Thursday
07.30
Jack was in the cellars feeding Janet when he heard the alarms go off to signal that one of the team had arrived. He finished off and strolled up to the Hub to find a very fragile looking Tosh sitting at her desk with a half empty glass of water, clear signs of an interesting but not unusual Torchwood night. The really unusual thing was that it was Tosh. He rested his hands on her shoulders and rubbed them gently in a circular motion, eliciting an appreciative groan, “You OK, Tosh?” He asked, “If you’re feeling ill you can have the day off.”
“Thanks, Jack, but I’ll be alright. It’s just a hangover, I’m not used to dealing with them, that’s all.”
He chuckled, “Not very like you, what were you doing last night?” The true meaning of the question remained hanging between them, unspoken but understood.
“Ianto and I drowned our sorrows in at least three bottles of wine between us. Well, mostly Ianto’s sorrows to be honest. I think he’ll be OK. At the moment he’s far too thin and doesn’t look like he’s slept but…” she smiled gently, “It’ll take a while, but he’ll get there.” Jack nodded gratefully and relaxed visibly. She could tell it had been weighing him down over the last couple of days. “I think it would help if you went to see him. He needs as many friends as he can get.”
He looked dubious and avoided the issue, as she expected, “How do you think Gwen and Owen are taking it?”
The technician wasn’t a woman to be diverted that easily, “I know it’s not because you don’t want to see him, because you clearly do. So why not? He wants to see you. If you ask me he’s got a bit of a hero worship thing going on.”
“Hero worship?” Jack looked astonished, “But he saw straight through me. I’m no hero, I’m a monster.” He looked thoroughly broken as he repeated Ianto’s words to her, like a man with no purpose and no desire to continue, showing a side she’d never even suspected he possessed. “I lash out and I hurt the people I care about, every time. And as a result, I’ve become nothing more than a hard shell with a core of acid, because that way I can’t get close enough to people to hurt them.”
“No! No, Jack. You’ve saved us all, especially Owen and me. We were at a point where we could either give up or go on and without you we couldn’t have gone on. For us, you are everything; you are the hero we want to be. We know that we’ll die young, because that’s Torchwood, but because of you we’ve got the chance to live more in this short space of time than we ever could in three lifetimes. Look, Jack, you were the only person who could save me and Owen, now you’re the only one who can save Ianto. Go and see him tonight, please?”
He nodded, indicating that he’d heard what she said, not agreeing to go and see him, “So…” He paused and swallowed painfully, he was as close to breaking down as he’d been in a very long time, “How are Gwen and Owen taking it do you think?”
Tosh knew when to drop the subject as well as when to push it; “Owen is taking it harder, because of Katie. I think that he’d like to think that he wouldn’t have done what Yan did, but secretly knows he would have.” She looked uncomfortable about what was coming next, “Gwen’s forgiven him I think, she’s still stung by it a bit, but she knows that she would do the same for Rhys…”
“She’s just having trouble forgiving me?” Jack hazarded in a monotone. Tosh’s heart almost broke to see him so miserable.
Ianto had almost laughed to see Tosh looking so ‘fragile’ the morning before, but he wasn’t in much better shape himself. Yet again he hadn’t been able to sleep, haunted by nightmares as soon as he got close to nodding off, so once she’d drifted off in the main living room he’d gone into the other one to read. By now he’d read most of the Sherlock Holmes stories, soon he’d have to move onto the DVDs, which he got out almost every time he had a day off, and then onto the fan-fiction he was working on. Once he got bored of that, hopefully sometime tomorrow, he’d move onto the Lord of the Rings DVDs he’d got in town, which would last him about two days and he’d only have another two to get through before he could go back to work.
Somewhere in his evening with Tosh, he wasn’t all that surprised to discover that he couldn’t remember exactly when, or even what they’d been talking about by the end of the evening, he’d decided that he would definitely be going back to work. Aside from the fact that he couldn’t imagine life without aliens, dinosaurs and, he had to admit, the dashing captain, he would definitely miss Tosh, and he got the feeling that she would miss him too. This was the small bright spark in what was a very dark outlook at the moment, probably not helped by the alcoholic clouds whirling around his brain.
Stifling a groan at the ache building in his head, putting a lie to the line that not sleeping prevented hangovers, he grabbed a couple of paracetamol and returned to the main living room to put on some ‘lift music’ and sink back into a Conan-Doyle induced cloudbank.
21.00
Jack was alone in the Hub again. The team had left not long before, having had a weevil sighting at about ten past five. Without Ianto around they were a mess, it had taken them nearly four hours to achieve what should have taken no more than one. He leaned back in his chair and let his thoughts stray back to the young man, worry clouding his features. Tosh’s words earlier in the day, coupled with Gwen’s continued standoffishness, had hit him quite hard. He’d been wrong, completely wrong, to ask what he did of Ianto; although maybe ‘ask’ wasn’t the right word. It had been an order, possibly the most despicable order he’d ever given. He’d been angry, furious, maybe even livid. But Ianto had been in love, and love is a much more admirable emotion than anger.
He rubbed at his eyes, hoping that if he did so enough he’d erase the memories of what he’d seen and done, but it wasn’t going to happen. Had his life, his extraordinarily long life, been building up to this point, this decision, which he’d made wrongly? He hoped not, because otherwise it had all been in vain. Every heartbreak, every loss, and every love, all worthless because he’d betrayed someone who relied on him. Someone who saw him as a hero? That was laughable. He’d never been a hero, even in the good days with Him. He’d been a coward, until that last day, when it had all gone wrong. After the disastrous result of his heroism he’d reverted to type. That was until Torchwood had got hold of him and he realised just how close he’d got to betraying his friend. The fact that they’d forced him into working for them and, by a convoluted route, against them had knocked off some of the edges that had grown back, until he was almost ready to take the control when it was given to him. Almost, but apparently almost wasn’t enough.
Groaning he swung his way down into the bunker under his office and stretched out on the bed. Sleep would be a long time coming tonight, if it came at all, but he didn’t really need it any more. The last thing he needed was to think, but with all the paperwork done and the Hub spotless, there wasn’t really anything else to do. What he really wanted to do was go and see Ianto but… Should he?
He reached for the phone but stopped with his hand hovering over it, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. Tosh had said he wanted to see him, but how many glasses of wine had they both had by the time she decided that? Would Ianto be less willing to see him on a clear head? Would he have a clear head at all, or would he have spent every night in a drunken stupor? That didn’t sound anything like his Ianto, but the idea made knives dance in Jack’s gut.
Hang on. When did he start calling Ianto his Ianto? He shook his head and laid back down feeling thoroughly miserable. Ianto didn’t even care about Jack and he’d still got hurt, just because Jack cared about him. Sometimes life dealt you a blinder. For Jack it seemed to happen on a fairly regular basis.
The sounds of the hub were deadened from here, it was virtually silent, and so the ringing of his phone was particularly loud. He reached for it and looked at it in confusion, feeling both hope and fear rising at the name on the screen: Ianto
His eyelids were getting heavy and he could feel sleep claiming him. He didn’t try to fight it, because he didn’t have the strength. He hadn’t eaten today, apart from a pickled onion which he suspected probably didn’t count, and he hadn’t slept properly since… OK, avoid that one, it was too hard to work out, but it was a long time. Far too tired to move, he switched off the TV and laid back on the sofa, letting the waves wash over him and claim him in dark oblivion.
Fifteen minutes later he was sitting with his back against the sofa sobbing and shaking. No matter how hard he tried to persuade himself that they were just nightmares his mind, sleep-deprived and still in the grip of the nightmare, would not be persuaded. Every shadow was full of menace; every sound was something coming to punish him for his mistakes. His breath hitched painfully as a car drove past the window, but he saw a cyberman’s searchlight and heard a Dalek. Not having seen them made them seem worse than they were, because his tortured imagination came into play.
Terror had a full grip in him, and he could only think of two options. The first was to run, but his subconscious mind knew that he couldn’t run from something inside his own head, so it went for the second option and reached for his phone. It rang a couple of times and he began to wonder if it would even be answered, but a worried voice greeted him before that train of voice was even completed. He took a deep and completely ineffectual breath to steady his voice and asked one of the most important questions of his life, “Jack, will you come round here, please? I need you.”
Jack had been halfway up the ladder by the time he’d registered the name, knowing that the reason for the call would be important, so when he heard Ianto’s request he only had to grab his coat and the keys for the SUV before he was heading out through the rolling cog door, thought was not required or even involved. Ianto had sounded terrified, his choice of words was obviously controlled, but his voice betrayed his true emotions; it sounded like he’d been crying, or screaming.
The usual fear, a sort of bone deep ache, which he felt whenever they were out and the team were in danger, had settled in and was urging him faster to Ianto’s house. It was about half an hour’s drive from the Hub, even at this time of night when the roads were quiet, and yet again Jack longed for the heady days of teleports and time-travel when everything had been so easy. He could have been there as soon as the phone rang, which would have removed this tense period of worry when he really, really shouldn’t be in control of a vehicle, especially one as large as the SUV. Jack swerved around a traffic island and reflected for a moment on the changes he’d seen in Cardiff since he’d moved there over one hundred years ago. Back then there had been no cars, no traffic lights, no Millennium Centre, barely any Torchwood. There had been nothing to hold him there, apart from vague threats and a promise that in one hundred years or so the person he was looking for would come around again. These days there was so much more, it was more like his home, the only home he could remember properly after so long, and there was so much keeping him here. He was halfway to one of the things.
Everything came and went in Jack’s life. The Doctor was a constant, even when he wasn’t there (Jack still felt like he was constantly looking over his shoulder), Jack himself was a constant, he knew he’d always bounce back, except for that brief moment with the Cyberwoman where he’d dared to hope that maybe this would finish him off. He considered that for a moment, it was the first time for quite a while that he’d wished he were mortal, that he would die and have it all over; he’d been that miserable. Ianto’s betrayal had broken his heart, which wasn’t all that unusual in Jack’s life, but it really was a spectacular way to do it. He’d thought they were friends at least, or that Ianto respected him enough to be unable to keep a secret like that. Then again, he’d also thought that Ianto was far too intelligent to do something so catastrophically DUMB, but people in love did stupid stuff.
Some would ask, if they knew what Jack had seen and done over the years, how he could come through that still believing in Love; the answer was that he had to, because that was the other constant in his life. He loved everything. Not like Owen would suggest, like he projected, that he would sleep with anything with a pulse, he actually loved everything. No matter what happened, there was always something to get him up in the morning, even if it was only the sight of the sunrise over Cardiff Bay and the taste of a bag of chips.
Ianto had made it to the bathroom and was staring at his reflection in the mirror; he was a wreck. He looked like he hadn’t slept or eaten in a week and he needed a shave – what Jack would say he couldn’t imagine. Actually, he could, which made it worse. He groaned and wandered back to the living room to flop back on the sofa – bugger Jack and bugger Torchwood. There was wine in the kitchen, a bad idea but a very appealing one; he was on his way when the doorbell rang and he changed his path to open the door to a concerned looking Jack. “You look dreadful Ianto, can I come in?”
He pulled a wry face and stepped aside, gesturing through to the living room and taking Jack’s coat to hang it up, “You don’t look much better, sir. Compared to your usual at least, your starting point is higher than mine.” He wasn’t lying, Jack looked tired and harried and guilt lanced through Ianto again. Had he done this?
But his boss managed a smile, a genuine one and even chuckled, “Harassment, Ianto? And please call me Jack. Everyone else does, and we’re not at work, are we?”
“Depends on your definition I suppose.” He gestured for Jack to take a seat and collapsed back on the sofa, “If we are then I call you sir and you’ve got me on the harassment. If not then it can’t be harassment. So which is it?”
“Jack. I don’t really mind the harassment anyway.”
Ianto laughed, “Can I get you something, coffee?” Jack didn’t even need to answer; the look on his face was quite enough so he followed Ianto through to the kitchen.
“How are you feeling, Yan?”
The young man turned round, surprised at the shortened form of his name, which only Tosh had ever used before at Torchwood. He paused to consider the options and eventually plumped for honesty, “Shit.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Yes.” He sighed.
Jack felt a huge surge of affection for the young man and was determined to do his utmost to remove the broken look, “I’m so sorry Yan.”
Ianto shook his head and handed Jack a steaming mug of coffee, pulling a chair out from the table and sinking into it, “Don’t be, it wasn’t your fault. It was mine, because I was stupid and blind. I’m sorry. I betrayed you all; you gave me so much, all of you but especially you, Jack. And all the time I had a monster of a secret just waiting to explode and kill you all.”
“We all make mistakes Ianto, there’s always something there to blind us to what’s right and what’s wrong. And one thing I’ve learnt is that love is always right, but the things we do in the name of love, they’re not always right.”
“So was I right, or wrong?”
“Wrong, but if it’s any consolation I’ve been more wrong in the past, we learn from our mistakes.” He smiled gently and seemed to hesitate a moment before reaching across to squeeze Ianto’s hand, and he was grateful when the young man not only didn’t move his hand but actually turned it to squeeze Jack’s hand in return, although he looked quite surprised by the open show of affection from the captain, “Let us help you, let me help. Please?”
Ianto nodded, and then hesitated, suddenly unsure of where to start. It had been nice to talk to Tosh the night before, but there had been things he felt he couldn’t talk about. Mostly they’d just drunk, but tonight he felt that he needed to talk, and Jack was probably the only person who would listen. “How long have you got?” He asked, half jokingly.
“As long as you need, I’m here for you Yan.”
Author’s Note: I’m going to leave to your imagination what Ianto says tonight, some of it will emerge in the next few chapters, but as A) I want to give poor Ianto some privacy and B) I hate writing reams of dialogue, this feels like a good opportunity to finish the chapter I intended to finish erm… four days ago? Sorry for the delay again lol, far too much angst going on for my poor brain, but the next one is well underway (you know when you want to think about one thing and something else insists on happening? Yeah, me too. Lol)
And I have no idea what’s going to happen in the next chapter, or when I’ll get interwebs next, so I’ve no idea when this is going up or when I’ll finish the next…
Disclaimer: Do not own, much though I want to. Property of the Barrowman Broadcasting Corporation