on Ianto's thigh as he seemed to curl in on himself, her fingers rubbing small circles gently into the flesh of his leg. He stared at her hand, seemingly transfixed by it as he avoided meeting her gaze; she waited, keeping up the small movement of her fingers against his skin.
It felt nice.
He raised his eyes, meeting her concerned stare tentatively.
"I think I'm in trouble, Rhi…"
Martha studied Gwen closely as she sat down, eyes roving almost intrudingly over her face. The Welshwoman squirmed under her gaze, uncomfortable in the feeling that she was somehow under intense scrutiny. She had always worn her heart on her sleeve, knowing that she was more easily readable than either of the two men she now worked with, but she'd never felt so thoroughly exposed before.
"What's wrong with Jack?" she whispered, gripping the arms of the chair as she focused her gaze onto the scratched concrete of the floor. That was all she wanted to know at the minute; what was wrong and how to fix it. She wanted Jack back and she wanted Ianto back. They had lost Tosh and Owen, but she had not lost the other two completely, and she'd be damned if she'd let them go as well.
Being too stubborn was one of her major flaws, as she had discovered working for Torchwood. But, at times like these, it could also be a major asset.
"Honestly, Gwen," Martha paused, closing her eyes and exhaling heavily through her nose. "I don't know. It's like…he's lived so long and seen so many things that his brain just can't handle it anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"It's hard to put it in medical terms, because it's not medical - not bloody medical at all. But think of his brain as a box, storing everything he sees and thinks and knows…and if you fill a cardboard box too full it can't take the pressure. It's going to lose its structural integrity."
Gwen nodded, biting her lip slightly.
"But he's lived for so long. Why now?"
Martha tapped her nails against her top lip, thoughtfully. There was more brightness in her eyes than Gwen had seen in anyone in a long time, ever since that fateful day when everything went to hell. She was like a breath of fresh air, relatively untainted by the horrors that Gwen and her friends had been subjected to over the past few weeks; the madness had not touched her, and she was exactly the hold they needed to keep a grip on their own sanity.
"Well…and this is only speculation, so don't take it as fact…if you fill a cardboard box it will weaken, but it's likely to hold out for as long as possible, as long as you're careful with how you arrange what you're putting in it. Jack's brain has adapted somehow to withstand his long life and to organise everything so that it doesn't tip over - it's amazing how the human body can change and mould itself in order to survive, trust me," her eyes darkened for a second, lost in a memory Gwen just couldn't fathom.
"But, essentially, he's still human; he can only stretch so far. All it needed was a strong enough trigger…"
"Oh God," Gwen felt a lump rising in her throat. "2,000 years…all alone, suffocating, crushed…Oh Jesus Jack…"
She turned in her seat, seeking out the sleeping man with her eyes.
"What have they done to you?"
Ianto didn't realise he was sobbing until Rhiannon's arms had closed around him in a smothering embrace, pulling him tightly into her bosom as his body was wracked with the force of his tears. He could feel himself shaking, clinging onto the cloth of her top, burying his face in her chest as if he were a frightened toddler again, using her as a shield against the rest of the world.
Her hand carded through his hair gently, her touch reassuring and comforting; he let himself mould to her shape, breathing her familiar scent as he let the weight of everything that happened pour out of him in the form of liquid tears. Rhiannon was like a sponge, she always had been, soaking up every tear, every sob, every childish whine and gripe. As much as he had neglected her, kept her at arm's length - to protect her, he kept telling himself, although he was no longer sure that was the truth - it was at times like these that he was so grateful to have her.
She was his big sister; she'd always been the strong one, the brash one, the one who would stand up for herself and would defend her little brother, however annoying and tiresome she found him, to the death. He couldn't imagine a world in which she wasn't there to catch him.
"There now," Rhiannon berated softly once the violence of his tears had subsided, pulling back and rubbing against the wet trails on his cheeks with her thumb. "What was all that about then, eh?"
"It's..." he chewed on his bottom lip, painfully aware of silent tears still squeezing their way rebelliously out of his eyes. "...my friends."
Rhiannon nodded, letting him take a few shaky breaths before continuing.
"When the...uh...the terrorist attacks in Cardiff...the ones a few weeks ago. Well, they were there and they...both of them, Tosh and Owen...they were only trying to the right thing, to keep us all safe and yet..."
He felt his sister's hand move from his shoulder until it reached his own which was rested on his knee, her small fingers worming their way into his clenched fist to hold his hand lightly. He could feel the words bubbling in the back of his throat, her gentle contact urging him on as he swallowed hard, trying to take the words and string them together coherently.
"We weren't quick enough, perhaps we could have done something, it's just so..."
"Unfair?" Rhiannon's voice was soft as she spoke, and he met her gaze slowly. "But you're a stubborn bastard, Yan...if there was anything you could have done I know you'd have done it. That they didn't...survive...just shows that there was nothing you could have done to stop it."
Her hand squeezed his own, encouraging him to continue.
"It's not just that, Rhi," he was frantic now, his fingers responding to her touch, clutching dangerously tightly at her hand. "It's my...my boss."
He could see Rhiannon trying to smother her frown, but she wasn't quick enough.
"He was...Oh God...it was his brother who did it, his brother who set the explosions, Rhi, and Jack was...he tortured Jack. Made him suffer for something he did wrong when they were just kids."
He was babbling, he knew it, but it was like someone had punctured a dam inside him; that little trickle had exploded, words gushing out of him like a raging flood. He could feel Rhiannon's thumb stroking softly at the ridges of his knuckles as his hand began to quiver ever so slightly.
"I don't know what to do, Rhi. He got away and he found us, but then Tosh and Owen were dead and...and it was his brother who did it...and he just broke. It's like he's not all there, like there's something wrong, and he's so scared all the time, scared of everyone, scared of me...he doesn't even remember who I am some of the time..."
Those last words caught in his throat and he lowered his head, desperately trying, and failing, to swallow back the painful lump in his throat. He kept his head lowered as Rhiannon inched closer to him on the sofa - when had she moved from her chair? - and put one hand on each shoulder, gripping hard.
"Sounds like this - Jack - means a lot to you, Yan. And if there's one thing I know, it's that he's lucky to have you on his side to help him through…and that you'll get through this too. We always do…you and me, we always got through, remember? Never let go, never give up. Just keep on fighting."
Gwen was crying.
Not loudly or violently, but there were definitely tears sliding down her cheeks. She could feel them following the trail of her face, nestling in the corners of her mouth as once again the unimaginable thought of what Jack had endured slammed into her. She didn't even have the energy to wipe them away.
Martha was still talking, her voice filtering through as if she were hearing her over the comms system, rather than sitting directly opposite her.
"I don't think it was just the...burying, Gwen."
The Welshwoman turned to face Martha, loathe to break her eye contact with Jack's sleeping form but realising that there were more important things to attend to than her own grief. On a basic, selfish level, the only way to make herself feel better was to get this fixed, she realised guiltily, and so listening to Martha was the best way of breaking her cycle of misery.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…I think that was a factor, but I know Jack. It's likely his body would have shut off to protect him, made sure there were long spaces of time between his revivals. He can handle physical pain. Trust me on that one."
Gwen scrunched her eyes up thoughtfully, feeling the skin at the corners wrinkle slightly.
"That's what Ianto said; that it was only after I left that it happened. Jack shot himself, and when he came back it was like a part of him hadn't got back with him."
Martha nodded, as if this proved her theory, waving a hand at Gwen to carry on as she made hurried notes on a mislaid piece of paper; they were unfinished archival documents, Gwen noted. Even through the haze of confusion, that achingly normal thought: Ianto will not be happy…: managed to slide into her brain.
"And Jack said…he said I didn't want you to see when I saw him at Ianto's.I went 'round Ianto's, the morning after we lost…the morning after it happened - just needed some company. Jack was there…"
"Jack was there, in the morning? Did they do anything?" Martha's nostril's flared suddenly, her eyes sharp; Gwen shrank in her seat under the glare, the protective nature of the younger woman quite terrifying in its force.
"I - I don't know. He said that he got Jack back to his flat and that he couldn't remember how to…oh," Gwen flushed. "He was naked in the morning."
"Oh shit," Martha stopped writing, her head falling into her hands. "When Ianto gets back, we are having words."
With that she stood up, sighing deeply and smoothing her hair back into its neat bun. As she left the room, Gwen couldn't help the niggling - well, more than niggling - sense that she may have got the Welshman in a lot more trouble than he was already in.
"How long have you kept this inside?"
Ianto hung his head sheepishly as he stood in the hallway, slipping his heavy dark coat onto his shoulders.
"You don't understand. At work, they rely on me to be the strong one, to keep it together and…" he let a small smile stretch his face. "…I never could hide anything from you."
"Yeah, well, that's my job you, silly bugger," Rhiannon huffed, her hands on her hips. "Look, the kids are coming back from school in an hour, and it's been such a long time…"
"To be honest, at the minute, I can't trust myself not to throttle one of them," Ianto smiled, leaning more comfortably against the wall at the look on his sister's face.
"How do you think I cope then, you smug bastard!" she smiled, a slight sadness tingeing what should have been a happy expression. "Seriously though…promise me you'll come for dinner some time. I'll make sure Johnny doesn't try and wrestle you again…"
Ianto felt a genuine laugh bubbling up from his chest, and he stepped forward to pull his sister into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her own hooking around underneath his armpits to grip his back tightly; burying his face in her hair, he once again breathed in that refreshing smell of normalcy, committing it to memory.
Eventually, and somewhat reluctantly, his older sister pulled away. Before he could turn to the door, however, she framed his face with her hands and pressed her lips against his cheek.
"You make sure you don't let it get bottled up like this again, you hear me?" her hand pulled back and cuffed his cheek lightly. "And when this - boss - of yours pulls himself together, you give me a call and get him 'round here."
"Rhi…"
"And cut your hair. I know you're such a stickler for that kind of thing, you'll feel a lot better, trust me. Oh, and for God's sake, get some sleep!"
"Yes, Ma,"
"Cheeky sod," she cuffed him again, stepping back and allowing him to pull the door open, a serious expression descending onto her features. "You just take care of yourself, Yan."
Before stepping over the threshold, he grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, feeling the pulse in her wrist thrumming through into his fingers. That sense that she was here, whatever happened, was enough to expel the fear that he was stepping back into his harsh reality; she had let him escape, if only for a few precious moments, and he couldn't express how much that meant.
So, instead, he looked her in the eye and smiled, the sense of release allowing him to genuinely feel the warmth of the expression, for the first time since this had all happened.
"Thank you, Rhi."
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