the evil that men do ; capnhotness

[coffee_cult]

The world moves in slow motion, an adrenaline high, and Ianto walks through it like he's wearing blinders. Careless enough in this state to PINpoint onto the front walk instead of the back garden, he leaves the door slightly ajar and his shoes (bearers of bloody footprints up the walk) on the stoop. His jacket gets lost on one of the landings of

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[capnhotness]

Arriving home from work via his own PINpoint and the back garden, Jack circumvents the entire mess leading up the front walk to the porch and the bloody shoes left there. Instead, he finds a trail of attire leading up from the foyer. Obviously Ianto's clothing, Jack stoops to collect the pieces as he follows them up the stairs, only worried when he finds an alarming few drops of blood on the cloth. Discarding the socks and tie at the top of the stairs, Jack hurries toward the sound of running water, concerned

[coffee_cult]

Jack's presence goes unacknowledged until he speaks, and even then Ianto is slow to look up. It didn't take the running water long to soak through his clothes, the fabric clinging to skin in a soggy mess. The spray of the shower washes away any evidence of tears, but his eyes are red-rimmed and increasingly less vacant, signs of shock replaced with abject acknowledgment of the horror of the evening.

Ianto wants to say something, even as a small, reasonable part of his mind tells him not to worry Jack. There were people there being eaten - but don't make him feel guilty for not being there - but people died ... Inevitably, such thoughts running through his head, he can't bring himself to say a word.

[capnhotness]

Clearly, Jack hasn't checked his messages this evening. And in an effort to keep from reminding Ianto of the invitation to Pickman's gala after realizing the subject matter, Jack refrained from mentioning it to the point that he actually forgot the date of the party. If he could easily recall, he might be able to put two and two together (though not to an extent that explains Ianto's reaction or the blood) to better understand Ianto's current mood.

Instead, he runs a hand through Ianto's damp hair, checking for signs of concussion in addition to the obvious signs of shock. Though relieved to discover none of the copious amounts of blood happens to belong to Ianto, that does nothing to quell his fears at the near catatonic response. "Ianto?" he asks again.

[coffee_cult]

Through what really boils down to, in the end, a rather small matter of miscommunication, Ianto had failed to mention the gallery exhibit, too. He had expected to object to the subject matter of the paintings, but to actually go and find himself needed in a professional capacity, with all the chaos surrounding.

Ianto shifts after a second, a sob catching in his throat, and gives a shake of his head. "Jack," he acknowledges, sounding flat and desperate and yet, somehow, numb to it all.