All the Unborn Chicken Voices in My Head (Torchwood, Ianto, PG-13)
Numbers started to count slowly in my head as I opened my eyes from a wearisome lifelike dream. A crack in the blind let in the early morning sun, causing me to blink away the brightness. I refused to move, hoping that the arms wrapped around me would remove themselves. They held me so tightly that I felt like a prisoner in my own bed. I just wanted him to leave me alone.
It was impossible since the silence was proving difficult to break...well for one of us anyway. I concentrated deeply on the numbers counting in my mind, drowning out the whispers directly in my ear. I still refused to move, wanting loneliness to become my friend instead of the pathetic sympathy from the man that I loved. Unfortunately it was loneliness that had kept me in the position I was in now.
He had shown up at my door...
“I got us a pizza.”
Like that was going to make me talk. All day I had been home alone with those dark depressing thoughts, wondering if I could really kill a person. Sophie was a comfort though, promising me on the phone that she wouldn’t tell anyone where I was, not that it was a problem since she didn’t want to leave the archives. They had found another body apparently, just like the last one.
I stared at Jack, wondering if I should let him in.
“Come on Ianto, I’m sorry I left you at the bar last night,” he apologised.
“Like fuck you are.” I replied, surprising myself, “Don’t you have some murder to investigate?” I added slamming the door in his face. I sat down on the couch.
“Seriously Ianto, please talk to me!” Jack yelled outside the door. I hoped that he would leave the pizza behind and go annoy someone else or even throw a tantrum and throwing the box against the door.
I grabbed for the scotch bottle sitting on the coffee table.
That had been three weeks ago.
Jack finally let go after I failed to respond to his comforting. He had been stroking my hair and whispering in my ear, pathetic actions I wanted him to stop. The radio started to play distracting me from my counting. Rain down, Rain down on me. I didn’t need Radiohead to tell me how I felt, even though I secretly played them when I was alone. For a minute there I lost myself. Two completely songs were now stuck in my mind, taking turns in making my life miserable. I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.
“Oh god, please stop this!”
“Are you alright Ianto?”, Jack asked from somewhere in the room. He must have gotten up to turn on the radio since it wasn’t part of the alarm clock.
He was met by silence but it didn’t stop me from looking up to see him over by the door. His shirt was open revealing the still sweaty torso underneath. I started to lick my lips with lust as my eyes ran down the sight in front of me. Of course the brown hair was in its place and the blue eyes were sparkling but it was the positioning of his right hand that had caught my eye. He was trying to tease me-trying, and failing. Last night he had wanked off in the bathroom before I slipped into my dream. Hearing him call out my name in pleasure was punishment, like he was trying to send me on a guilt trip. Thank god the dream arrived.
“Like what you see then?” Jack asked again snapping me from my daze. His glance burned into me causing movements I’d been avoiding. Without thinking I pushed him up against the wall, my lips dangerously close to his.
“I don’t need your fucking sympathy,” I said through gritted teeth, “Please just tell me who the killer is Jack!”
“I take it that you won’t be coming to work then?”
Fucking bastard!
The water was soothing against my skin as my thoughts drifted towards the dream. It felt so real, the rain, the birds chirping nearby, and the peace I almost had. Maybe madness had finally arrived causing realistic dreams? I shook the question from my head and picked up the soap sitting on the little shelf. I started to scrub myself clean all over until my hands began to hurt. Angrily I threw the soap against the tiled wall.
“Oh Sophie would want to be put out of her misery,” It was the voice again, the charming upper class English accent I imagined the killer had, a man who either went to Cambridge or Oxford, a proper gentlemen but underneath a complete psychopath.
I placed my hands over my ears, trying to block out the voice. “Please stop, just please fucking stop,” I pleaded feeling tears pricking at the back of my eyes, “I don’t want to hurt Sophie.”
I deeply wished Jack was here to stop the pain.
I wished he would be honest with me.
I finally let him in after my brain told me to offer him a drink. We both sat down on the couch with the pizza box on the coffee table. It seemed to be the usual meat supreme with extra pepperoni, not that I minded. I remember thinking I was glad that he didn’t bring flowers. I didn’t want to end up being in some Mills and Boon novel.
I bit into the piece of pizza, realising how hungry I really was. I felt Jack’s gaze upon me making the moment more uncomfortable. The silence was unbearable but I refused to speak, making sure my mouth was always full of pizza when Jack asked a question.
“It’s good isn’t it?” Jack asked breaking the silence, “I think I’ve made a mistake.”
“It’s not going to make any difference,” I replied bitterly.
Jack put down his pizza and made his way to the kitchen. I heard the fridge door open and a few minutes later appeared with a bottle of beer in his hand. It surprised me a little since he rarely drank alcohol in front of the others, preferring a glass of water. He cracked it open and sat down, sculling it slightly in front of me. I wondered if the investigation was taking its toll on him.
“The truth is Ianto,” He began sitting forward, “I didn’t recognise the handwriting; it was the excitement of it all that let me to think I had.”
I still didn’t believe him
It was half past eleven when I snuck into the Hub via the boardroom. The main area was quiet except for the happy squawking of Myfanwy flying around the ceiling. I kept walking towards the entrance of the archives hoping that I wouldn’t bump into anyone along the way. It seemed that everybody was out which was a relief but I wanted to be careful. I froze when I spotted Sophie over at the coffee machine. Her back was to me but there was no mistaking the copper coloured hair.
“I would love to see her beg for mercy, wouldn’t you?” The voice whispered into my ear. I wanted to yell and scream but the chillness held me back. What the hell am I doing here?
“Sophie, could you please help me here,” Jack shouted from the hothouse. A sigh escaped my mouth when Sophie disappeared up the stairs leaving the mugs behind on the tray.
Once I entered the archives, I walked down the tunnel towards a small box sitting on the bottom shelf. This was where we kept the letter written by the posh psychopath. I knelt down and picked it up, looking around slightly for any danger. Finding none I opened the box to find two more letters. I carefully took them out and placed them into the inside pocket of my suit.
I had hoped Jack wouldn’t notice them gone again.
“How many times have you read this?” Jack asked later that night. He had found the letter sitting in a drawer of my bedside table.
I shrugged, “I’ve lost track,” tears threatened to fall, “Please Jack I need my privacy,” I added but the words seemed to fall upon deaf ears.
“Dance with me,” he said offering a hand, “I know what you are going through Ianto, so please just trust me.”
“I can’t Jack, not anymore,” I replied and left him alone in the bedroom.
I sat on the couch with a letter in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. Radiohead was playing quietly in the background. As usual he got me hooked with his perfect description of the murder of a young female. This time it was out of anger as she had offended him in a bar about his sexuality. Complete seduction but it was wrong with the images of Lisa running through my head causing my stomach to squirm but it was no use, she had deserved it so much, the selfish bitch!
“Yes she did, I’m happy you agree,” He replied in my mind. A chill ran down my spine before I heard the smash of the tumbler against the wall.
“See what you made me do!” I yelled out into the empty room.
“Don’t be angry with me, Ianto Jones!” He warned and I felt a hand stroking the nape of my neck, “Try to relax, you’re shivering.”
I gulped slightly and stood up. Turning around I was met by an empty couch sending those chills running down my spine. My mind had finally cracked, conjuring up posh psychotic voices and tender touches that I wanted to feel again. My hand was gripping the letter, the last sentence stood out raising the anger I had in my heart. Jack Harkness still refuses to say my name, Ianto Jones is completely under my spell; will Jack remember the love we shared to save him?
Darkness overwhelmed me.
I opened my eyes to the feeling of a warm blanket against the fabric of my shirt. It was night time as the curtains were closed and the lounge room light was on. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, wondering who had found me or if it all been a dream. I spotted the light on in the kitchen, fuelling my curiosity even more. If it is him will he forgive me?
“Jack?” I called hoping to see that charming smile of his. There was no answer causing panic to rise up in my stomach. I went to investigate.....
“Do you hear voices Ianto?” Jack asked. His eyes were on the window, staring out at the non-existent scenery. I didn’t reply since thoughts started to race through my mind.
“That’s how he tries to get your attention,” He went on and pointed to the gun lying on the counter, “You know what to do.”
“I don’t want to kill myself Jack,” I said a little shocked. I ran a hand through my hair and stepped back towards the fridge. My head started to pound hoping that he didn’t mean it, that he wanted me alive. “It’s alright Ianto, please try to calm down.”
“It’s not what I’m proposing Ianto!”
My hands started to shake, realising what he wanted me to do. I don’t want to do this.
Somehow I walked over to the counter and picked up the gun. Jack refused to meet my eyes, sending those chills down my spine. If I was to do this then I had to be calm. I started to take deep breaths.
Satisfied I raised the gun and pulled the trigger.
“Great job, Ianto Jones.”