Fic: Be Content Inside Your Questions
Title: Be Content Inside Your Questions
Author: methylethyl
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jack has never really been one to sit on information. He's also never handled betrayal well.
Disclaimer: TW & Co. does not belong to me.
Notes: Sequel to The Roses Had No Chance, and part of The Stars 'verse.
Be Content Inside Your Questions
Jack cannot remember a time when he’s been more furious. He spends the whole day silently fuming, watching the oblivious team and Ianto, so serene and bathetic and perfectly untouched by yesterday’s events-Jack wants to shoot him, because he knows that he can do that and it won’t matter. Ianto will get right back up again. Jack can kill him again and again and again and it won’t matter.
By the end of the day, Jack knows that he can’t hold it in any longer. It’s not in his nature.
He waits until Owen, Tosh and Gwen have all left before checking that the CCTV is on in Ianto’s office, loading his gun, strapping a knife to one ankle and a gun to the other, and then heading out to a tiny café on the other side of Cardiff. He returns twenty minutes later, fully armed, and heads into Ianto’s office.
“Jack,” Ianto says from behind his desk, looking startled.
“Coffee,” Jack says, setting the cup on the table. “For being so goddamn sexy in that suit.”
Ianto raises an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed, but eventually turns his gaze to the coffee cup. It’s from the place where Ianto goes to buy his coffee beans, and the moment Ianto realizes this a small smile curls the corners of his mouth upward.
“Thank you, Jack,” Ianto says, and he reaches out to take the coffee.
“Got one for myself, of course,” Jack adds, taking a sip from his own, already half-finished cup. It’s insanely delicious, but he barely registers it through all the adrenaline pumping through his body.
Ianto takes a small test sip, then pauses to close his eyes and inhale. He waits for a good five seconds, and then takes a longer drink.
Jack has to act quickly, now.
“Gwen and Tosh are both looking better,” Jack begins carefully.
Ianto nods, and takes one more sip of coffee before setting the cup down. “Gwen’s going to be off field duty for at least two weeks, but I think Tosh will be ready in a day or two. Until then, it’s just us boys on Weevil calls.”
“Yeah,” Jack says. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just reset like you?”
Ianto freezes. In a matter of seconds he’s ashen-faced and possibly on the brink of vomiting.
“Y-you-how-”
“Oh, don’t worry, everyone else drank their retcon like good little girls and boys,” Jack tells him. “It’s just me.”
Ianto’s face is hardening, the shock wearing off. “Jack-”
“How does it feel to retcon your own team?” Jack asks. “Does it make you feel good inside? Superior, somehow, knowing that our little mortal brains are so easily manipulated?”
“Considering you were ready to throw me in the cells for being an alien, I’d say it feels pretty good,” Ianto retorts.
“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” Jack snaps, rocketing to his feet. “You’d just died, I was traumatized. You can’t take anything I said seriously, and it definitely didn’t give you the right to fucking retcon us! Are you really that self-centered? Or do you just trust us so little?”
Ianto opens his mouth, but Jack overrides him before he can even start, slamming his hands down on Ianto’s desk.
“Any one of us would take a bullet for you,” he hisses, staring straight into Ianto’s fish-pale eyes. “In a heartbeat. Without even thinking. Every single member of your team would lay down their lives for you, and you don’t have the decency to tell us that that sacrifice is worthless?”
“I-”
“We had a right to know!”
Ianto stares at him, his expression inscrutable, as Jack’s ragged breathing echoes throughout the office. Fury is raging through him, fresh and hot and somehow even more intense now that he’s screaming about it. He wants to fight. He wants to punch and kick and shove until Ianto’s in just as much agony as he is, and it takes every last bit of restraint he has to keep himself from lunging across the desk.
“You do have a right to know,” Ianto says, shaking his head, eyes downcast. “You all do. The retcon was not at all appropriate. I’m sorry, Jack.”
“That’s not good enough,” Jack says through gritted teeth, hands flexing on the table.
“What would you have me do?” Ianto asks, turning his eyes up to Jack.
“Tell the team,” Jack says, when in his head all he wants to say is take it back, make it not happen, how could you do this to me? “Tell them that you’re... whatever you are.”
Ianto’s eyes widen. “I can’t. No. No, no, no.”
“Why not?” Jack demands.
“Because I… Jack, you don’t-”
Ianto stops, and blinks.
“You-”
He blinks again, swaying slightly. His head lurches too far backwards, and his face tips up for a second, eyes rolling past Jack’s up to the ceiling, and then Ianto regains some focus. His eyes go to Jack unsteadily.
“What…”
“Funny thing about retcon,” Jack says, triumph and fury both surging through his veins as he watches Ianto now struggle to focus. “Its density is less than water, so it actually floats on the top of coffee-which means you only have to take a few sips from the cup to get it all in. But you know that already, don’t you?”
“No,” Ianto gasps, pushing his chair back. He lurches forward and grips at the desk. “Jack…”
“How does it feel?” Jack asks. “Is it a good feeling, knowing that you’re going to forget this conversation? Think of what I could do with this information, Ianto. Think of all the people I could sell your secret to.”
Ianto attempts to get out of his chair, but just ends up sliding off and landing on his butt on the ground. His head lolls to the side, but he’s struggling to get it upright again. His fingers are fumbling with his wrist strap, trying in vain to get it open.
Apparently beyond speech, Ianto’s eyes roll in Jack’s direction, blinking heavily. His mouth falls open to gasp for air raggedly. His head tips to the side as his eyes fix on Jack, hurt, betrayed, terrified-
Human.
Jack stands above him and watches, waiting until Ianto’s eyes finally slip shut and his body goes limp, unconsciousness finally claiming him. Then he sets to work moving Ianto’s body.
*
Ianto awakens groggily, his throat dry and his head aching a little, and an odd numbness that seems have spread itself over his entire body. It takes him a moment to realize that he isn’t lying down, and another to realize that he’s sat up and propped against something-there’s pressure on his back. Pressure, not pain. He isn’t in pain except for his head.
He tries to move, but his limbs are heavy and cold, and they stay where they are.
Swallowing helps a little, but it also emphasizes just how dry his throat is.
It’s just his arm that’s really sort of awkward, propped up and stuck and he can’t seem to move it-
Funny thing about retcon.
Jack’s cruel smirk.
Sinking.
Falling.
Silenced.
Ianto remembers.
A second later, he realizes that he remembers, and his eyes fly open.
He’s in his office on the floor, propped up against the drawers of his desk. His left wrist is chained to a locked drawer of the desk, but Ianto quickly realizes that his suit coat has been removed, and his other pockets have been emptied. Also, his weapons are gone and his wrist strap is conspicuously absent.
Jack appears from around the desk, staring down at Ianto. “Good morning, boss.”
Ianto feels a surge of fury, but tempers it before it gets the better of him. He needs to be calm until he has a full grasp of the situation.
“How are you feeling?” Jacks asks.
“What do you want?”
“You mean, why did I tell you I was retconning you when I actually just put a sedative in the coffee?” Jack asks.
Ianto does not reply.
“Because,” Jack all but hisses, “I wanted you to know what it felt like, and I wanted you to remember it.”
There’s anger in his voice, but his face is etched with pain and suddenly Ianto can’t help but laugh. It’s all so-God, it’s all so stupid.
Jack blinks, stunned.
“You’re…” Ianto shakes his head and lets out another incredulous laugh. “You’re such a child, Jack. You really think, in all the lives that I’ve lived, I’ve never had memories stolen from me? That I’ve never been betrayed by those I loved? You think frightening me for twenty seconds of my life is going to resonate against almost two centuries of experience?”
Jack wavers for only the briefest of seconds during Ianto’s speech, and he quickly regroups. “Someone had to do something. You retconned your team, Ianto. You retconned us! You’re out of control!”
“Oh, don’t be melodramatic,” Ianto replies irritably. “I’m not out of control. It was one mistake, Jack, and I don’t think you even realize the magnitude of revealing a secret like that.”
“Oh, yes. Heaven forbid you extend a little trust to other people,” Jack snaps.
“Heaven forbid you think of someone besides yourself for three seconds!” Ianto yells.
Jack looks like he’s been smacked.
Ianto pulls his temper under control with difficulty and forces himself to speak in cold, even syllables. “I am the Man Who Can’t Die. Do you know how very interesting that is to scientists? To UNIT? To Torchwood? I’ve worked here for over a hundred years, Jack. Guess how many of those were voluntary.”
Jack shakes his head, opens his mouth, but Ianto beats him to it.
“I could end world hunger,” Ianto says. “Me. One person. They’d just need to tie me up and cut the meat off. It would regrow in hours. They could even develop a machine to do it, over time, so no one would have to watch. And they wouldn’t have to waste money on pain medication or life support, because what’s an immortal man need with that?”
Jack’s gone pale.
“Or I could be an organ donor,” Ianto goes on ruthlessly. “Anyone on transplant lists that I’m a match for-people who need a heart, or lungs, or skin, or eyeballs-it’s not like I can’t just grow them back. Or I could test lethal injections, to make sure they’re really painless. I could be used as a car crash dummy, or to test new drug treatments without bothering with rats and monkeys, or-”
“We wouldn’t do that!”
Jack’s face is pale and sweaty, and his breathing is forced.
“Why not?” Ianto asks with a sickly smile. “Think of all the good I could do for the world.”
“Jesus Christ, Ianto, do you really think that your team would-that we would-” Jack swallows forcibly, closing his eyes.
“I don’t like to think that anyone would,” Ianto replies, “but time and time again, I’m proven wrong.”
“But we’re your team,” Jack insists desperately. “We’re yours, Ianto. We are.”
“Jack, I’ve told you that I’m aware of my mistake in retconning the team. I panicked,” Ianto says, with a patience he doesn’t feel. Every passing second that he’s spending imprisoned at Jack’s hands is sparking his anger. He’s said what he’s willing to say, he’s made his point, and now he just wants to be alone. “What else do you want?”
“An apology would be nice,” Jack says, every muscle in his face tense. “And I want you to tell the rest of the team.”
Ianto closes his eyes.
He’s not telling the team. He can’t. He can’t.
“I apologize for my actions,” Ianto says stiffly, opening his eyes. “I was wrong. However, I will not be telling the rest of the team about my… condition.”
“Oh, I think you will,” Jack replies dangerously.
“My secrets are my own, Jack.”
“Not when they can prevent people from needlessly dying. Weren’t you listening?”
“If you’re going to use the logic that my condition should be used to save lives, then we’re right back to strapping me on the butchering block to end world hunger,” Ianto fires back, anger rising again.
“Bullshit,” Jack snaps. “That’s fucking bullshit and you know it!”
“You don’t know anything,” Ianto hisses, fists clenching.
“I know you’re scared,” Jack retorts, an ugly look coming across his face. “I know that underneath your iceman exterior, you’re just a stupid, scared little man who’s forgotten what it is to be human. And it’s pathetic.”
Ianto feels like he’s been kicked in the stomach.
“I’m going to tell the team, if you won’t,” Jack threatens.
“No,” Ianto says in an airless voice, barely more than a croak. Head spinning, heart beginning to pound in a sickening sort of way, Ianto shakes his head. “No. Jack.”
“I will,” Jack says. He pulls out his phone. “I bet I can even trigger their memories from the other night.”
“Jack, no,” Ianto says, panic rising up in him for the first time since he’d woken up. He straightens, not sure what he’s going to do but knowing that he can’t allow Jack to do this. “Please no, I’m asking you-”
“You said yourself that they deserve to know, didn’t you?”
Oh, God. Oh God, he’s actually going to do it.
“I have a right to privacy,” Ianto says desperately. “Would you like me to tell them about Gray?”
“Knowing I used to have a brother isn’t going to one day save their lives,” Jack snaps, and then he focuses on his phone.
“Jack, please,” Ianto says desperately, his heart ratcheting into his throat. “Please don’t do this, please-”
Ianto wrenches against the handcuff as Jack scrolls through his contacts. A sharp pain stabs his wrist as he pulls again and again, but Ianto barely feels it for the terror thrumming through his entire body like electricity.
He can’t let Jack do this.
He’s only had months of freedom and he’s not ready to give it up, not yet, not now, not when he’d just started to feel alive again.
Without any further thought, Ianto turns, bites into his bicep, and dislocates his thumb with one efficient movement and a muffled cry of pain.
He’s free.
Jack stands feet away, eyes widening as he realizes what Ianto has done, but he doesn’t react until Ianto’s sliding his hand out of the cuff and by then it’s too late-
Ianto lunges, knocking the phone out of Jack’s hand with a cry.
The phone goes flying.
Then Ianto is going down, slamming into the concrete floor with Jack’s weight on top of him, winding him, and he reaches out with his fist, swinging wildly as his entire body bucks. A hand against his chest slams him down into the ground, his head smacking against the concrete, but it’s nothing compared to the sudden explosion of agony in his left hand as Jack grabs it, twists, and squeezes.
Ianto bellows in agony.
“Jack, please, no,” Ianto gasps or sobs or something. All he knows is pain and terror and the feeling of Jack pressing him down into the ground. “Please, I’m asking, I’m begging, you can’t, you just can’t, it isn’t fair-it’s only been five months, it’s been a hundred years, I need more time, please, please no, please…”
The hands on his wrist and chest disappear, but Ianto is dizzy, sick, the world blurry.
“Please,” he says raggedly, tears streaming from his eyes. “Please. You were right, I’m scared, I’m terrified, just please don’t. Please.”
Silence.
Ianto fights to focus his vision on Jack, panting, and he’s surprised to find Jack’s expression…
Devastated.
That is, until Ianto abruptly remembers that Jack is in love with him. Jack, for all his experience and all his months in Torchwood Three, is in love with him, and he’s stupidly young and selfish and so emotionally unrestrained-it makes Ianto’s heart ache for him.
“Ianto…” Jack says, shattered.
“Jack,” Ianto says, reaching out and grasping Jack’s hand with his good one, still crying, still trying to slow his pounding heart. “Jack, it wasn’t because of you. It wasn’t because you weren’t good enough. It was just me being a coward.”
“You’re not a coward,” Jack says in a strangled voice.
“You have to understand,” Ianto continues, choking the words out by sheer effort of will. “You have to know, Jack, that I was Torchwood’s prisoner for over a hundred years and when Torchwood One fell, I was free. These last five months, I’ve finally been free, and I don’t want to give it up. Please.”
“Fuck,” Jack breathes. “Fuck, Ianto. I-”
“Jack-”
“Fuck,” Jack spits out, scrambling off of Ianto and back across the floor like he needs to get as much distance between them as possible, his face twisted with anguish, until he hits the wall. He slams his head back against the wall, hands curling into fists. “Fuck.”
Ianto lets his own head fall back, closing his eyes as the terror finally begins to drain away.
It’s quiet.
*
Eventually, Ianto forces himself to sit up. His hand is throbbing fiercely, and since Jack is still curled against the wall and generally just staring off into space, he sets to work fixing that.
Bite bicep, grip thumb, yank.
Unfortunately, two muffled screams later, Ianto is forced to admit something very unfortunate: in his haste to get out of the handcuff, he’d done a shoddy job of dislocating his thumb, and now it’s proving especially difficult to push back into place.
“I-do you want help?” Jack asks hesitantly.
Ianto wants to bite out something sharp and hurtful, because he feels like one giant open wound and Jack knows and is still here, staring at him instead of leaving him alone to pull himself back together-but he’s practical. He will always be practical.
“Do you know how to?” Ianto asks, voice carefully modulated.
“Dislocating our thumbs was standard Torchwood field training,” Jack replies quietly. “So was resetting them.”
Right.
Ianto doesn’t like to think of Jack as one of Torchwood 1’s action men, but it’s rare that he actually forgets.
“If you wouldn’t mind, then,” he says, still not looking up.
He doesn’t watch, merely listens to the sound of Jack shuffling over to him, and then holds out his hand when he senses that Jack is close enough.
Jack’s hands are huge and tan and calloused like Ianto’s will never be (that day on the Gamestation had been his first time holding a gun, and every time Ianto fires a gun now he thinks that the sharp sting of pain in the skin of his hands is all that’s left of his humanity; he savors it). Jack’s touch has a forced firmness to it, like he’s refusing to let himself be gentle, but he still can’t seem to stop himself from pausing and waiting.
“No rush or anything,” Ianto prompts, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“Sorry,” Jack mutters. “I just-”
He cuts himself off, his hands gripping Ianto’s hand, and he yanks.
Ianto muffles his scream into his bicep again, but this time he can feel that his thumb is back in place, the pain already lessening drastically.
“Thank you,” he pants, pulling his hand back and pushing it against his chest.
Jack doesn’t respond.
Ianto wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt-it’s ruined anyway-and looks up to find Jack staring at him with a conflicted expression.
And Ianto... really doesn’t have the energy to do this any longer.
“Go home, Jack,” Ianto says tiredly.
“Will you be all right?” Jack asks, hesitant.
“Did you miss the part where I’ve been alive for nearly two centuries?” Ianto asks. “This is hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Fuck. Even to Ianto’s own ears, his tone sounds forced.
“I-” Jack shuffles backward, carefully. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Jack.”
*
The only problem is that two hours after Ianto drags himself down to his bunker, he wakes up screaming from a nightmare involving Jack as one of the cannibals, stringing him up on a meat hook and slicing off various parts of Ianto’s body.
Resigning himself to another night of working the Archives instead of sleeping, Ianto pulls on a fresh suit and climbs up into his office. He’s nearly finished integrating all of the Torchwood 1 materials that Jack had brought with him months ago, and he’s looking forward to having that done, because he really needs to fix the “Probably/Definitely Medical Equipment” section. He keeps sending Owen down to retrieve things when he doesn’t have time to do it himself, and he’s certain that the section is a disaster by now.
Halfway across the Hub, though, Ianto sees that Jack has not gone home. Jack is quite far from home.
Jack is, in fact, curled up on the couch, asleep.
Heaving a sigh and not understanding the sudden rush of affection he feels, Ianto changes direction and heads for the couch instead. Jack appears to be sleeping poorly, shifting and shivering slightly.
Ianto tries not to remember Jack in a peaceful sleep, a solid wall of muscle that stirs only to grab or nuzzle or smile stupidly.
“Jack,” Ianto says softly, crouching next to the couch. Gently, he shakes Jack’s shoulder. “Jack.”
Jack scrunches up a little more but his eyes open blearily, not immediately focusing on Ianto.
“Jack,” Ianto says again, and this time he gets Jack’s attention. “I thought I told you to go home?”
Jack blinks, sudden realization dawning on his face. He scrambles upright. “Ianto!”
Ianto raises his eyebrows
“I, uh-” Jack blinks a bit more. “Fuck.”
“Jack,” Ianto says, hopefully for the last time. “What are you doing here?”
“I-I was… I thought you might leave,” Jack mutters to the spot above Ianto’s left shoulder. “Because of what I did. Or maybe you’d need-I don’t know. I just-I couldn’t go home. I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep.”
…Fuck.
Really, what is Ianto supposed to do with that? What is he supposed to do with this beautiful, broken man who just keeps loving?
What he should do is suspend Jack for drugging him and handcuffing him to his desk, especially since the point clearly hasn’t been hammered home if Jack is still hanging around the office, but he can’t. Not when Jack only did what he did because he’s just so young-and because Ianto is a cowardly, untrusting bastard.
“I’m just going down to the Archives to do some reorganizing,” Ianto says. “But if you’re going to insist on staying, you can go sleep in my bunker.”
Jack frowns slightly, and Ianto can virtually see him weighing up how much he trusts the suggestion.
Ianto can’t resist.
He leans forward and presses a kiss to Jack’s forehead, ignoring the startled noise that comes out of Jack as a result.
“Good night, Jack,” Ianto says softly, and goes to stand, but-
“I don’t think so,” Jack says, and then there are hands on either side of Ianto’s face as Jack crashes their mouths together.
Ianto reels.
He tries to pull back even as he feels a surge of lust so strong and hot that he opens his mouth, and Jack yanks him forward, refusing to let him go. Ianto likes that. He likes that a lot. Fresh in his mind is the feeling of Jack pinning him to the ground and his mind immediately twists it into flashes of something hotter, sexier, and Ianto wants.
Jack moves against him, sliding down off the couch and to the ground with Ianto, straddling him, forcing him down, grinding against him with every push of his mouth against Ianto’s. Jack demands, and Ianto gives. He gives freely. All he wants is Jack, here, holding him down and fucking him until it hurts, until his entire body is the gaping wound and the outside matches the inside and his brain has stopped thinking for once-
Jack pulls away.
“That’s how you say good night,” Jack says roughly, pushing himself away and standing up.
Ianto pants on the floor, dazed.
“See you in the morning.”
And when Ianto finally pulls himself together enough to prop himself up on his elbows, Jack is disappearing into his office.
Author: methylethyl
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jack has never really been one to sit on information. He's also never handled betrayal well.
Disclaimer: TW & Co. does not belong to me.
Notes: Sequel to The Roses Had No Chance, and part of The Stars 'verse.
Be Content Inside Your Questions
Jack cannot remember a time when he’s been more furious. He spends the whole day silently fuming, watching the oblivious team and Ianto, so serene and bathetic and perfectly untouched by yesterday’s events-Jack wants to shoot him, because he knows that he can do that and it won’t matter. Ianto will get right back up again. Jack can kill him again and again and again and it won’t matter.
By the end of the day, Jack knows that he can’t hold it in any longer. It’s not in his nature.
He waits until Owen, Tosh and Gwen have all left before checking that the CCTV is on in Ianto’s office, loading his gun, strapping a knife to one ankle and a gun to the other, and then heading out to a tiny café on the other side of Cardiff. He returns twenty minutes later, fully armed, and heads into Ianto’s office.
“Jack,” Ianto says from behind his desk, looking startled.
“Coffee,” Jack says, setting the cup on the table. “For being so goddamn sexy in that suit.”
Ianto raises an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed, but eventually turns his gaze to the coffee cup. It’s from the place where Ianto goes to buy his coffee beans, and the moment Ianto realizes this a small smile curls the corners of his mouth upward.
“Thank you, Jack,” Ianto says, and he reaches out to take the coffee.
“Got one for myself, of course,” Jack adds, taking a sip from his own, already half-finished cup. It’s insanely delicious, but he barely registers it through all the adrenaline pumping through his body.
Ianto takes a small test sip, then pauses to close his eyes and inhale. He waits for a good five seconds, and then takes a longer drink.
Jack has to act quickly, now.
“Gwen and Tosh are both looking better,” Jack begins carefully.
Ianto nods, and takes one more sip of coffee before setting the cup down. “Gwen’s going to be off field duty for at least two weeks, but I think Tosh will be ready in a day or two. Until then, it’s just us boys on Weevil calls.”
“Yeah,” Jack says. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just reset like you?”
Ianto freezes. In a matter of seconds he’s ashen-faced and possibly on the brink of vomiting.
“Y-you-how-”
“Oh, don’t worry, everyone else drank their retcon like good little girls and boys,” Jack tells him. “It’s just me.”
Ianto’s face is hardening, the shock wearing off. “Jack-”
“How does it feel to retcon your own team?” Jack asks. “Does it make you feel good inside? Superior, somehow, knowing that our little mortal brains are so easily manipulated?”
“Considering you were ready to throw me in the cells for being an alien, I’d say it feels pretty good,” Ianto retorts.
“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” Jack snaps, rocketing to his feet. “You’d just died, I was traumatized. You can’t take anything I said seriously, and it definitely didn’t give you the right to fucking retcon us! Are you really that self-centered? Or do you just trust us so little?”
Ianto opens his mouth, but Jack overrides him before he can even start, slamming his hands down on Ianto’s desk.
“Any one of us would take a bullet for you,” he hisses, staring straight into Ianto’s fish-pale eyes. “In a heartbeat. Without even thinking. Every single member of your team would lay down their lives for you, and you don’t have the decency to tell us that that sacrifice is worthless?”
“I-”
“We had a right to know!”
Ianto stares at him, his expression inscrutable, as Jack’s ragged breathing echoes throughout the office. Fury is raging through him, fresh and hot and somehow even more intense now that he’s screaming about it. He wants to fight. He wants to punch and kick and shove until Ianto’s in just as much agony as he is, and it takes every last bit of restraint he has to keep himself from lunging across the desk.
“You do have a right to know,” Ianto says, shaking his head, eyes downcast. “You all do. The retcon was not at all appropriate. I’m sorry, Jack.”
“That’s not good enough,” Jack says through gritted teeth, hands flexing on the table.
“What would you have me do?” Ianto asks, turning his eyes up to Jack.
“Tell the team,” Jack says, when in his head all he wants to say is take it back, make it not happen, how could you do this to me? “Tell them that you’re... whatever you are.”
Ianto’s eyes widen. “I can’t. No. No, no, no.”
“Why not?” Jack demands.
“Because I… Jack, you don’t-”
Ianto stops, and blinks.
“You-”
He blinks again, swaying slightly. His head lurches too far backwards, and his face tips up for a second, eyes rolling past Jack’s up to the ceiling, and then Ianto regains some focus. His eyes go to Jack unsteadily.
“What…”
“Funny thing about retcon,” Jack says, triumph and fury both surging through his veins as he watches Ianto now struggle to focus. “Its density is less than water, so it actually floats on the top of coffee-which means you only have to take a few sips from the cup to get it all in. But you know that already, don’t you?”
“No,” Ianto gasps, pushing his chair back. He lurches forward and grips at the desk. “Jack…”
“How does it feel?” Jack asks. “Is it a good feeling, knowing that you’re going to forget this conversation? Think of what I could do with this information, Ianto. Think of all the people I could sell your secret to.”
Ianto attempts to get out of his chair, but just ends up sliding off and landing on his butt on the ground. His head lolls to the side, but he’s struggling to get it upright again. His fingers are fumbling with his wrist strap, trying in vain to get it open.
Apparently beyond speech, Ianto’s eyes roll in Jack’s direction, blinking heavily. His mouth falls open to gasp for air raggedly. His head tips to the side as his eyes fix on Jack, hurt, betrayed, terrified-
Human.
Jack stands above him and watches, waiting until Ianto’s eyes finally slip shut and his body goes limp, unconsciousness finally claiming him. Then he sets to work moving Ianto’s body.
*
Ianto awakens groggily, his throat dry and his head aching a little, and an odd numbness that seems have spread itself over his entire body. It takes him a moment to realize that he isn’t lying down, and another to realize that he’s sat up and propped against something-there’s pressure on his back. Pressure, not pain. He isn’t in pain except for his head.
He tries to move, but his limbs are heavy and cold, and they stay where they are.
Swallowing helps a little, but it also emphasizes just how dry his throat is.
It’s just his arm that’s really sort of awkward, propped up and stuck and he can’t seem to move it-
Funny thing about retcon.
Jack’s cruel smirk.
Sinking.
Falling.
Silenced.
Ianto remembers.
A second later, he realizes that he remembers, and his eyes fly open.
He’s in his office on the floor, propped up against the drawers of his desk. His left wrist is chained to a locked drawer of the desk, but Ianto quickly realizes that his suit coat has been removed, and his other pockets have been emptied. Also, his weapons are gone and his wrist strap is conspicuously absent.
Jack appears from around the desk, staring down at Ianto. “Good morning, boss.”
Ianto feels a surge of fury, but tempers it before it gets the better of him. He needs to be calm until he has a full grasp of the situation.
“How are you feeling?” Jacks asks.
“What do you want?”
“You mean, why did I tell you I was retconning you when I actually just put a sedative in the coffee?” Jack asks.
Ianto does not reply.
“Because,” Jack all but hisses, “I wanted you to know what it felt like, and I wanted you to remember it.”
There’s anger in his voice, but his face is etched with pain and suddenly Ianto can’t help but laugh. It’s all so-God, it’s all so stupid.
Jack blinks, stunned.
“You’re…” Ianto shakes his head and lets out another incredulous laugh. “You’re such a child, Jack. You really think, in all the lives that I’ve lived, I’ve never had memories stolen from me? That I’ve never been betrayed by those I loved? You think frightening me for twenty seconds of my life is going to resonate against almost two centuries of experience?”
Jack wavers for only the briefest of seconds during Ianto’s speech, and he quickly regroups. “Someone had to do something. You retconned your team, Ianto. You retconned us! You’re out of control!”
“Oh, don’t be melodramatic,” Ianto replies irritably. “I’m not out of control. It was one mistake, Jack, and I don’t think you even realize the magnitude of revealing a secret like that.”
“Oh, yes. Heaven forbid you extend a little trust to other people,” Jack snaps.
“Heaven forbid you think of someone besides yourself for three seconds!” Ianto yells.
Jack looks like he’s been smacked.
Ianto pulls his temper under control with difficulty and forces himself to speak in cold, even syllables. “I am the Man Who Can’t Die. Do you know how very interesting that is to scientists? To UNIT? To Torchwood? I’ve worked here for over a hundred years, Jack. Guess how many of those were voluntary.”
Jack shakes his head, opens his mouth, but Ianto beats him to it.
“I could end world hunger,” Ianto says. “Me. One person. They’d just need to tie me up and cut the meat off. It would regrow in hours. They could even develop a machine to do it, over time, so no one would have to watch. And they wouldn’t have to waste money on pain medication or life support, because what’s an immortal man need with that?”
Jack’s gone pale.
“Or I could be an organ donor,” Ianto goes on ruthlessly. “Anyone on transplant lists that I’m a match for-people who need a heart, or lungs, or skin, or eyeballs-it’s not like I can’t just grow them back. Or I could test lethal injections, to make sure they’re really painless. I could be used as a car crash dummy, or to test new drug treatments without bothering with rats and monkeys, or-”
“We wouldn’t do that!”
Jack’s face is pale and sweaty, and his breathing is forced.
“Why not?” Ianto asks with a sickly smile. “Think of all the good I could do for the world.”
“Jesus Christ, Ianto, do you really think that your team would-that we would-” Jack swallows forcibly, closing his eyes.
“I don’t like to think that anyone would,” Ianto replies, “but time and time again, I’m proven wrong.”
“But we’re your team,” Jack insists desperately. “We’re yours, Ianto. We are.”
“Jack, I’ve told you that I’m aware of my mistake in retconning the team. I panicked,” Ianto says, with a patience he doesn’t feel. Every passing second that he’s spending imprisoned at Jack’s hands is sparking his anger. He’s said what he’s willing to say, he’s made his point, and now he just wants to be alone. “What else do you want?”
“An apology would be nice,” Jack says, every muscle in his face tense. “And I want you to tell the rest of the team.”
Ianto closes his eyes.
He’s not telling the team. He can’t. He can’t.
“I apologize for my actions,” Ianto says stiffly, opening his eyes. “I was wrong. However, I will not be telling the rest of the team about my… condition.”
“Oh, I think you will,” Jack replies dangerously.
“My secrets are my own, Jack.”
“Not when they can prevent people from needlessly dying. Weren’t you listening?”
“If you’re going to use the logic that my condition should be used to save lives, then we’re right back to strapping me on the butchering block to end world hunger,” Ianto fires back, anger rising again.
“Bullshit,” Jack snaps. “That’s fucking bullshit and you know it!”
“You don’t know anything,” Ianto hisses, fists clenching.
“I know you’re scared,” Jack retorts, an ugly look coming across his face. “I know that underneath your iceman exterior, you’re just a stupid, scared little man who’s forgotten what it is to be human. And it’s pathetic.”
Ianto feels like he’s been kicked in the stomach.
“I’m going to tell the team, if you won’t,” Jack threatens.
“No,” Ianto says in an airless voice, barely more than a croak. Head spinning, heart beginning to pound in a sickening sort of way, Ianto shakes his head. “No. Jack.”
“I will,” Jack says. He pulls out his phone. “I bet I can even trigger their memories from the other night.”
“Jack, no,” Ianto says, panic rising up in him for the first time since he’d woken up. He straightens, not sure what he’s going to do but knowing that he can’t allow Jack to do this. “Please no, I’m asking you-”
“You said yourself that they deserve to know, didn’t you?”
Oh, God. Oh God, he’s actually going to do it.
“I have a right to privacy,” Ianto says desperately. “Would you like me to tell them about Gray?”
“Knowing I used to have a brother isn’t going to one day save their lives,” Jack snaps, and then he focuses on his phone.
“Jack, please,” Ianto says desperately, his heart ratcheting into his throat. “Please don’t do this, please-”
Ianto wrenches against the handcuff as Jack scrolls through his contacts. A sharp pain stabs his wrist as he pulls again and again, but Ianto barely feels it for the terror thrumming through his entire body like electricity.
He can’t let Jack do this.
He’s only had months of freedom and he’s not ready to give it up, not yet, not now, not when he’d just started to feel alive again.
Without any further thought, Ianto turns, bites into his bicep, and dislocates his thumb with one efficient movement and a muffled cry of pain.
He’s free.
Jack stands feet away, eyes widening as he realizes what Ianto has done, but he doesn’t react until Ianto’s sliding his hand out of the cuff and by then it’s too late-
Ianto lunges, knocking the phone out of Jack’s hand with a cry.
The phone goes flying.
Then Ianto is going down, slamming into the concrete floor with Jack’s weight on top of him, winding him, and he reaches out with his fist, swinging wildly as his entire body bucks. A hand against his chest slams him down into the ground, his head smacking against the concrete, but it’s nothing compared to the sudden explosion of agony in his left hand as Jack grabs it, twists, and squeezes.
Ianto bellows in agony.
“Jack, please, no,” Ianto gasps or sobs or something. All he knows is pain and terror and the feeling of Jack pressing him down into the ground. “Please, I’m asking, I’m begging, you can’t, you just can’t, it isn’t fair-it’s only been five months, it’s been a hundred years, I need more time, please, please no, please…”
The hands on his wrist and chest disappear, but Ianto is dizzy, sick, the world blurry.
“Please,” he says raggedly, tears streaming from his eyes. “Please. You were right, I’m scared, I’m terrified, just please don’t. Please.”
Silence.
Ianto fights to focus his vision on Jack, panting, and he’s surprised to find Jack’s expression…
Devastated.
That is, until Ianto abruptly remembers that Jack is in love with him. Jack, for all his experience and all his months in Torchwood Three, is in love with him, and he’s stupidly young and selfish and so emotionally unrestrained-it makes Ianto’s heart ache for him.
“Ianto…” Jack says, shattered.
“Jack,” Ianto says, reaching out and grasping Jack’s hand with his good one, still crying, still trying to slow his pounding heart. “Jack, it wasn’t because of you. It wasn’t because you weren’t good enough. It was just me being a coward.”
“You’re not a coward,” Jack says in a strangled voice.
“You have to understand,” Ianto continues, choking the words out by sheer effort of will. “You have to know, Jack, that I was Torchwood’s prisoner for over a hundred years and when Torchwood One fell, I was free. These last five months, I’ve finally been free, and I don’t want to give it up. Please.”
“Fuck,” Jack breathes. “Fuck, Ianto. I-”
“Jack-”
“Fuck,” Jack spits out, scrambling off of Ianto and back across the floor like he needs to get as much distance between them as possible, his face twisted with anguish, until he hits the wall. He slams his head back against the wall, hands curling into fists. “Fuck.”
Ianto lets his own head fall back, closing his eyes as the terror finally begins to drain away.
It’s quiet.
*
Eventually, Ianto forces himself to sit up. His hand is throbbing fiercely, and since Jack is still curled against the wall and generally just staring off into space, he sets to work fixing that.
Bite bicep, grip thumb, yank.
Unfortunately, two muffled screams later, Ianto is forced to admit something very unfortunate: in his haste to get out of the handcuff, he’d done a shoddy job of dislocating his thumb, and now it’s proving especially difficult to push back into place.
“I-do you want help?” Jack asks hesitantly.
Ianto wants to bite out something sharp and hurtful, because he feels like one giant open wound and Jack knows and is still here, staring at him instead of leaving him alone to pull himself back together-but he’s practical. He will always be practical.
“Do you know how to?” Ianto asks, voice carefully modulated.
“Dislocating our thumbs was standard Torchwood field training,” Jack replies quietly. “So was resetting them.”
Right.
Ianto doesn’t like to think of Jack as one of Torchwood 1’s action men, but it’s rare that he actually forgets.
“If you wouldn’t mind, then,” he says, still not looking up.
He doesn’t watch, merely listens to the sound of Jack shuffling over to him, and then holds out his hand when he senses that Jack is close enough.
Jack’s hands are huge and tan and calloused like Ianto’s will never be (that day on the Gamestation had been his first time holding a gun, and every time Ianto fires a gun now he thinks that the sharp sting of pain in the skin of his hands is all that’s left of his humanity; he savors it). Jack’s touch has a forced firmness to it, like he’s refusing to let himself be gentle, but he still can’t seem to stop himself from pausing and waiting.
“No rush or anything,” Ianto prompts, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“Sorry,” Jack mutters. “I just-”
He cuts himself off, his hands gripping Ianto’s hand, and he yanks.
Ianto muffles his scream into his bicep again, but this time he can feel that his thumb is back in place, the pain already lessening drastically.
“Thank you,” he pants, pulling his hand back and pushing it against his chest.
Jack doesn’t respond.
Ianto wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt-it’s ruined anyway-and looks up to find Jack staring at him with a conflicted expression.
And Ianto... really doesn’t have the energy to do this any longer.
“Go home, Jack,” Ianto says tiredly.
“Will you be all right?” Jack asks, hesitant.
“Did you miss the part where I’ve been alive for nearly two centuries?” Ianto asks. “This is hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Fuck. Even to Ianto’s own ears, his tone sounds forced.
“I-” Jack shuffles backward, carefully. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Jack.”
*
The only problem is that two hours after Ianto drags himself down to his bunker, he wakes up screaming from a nightmare involving Jack as one of the cannibals, stringing him up on a meat hook and slicing off various parts of Ianto’s body.
Resigning himself to another night of working the Archives instead of sleeping, Ianto pulls on a fresh suit and climbs up into his office. He’s nearly finished integrating all of the Torchwood 1 materials that Jack had brought with him months ago, and he’s looking forward to having that done, because he really needs to fix the “Probably/Definitely Medical Equipment” section. He keeps sending Owen down to retrieve things when he doesn’t have time to do it himself, and he’s certain that the section is a disaster by now.
Halfway across the Hub, though, Ianto sees that Jack has not gone home. Jack is quite far from home.
Jack is, in fact, curled up on the couch, asleep.
Heaving a sigh and not understanding the sudden rush of affection he feels, Ianto changes direction and heads for the couch instead. Jack appears to be sleeping poorly, shifting and shivering slightly.
Ianto tries not to remember Jack in a peaceful sleep, a solid wall of muscle that stirs only to grab or nuzzle or smile stupidly.
“Jack,” Ianto says softly, crouching next to the couch. Gently, he shakes Jack’s shoulder. “Jack.”
Jack scrunches up a little more but his eyes open blearily, not immediately focusing on Ianto.
“Jack,” Ianto says again, and this time he gets Jack’s attention. “I thought I told you to go home?”
Jack blinks, sudden realization dawning on his face. He scrambles upright. “Ianto!”
Ianto raises his eyebrows
“I, uh-” Jack blinks a bit more. “Fuck.”
“Jack,” Ianto says, hopefully for the last time. “What are you doing here?”
“I-I was… I thought you might leave,” Jack mutters to the spot above Ianto’s left shoulder. “Because of what I did. Or maybe you’d need-I don’t know. I just-I couldn’t go home. I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep.”
…Fuck.
Really, what is Ianto supposed to do with that? What is he supposed to do with this beautiful, broken man who just keeps loving?
What he should do is suspend Jack for drugging him and handcuffing him to his desk, especially since the point clearly hasn’t been hammered home if Jack is still hanging around the office, but he can’t. Not when Jack only did what he did because he’s just so young-and because Ianto is a cowardly, untrusting bastard.
“I’m just going down to the Archives to do some reorganizing,” Ianto says. “But if you’re going to insist on staying, you can go sleep in my bunker.”
Jack frowns slightly, and Ianto can virtually see him weighing up how much he trusts the suggestion.
Ianto can’t resist.
He leans forward and presses a kiss to Jack’s forehead, ignoring the startled noise that comes out of Jack as a result.
“Good night, Jack,” Ianto says softly, and goes to stand, but-
“I don’t think so,” Jack says, and then there are hands on either side of Ianto’s face as Jack crashes their mouths together.
Ianto reels.
He tries to pull back even as he feels a surge of lust so strong and hot that he opens his mouth, and Jack yanks him forward, refusing to let him go. Ianto likes that. He likes that a lot. Fresh in his mind is the feeling of Jack pinning him to the ground and his mind immediately twists it into flashes of something hotter, sexier, and Ianto wants.
Jack moves against him, sliding down off the couch and to the ground with Ianto, straddling him, forcing him down, grinding against him with every push of his mouth against Ianto’s. Jack demands, and Ianto gives. He gives freely. All he wants is Jack, here, holding him down and fucking him until it hurts, until his entire body is the gaping wound and the outside matches the inside and his brain has stopped thinking for once-
Jack pulls away.
“That’s how you say good night,” Jack says roughly, pushing himself away and standing up.
Ianto pants on the floor, dazed.
“See you in the morning.”
And when Ianto finally pulls himself together enough to prop himself up on his elbows, Jack is disappearing into his office.