Fic; Torchwood; "Yellow Card" (R)
Title/Series Info: Torchwood, "Yellow Card"
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, guest appearances from Tosh, Owen and Gwen
Rating/Warning: R for some adult situations and post-watershed type stuff
Summary: Jack was sure Ianto was up for real field work, but things didn't go as planned. It's not only Ianto's bones that are broken now.
Author's Notes: Set before, during and after "Countrycide," so obvious spoilers through that story. Thanks go out to justinej and robertmapril for beta work and encouragement.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all characters belong to the illustrious Russell T. Davies and the BBC. I am forever in their debt.
Yellow Card
Sorry she’s dead, or sorry that you brought it up?
“What the hell was that about?” Jack said as soon as Tosh was out of earshot. Owen and Gwen weren’t gone thirty seconds before Tosh suddenly remembered that she might have packed some chocolate, and was just going to look for it, be right back. Ianto had doubts about the chocolate.
“It was a stupid game,” he said to Jack.
“Yeah, I think she realized that when Owen outed her,” Jack said. He shook his head. “But that doesn’t make it your place to make the rest of your team feel like shit.” He spoke in a tone somewhere between a low growl and a loud whisper, in case Toshiko should reappear.
“It was the only appropriate answer. Sir,” Ianto said.
Jack paused, then replied, “It was the way you said it. They were following orders, Ianto.”
“They forgot. Just because they were following orders doesn’t mean they can just forget. She was still a person.”
“If you have a problem, you talk to me,” Jack said, his irritation dissipating. “This is a team. Our responsibility is to each other. To support each other.”
“What about her? Gwen? She was showing off. She’s the only one with someone at home, she knows that. What did she expect us to say? Why start such a stupid game?”
Jack sighed. “I don’t disagree that it was a little thoughtless. People in love do stupid things. You know that.”
There was that familiar pain, like a kick to the chest. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t have the words. At last he let out his breath and said, “I suppose so.” He rose and began to walk toward the far tent. “I’m sleeping with Owen tonight.”
“What?” Jack cried, incredulous.
“In the tent, I’m moving my things to Owen’s tent. Please don’t try to follow me. Or creep in on me in my sleep.”
“Are we all suddenly eight years old? For God’s sake, Ianto.”
But then Gwen and Owen found the body in the woods, and everything went horribly wrong.
Several weeks before, Ianto had been sitting at his computer, enjoying a coffee and browsing the internet when he got an IM from Jack.
It was not the time-killing, work-avoiding sort of internet browsing; in fact it was work, and very time-consuming and dull. He was looking for leaks. He would search for keywords, starting with obvious ones like, “aliens,” “Cardiff,” “Torchwood,” gradually broadening to include phrases like “strange artifact,” and “you’ll never believe what I saw” (quite often, “man in a long coat” turned up something relevant). Then he combed through the matches to find blogs, chats, emails, anything that could indicate suspicious activity. Some he only needed to intercept and wipe, remove the information; others required follow-up and the occasional intervention. He had calculated that, of those which were not immediately dismissable, 85% were redundant and irrelevant, 5% valid leads and 10% speculation that ranged from amusing to outrageously funny. He bookmarked those.
Jack’s message relieved the boredom of perusing that largest category. “Ianto, office,” it said.
He typed back, “Need anything?”
After a moment the screen replied, “Jack is typing a message,” and Ianto took a sip of coffee and tried not to grin. Finally it read, “Jack: Bridgend fly-overs file.”
Ianto estimated the time it took to type “Bridgend fly-overs file” versus the time it might take to type something suggestive, erase it, type something else suggestive and slightly more clever, erase that and finally type, “Bridgend fly-overs file” and concluded that it was unlikely that Jack actually needed the Bridgend fly-overs file. He fetched it anyway, his stomach doing cartwheels, and he tried to focus and look businesslike as he walked to Jack’s office.
Jack was standing near the far wall, away from the windows, pretending to fumble with one of the wall-mounted computers. “I’ll just leave this on your desk, Captain,” Ianto said, dropping the file.
“Come take a look at this,” Jack said, his back to the room.
Ianto glanced out the door. Everyone was occupied. He stepped up next to Jack, looking at the monitor, playing along.
Jack had him pinned to the wall in a second. With one hand he held Ianto’s arms over his head. The other was pressed in between their bodies, inching downward. There was hunger in his kiss.
“It’s not as much fun if you don’t struggle,” Jack whispered.
“It is much louder when I do, though,” Ianto replied. “But maybe later…”
“Shut up.” He kissed him again, grinding against him, and his hand reached its goal. Ianto’s body buckled.
“Jack!” called Gwen from outside. “I’m off to talk to witnesses. Short list today, shouldn’t be long.”
Jack let go of Ianto and yelled, “Wait!”
Not realizing it, Ianto had let most of his weight lean into Jack; suddenly without support, he stumbled, throwing his arms forward to keep from falling. Jack was already in the doorway, and Ianto ducked behind him and grabbed the folder he’d brought off of Jack’s desk. He attempted to hold it in front of him in an entirely casual way, and not at all in a manner that might suggest he was hiding an erection.
“Take Ianto with you,” Jack said to Gwen.
“I’ll be fine,” Gwen replied. “It’s a short list.”
“Witnesses” referred to anyone as yet unfiled who had reported strange disturbances, or sightings to the police, as well as the follow-ups to many of Ianto’s own internet leads.
“We’re wasting his enormous talents, leaving him behind all the time. Take him. He can help.” Jack turned and smiled at Ianto, who mouthed back, ‘Now?’
Gwen shrugged.
Ianto’s growing confusion, disappointment and more than a little anger were quickly making the ruse of the folder unnecessary. “I’ll get my coat,” he sighed.
Owen called out, “Could you do some coffee, before you go?”
Jack defended himself, saying that interviews were an easy place to start and it was helpful to everyone that Gwen had an extra body along. “And you look so official. I’ll bet you actually improve her credibility.”
Still, Ianto didn’t need to accompany her very often, only about once a week. Jack had started taking him along on weevil hunts, as he’d said he would, though there suddenly seemed to be a lot of them. These trips often ended in carnal abuse of the SUV, and nary a weevil to be found. He noticed Jack wasn’t even filing any paperwork for some of these fruitless outings.
“Field work suits you,” Jack said one night, twisting around the steering wheel to button his trousers.
“This is hardly field work, Jack. This is shagging in a car like teenagers.” Ianto turned on the overhead light, trying to find his left shoe. “This is sneaking around, to shag in a car like teenagers. This is basically acting like seventeen year-olds.”
“But with a much better sexual vocabulary,” Jack laughed.
“Speak for yourself. I still don’t know what you’re saying half the time.”
“Camping?”
“It’ll be fun,” Jack said. “Well, maybe. It’s still work. This could be evidence of the Rift spreading, or it could be something came through that really didn’t like the city. People are going missing. We need to look into it.”
“What sort of equipment will we need?” Ianto asked.
“Talk to Tosh. Otherwise, just camping stuff. Sleeping bags, that sort of thing. Tents.” He added, “Three tents.”
Ianto cocked an eyebrow. “Men, women, and…”
“Owen,” said Jack. “Let him have his own tent. He’ll like that.” He grinned.
“I see,” said Ianto. “We’ll be sharing then?
“I told you it would be fun.”
It was the last time any of them went camping.
The paramedics at the village recommended they all go to hospital and have their injuries looked at. Jack thanked them for their time, and loaded everyone into the SUV. It would be better to go back to the Hub, he said, where Owen (who had emerged relatively unscathed) could patch everyone up. It would be less complicated.
If they hadn’t stopped to clean up the remains of their campsite, they might have made it back into Cardiff before Ianto began having trouble breathing. That he was in pain they’d recognized, how could he not be, and they’d left him and Gwen in the car while they repacked the tents. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t complained, and it was Tosh who noticed the tension building in his body and the color draining from his face as he struggled for air. They were able to get to Pontypridd, where they took him to A & E, and Tosh volunteered to stay and look after him. Jack considered Gwen and Owen back in the SUV, and could think of no reason to stop her.
“Think you can get a taxi back?” Jack asked.
“We’ll do what we need to,” Tosh said. “I’ve got a company credit card, if we need to stay in a very expensive hotel overnight.”
Jack smiled. “He’ll be fine.”
“Yes,” she said.
No one wanted to be alone. They sat in the Hub, trying weakly to make conversation, mostly taking comfort in each others’ steady, silent presence. They phoned Tosh repeatedly. Four broken ribs, she was finally able to report, a cracked clavicle and concussion. The ribs could have punctured a lung, but they hadn’t. He was lucky. They were sending him home.
At the Hub, Jack, Owen and Gwen ordered pizza, but no one was hungry. It just went cold. Unfortunately, this left Gwen shaky, but she insisted she couldn’t possibly keep anything down. When she finally resolved to go home to Rhys, Owen offered to drive her.
Alone, Jack paced his office. There was always risk; they knew this, they accepted it. Yet being pushed to the edge of that cliff, seeing death inches away, never ceased to be terrifying. He had died hundreds of times and still, in that last second, there was fear. His whole team. If he’d been even a second too late…
The Hub, his base, his space. This was supposed to be the one place he could keep them safe. But it was the place where he had nearly lost Ianto once before, back when he’d taken the young man for granted.
He rang Tosh again.
“We’re at his flat,” she said. “Someone has to look after him because of the concussion. We’re watching movies.”
“What are you watching?”
“I’m not sure. Something black and white. It might be Hitchcock,” she said. “Though I hope not. I haven’t been paying much attention. I’ve been watching Ianto.”
“How is he?” Jack asked.
“Fairly incoherent, at the moment,” she replied. “He’s on a ton of painkillers. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to tell if he’s getting worse. God, Jack, you should see him, his body is just one massive bruise. It really is a miracle things weren’t worse.”
“I know,” Jack sighed. “Tosh, you haven’t had any sleep, have you? Why don’t I come over and relieve you?”
“That would be wonderful, Jack!” she said, her voice dropping to a loud whisper. “I’m sorry, but I am exhausted. I thought of making coffee, but I’m afraid to, and I don’t want to leave him to go buy some.”
“Why are you afraid to make coffee?” Jack laughed.
“Because it’s Ianto. And with all of the drugs he’s on, he might actually tell me what he thinks of it.”
Jack let himself in with his copy of Ianto’s key, and roused Tosh out of a half-sleep daze. He handed her a paper cup full of coffee and she brightened and mouthed ‘thank you’ as she rose from her chair.
Ianto was half-sitting, half lying on the couch, legs stretched in front of him and pillows piled under his back to relax the stress on his ribs. His eyes were open, and he glanced at Jack before returning his attention to the film. The volume was low.
“Don’t sit on the couch,” Tosh cautioned. “If you shift him, it hurts.”
Jack knelt on the floor beside Ianto and gently rested a hand on his knee. Ianto looked at him again, his eyes sad and heavy with sleep. Jack wanted to say something, but he knew nothing would help. They just stared at each other.
“He needs to rest, they said, he can sleep, but you’ll need to keep checking on him,” Tosh said, picking up her bag. “I’ve called a taxi, so I’ll be heading home.”
“Will you be okay on your own?” Jack asked. “I’m sure you could stay, if you’d like. Borrow Ianto’s bed.”
“Thanks, but I want my own bed right now,” she said.
“You can have some of those,” Ianto said, and they were both startled by the sudden sound of his voice. He gestured toward the table where the bottle of painkillers from the hospital sat. “Or there’s sleeping pills in the bathroom cabinet. If you need them.”
Tosh smiled again, softly. “Thank you, Ianto. I think I’ll be alright.”
“Thank you, Tosh,” he replied. Then, “I’m so sorry.”
Jack walked Toshiko to the door. “I might have a glass of wine when I get home,” she told him.
“You deserve it,” he replied.
She glanced back at Ianto and her face fell. “He keeps saying that,” she said. “That he’s sorry. At first I just said, ‘No problem,’ but now I’m not even sure what he’s apologizing for.”
“I’ll look after him,” Jack said. “And I’ve already declared tomorrow a Torchwood day of rest. Go home and sleep.”
“Bye, Ianto,” she called out, a strange, hopeful cheer in her voice. Her taxi had arrived.
Jack returned to Ianto.
“Hey.” He picked up a chair from the kitchen and sat down behind the couch. He reached out and stroked Ianto’s hair.
“You did good,” he said softly.
“We nearly died,” Ianto said.
“I know. But you didn’t. You did good.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I tried, but she couldn’t get away. I tried to distract them, but…”
“Sshhhh,” Jack whispered. “You did your best.” He rested his head on one arm, on the back of the couch, his face close to Ianto’s.
“Why was I even there, Jack? Why did you bring me? I was useless.”
“You were not useless. You were far from useless.” He kissed Ianto’s forehead. “You are a part of this team. You did the best you could. I’m proud of you.” Jack could feel the anger burning in his gut. Anger at the sick bastards who’d done this to them. Anger at himself that they’d been able to do it. He pushed it away and tried to focus on Ianto, the texture of his hair, the softness of his skin. He could do something for him now; he could do this.
Ianto was still weeping. “I looked away, I looked away from her, and they took her. If I hadn’t-“
“Please stop doing this to yourself,” Jack said. “Please. It wasn’t your fault. We didn’t know what we were getting into. We never do. It’s a risk we take. You did the best you could. You tried to protect Toshiko. You tried.”
“But…”
“Shhh, I said. You tried. That’s what matters.”
Carefully, he leaned in and kissed Ianto on the mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
“I told you to stop-“
“For what I said,” Ianto continued. “Before.”
“Forget about it,” Jack replied. He kissed him again, ever so slightly harder.
“That always…” Ianto whispered. “You did that before. I remember.”
“I’ve done that lots of times. Is your concussion affecting your memory?”
“No, I mean…” Ianto struggled through the medication to find the words. “When I was hurt. You kissed me, and I felt better.” He hesitated. “How? How do you do that?”
“Just pure charm?” Jack shrugged.
Ianto started to laugh, but the movement aggravated his broken bones and bruised muscles. He groaned.
“Do you need more painkillers?” Jack asked. He walked back around to the front of the couch and knelt on the floor again.
“No more pills,” Ianto mumbled. “Just don’t make me laugh.”
“That won’t be easy.”
“Oww.”
“All right, all right,” Jack chuckled. “Is there anything you’d like? Tea, coffee?
“Please don’t make coffee,” Ianto said. He thought a moment. “Help me get these clothes off.”
“As much as I’d like to, I don’t think in your condition-“
“I’m covered in blood and dirt and I stink. Take them off and burn them, please.”
Jack smiled. “Okay.”
It wasn’t difficult. The hospital had cut his T-shirt off already and only loosely replaced the button-up shirt. Jack undid the buttons cautiously and peeled away the dirty fabric. Beneath it Ianto’s flesh looked as though someone had attempted to tie-dye it, poorly. It was a violent Rorschach test of indigos and blues. He choked back a surge of rage, and softly touched Ianto’s chest with his fingertips, tracing the bruises. Ianto closed his eyes.
“No sleeping, I think,” Jack said softly.
“Then kiss me again.” He didn’t open his eyes.
Jack balanced himself over Ianto’s body, one hand on the arm of the couch, one on the back. Their lips brushed together, then again, stronger; Ianto was doing his best to pull Jack in and hold him there with only his mouth. “We should try this again, when I’m not in pieces,” he said.
Jack dropped back to the floor, and set about removing Ianto’s trousers, which resulted in another burst of painful giggles. “We should, you’re right,” he said. “This is a fun position to have you in.” That made Ianto smile.
“I take it I’m back in the tent?” Jack said.
The smile faded. “You were never out. I was just… It was me that-“
“I know,” Jack said, kissing a bare knee. “I’m just teasing.”
Finally, Ianto was naked. Jack sighed. “This might be one of the saddest moments of life,” he laughed. “There you are, and you’re untouchable. Do you want a blanket or something?”
Ianto looked at him with soft, damp puppy-dog eyes. After a minute, he said, “Let’s go to bed.”
“Can you stand?”
He took a deep breath. “Maybe?” And he pushed his hands against the couch cushions. He had barely bent at the waist when sharp pains shot through his chest, and he dropped back to his seat.
“I have an idea,” Jack said. “It’s not pain free, and you’re going to have to brace yourself, but I think I can move quickly.”
Ianto nodded and closed his eyes. He heard Jack moving, felt the couch sink slightly as Jack put a knee on the edge. Jack slid one arm under his shoulders, another under his upper thighs.
There was a crack of pain, like a whip across his body, and he was airborne; Jack lifted him up, trying not to bend him, and carried Ianto to bed. There was more pain as he lay down, and his body adjusted to the new position. Jack kissed him again, and it took the edge off, in that strange way Jack’s kisses always did.
“Don’t let me fall asleep yet,” he whispered to Jack.
“I can do that,” Jack replied.
“Medical leave,” Jack said. “Until I say you can come back.” He straightened his braces and finished buttoning his shirt. The sun was barely up.
The thought of doing nothing, indefinitely, made Ianto groan in protest. Not to mention the work that would pile up in his absence.
“This doesn’t mean you’re on holiday,” Jack clarified. “Right now, your job is to heal, and when that’s done you can come back to work.”
“And how long will that be?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said with a shrug. “I’ll call Owen.” He grabbed his coat off the chair. “Now sleep. Mend. I’ll check on you later.” And with that, rather unceremoniously, he left.
Ianto considered trying to walk to the bathroom, rolled to one side just enough to decide that his need was not so urgent to justify the effort, and resigned himself back to the cradle of his mattress. He managed to get a painkiller from the bottle Jack had moved to the bedside, and even to swallow it without pouring too much water over himself.
He slept.
At some point in the afternoon, Owen shook him awake and shined a light in his eyes while complaining about being summoned for a house call. “No one else has to work today,” Owen grumbled. “I was looking forward to it. Spend the day in bed, maybe go out for a bit later.” He ran a cold careful hand over Ianto’s fractured ribs. “Spend all night in bed,” he chuckled.
“You’re fine,” he finally declared. “Well. No worse. It’s gonna hurt like hell for a while. But,” he said, digging into his bag, “You just have to deal with it. Nothing medicine can do for broken ribs that wouldn’t just do more damage.” However, he produced a second bottle of pills and set it on the nightstand beside the prescription from the hospital. “Anti-inflammatories. Should reduce any swelling around the breaks.”
Ianto mumbled his thanks, closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Owen was gone. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when his bladder finally demanded an audience. But the pills Owen had given him seemed to be working, and anyway, he was adjusting to the mosaic of aches across his chest, learning how to move with them. He managed to get to his feet and make it to the bathroom.
Since he was standing, he decided to take the opportunity to find food; the label on the pills indicated that they could cause nausea if taken on an empty stomach, and he was gradually becoming lucid enough to care. He stared into the open fridge for several minutes before he gave up and carried a loaf of bread and a plate back to bed. He was soon asleep again.
Through something like the end of a dream he heard the door open, the rustle of fabric against fabric, fabric against skin. The sheets moved and the bed dipped, and Jack lay down beside him. He knew it was really Jack without question; he knew his smell, and he didn’t think you could dream smells. He could feel Jack’s hand rest against his stomach, feel Jack’s breath against his neck. He might have smiled before he slipped back to sleep.
Jack was gone when Ianto opened his eyes. The sun was up, just. He peeled himself out of bed, gritting his teeth against the conspiracy of angry bones and bruises. This was a more “normal” day; he made sandwiches of what was left of the bread, managed to lay on the couch, watch some telly. He made coffee, then phoned Owen to make sure the caffeine wouldn’t interfere with the medication (“Keep it reasonable,” was Owen’s terse advice). He called again to ask if sleeping pills were a poor idea (“Are you tired?” Owen asked. Not really, he’d told him, he’d been asleep most of yesterday. “Then don’t sleep. Rest. Don’t run any bloody marathons. And stop calling me.”) He convinced Owen to pass the phone to Gwen, who briefed him on their day’s activities, and immediately regretted having asked; he wanted the pain to stop so he could get back to work.
Jack visited again in much the same manner as he had the previous night; he slipped in well after two o’clock, made an effort to not wake Ianto, and failed to notice that Ianto wasn’t entirely asleep when he arrived. He disappeared before dawn, and he might have been a ghost but for the full glass of water and a bag of grapes he’d left by Ianto’s bedside.
The third night he came early enough that Ianto was still awake, sitting in bed, reading. “Thanks for the grapes,” he said as Jack tossed his coat across the foot of the bed.
“How do you feel?” Jack asked. He was unbuttoning his shirt and Ianto could not suppress a grin.
“Better. Those pills Owen brought work really well.”
Jack’s trousers hit the floor. “Glad to hear it.” He crawled across the bed, pulling the book from Ianto’s hands.
“Don’t I get a say in this?”
Jack had already disappeared under the sheets. “Absolutely not.”
The pain wasn’t absent, but Jack found a way to make it part of the sex, measured out along with the pleasure. Jack knew exactly where to touch him to evoke whatever sensation he wanted, and the only thing that surprised Ianto was that he hadn’t tried to do this sooner. Surely, he hadn’t been hurt so badly. Surely, it was worth it, to be touched this way.
He was still panting when Jack rolled over and said, “I want you back to work tomorrow.”
“Charming pillow talk,” Ianto laughed.
Jack stared up at the ceiling. “Things are surprisingly hectic without you. Well, it surprises everyone else. I knew you’d be missed. Things aren’t moving as smoothly. You’ve spoiled us with your efficiency.”
“Lots to catch up on?” Ianto asked through a post-orgasmic fog.
“I’m not kidding,” Jack said. “It’s been, what, two days without you, and we’re already four days behind. And someone still has to do the Beacons report, but no one wants to, obviously.” He shook his head. “And Gwen and Owen. Something’s…escalated. It’s not my place to say anything, but it worries me. Makes me think of Suzie, skulking around…”
“She seemed to get over it,” Ianto said softly.
“She found a new toy,” Jack scoffed. “And look where that led.” He went silent for a moment, breathing heavily. He said, “And Gwen already has a boyfriend. This is going to end badly.” He climbed over Ianto and off the bed. He took a long drink from the water on the nightstand, nearly emptying the glass.
“And then there’s the fact,” he added, “that whenever Owen get a semi-regular fuckbuddy, he starts antagonizing Tosh, even more than usual. Some days I really wish she’d just kick him in the balls.”
“Poor Tosh,” Ianto sighed, and he meant it. Then he gave Jack a weak smile. “It seems a bit unprofessional, you telling me the office gossip.”
Jack paused in thought, suddenly serious. He bit his lip, nodded. “You’re right.”
“I didn’t mean-“
“You’re absolutely right, I’m sorry.” Jack began to dress. “Not that I mind being in charge, but sometimes I really hate this boss stuff.”
“You’re going?” Ianto asked, crestfallen.
Jack looked at him, surprised. “Yes. No. I could stay--” In Jack’s eyes, Ianto could almost see his thoughts ping-ponging between the flat and the Hub. “No. Sorry, I can’t. Sorry.”
Ianto didn’t want to be disappointed, so he told himself that he wasn’t; it was a chemical reaction, the painkillers, the coffee, the sex. “Of course, fine. I wasn’t asking--”
“No, I know--”
“It’s really fine, I didn’t mean anything--”
They talked over each other, a duet of apologies and dismissals.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Jack said with the weight of finality. “And forget what I said about Gwen and Owen. These things happen, they always have. Close quarters, stress. I’m getting ahead of myself, it may never become a problem. You are not to worry. We’re all adults here.” He pulled on his coat. “Tomorrow. Bright and early, lots to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack paused. “Mine tomorrow night?” he said brightly, hoping to smooth the sharpness he heard in Ianto’s voice. “We can get takeout after everyone’s gone. Lock all the doors.” He grinned.
“Yeah,” Ianto drawled. “No.” He gestured at the mottled blue-green skin of his torso. “Not in a single bed. Be reasonable.” Jack nodded reluctantly. “Save the takeout,” Ianto said. He took a deep breath and slowly stretched his head and neck, leaning toward the far side of the queen-size mattress. “The last few days haven’t been as relaxing as you might hope.”
“You were mostly unconscious,” Jack said.
“Only when you were here,” Ianto replied.
Jack narrowed his eyes and laughed softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He took three slow, sideways steps toward the bedroom door. “Leaving now,” he said, as he passed through the doorframe.
“Goodnight,” Ianto called out, too loudly, as if Jack were already far away. For a moment there was silence; then the click of the door shutting. He waited, perfectly still, until he heard the SUV pull away. “Close quarters,” he sighed. “These things happen.”
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, guest appearances from Tosh, Owen and Gwen
Rating/Warning: R for some adult situations and post-watershed type stuff
Summary: Jack was sure Ianto was up for real field work, but things didn't go as planned. It's not only Ianto's bones that are broken now.
Author's Notes: Set before, during and after "Countrycide," so obvious spoilers through that story. Thanks go out to justinej and robertmapril for beta work and encouragement.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all characters belong to the illustrious Russell T. Davies and the BBC. I am forever in their debt.
Yellow Card
Sorry she’s dead, or sorry that you brought it up?
“What the hell was that about?” Jack said as soon as Tosh was out of earshot. Owen and Gwen weren’t gone thirty seconds before Tosh suddenly remembered that she might have packed some chocolate, and was just going to look for it, be right back. Ianto had doubts about the chocolate.
“It was a stupid game,” he said to Jack.
“Yeah, I think she realized that when Owen outed her,” Jack said. He shook his head. “But that doesn’t make it your place to make the rest of your team feel like shit.” He spoke in a tone somewhere between a low growl and a loud whisper, in case Toshiko should reappear.
“It was the only appropriate answer. Sir,” Ianto said.
Jack paused, then replied, “It was the way you said it. They were following orders, Ianto.”
“They forgot. Just because they were following orders doesn’t mean they can just forget. She was still a person.”
“If you have a problem, you talk to me,” Jack said, his irritation dissipating. “This is a team. Our responsibility is to each other. To support each other.”
“What about her? Gwen? She was showing off. She’s the only one with someone at home, she knows that. What did she expect us to say? Why start such a stupid game?”
Jack sighed. “I don’t disagree that it was a little thoughtless. People in love do stupid things. You know that.”
There was that familiar pain, like a kick to the chest. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t have the words. At last he let out his breath and said, “I suppose so.” He rose and began to walk toward the far tent. “I’m sleeping with Owen tonight.”
“What?” Jack cried, incredulous.
“In the tent, I’m moving my things to Owen’s tent. Please don’t try to follow me. Or creep in on me in my sleep.”
“Are we all suddenly eight years old? For God’s sake, Ianto.”
But then Gwen and Owen found the body in the woods, and everything went horribly wrong.
Several weeks before, Ianto had been sitting at his computer, enjoying a coffee and browsing the internet when he got an IM from Jack.
It was not the time-killing, work-avoiding sort of internet browsing; in fact it was work, and very time-consuming and dull. He was looking for leaks. He would search for keywords, starting with obvious ones like, “aliens,” “Cardiff,” “Torchwood,” gradually broadening to include phrases like “strange artifact,” and “you’ll never believe what I saw” (quite often, “man in a long coat” turned up something relevant). Then he combed through the matches to find blogs, chats, emails, anything that could indicate suspicious activity. Some he only needed to intercept and wipe, remove the information; others required follow-up and the occasional intervention. He had calculated that, of those which were not immediately dismissable, 85% were redundant and irrelevant, 5% valid leads and 10% speculation that ranged from amusing to outrageously funny. He bookmarked those.
Jack’s message relieved the boredom of perusing that largest category. “Ianto, office,” it said.
He typed back, “Need anything?”
After a moment the screen replied, “Jack is typing a message,” and Ianto took a sip of coffee and tried not to grin. Finally it read, “Jack: Bridgend fly-overs file.”
Ianto estimated the time it took to type “Bridgend fly-overs file” versus the time it might take to type something suggestive, erase it, type something else suggestive and slightly more clever, erase that and finally type, “Bridgend fly-overs file” and concluded that it was unlikely that Jack actually needed the Bridgend fly-overs file. He fetched it anyway, his stomach doing cartwheels, and he tried to focus and look businesslike as he walked to Jack’s office.
Jack was standing near the far wall, away from the windows, pretending to fumble with one of the wall-mounted computers. “I’ll just leave this on your desk, Captain,” Ianto said, dropping the file.
“Come take a look at this,” Jack said, his back to the room.
Ianto glanced out the door. Everyone was occupied. He stepped up next to Jack, looking at the monitor, playing along.
Jack had him pinned to the wall in a second. With one hand he held Ianto’s arms over his head. The other was pressed in between their bodies, inching downward. There was hunger in his kiss.
“It’s not as much fun if you don’t struggle,” Jack whispered.
“It is much louder when I do, though,” Ianto replied. “But maybe later…”
“Shut up.” He kissed him again, grinding against him, and his hand reached its goal. Ianto’s body buckled.
“Jack!” called Gwen from outside. “I’m off to talk to witnesses. Short list today, shouldn’t be long.”
Jack let go of Ianto and yelled, “Wait!”
Not realizing it, Ianto had let most of his weight lean into Jack; suddenly without support, he stumbled, throwing his arms forward to keep from falling. Jack was already in the doorway, and Ianto ducked behind him and grabbed the folder he’d brought off of Jack’s desk. He attempted to hold it in front of him in an entirely casual way, and not at all in a manner that might suggest he was hiding an erection.
“Take Ianto with you,” Jack said to Gwen.
“I’ll be fine,” Gwen replied. “It’s a short list.”
“Witnesses” referred to anyone as yet unfiled who had reported strange disturbances, or sightings to the police, as well as the follow-ups to many of Ianto’s own internet leads.
“We’re wasting his enormous talents, leaving him behind all the time. Take him. He can help.” Jack turned and smiled at Ianto, who mouthed back, ‘Now?’
Gwen shrugged.
Ianto’s growing confusion, disappointment and more than a little anger were quickly making the ruse of the folder unnecessary. “I’ll get my coat,” he sighed.
Owen called out, “Could you do some coffee, before you go?”
Jack defended himself, saying that interviews were an easy place to start and it was helpful to everyone that Gwen had an extra body along. “And you look so official. I’ll bet you actually improve her credibility.”
Still, Ianto didn’t need to accompany her very often, only about once a week. Jack had started taking him along on weevil hunts, as he’d said he would, though there suddenly seemed to be a lot of them. These trips often ended in carnal abuse of the SUV, and nary a weevil to be found. He noticed Jack wasn’t even filing any paperwork for some of these fruitless outings.
“Field work suits you,” Jack said one night, twisting around the steering wheel to button his trousers.
“This is hardly field work, Jack. This is shagging in a car like teenagers.” Ianto turned on the overhead light, trying to find his left shoe. “This is sneaking around, to shag in a car like teenagers. This is basically acting like seventeen year-olds.”
“But with a much better sexual vocabulary,” Jack laughed.
“Speak for yourself. I still don’t know what you’re saying half the time.”
“Camping?”
“It’ll be fun,” Jack said. “Well, maybe. It’s still work. This could be evidence of the Rift spreading, or it could be something came through that really didn’t like the city. People are going missing. We need to look into it.”
“What sort of equipment will we need?” Ianto asked.
“Talk to Tosh. Otherwise, just camping stuff. Sleeping bags, that sort of thing. Tents.” He added, “Three tents.”
Ianto cocked an eyebrow. “Men, women, and…”
“Owen,” said Jack. “Let him have his own tent. He’ll like that.” He grinned.
“I see,” said Ianto. “We’ll be sharing then?
“I told you it would be fun.”
It was the last time any of them went camping.
The paramedics at the village recommended they all go to hospital and have their injuries looked at. Jack thanked them for their time, and loaded everyone into the SUV. It would be better to go back to the Hub, he said, where Owen (who had emerged relatively unscathed) could patch everyone up. It would be less complicated.
If they hadn’t stopped to clean up the remains of their campsite, they might have made it back into Cardiff before Ianto began having trouble breathing. That he was in pain they’d recognized, how could he not be, and they’d left him and Gwen in the car while they repacked the tents. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t complained, and it was Tosh who noticed the tension building in his body and the color draining from his face as he struggled for air. They were able to get to Pontypridd, where they took him to A & E, and Tosh volunteered to stay and look after him. Jack considered Gwen and Owen back in the SUV, and could think of no reason to stop her.
“Think you can get a taxi back?” Jack asked.
“We’ll do what we need to,” Tosh said. “I’ve got a company credit card, if we need to stay in a very expensive hotel overnight.”
Jack smiled. “He’ll be fine.”
“Yes,” she said.
No one wanted to be alone. They sat in the Hub, trying weakly to make conversation, mostly taking comfort in each others’ steady, silent presence. They phoned Tosh repeatedly. Four broken ribs, she was finally able to report, a cracked clavicle and concussion. The ribs could have punctured a lung, but they hadn’t. He was lucky. They were sending him home.
At the Hub, Jack, Owen and Gwen ordered pizza, but no one was hungry. It just went cold. Unfortunately, this left Gwen shaky, but she insisted she couldn’t possibly keep anything down. When she finally resolved to go home to Rhys, Owen offered to drive her.
Alone, Jack paced his office. There was always risk; they knew this, they accepted it. Yet being pushed to the edge of that cliff, seeing death inches away, never ceased to be terrifying. He had died hundreds of times and still, in that last second, there was fear. His whole team. If he’d been even a second too late…
The Hub, his base, his space. This was supposed to be the one place he could keep them safe. But it was the place where he had nearly lost Ianto once before, back when he’d taken the young man for granted.
He rang Tosh again.
“We’re at his flat,” she said. “Someone has to look after him because of the concussion. We’re watching movies.”
“What are you watching?”
“I’m not sure. Something black and white. It might be Hitchcock,” she said. “Though I hope not. I haven’t been paying much attention. I’ve been watching Ianto.”
“How is he?” Jack asked.
“Fairly incoherent, at the moment,” she replied. “He’s on a ton of painkillers. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to tell if he’s getting worse. God, Jack, you should see him, his body is just one massive bruise. It really is a miracle things weren’t worse.”
“I know,” Jack sighed. “Tosh, you haven’t had any sleep, have you? Why don’t I come over and relieve you?”
“That would be wonderful, Jack!” she said, her voice dropping to a loud whisper. “I’m sorry, but I am exhausted. I thought of making coffee, but I’m afraid to, and I don’t want to leave him to go buy some.”
“Why are you afraid to make coffee?” Jack laughed.
“Because it’s Ianto. And with all of the drugs he’s on, he might actually tell me what he thinks of it.”
Jack let himself in with his copy of Ianto’s key, and roused Tosh out of a half-sleep daze. He handed her a paper cup full of coffee and she brightened and mouthed ‘thank you’ as she rose from her chair.
Ianto was half-sitting, half lying on the couch, legs stretched in front of him and pillows piled under his back to relax the stress on his ribs. His eyes were open, and he glanced at Jack before returning his attention to the film. The volume was low.
“Don’t sit on the couch,” Tosh cautioned. “If you shift him, it hurts.”
Jack knelt on the floor beside Ianto and gently rested a hand on his knee. Ianto looked at him again, his eyes sad and heavy with sleep. Jack wanted to say something, but he knew nothing would help. They just stared at each other.
“He needs to rest, they said, he can sleep, but you’ll need to keep checking on him,” Tosh said, picking up her bag. “I’ve called a taxi, so I’ll be heading home.”
“Will you be okay on your own?” Jack asked. “I’m sure you could stay, if you’d like. Borrow Ianto’s bed.”
“Thanks, but I want my own bed right now,” she said.
“You can have some of those,” Ianto said, and they were both startled by the sudden sound of his voice. He gestured toward the table where the bottle of painkillers from the hospital sat. “Or there’s sleeping pills in the bathroom cabinet. If you need them.”
Tosh smiled again, softly. “Thank you, Ianto. I think I’ll be alright.”
“Thank you, Tosh,” he replied. Then, “I’m so sorry.”
Jack walked Toshiko to the door. “I might have a glass of wine when I get home,” she told him.
“You deserve it,” he replied.
She glanced back at Ianto and her face fell. “He keeps saying that,” she said. “That he’s sorry. At first I just said, ‘No problem,’ but now I’m not even sure what he’s apologizing for.”
“I’ll look after him,” Jack said. “And I’ve already declared tomorrow a Torchwood day of rest. Go home and sleep.”
“Bye, Ianto,” she called out, a strange, hopeful cheer in her voice. Her taxi had arrived.
Jack returned to Ianto.
“Hey.” He picked up a chair from the kitchen and sat down behind the couch. He reached out and stroked Ianto’s hair.
“You did good,” he said softly.
“We nearly died,” Ianto said.
“I know. But you didn’t. You did good.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I tried, but she couldn’t get away. I tried to distract them, but…”
“Sshhhh,” Jack whispered. “You did your best.” He rested his head on one arm, on the back of the couch, his face close to Ianto’s.
“Why was I even there, Jack? Why did you bring me? I was useless.”
“You were not useless. You were far from useless.” He kissed Ianto’s forehead. “You are a part of this team. You did the best you could. I’m proud of you.” Jack could feel the anger burning in his gut. Anger at the sick bastards who’d done this to them. Anger at himself that they’d been able to do it. He pushed it away and tried to focus on Ianto, the texture of his hair, the softness of his skin. He could do something for him now; he could do this.
Ianto was still weeping. “I looked away, I looked away from her, and they took her. If I hadn’t-“
“Please stop doing this to yourself,” Jack said. “Please. It wasn’t your fault. We didn’t know what we were getting into. We never do. It’s a risk we take. You did the best you could. You tried to protect Toshiko. You tried.”
“But…”
“Shhh, I said. You tried. That’s what matters.”
Carefully, he leaned in and kissed Ianto on the mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
“I told you to stop-“
“For what I said,” Ianto continued. “Before.”
“Forget about it,” Jack replied. He kissed him again, ever so slightly harder.
“That always…” Ianto whispered. “You did that before. I remember.”
“I’ve done that lots of times. Is your concussion affecting your memory?”
“No, I mean…” Ianto struggled through the medication to find the words. “When I was hurt. You kissed me, and I felt better.” He hesitated. “How? How do you do that?”
“Just pure charm?” Jack shrugged.
Ianto started to laugh, but the movement aggravated his broken bones and bruised muscles. He groaned.
“Do you need more painkillers?” Jack asked. He walked back around to the front of the couch and knelt on the floor again.
“No more pills,” Ianto mumbled. “Just don’t make me laugh.”
“That won’t be easy.”
“Oww.”
“All right, all right,” Jack chuckled. “Is there anything you’d like? Tea, coffee?
“Please don’t make coffee,” Ianto said. He thought a moment. “Help me get these clothes off.”
“As much as I’d like to, I don’t think in your condition-“
“I’m covered in blood and dirt and I stink. Take them off and burn them, please.”
Jack smiled. “Okay.”
It wasn’t difficult. The hospital had cut his T-shirt off already and only loosely replaced the button-up shirt. Jack undid the buttons cautiously and peeled away the dirty fabric. Beneath it Ianto’s flesh looked as though someone had attempted to tie-dye it, poorly. It was a violent Rorschach test of indigos and blues. He choked back a surge of rage, and softly touched Ianto’s chest with his fingertips, tracing the bruises. Ianto closed his eyes.
“No sleeping, I think,” Jack said softly.
“Then kiss me again.” He didn’t open his eyes.
Jack balanced himself over Ianto’s body, one hand on the arm of the couch, one on the back. Their lips brushed together, then again, stronger; Ianto was doing his best to pull Jack in and hold him there with only his mouth. “We should try this again, when I’m not in pieces,” he said.
Jack dropped back to the floor, and set about removing Ianto’s trousers, which resulted in another burst of painful giggles. “We should, you’re right,” he said. “This is a fun position to have you in.” That made Ianto smile.
“I take it I’m back in the tent?” Jack said.
The smile faded. “You were never out. I was just… It was me that-“
“I know,” Jack said, kissing a bare knee. “I’m just teasing.”
Finally, Ianto was naked. Jack sighed. “This might be one of the saddest moments of life,” he laughed. “There you are, and you’re untouchable. Do you want a blanket or something?”
Ianto looked at him with soft, damp puppy-dog eyes. After a minute, he said, “Let’s go to bed.”
“Can you stand?”
He took a deep breath. “Maybe?” And he pushed his hands against the couch cushions. He had barely bent at the waist when sharp pains shot through his chest, and he dropped back to his seat.
“I have an idea,” Jack said. “It’s not pain free, and you’re going to have to brace yourself, but I think I can move quickly.”
Ianto nodded and closed his eyes. He heard Jack moving, felt the couch sink slightly as Jack put a knee on the edge. Jack slid one arm under his shoulders, another under his upper thighs.
There was a crack of pain, like a whip across his body, and he was airborne; Jack lifted him up, trying not to bend him, and carried Ianto to bed. There was more pain as he lay down, and his body adjusted to the new position. Jack kissed him again, and it took the edge off, in that strange way Jack’s kisses always did.
“Don’t let me fall asleep yet,” he whispered to Jack.
“I can do that,” Jack replied.
“Medical leave,” Jack said. “Until I say you can come back.” He straightened his braces and finished buttoning his shirt. The sun was barely up.
The thought of doing nothing, indefinitely, made Ianto groan in protest. Not to mention the work that would pile up in his absence.
“This doesn’t mean you’re on holiday,” Jack clarified. “Right now, your job is to heal, and when that’s done you can come back to work.”
“And how long will that be?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said with a shrug. “I’ll call Owen.” He grabbed his coat off the chair. “Now sleep. Mend. I’ll check on you later.” And with that, rather unceremoniously, he left.
Ianto considered trying to walk to the bathroom, rolled to one side just enough to decide that his need was not so urgent to justify the effort, and resigned himself back to the cradle of his mattress. He managed to get a painkiller from the bottle Jack had moved to the bedside, and even to swallow it without pouring too much water over himself.
He slept.
At some point in the afternoon, Owen shook him awake and shined a light in his eyes while complaining about being summoned for a house call. “No one else has to work today,” Owen grumbled. “I was looking forward to it. Spend the day in bed, maybe go out for a bit later.” He ran a cold careful hand over Ianto’s fractured ribs. “Spend all night in bed,” he chuckled.
“You’re fine,” he finally declared. “Well. No worse. It’s gonna hurt like hell for a while. But,” he said, digging into his bag, “You just have to deal with it. Nothing medicine can do for broken ribs that wouldn’t just do more damage.” However, he produced a second bottle of pills and set it on the nightstand beside the prescription from the hospital. “Anti-inflammatories. Should reduce any swelling around the breaks.”
Ianto mumbled his thanks, closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Owen was gone. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when his bladder finally demanded an audience. But the pills Owen had given him seemed to be working, and anyway, he was adjusting to the mosaic of aches across his chest, learning how to move with them. He managed to get to his feet and make it to the bathroom.
Since he was standing, he decided to take the opportunity to find food; the label on the pills indicated that they could cause nausea if taken on an empty stomach, and he was gradually becoming lucid enough to care. He stared into the open fridge for several minutes before he gave up and carried a loaf of bread and a plate back to bed. He was soon asleep again.
Through something like the end of a dream he heard the door open, the rustle of fabric against fabric, fabric against skin. The sheets moved and the bed dipped, and Jack lay down beside him. He knew it was really Jack without question; he knew his smell, and he didn’t think you could dream smells. He could feel Jack’s hand rest against his stomach, feel Jack’s breath against his neck. He might have smiled before he slipped back to sleep.
Jack was gone when Ianto opened his eyes. The sun was up, just. He peeled himself out of bed, gritting his teeth against the conspiracy of angry bones and bruises. This was a more “normal” day; he made sandwiches of what was left of the bread, managed to lay on the couch, watch some telly. He made coffee, then phoned Owen to make sure the caffeine wouldn’t interfere with the medication (“Keep it reasonable,” was Owen’s terse advice). He called again to ask if sleeping pills were a poor idea (“Are you tired?” Owen asked. Not really, he’d told him, he’d been asleep most of yesterday. “Then don’t sleep. Rest. Don’t run any bloody marathons. And stop calling me.”) He convinced Owen to pass the phone to Gwen, who briefed him on their day’s activities, and immediately regretted having asked; he wanted the pain to stop so he could get back to work.
Jack visited again in much the same manner as he had the previous night; he slipped in well after two o’clock, made an effort to not wake Ianto, and failed to notice that Ianto wasn’t entirely asleep when he arrived. He disappeared before dawn, and he might have been a ghost but for the full glass of water and a bag of grapes he’d left by Ianto’s bedside.
The third night he came early enough that Ianto was still awake, sitting in bed, reading. “Thanks for the grapes,” he said as Jack tossed his coat across the foot of the bed.
“How do you feel?” Jack asked. He was unbuttoning his shirt and Ianto could not suppress a grin.
“Better. Those pills Owen brought work really well.”
Jack’s trousers hit the floor. “Glad to hear it.” He crawled across the bed, pulling the book from Ianto’s hands.
“Don’t I get a say in this?”
Jack had already disappeared under the sheets. “Absolutely not.”
The pain wasn’t absent, but Jack found a way to make it part of the sex, measured out along with the pleasure. Jack knew exactly where to touch him to evoke whatever sensation he wanted, and the only thing that surprised Ianto was that he hadn’t tried to do this sooner. Surely, he hadn’t been hurt so badly. Surely, it was worth it, to be touched this way.
He was still panting when Jack rolled over and said, “I want you back to work tomorrow.”
“Charming pillow talk,” Ianto laughed.
Jack stared up at the ceiling. “Things are surprisingly hectic without you. Well, it surprises everyone else. I knew you’d be missed. Things aren’t moving as smoothly. You’ve spoiled us with your efficiency.”
“Lots to catch up on?” Ianto asked through a post-orgasmic fog.
“I’m not kidding,” Jack said. “It’s been, what, two days without you, and we’re already four days behind. And someone still has to do the Beacons report, but no one wants to, obviously.” He shook his head. “And Gwen and Owen. Something’s…escalated. It’s not my place to say anything, but it worries me. Makes me think of Suzie, skulking around…”
“She seemed to get over it,” Ianto said softly.
“She found a new toy,” Jack scoffed. “And look where that led.” He went silent for a moment, breathing heavily. He said, “And Gwen already has a boyfriend. This is going to end badly.” He climbed over Ianto and off the bed. He took a long drink from the water on the nightstand, nearly emptying the glass.
“And then there’s the fact,” he added, “that whenever Owen get a semi-regular fuckbuddy, he starts antagonizing Tosh, even more than usual. Some days I really wish she’d just kick him in the balls.”
“Poor Tosh,” Ianto sighed, and he meant it. Then he gave Jack a weak smile. “It seems a bit unprofessional, you telling me the office gossip.”
Jack paused in thought, suddenly serious. He bit his lip, nodded. “You’re right.”
“I didn’t mean-“
“You’re absolutely right, I’m sorry.” Jack began to dress. “Not that I mind being in charge, but sometimes I really hate this boss stuff.”
“You’re going?” Ianto asked, crestfallen.
Jack looked at him, surprised. “Yes. No. I could stay--” In Jack’s eyes, Ianto could almost see his thoughts ping-ponging between the flat and the Hub. “No. Sorry, I can’t. Sorry.”
Ianto didn’t want to be disappointed, so he told himself that he wasn’t; it was a chemical reaction, the painkillers, the coffee, the sex. “Of course, fine. I wasn’t asking--”
“No, I know--”
“It’s really fine, I didn’t mean anything--”
They talked over each other, a duet of apologies and dismissals.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Jack said with the weight of finality. “And forget what I said about Gwen and Owen. These things happen, they always have. Close quarters, stress. I’m getting ahead of myself, it may never become a problem. You are not to worry. We’re all adults here.” He pulled on his coat. “Tomorrow. Bright and early, lots to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack paused. “Mine tomorrow night?” he said brightly, hoping to smooth the sharpness he heard in Ianto’s voice. “We can get takeout after everyone’s gone. Lock all the doors.” He grinned.
“Yeah,” Ianto drawled. “No.” He gestured at the mottled blue-green skin of his torso. “Not in a single bed. Be reasonable.” Jack nodded reluctantly. “Save the takeout,” Ianto said. He took a deep breath and slowly stretched his head and neck, leaning toward the far side of the queen-size mattress. “The last few days haven’t been as relaxing as you might hope.”
“You were mostly unconscious,” Jack said.
“Only when you were here,” Ianto replied.
Jack narrowed his eyes and laughed softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He took three slow, sideways steps toward the bedroom door. “Leaving now,” he said, as he passed through the doorframe.
“Goodnight,” Ianto called out, too loudly, as if Jack were already far away. For a moment there was silence; then the click of the door shutting. He waited, perfectly still, until he heard the SUV pull away. “Close quarters,” he sighed. “These things happen.”