Turning Point - 2/64
Title: Turning Point
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairings: budding Jack/Ianto, references to past Ianto/Lisa
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: If I was the one who owned Torchwood, you think I'd admit it now?
Spoilers: Some information and events from s1,2. NONE for s3.
Summary: In the aftermath of Lisa's death, Ianto is struggling to cope - and new surprises don't help matters much. Can his friends on the team at Torchwood help him carry on?
Author's Note: Sequel to Guilt.
Thanks to: My lovely beta cazmalfoy, angelzbabe1989 for idea bouncing, and morbid_sparks for cheerleading even when she doesn't know what happens.
Previous chapters at master list
Chapter Two
Ianto yawned as he pulled another stack of files from the cabinet. Putting them down on the small desk he’d cleared off down here, he glanced at his watch.
Nearly 2am.
He knew he was tired, but he also knew that he wasn't quite so tired yet that he would be able to go home and just collapse into bed and sleep. If he let himself lie down and try to sleep before he was absolutely exhausted, his thoughts would run away with him, and he would never get to sleep.
Jack had tried to convince him to forget about work - stay at home and just take some time to get over the worst of things - but it just wasn’t possible. He couldn’t let himself dwell for too long, couldn’t let himself slip into that mindset, or he feared he’d never drag himself back out.
It was easier to be here, rather than at home. Here, he could keep himself busy, keep his mind and hands busy. Do something useful.
He was past the point of concentration where he would trust himself down in the real depths of the archives, with the potentially dangerous artefacts, but he could still sort files.
He’d started coming in every day again ten days ago - just after Lisa’s memorial service - and he was on his third cabinet. He’d made it through the cabinets containing all the data since 2000 first; he’d had a head start with those, since he’d already made some headway while they had been searching for things to help her.
While those had started out hopelessly chaotic, they were nothing on those from further back, and, for once, he was glad. It wasn’t hard work, but it required just enough concentration that he did actually have to think and pay attention to what he was doing. It guaranteed him enough of a distraction to get him through the days without breaking down.
He yawned again and wondered if there was anything left in the coffee pot upstairs. He wondered even more briefly if caffeine was actually a good idea at this time of night - he did, after all, intend to sleep eventually.
Deciding that sleep be damned, he put down the folder he was holding and went to check.
There wasn’t any, but he started a new pot anyway. Jack would be sure to gladly accept a cup when he returned from… wherever it was that he had disappeared to. Ianto knew that he hadn’t gone down to sleep in his tiny room under his office, because if he looked down, he could see that the hatch was closed.
That Jack was still out and around at 2am didn’t particularly surprise Ianto. The more time he’d spent in the Hub, the more he’d realised that Jack’s assertion that he didn’t really sleep much was, in fact, based on solid fact. He would often wander around Cardiff half the night, and any minor calls that came in after he’d sent everyone home, he’d take on his own.
The coffee was just beginning to drip into the pot when there was a crash and a bump from somewhere below him. The garage, probably. He wasn’t particularly concerned until there was another, louder, crash.
Hopping down the steps, he made his way to the garage. The SUV was there, the boot open, with Jack swaying slightly behind it as he attempted to drag an unconscious and restrained Weevil from the back.
Ianto winced when he noticed there was a puddle of blood pooling at his feet.
“Here, let me do that,” he said quietly, clearly surprising Jack. “You need to go and take a look at those injuries.”
Jack stood up straighter and wobbled, nevertheless shaking his head. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “I’ve got this.” He swayed a little more, one hand coming up to grip the side of the SUV to stop himself from falling.
Ianto took a step closer. “You’re not fine,” he said firmly. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”
Jack glanced down in surprise. “Oh… Sorry. I‘ll clean it up. Promise.”
Ianto took another step closer, realising that the blood was coming from a gaping wound on Jack’s lower torso. Jack wobbled even more, and Ianto wondered how he’d even managed to make it back to the Hub.
“Jack. You really, really are not fine. I need to call Owen, or an ambulance, or… something.”
Jack shook his head. “No, don’t…” he slurred. “M’jus…”
With that, he collapsed to the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head, blood seeping from his abdomen as his breath started to rattle.
Ianto dropped to his knees beside him and tried not to panic. “No, no. Don’t do this, Jack. Please, don’t do this!”
Chapter Three
Comments and concrit are loved!
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairings: budding Jack/Ianto, references to past Ianto/Lisa
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: If I was the one who owned Torchwood, you think I'd admit it now?
Spoilers: Some information and events from s1,2. NONE for s3.
Summary: In the aftermath of Lisa's death, Ianto is struggling to cope - and new surprises don't help matters much. Can his friends on the team at Torchwood help him carry on?
Author's Note: Sequel to Guilt.
Thanks to: My lovely beta cazmalfoy, angelzbabe1989 for idea bouncing, and morbid_sparks for cheerleading even when she doesn't know what happens.
Previous chapters at master list
Chapter Two
Ianto yawned as he pulled another stack of files from the cabinet. Putting them down on the small desk he’d cleared off down here, he glanced at his watch.
Nearly 2am.
He knew he was tired, but he also knew that he wasn't quite so tired yet that he would be able to go home and just collapse into bed and sleep. If he let himself lie down and try to sleep before he was absolutely exhausted, his thoughts would run away with him, and he would never get to sleep.
Jack had tried to convince him to forget about work - stay at home and just take some time to get over the worst of things - but it just wasn’t possible. He couldn’t let himself dwell for too long, couldn’t let himself slip into that mindset, or he feared he’d never drag himself back out.
It was easier to be here, rather than at home. Here, he could keep himself busy, keep his mind and hands busy. Do something useful.
He was past the point of concentration where he would trust himself down in the real depths of the archives, with the potentially dangerous artefacts, but he could still sort files.
He’d started coming in every day again ten days ago - just after Lisa’s memorial service - and he was on his third cabinet. He’d made it through the cabinets containing all the data since 2000 first; he’d had a head start with those, since he’d already made some headway while they had been searching for things to help her.
While those had started out hopelessly chaotic, they were nothing on those from further back, and, for once, he was glad. It wasn’t hard work, but it required just enough concentration that he did actually have to think and pay attention to what he was doing. It guaranteed him enough of a distraction to get him through the days without breaking down.
He yawned again and wondered if there was anything left in the coffee pot upstairs. He wondered even more briefly if caffeine was actually a good idea at this time of night - he did, after all, intend to sleep eventually.
Deciding that sleep be damned, he put down the folder he was holding and went to check.
There wasn’t any, but he started a new pot anyway. Jack would be sure to gladly accept a cup when he returned from… wherever it was that he had disappeared to. Ianto knew that he hadn’t gone down to sleep in his tiny room under his office, because if he looked down, he could see that the hatch was closed.
That Jack was still out and around at 2am didn’t particularly surprise Ianto. The more time he’d spent in the Hub, the more he’d realised that Jack’s assertion that he didn’t really sleep much was, in fact, based on solid fact. He would often wander around Cardiff half the night, and any minor calls that came in after he’d sent everyone home, he’d take on his own.
The coffee was just beginning to drip into the pot when there was a crash and a bump from somewhere below him. The garage, probably. He wasn’t particularly concerned until there was another, louder, crash.
Hopping down the steps, he made his way to the garage. The SUV was there, the boot open, with Jack swaying slightly behind it as he attempted to drag an unconscious and restrained Weevil from the back.
Ianto winced when he noticed there was a puddle of blood pooling at his feet.
“Here, let me do that,” he said quietly, clearly surprising Jack. “You need to go and take a look at those injuries.”
Jack stood up straighter and wobbled, nevertheless shaking his head. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “I’ve got this.” He swayed a little more, one hand coming up to grip the side of the SUV to stop himself from falling.
Ianto took a step closer. “You’re not fine,” he said firmly. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”
Jack glanced down in surprise. “Oh… Sorry. I‘ll clean it up. Promise.”
Ianto took another step closer, realising that the blood was coming from a gaping wound on Jack’s lower torso. Jack wobbled even more, and Ianto wondered how he’d even managed to make it back to the Hub.
“Jack. You really, really are not fine. I need to call Owen, or an ambulance, or… something.”
Jack shook his head. “No, don’t…” he slurred. “M’jus…”
With that, he collapsed to the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head, blood seeping from his abdomen as his breath started to rattle.
Ianto dropped to his knees beside him and tried not to panic. “No, no. Don’t do this, Jack. Please, don’t do this!”
Chapter Three
Comments and concrit are loved!