[fic] All Fall Down
Title: All Fall Down
Author: noscrubs12345
awdt Prompt: Don't you understand anything?
Word Count: 1375
Rating: R
Summary: There’s a dark stain against the wool as he pulls it away, already feeling the skin start to knit back together. Not for the first time he wishes it wouldn’t; he knows he deserves so much more than just a good right hook.
Warnings: angst, attempted suicide, violence, spoilers for Cyberwoman
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies and the BBC. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Notes: Unbeta'd. Please point out any mistakes you may find. This is quite possibly the darkest thing I've ever written, but it just wrote itself after I saw the prompt.
Now translated into French by the lovely oloste!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Leave me the fuck alone!” Ianto shouts, voice breaking as he tries to slam the door in Jack’s face at three past four the morning after Lisa’s final death.
It isn’t the welcome he wants, but it’s the one he expected. He thinks-knows-he deserves it and that maybe it would be kinder to just slip Ianto one of the small white pills in his pocket. He sighs, expelling the thought with his breath, and catches the door before it can hit him.
He slips inside and ducks in time to dodge the bottle of whiskey as it collides with the door. He stares at the spot, watches the amber liquid trickle down the smooth surface of the wood, and raises his hands in surrender when he turns to face Ianto.
The younger man stands by the dark window, eyes wild and chest heaving as angry blue eyes meet worried ones. There’s the beginning of stubble on his tear stained cheeks and his shirt is unbuttoned, a strip of blood stark against white fabric and too pale skin. For once, Jack ignores the low ride of pyjama bottoms and pushes the thought of feeling the roughness of Ianto’s cheeks against his skin.
He lowers his hands as Ianto breaks the stare and storms towards the kitchen, bare feet slapping angrily against the hard bamboo of the floor.
“Ianto-“Jack starts and steps in front of the young man, trying to grab his arm to stop him.
Ianto bats his hands away and shoves Jack backwards into the entry table. The day’s post and a picture of Ianto and Lisa falls to the floor, crashing and shattering with a tinkle of glass. He looks from the broken frame to Jack and his fist connects with Jack’s jaw as he rights himself. Jack feels his lip split and tastes blood. He brings up the cuff of his greatcoat and presses it to his mouth. There’s a dark stain against the wool as he pulls it away, already feeling the skin start to knit back together. Not for the first time he wishes it wouldn’t; he knows he deserves so much more than just a good right hook.
“I said leave me alone!” Ianto shouts, voice gravelly with tears and whiskey, and starts for the kitchen again.
Jack grabs his wrist, heart pounding and vision blurring with his own tears as he twists Ianto around to face him. He takes his other wrist, gripping hard enough to bruise, and pushes his against the door jamb.
He tightens his hold on him as Ianto rages against him and resists the urge to buckle as Ianto knees him.
“Hey!” Jack shouts, losing the battle to keep the emotion from his voice. “Hey! Calm down!”
“Let go of me!” Ianto shouts, straining against Jack as he tries to push him away. “Let go!”
“If I do, will you talk to me?” Jack asks and closes his eyes as he feels Ianto’s breath hot against his lips. He doesn’t shudder, doesn’t think about sharing the same breath and laughter in an abandoned warehouse those few short months ago.
“Why? So you can distract me? Retcon me?” he struggles against Jack, pushing against him. He slams Jack against the opposite jamb as he brings his arms down.
Jack lets out an “oomph,” his grip loosening enough for Ianto to pull his wrists away.
“I don’t think so, Jack fucking Harkness! Or whatever your real name is.” He stumbles into the kitchen and runs a trembling hand across the smooth, cold marble of the work surface, knocking a half-open tin of biscuits to the floor. He ignores the spilled shortbread and turns his back to Jack as he stops by the refrigerator. He pulls a drawer to the left of it open, letting out a shaky breath as the wood slides free.
“Ianto,” Jack calls, voice shaking, and Ianto stiffens. There’s a lump in his throat and fear running cold through his veins. “Ianto. Look at me. Please. Let me see those beautiful blues of yours. Please.”
Ianto turns his head slightly, fresh tears sparkling in the dim light and running down his cheeks to drip onto his own shoulders and chest. He doesn’t open his eyes, just takes a shuddering breath that comes out a choked sob.
Jack takes a few tentative steps towards him. His boots crush the biscuits and squeak against the cheap laminate and he squeezes shut his own eyes as Ianto cringes at the sound.
“I’m not going to Retcon you,” he says quietly and steps up behind Ianto. He lays a hand on his shoulder and rubs, surprised when he isn’t pushed away. “I’d never take her away from you. You loved her. I know that. ”
“No, I love her! Present tense,” Ianto bites back and reaches for something in the drawer. He pulls out a knife and holds it up, inspecting it.
Jack catches a glimpse of Ianto’s lustreless eyes in the stainless steel; he has to look away as Ianto lowers it to his wrist. It hovers, dancing in Ianto’s unsteady hand.
“How long do think it’d take to bleed out? Seconds?”
“Ianto-” Jack says, reaching around to wrap his left hand around Ianto’s wrist. His own hands are trembling, eyes stinging, and knees ready to buckle. He swallows the lump in his throat.
“A few minutes?”
“Ianto, put it down.” He squeezes the wrist, feeling Ianto’s pulse racing underneath and the first tear fall onto his cheeks.
“Longer if I don’t do it right? Or maybe I could down the bottle of pills Owen left. I requisitioned them-I know how strong they are.”
“Ianto! Stop it!”
“Why should I? I love her and now she’s dead all because of you!” Ianto says, accent thick and dripping with venom. He turns his head to look at Jack. “I fucking love her and I don’t want to go on without her! Don’t you understand that? I want to be with her. I want you to let me go and leave me alone. I love her, Jack. Don’t you understand anything?”
“Just...please, Ianto,” Jack pleads, a sob escaping from his own lips as Ianto tightens his hold on the knife.
“Fuck you, Jack!” Ianto shouts but doesn’t fight against the hands that hold him or try to pull away. “Give me a reason not too!”
Because you’re broken, Jack thinks. Because I can’t lose someone else so soon. Because I’ve been where you are now. Because I’ve done worse. Because you deserve another chance. Because no one has conned me so well in such a long time. Because that monster wasn’t your Lisa. Because I thought we had something more than just quick fucks. Because maybe I’ve let myself feel something I haven’t allowed myself in too long.
“Because you’re scaring me, Ianto,” Jack says, voice cracking and the tears flowing like a river breaking over a dam. “You’re scaring me.”
The knife falls and clatters against the others as it falls from Ianto’s hand and back into the drawer. Jack feels Ianto’s shoulders slump under his hand and start to shake. Ianto breathes out a string of angry Welsh and Jack doesn’t know if he’s cursing him or praying for strength. His hands slip from Ianto’s shoulders and finally lets go as the younger man turns around to face him.
Jack doesn’t meet his eyes and stares down at his boots and Ianto’s feet. He thinks of the glass in the entry, tiny jagged pieces of once molten sand that he’ll sweep up when Ianto finally sleeps. He wants to tell him to be careful but the words die on his lips as Ianto strokes his tears away with a thumb too gentle for a monster.
“I’m sorry,” Ianto whispers, the words a ragged mantra as he wraps his arms around Jack’s waist and buries his face in the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
They sink to the floor, tears mingling as hands clutch at shirts and legs tangle. Quiet apologies mingle with fear of the unknown and the vastness of seemingly unendless loneliness swirl together in the insanity of loss both old and new and disgraced biscuits.
Author: noscrubs12345
awdt Prompt: Don't you understand anything?
Word Count: 1375
Rating: R
Summary: There’s a dark stain against the wool as he pulls it away, already feeling the skin start to knit back together. Not for the first time he wishes it wouldn’t; he knows he deserves so much more than just a good right hook.
Warnings: angst, attempted suicide, violence, spoilers for Cyberwoman
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies and the BBC. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Notes: Unbeta'd. Please point out any mistakes you may find. This is quite possibly the darkest thing I've ever written, but it just wrote itself after I saw the prompt.
Now translated into French by the lovely oloste!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Leave me the fuck alone!” Ianto shouts, voice breaking as he tries to slam the door in Jack’s face at three past four the morning after Lisa’s final death.
It isn’t the welcome he wants, but it’s the one he expected. He thinks-knows-he deserves it and that maybe it would be kinder to just slip Ianto one of the small white pills in his pocket. He sighs, expelling the thought with his breath, and catches the door before it can hit him.
He slips inside and ducks in time to dodge the bottle of whiskey as it collides with the door. He stares at the spot, watches the amber liquid trickle down the smooth surface of the wood, and raises his hands in surrender when he turns to face Ianto.
The younger man stands by the dark window, eyes wild and chest heaving as angry blue eyes meet worried ones. There’s the beginning of stubble on his tear stained cheeks and his shirt is unbuttoned, a strip of blood stark against white fabric and too pale skin. For once, Jack ignores the low ride of pyjama bottoms and pushes the thought of feeling the roughness of Ianto’s cheeks against his skin.
He lowers his hands as Ianto breaks the stare and storms towards the kitchen, bare feet slapping angrily against the hard bamboo of the floor.
“Ianto-“Jack starts and steps in front of the young man, trying to grab his arm to stop him.
Ianto bats his hands away and shoves Jack backwards into the entry table. The day’s post and a picture of Ianto and Lisa falls to the floor, crashing and shattering with a tinkle of glass. He looks from the broken frame to Jack and his fist connects with Jack’s jaw as he rights himself. Jack feels his lip split and tastes blood. He brings up the cuff of his greatcoat and presses it to his mouth. There’s a dark stain against the wool as he pulls it away, already feeling the skin start to knit back together. Not for the first time he wishes it wouldn’t; he knows he deserves so much more than just a good right hook.
“I said leave me alone!” Ianto shouts, voice gravelly with tears and whiskey, and starts for the kitchen again.
Jack grabs his wrist, heart pounding and vision blurring with his own tears as he twists Ianto around to face him. He takes his other wrist, gripping hard enough to bruise, and pushes his against the door jamb.
He tightens his hold on him as Ianto rages against him and resists the urge to buckle as Ianto knees him.
“Hey!” Jack shouts, losing the battle to keep the emotion from his voice. “Hey! Calm down!”
“Let go of me!” Ianto shouts, straining against Jack as he tries to push him away. “Let go!”
“If I do, will you talk to me?” Jack asks and closes his eyes as he feels Ianto’s breath hot against his lips. He doesn’t shudder, doesn’t think about sharing the same breath and laughter in an abandoned warehouse those few short months ago.
“Why? So you can distract me? Retcon me?” he struggles against Jack, pushing against him. He slams Jack against the opposite jamb as he brings his arms down.
Jack lets out an “oomph,” his grip loosening enough for Ianto to pull his wrists away.
“I don’t think so, Jack fucking Harkness! Or whatever your real name is.” He stumbles into the kitchen and runs a trembling hand across the smooth, cold marble of the work surface, knocking a half-open tin of biscuits to the floor. He ignores the spilled shortbread and turns his back to Jack as he stops by the refrigerator. He pulls a drawer to the left of it open, letting out a shaky breath as the wood slides free.
“Ianto,” Jack calls, voice shaking, and Ianto stiffens. There’s a lump in his throat and fear running cold through his veins. “Ianto. Look at me. Please. Let me see those beautiful blues of yours. Please.”
Ianto turns his head slightly, fresh tears sparkling in the dim light and running down his cheeks to drip onto his own shoulders and chest. He doesn’t open his eyes, just takes a shuddering breath that comes out a choked sob.
Jack takes a few tentative steps towards him. His boots crush the biscuits and squeak against the cheap laminate and he squeezes shut his own eyes as Ianto cringes at the sound.
“I’m not going to Retcon you,” he says quietly and steps up behind Ianto. He lays a hand on his shoulder and rubs, surprised when he isn’t pushed away. “I’d never take her away from you. You loved her. I know that. ”
“No, I love her! Present tense,” Ianto bites back and reaches for something in the drawer. He pulls out a knife and holds it up, inspecting it.
Jack catches a glimpse of Ianto’s lustreless eyes in the stainless steel; he has to look away as Ianto lowers it to his wrist. It hovers, dancing in Ianto’s unsteady hand.
“How long do think it’d take to bleed out? Seconds?”
“Ianto-” Jack says, reaching around to wrap his left hand around Ianto’s wrist. His own hands are trembling, eyes stinging, and knees ready to buckle. He swallows the lump in his throat.
“A few minutes?”
“Ianto, put it down.” He squeezes the wrist, feeling Ianto’s pulse racing underneath and the first tear fall onto his cheeks.
“Longer if I don’t do it right? Or maybe I could down the bottle of pills Owen left. I requisitioned them-I know how strong they are.”
“Ianto! Stop it!”
“Why should I? I love her and now she’s dead all because of you!” Ianto says, accent thick and dripping with venom. He turns his head to look at Jack. “I fucking love her and I don’t want to go on without her! Don’t you understand that? I want to be with her. I want you to let me go and leave me alone. I love her, Jack. Don’t you understand anything?”
“Just...please, Ianto,” Jack pleads, a sob escaping from his own lips as Ianto tightens his hold on the knife.
“Fuck you, Jack!” Ianto shouts but doesn’t fight against the hands that hold him or try to pull away. “Give me a reason not too!”
Because you’re broken, Jack thinks. Because I can’t lose someone else so soon. Because I’ve been where you are now. Because I’ve done worse. Because you deserve another chance. Because no one has conned me so well in such a long time. Because that monster wasn’t your Lisa. Because I thought we had something more than just quick fucks. Because maybe I’ve let myself feel something I haven’t allowed myself in too long.
“Because you’re scaring me, Ianto,” Jack says, voice cracking and the tears flowing like a river breaking over a dam. “You’re scaring me.”
The knife falls and clatters against the others as it falls from Ianto’s hand and back into the drawer. Jack feels Ianto’s shoulders slump under his hand and start to shake. Ianto breathes out a string of angry Welsh and Jack doesn’t know if he’s cursing him or praying for strength. His hands slip from Ianto’s shoulders and finally lets go as the younger man turns around to face him.
Jack doesn’t meet his eyes and stares down at his boots and Ianto’s feet. He thinks of the glass in the entry, tiny jagged pieces of once molten sand that he’ll sweep up when Ianto finally sleeps. He wants to tell him to be careful but the words die on his lips as Ianto strokes his tears away with a thumb too gentle for a monster.
“I’m sorry,” Ianto whispers, the words a ragged mantra as he wraps his arms around Jack’s waist and buries his face in the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
They sink to the floor, tears mingling as hands clutch at shirts and legs tangle. Quiet apologies mingle with fear of the unknown and the vastness of seemingly unendless loneliness swirl together in the insanity of loss both old and new and disgraced biscuits.