... the taste of dirty cloth in his mouth and the smell of blood surrounding him. - Jack/Ianto
It's four in the morning and Ianto's still not asleep, the taste of dirty cloth in his mouth and the smell of blood surrounding him.
"Would you really have killed him?" he asks, speaking softly into the darkness of the tiny room.
"Yes," Jack whispers back almost immediately. He sighs quietly. "Don't think about it. Go to sleep. I'm not going anywhere."
"If you-"
"Don't... think about it," Jack repeats, muttering the words into Ianto's hair. "I got there in time. You're all safe. You'll never see them again." His fingers are moving in slow circles on the skin below Ianto's ribs, trying to reassure and comfort him in some way.
Two hours ago they both climbed into the narrow bed, Ianto shaking and Jack holding him as tight as possible in a vain attempt to stop the constant movement. Ianto's calmed down now, just a bit, just enough to let himself lie still. But he's still awake, and every time he closes his eyes he's back on the floor of that kitchen in that cottage, on his knees and crying silently because their knight in shining armour had pissed off and it was too late, far too late.
Ianto shifts on the bed, trying to get as close to the man behind him as possible without bumping one of the many bruises that now cover him. He closes his eyes and tries to block out the memories, concentrating on the sounds and smells and feelings of here and now. He knows he won't sleep tonight, might not for a few more days. But it can't hurt to try.