Monkey's Paw, Part 1
Title: Monkey's Paw
Author: witling
Parings/characters: Jack/Ianto
Disclaimer: No infringement intended, pure joy.
Summary: “Jack's sick,” said Gwen. “We need to find out what's wrong with him. Someone needs to get close to him. Talk to him.” There was a pause, and then Ianto noticed they were all looking at him. The autopsy room felt suddenly very small. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Okay.”
Spoilers: I'm not terrifically sure about episode names, but up to mid-S2 including A Day in the Death etc.
Rating: NC17
Notes: I'm posting here in response to a couple of requests from people who've asked for this to be up somewhere public. It's a thank-you fic for a friend who requested this pairing.
Later, when it was all over, he demolished half a bottle of whiskey and explained it all, all the ins and outs, the reasons it was unimportant, to Owen. It seemed important that he do that. Explain it to someone.
“The thing is,” he said, struggling to keep his eyes open, to keep himself upright in the booth, “the thing is, the thing is, it didn't change him. You said so, you said it just made him more himself. It was still him.” He pointed, because that was the important thing. Where the hell was his whiskey? Owen was looking at him, his brow furrowed. “Still him. Just more so. Just more so than usual.”
“You're not much of a drinking man, are you, mate?”
“I'm fine.” He fumbled for his glass, which was emptier than he remembered. Faintly, he could feel heat from his split lip. “Wait-did you drink this?”
“Time for bed,” Owen said, reaching across the table. He slipped a hand under Ianto's arm, and for a dead man, he was very strong. “I'm calling you a taxi.”
“The funny thing is,” Ianto muttered, letting himself be led out of the pub. “The funny thing is, he'd never say under ordinary circumst...circumsit... He'd never say that any other way.”
It was a tiny little thing, like the flame of a single birthday candle, that came floating out of the rift when no-one was looking.
They weren't looking because they were busy firing silver-jacketed rounds into the giant gila monster that had come out of the rift at the same moment. The one that was bent on making Cardiff's main shopping district its own personal buffet. It took all the bullets they could throw at it, shook off a lather of frothy brown blood, and set off at what looked like a casual lope: thanks for the welcome, I'm a bit peckish, think I'll just go see what's in the back cupboards.
“Gwen, Owen!” Jack barked, snapping around and sprinting for the SUV. Tosh was already there, disappearing into the backseat and the blue glow of the computer. “Tosh, tell me how to get ahead of it.”
“Ahead of it?” She was stabbing at the keyboard when Owen and Ianto piled in beside her, crowding her into the computer arm. “Ow! Get off me, for God's sake.”
“Where's it going, Tosh?” They were peeling out, the doors still open, Jack's foot through the floor. The tires squealed and smoked. Ianto, last in, flailed for the door handle. Later, he'd think of that moment, when he'd seen that brief yellow spark visit the top of the door, then drift inside, toward the driver's seat. Toward the back of Jack's neck. At the time, he didn't even really register it. Everything was so confused-there'd been sparks from the bullets, the muzzle flares, the glare of the streetlights. There was no time to ponder a spare spark, an optical illusion produced by stress and darkness.
He heaved, the door slammed. He was tossed sideways into Owen, who didn't seem to notice the elbow in his ribs.
“Downtown,” Tosh reported, tracing the screen with her finger. “It's going downtown.”
“I always hated that song,” Jack muttered, and with a wrench of the wheel and a stomach-slewing swerve, they were headed downtown too.
Ianto, struggling to get his gun back into its holster, trying not to bruise Owen, thinking ahead to the situation downtown when a komodo dragon the size of a Volkswagen bus burst onto the scene and started eating people, didn't think twice about the spark.
It took three rounds from the big gun to put the beast down, and when it was done they all stood on the top of the slope, staring at its torn and twitching carcass in the bottom of the drainage culvert. Breathing hard, regrouping. Gwen had a bloodied gouge across her forehead, her empty pistol in her fist. Tosh was holding a twisted length of pipe; she'd grabbed it up when the thing had yanked her gun from her hand with its long forked tongue, and literally eaten it. The pipe was steaming, disintegrating-as they stood there, half of the length fell off and hit the pavement, and they all jumped.
All except Jack. He had the big gun in his hands, the muzzle still smoking, and he was grinning. Ianto caught sight of the grin, and couldn't look away. It was perfect Jack, quintessential Jack, manic and cocky, flushed with success. You couldn't fail to respond to it, to be transfixed by it. Not if you were Ianto Jones, at least. Office boy, sidekick, hero worshipper.
“Down, boy,” Jack said, and for a terrible moment Ianto thought it was directed at him, an admonition for the adoring look he'd just been caught out giving-but Jack was still looking at the monster. “Bad dog.” He laughed, slung the gun up against his shoulder, and turned on his heel. “That was kind of fun.”
Gwen stared at him. Blood was running into her eye, but she didn't wipe it away. He gave her a paternal smile, then reached down and pinched her ass. She jumped again, and almost dropped her gun.
“Jesus Christ, Jack.” Tosh swung the rest of the pipe into the culvert and stepped between them. “Gwen, let's get that fixed up, shall we?” She gave Owen a look, and he kick-started guiltily.
“Right, sorry. Come on, my kit's in the car. I'll stitch you up nice and neat, Gwennie. No visible seams.”
The three of them started for the SUV. Ianto lingered, fiddling with his gun, ejecting the cartridge to verify that yes, indeed, he had no bullets left. He'd fired every one when the thing had come at him full tilt, its mouth gaping like a red-and-black view into Dante's second circle, and of course the bullets had made no difference-it had run right over him, knocking him sideways and silly without even noticing he was there.
Jack was looking at him. Ianto dropped his hands and tried to look alert. He had to repress the automatic Sir that rose to his lips, product of all his upbringing and training. When you were shagging the man, you didn't call him Sir. Except sometimes, when you were both in the mood and things were clearly tending that way and there was nobody else around to hear what was or wasn't said.
Jack opened his mouth, then paused, his eyes narrowing. This was where he'd say, Are you okay? Ianto had a quick answer and a smile prepared.
“Come here,” said Jack.
Ianto paused. This wasn't how the script was supposed to go. It wasn't like the others didn't know what was going on-for God's sake, Gwen had walked in on them with Ianto's hands down Jack's pants, Owen had made comments about stocking flavored condoms in the infirmary, the bastard-but they had an agreement. A tacit one, maybe, but that was the kind Ianto liked. They agreed to follow protocol. No public displays of affection, for lack of a better term. No pet names, no petting. None of that, not at work. It was already complicated enough-they had to at least pretend, for everyone's sake, that it was simpler. That it could be simpler.
Jack tipped his head to the side. “That's funny. I thought I just told you to come here.”
Ianto stepped forward. “What's going-what is it?” It must be something he wasn't seeing, something about the dragon-beast, something about him. Or-was Jack hurt? He hadn't even thought of that. He never thought of that. “Are you all right?”
Jack said nothing. He reached forward, slipped a big hand around the back of Ianto's neck, and pulled him in. The kiss was hot and hard, almost painful. Ianto pushed away.
“What are you doing?” Jack still had hold of his neck; their faces were inches apart. Jack was grinning again. “Stop it.” A shove to Jack's chest did no good. Feeling that this was getting out of hand, Ianto tried to twist his head free, but Jack caught hold of his ear and yanked. It hurt. Ianto turned with it, and felt something hard and heavy drop onto his other shoulder. It brushed his throat. Cold metal. With a shock, he realized it was the big gun. “Fucking hell-Jack!”
“You two all right?” That was Tosh, twenty feet off across the car park, staring at them as if they'd both caught on fire. Ianto froze. Jack's hand released his ear, and gave the side of his head a quick stroke.
“Fine,” he called back. “Just settling the details.” He lifted the gun from Ianto's shoulder. It hadn't been pointed at him, Ianto realized. Just resting there, using his shoulder as a shelf. Not all that unreasonable-none of it had been unreasonable, really. He'd overreacted. A quick kiss after a thing like that, was that so strange? Still, he stepped out of arm's reach.
“Someone's going to have to clean this up,” Jack said, turning to look down at the monster's steaming corpse. “I nominate you, Ianto Jones.”
“I-”
“And make it quick. We can't have the locals seeing it.” He turned and gave Ianto the Are you going to challenge me? look. The one that didn't seem to work on Gwen. It always worked on Ianto.
“I'll need...” Ianto stared at the body, trying to imagine how he was going to do this. “God, I don't even know, it's so bloody big.”
“Size doesn't matter,” said Jack merrily. “As I'm sure you've been told before. Just get it cleaned up, Ianto. That's the job.”
He walked away to the SUV, taking Tosh by the elbow and steering her back with him. Alone by the culvert, Ianto realized that he was still holding his gun uselessly in his hand. Had been, the whole time.
Owen wanted the monster for an autopsy, of course, and the whole process involved chains and pulleys and the big lorry they garaged in the basement for occasional jobs like this, but it was done before dawn. Ianto stumbled into his office with his tie pulled loose, his jacket and holster long gone. His shirt was a disaster, covered in shit-colored smears of monster blood. He smelled like a knacker's, and felt ready for one.
“Oh six hundred thirty,” said Jack, from Ianto's desk chair. Ianto jumped and stumbled over the wastepaper basket. There was a click, and his desk light came on. Jack had his boots up on the desk, on the neat stacks of incident reports. He'd wrinkled them, Ianto noticed with irritation.
“What?”
With elaborate care, Jack checked his watch. “Oh six hundred thirty. That's the time. You must be exhausted.”
Ianto pulled his tie over his head, wadded it up, and dropped it onto the edge of the desk. He was exhausted. He was too tired for this, whatever it was, Jack's teasing tone and his too-proprietary manner. Another time, Ianto knew he'd fall for this, be on his knees for it. Willingly. Not tonight.
“I'm going home,” he said. “To sleep. I'll be back in a few-“
Jack was shaking his head. “No way. Sorry, Ianto. We need you here.”
“What-why?”
“You belong here,” Jack said flatly. His gaze was level and blue. “Take a shower, we'll call out for a pizza. You can sleep in the infirmary.”
“What?” The whole night, the insanity of it, had started to snowball. Giant dragon monsters, corpse removal, that stupid twist to his ear, and now what-sleep on a stretcher? Jack was out of his tree.
“Stay here.” Jack's tone was final, the tone of a captain who brooked no refusal.
“Sod off.” Ianto grabbed a clean jacket from the back of a chair, and left.
He went home. To his little flat with its quiet rooms, its empty shelves, its dust. He was raised to be neat, but he was never here, and he had other things to do. Monsters to shoot. Reports to write.
He stood in the shower for ten minutes, stumbled damply to bed, and lay awake. He'd swept straight past fatigue and beached somewhere else, in a strange flat space where he could listen to the early songs of the birds and see, over and over, the grin on Jack's face, the smoke drifting from the mouth of the gun, the long, twitching claws in the bottom of the ditch. Vaguely, he wondered if Jack loved him. He'd always assumed no, but tonight had been different. That kiss, in front of everyone. The command to stay. You belong here, Ianto. Was that what love looked like?
It was stupid and strange, but he couldn't let it go. Finally he gave up and had a peremptory wank, just enough to let him drop the whole bloody thing and fall asleep.
He made it in for three o'clock, yawning and puffy-eyed but in pinstripes and carrying a very tall, very strong cup of coffee. Tosh was on the computer; she watched him walk directly to the espresso machine.
“Two at a time,” she observed. “You look like you need it.”
He nodded somberly, banging grounds from the filter.
“You're late,” she said, going back to the screen. “Everyone else is already here.”
“Late?” A lifetime's phobia of lateness, disorder, and disorganization sent a throb of adrenaline through him. “Late for what?”
“You didn't get the call?” She was slipping off the stool, turning from the computer, gathering up a few files. “Jack called everyone in. He's got a new case.” She started toward the conference room, then paused. “Ianto, last night-I just wondered, is everything all right?”
He looked at her from under his brows. Willing her to stop talking.
“I just mean, it seemed like Jack was...it looked like it hurt, what he was doing.”
“Don't know what you mean.”
She stared at him. He kept his eyes down. The machine sputtered, and a few drops of boiling water hit his hand. He didn't move.
“When you were at the culvert,” Tosh went on, earnest and dogged, as if somehow she thought he really didn't understand her. “He was holding your head down.”
“Oh, that.” He smiled, and gave a little laugh. “Wasn't anything. I had something in my eye.”
She opened her mouth, and he abandoned the machine and brushed past her. “In the conference room, are we?”
He was conscious of holding himself stiffly, his shoulders pulled to his ears, his head down, everything about him saying oh-so-clearly, as it always had, Nothing to see, nothing to see, move along.
“So,” said Gwen, “what's this new case?” She was slumped in her chair with a plaster on her forehead and circles under her eyes, eight stone of bad attitude and sleep deprivation. They'd all been in a couple of hours already, Ianto learned. Everyone but him had got the call. His mobile was in his other jacket, in the trailer, in the basement. Covered in monster blood.
Owen looked...well, he looked like Owen, pretty much the same as ever. He'd managed not to get banged up by the monster, and he didn't need to sleep, so he just sat there looking pale and drawn, with his long white fingers tapping the underside of the table. Tosh looked tired, but not shattered. She had good staying power, better than the rest of them. Something to do with keeping a low profile, or else she plugged herself into the same socket as the servers.
Jack looked great. He sat at the head of the table, hands spread to grip its edge at either side, leaning forward as if he were about to pitch them all a really killer sales plan. He was practically glowing with energy, his eyes alight, his cheeks pink. As Ianto watched, he brought his hands together in a single loud clap like a rifle report. Everyone but Owen jumped.
“Jesus, Jack-“ Gwen was pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly trying for self-control. “We're all a little tired today, so could you please just tell us what's going on?”
“We're a family,” said Jack, and then he smiled at them as if he'd just said the most genius thing in the world. They all sat staring at him.
“Er,” said Owen, his eyes cutting left to Ianto, then across to Tosh.
Gwen took a breath, and templed her fingers beneath her chin. “And?” she prompted.
Jack shook his head, as if they still weren't getting the fabulousness of what he'd said. “We're a family. Torchwood. We work together, we belong together. We're a team.”
There was another small silence.
“I fail to see,” said Owen, “what's so meeting-worthy about this.”
Jack held up a finger. “I've made a decision. I'm the leader, I'm the head of the family. Basically, kids, I'm the boss.” He paused to smile at each of them in turn. “From now on, we stick together. And we stay here.”
“We what?” Tosh leaned forward, a look of complete bewilderment on her face.
“We stay,” Jack said, taking something from his pocket and holding it up. “Here.” It was a small, flat device, like a remote control. He showed it to them, like a magician misdirecting attention, then thumbed a button. From somewhere above, there was a low, heavy whump. Then another, and another. “We don't leave.”
Gwen opened her mouth, looked at Ianto, then looked back at Jack. “That's not funny.”
“What is that thing?” Owen was squinting at the device.
“It's the master key,” said Toshiko. “It controls the Hub. All the systems.” She sounded flat, almost absent, as if she were running ahead, chasing her thoughts down to an inevitable conclusion and not liking what it was. “Jack just locked us in.”
“Locked us-what the hell? He can't do that. Why the hell would you do that?”
“I told you.” Jack slipped the device back into his pocket, and spoke slowly, as if they were backward children. “We belong together. No more running around in the world, getting hurt, getting shot-” He waved a hand at Owen. “Or worse. I care too much about all of you to let that happen.”
“To let what happen?” Gwen was sitting up straight now. “Jack, what are you going on about?”
“Sometimes,” Jack said, “a leader has to make hard decisions. I just made one. Cope and deal.” He sat down and leaned back in his chair, his legs crossed expansively at the knee. “This meeting's over. You're dismissed.”
“Dismissed to do what?” Owen looked around at them. “Are you completely out of your-“
“Dismissed,” Jack repeated. “That means leave. Go do your job, Dr. Harper. If you're still sitting there at the count of three, I'll come over and start breaking fingers.”
They gaped at him.
“One.”
“Jack, this is insane!” Gwen stood up, her hand out. “Give me that thing.”
“Two. Get out, Gwen.”
“I really think-“ Ianto started to say.
“You can't do this!” Owen was on his feet now too, his voice raised, and Ianto felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Bad, bad. Somehow this had gone very bad.
“Three,” said Jack, and then he swung up out of his chair and started for Owen. Ianto leapt up; he was between them. Jack went around, but he stepped sideways, into Jack's way.
“Jack. Jack!” He got a hand up against Jack's chest, had to backpedal as Jack kept going, ignoring him. “Jack, stop. He's going. Owen, get out.” Bad, bad, bad.
Behind him, he could hear Gwen and Tosh hesitating, caught between the urge to help him and the fear that anything they did would make this worse. He couldn't hear Owen at all, but then, Owen didn't breathe.
Jack stopped. Ianto pressed his palm into Jack's chest. Warm, solid. He'd felt it many times before. Never like this. Never afraid that violence was about to be done.
“He's going,” Ianto said again, and thank God, Owen went. Didn't say anything, but Ianto heard him go, and then Tosh. Leaving Gwen at the end of the table, waiting for him.
“Don't ever disobey my orders,” Jack breathed, his eyes on Gwen, then flicking briefly to Ianto, almost as an afterthought. As if Ianto were a foregone conclusion, a faithful retainer he could afford to ignore. Which, well. “Tell them that. If any of you disobey me, I won't count to three again.”
“No,” Gwen said. There was an angry catch in her voice. “What will you do, Jack?”
Jack took a deep breath, and for a moment he looked terribly, ferociously happy. “I'll do whatever it takes. To discipline you.”
“Ianto,” Gwen said. “Ianto, come on. Let's go.”
He stayed there a moment, his hand to Jack's chest, searching for something in Jack's face. A window, a chink in the armor. Some sign that this wasn't really happening, not really. Thinking, It's me, Jack. Ianto Jones, faithful retainer. What the hell is going on?
Jack didn't even look at him. He stared over Ianto's shoulder, at Gwen.
“Ianto,” Gwen said again.
Ianto dropped his hand, turned, and followed her out.
“What the fuck is going on?” They were in the autopsy room; Owen was whispering. The lights made him look more dead than usual. “What the fuck is wrong with Jack?”
Tosh, consulting her handheld, shook her head. “I don't know. He's locked us in, he's locked down the armory and the electrical closets. He's killed the phones, cut us off from the network...and I'm getting strange readings. Almost like rift energy, but...”
“But what?”
“But they're coming from Jack.” She looked up at them, her eyes wide. “How is that possible?”
“The monster,” Ianto said. “Something about the monster. Did it bite him, or, or, do anything--”
Owen was shaking his head. “Not the monster. Definitely not the monster. I autopsied it. Cut it into bits of stew meat. No rift energy on it, nothing weird about it at all.”
“Nothing weird,” Gwen repeated, one eyebrow raised. “Giant, slavering dragon-beast running on all fours through Cardiff, trying to eat people.”
“Well, nothing apart from that.”
“It's not the monster,” Tosh confirmed. “I checked Owen's report, there's no sign of anything like this kind of energy coming off it. It must be something else.”
“Something else from the rift.” Gwen chewed her lip. “Did anything else come through?”
Later, Ianto would think back on that moment, and on the moment in the SUV. The memory would seem much clearer, much more obvious, in hindsight.
“No,” he said. “Nothing else. Just the giant slavering dragon-beast.”
“I didn't see anything,” Owen said. “Maybe another rift?”
“I'd have caught it,” said Tosh.
“Look,” said Gwen. “The important thing is, something's wrong with Jack. He's locked us in here, he's threatened us-”
“He said he cares about us,” Tosh put in. “Too much to let us go.”
“Too much to let us leave the building,” Owen said bitterly. “Me, I'd be fine with some neglect.”
“Jack's sick,” said Gwen. “We need to find out what's wrong with him. Someone needs to get close to him. Talk to him.”
There was a pause, and then Ianto noticed they were all looking at him. The autopsy room felt suddenly very small.
“Oh,” he said. “Right. Okay.”
He found some papers that needed to be signed, just regular workaday requisitions stuff. They all stood around watching while he foamed milk for a cappuccino.
“Check his pupils,” Owen said in a low voice. “Respiration-see if he's breathing funny. Sweating, shaking, anything like that. Any odd smells. And if you get close enough for a quick heart rate check-“
Ianto stared at him.
“Right, sorry.” Owen backed off, his lips compressing. “Anything you can find out, just let me know.”
“Don't do anything brave or stupid,” Gwen said. “Really, Ianto. We don't know what we're dealing with, we just want a little information.” He nodded, wiping down the foam pipe. “Be careful, all right?”
“Maybe you should take a gun.” Tosh shrugged when he looked at her. “Just to be safe.”
“I'm not shooting him.” It had already occurred to him, but carrying a gun into Jack's office for some routine paperwork would give the game away. Besides, he was fairly certain the gun would only end up in Jack's hands anyway. It wasn't a theory he cared to test. “I'll be fine.”
“We'll be right down here,” Owen said, handing him the saucer. “Yell if you need help.”
Ianto gave him a tight smile, adjusted the cup on the saucer, and picked up the papers. Then he had to wait for Gwen and Owen to realize they were standing in his way, and get out of it. “Thank you.”
“Be careful,” Gwen repeated, and he nodded, cleared his throat, and started up the stairs to Jack's office.
The door was closed, the shutters drawn. He hesitated, wondering if a knock would bring Jack out in a rage, then reminded himself that that was part of what he was here to find out. At least the pinstripes weren't his favorite suit. He steeled himself, gripped the saucer, and knocked with two knuckles.
“Come.” That was Jack, sounding relatively sane. Ianto risked a quick look back down to the first floor, which seemed very far away. The others were down there, supposedly going about their work but in fact clustered suspiciously close to the base of the stairs. Gwen glanced up, and their eyes met. He turned and opened the door.
The office was dark except for the desk lamp, which was turned to the wall, and the glow of Jack's computer screen. Jack himself was in his chair, turning something over in his hands and studying it.
“Some papers for you to sign.” Ianto tried to sound normal, brisk and impersonal. The Sir felt closer to the surface than ever. If you didn't say it when you were shagging the man, did you say it when he went mad and took you hostage? Maybe. “And I thought maybe a cappuccino.” He lifted it with a faint, self-deprecating smile.
Jack looked up, looked at the coffee, and smiled. “You're not trying to drug me, are you?”
“What? No-no.” They'd discussed it; it had seemed too risky, possibly too pre-emptive. Thank God. “Just coffee.” He smiled, unsure how to play this. How conscious Jack was of his own strange behavior. “A bit of a peace offering, I guess.”
Jack's smile turned quizzical.
“For that...all that, in there.” Ianto gestured vaguely toward the conference room. “I'll just put this down here.” He stepped forward and set the cup on the edge of Jack's desk. It also allowed him to see what Jack was fiddling with beneath the desk. His pistol.
“Close the door, will you?” Jack said.
Ianto stood frozen. “I just have,” he said finally, raising the papers. “Just some quick things to sign.”
“Close the door.”
Ianto took a breath, nodded, and went back to close the door.
“Lock it,” said Jack. His attention was on the gun. Ianto could hear the small snicking sounds of bullets going into the cartridge.
“I really should get back to work.”
“Ianto.” Jack looked up, and flashed him a grin. “It can wait. You, on the other hand.” He left that hanging, finished loading the gun, and put it on the desktop, within reach. “You need immediate attention.”
“No, really, I'm fine-“
“Come here.” Jack raised a finger before Ianto could say anything. “And I think we both know by now that I don't like having to repeat myself.”
“No,” Ianto said automatically. “Of course not.” He flipped the deadbolt on the door, and walked across to Jack's desk. The room seemed very quiet, the gun very big. He had to fight to keep his eyes on Jack's face. What had Owen told him to look for? Enlarged pupils, sweating, trembling hands. Signs of a toxic substance in the bloodstream. Jack didn't seem to have any of the symptoms. Ianto, on the other hand, felt reasonably sure he was showing all of them.
“Ianto Jones,” Jack said in a speculative tone, sitting back and letting his hands fall to his thighs. “Did I ever tell you what I thought the first time I saw you?”
“Yeah.” Ianto smiled weakly. “You thought I was a pushy little twat and you were never going to hire me.”
“No, that's what I told you. I thought you had the prettiest mouth in the empire.” Jack smiled. “And that I was never going to hire you.”
“And look at us now.”
“Yeah.” Jack nodded, swiveling in his chair so that he faced Ianto, his legs spread, an open invitation that under other circumstances, Ianto would have been happy to receive. “Look at us now. We're a team.”
“We are that.” Ianto dragged his gaze from Jack's face to the papers in his hand. “Speaking of which-“
Jack leaned forward and took Ianto's wrist in his hand. His touch was gentle. “Forget those,” he said.
“Oh, I can't forget them, we have to file these with the London office by this evening or we won't be able to geargh.” Jack's hand had tightened, his thumb digging into Ianto's tendon. “Right, forgotten.” He let them fall, seesawing to the floor. “What papers?” Feebly, he laughed.
“That's better.” Jack pulled, and Ianto tried manfully not to resist, to let himself be drawn down but not completely down, not onto his knees, which was clearly where Jack wanted him. He succeeded in perching awkwardly on the corner of Jack's desk, on top of some probably-very-important papers. Jack let go of his wrist, sat back, and studied him. “Ianto, it's almost like you're avoiding me.”
“What?” He had to resist the urge to rub his wrist. “No, not at all. I came up here, didn't I?”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Look,” Ianto said, trying desperately to think. “It's just...are you sure you're feeling all right?”
“Why wouldn't I be feeling all right?”
“I don't know.” There was a look in Jack's eye now, a look Ianto didn't like. It was close to the look he'd had in the conference room, before he'd gone for Owen. “Jack, listen to me. It's me, all right? Ianto. You trust me.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. There was a long pause, and then he nodded. Ianto breathed again.
“It's just,” he said, leaning forward, willing his fear and sincerity to break through whatever madness was going on here. “You're acting strange. You locked us in. You threatened Owen.”
Jack took a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh. “I'm disappointed, Ianto.”
“I think you're sick, Jack. I think something's wrong with you.”
“You do.” Jack looked away, his jaw tightening. “Is that what you think?”
Ianto said nothing.
“I see,” said Jack. He looked briefly at the gun, then away. “You think I'm sick, you think I'm crazy. Because I love you.”
Ianto caught his breath, then swallowed hard. He had to clear his throat to speak. “I just think-“
“You think someone else should be making the decisions.” Jack's chin was up, his voice was rising. “You're not a military man, Ianto, but maybe you know what the military calls that. Mutiny. You know what the punishment is for mutiny?”
“Jack, listen to me.”
“It's very severe. It's about as severe as it gets. It's like desertion, or treason. When a man betrays everyone he cares about, everything he stands for, what does he deserve, Ianto?”
Ianto blinked hard, and put his hand on Jack's knee. “Please stop this.” Jack knocked his hand away and Ianto turned it, caught hold of Jack's wrist, and quickly, before Jack could react, leaned down and kissed him. It was awkward but heartfelt, and the smell of Jack's body, the taste of his mouth, were wonderfully familiar. For a moment Ianto closed his eyes and let himself go, let himself swing in the breeze.
Then Jack grabbed him by the hair, jerked his head back, and yanked him to his knees. The desk lamp was hot and bright beside his face. His eyes watered, his mouth gaped open. The angle of his throat kept any sound from leaking out.
Jack's face was close to his, his breath hot on Ianto's cheek.
“Are you a traitor?” he whispered. Ianto choked out a small animal sound, and Jack pulled his head down, corkscrewing him to the floor. “Can I trust you, Ianto Jones?”
Yes, he tried to say. Yes, you can trust me. You're mad, but I still love you, still serve you. I'm just that pathetic. At the same time, he knew that if Jack didn't take the gun from the desk and blow his head off, he'd do whatever he could to get out from under him. Mr. and Mrs. Jones hadn't raised any suicides.
He was practically full-length on the floor now, gasping and blinking, vaguely aware that Jack was straddling him, a knee on either side of Ianto's hips. He could smell Jack's body, his breath, those latter-day pheromones that could pique his body's interest even with a hand around his throat.
Jack noticed, of course. He shifted, glanced down, and loosened his hold on Ianto's hair. When Ianto's vision cleared, he found Jack regarding him speculatively.
“Bad dog,” Jack said, shifting again. His tone pleased, a smile starting up on his lips. Ianto swallowed, coughed, and tried to smile back.
“You can trust me,” he said.
“Of course I can,” Jack said, and kissed him. It was real kissing this time, not the hurried, half-participatory clinches they'd had the last few times. It was the kind Gwen had caught them at, heated and messy, buttons popping off and rolling away, fingers in each other's hair, the clack of teeth and the hard push of Jack's tongue, like being fucked in the mouth. Ianto heard himself make a ragged panting sound, heard himself say the kinds of ridiculous pleading things he always said when Jack was on top of him. Please God yes fuck, that sort of thing. Begging for something he knew better than to want, but Christ in heaven, he still wanted it.
They wrestled briefly on the floor, on top of the requisition forms, until Ianto realized he was half-naked, his shirt wide open and Jack's hand on his belt, undoing him as easily as opening an envelope. Bad, bad, bad. And getting worse.
“Wait-“ Ianto caught Jack's hand. “Wait, we can't do this.”
“Oh, but we can.” Jack grinned, the crazy devil-may-care grin. “We're consenting adults, Ianto. We can do whatever we want. And I want...” He cupped Ianto's cock, his palm big and warm. “Mmm, nice.”
“Yes, but.” Ianto's mind was blank. “But the others-“
“Fuck 'em.” Jack paused. “Actually, maybe we could-“
Dear God, no. Ianto felt his interest shrivel. “We agreed, nothing obvious at work. It's too complicated.”
Jack frowned. “That's ridiculous. I'm the boss, I decide what we can and can't do. Besides, Gwen shagged Owen.”
“That's not the point.” He was hurriedly doing up his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. “The point is, I report to you. It's bad enough we're doing this in the first place.”
Jack's expression had shifted; he looked wary, cagey. “A minute ago you were climbing me like a tree.”
“I...forgot myself.” He was flat on his back, Jack kneeling astride him-how was he going to get out? He started to squirm free, and was relieved when Jack didn't pin him down. In a minute he was staggering to his feet, pressing the remains of his erection down with the heel of his hand, shoving his shirt into his trousers. “I'm sorry, it's just we agreed about this.”
“And now I'm saying, let's agree on something else.” Jack was rising with him, reaching out to catch hold of his sleeve. “You want it, I want it. We agree.”
“I don't.” Ianto pulled his sleeve away. “I'm sorry.” He was straightening his cuff, so he didn't see it coming until too late. Jack came at him from the side, hard and fast, sending them both into the wall, cracking Ianto's head into the plaster. Ianto let out an involuntary yelp. Jack's hands were at his belt again.
“I'm sorry too,” Jack said, and bit Ianto's ear. Ianto yelled, and Jack swung him sideways into the desk. It caught him in the diaphragm, winding him. He lost his legs for a minute, long enough for Jack to get behind him, kick his feet apart, and shove his shirt and jacket up to his neck. “But I'm the boss. God, you've got a nice back.”
Ianto, heaving for breath, knocking papers and Post-its and the cappuccino to the floor, felt Jack's hands tugging at his belt loops and thought, He's going to rape me. It was a flat certainty, unrelated to the horror he was feeling, or to the mounting pain and pressure in his chest and belly as he pulled over and over for air that wouldn't come. He hadn't seen this coming. Really hadn't, not this.
Jack said something, he didn't catch what it was-he'd lost track of details and was scrabbling on the desk for something to use as a weapon when there was a pistol crack, and the door flew open on one hinge. Gwen stood in the frame, her gun leveled at him. No, not at him. At Jack. Behind her, Owen with his gun. Behind him, Tosh with no gun at all.
Don't shoot, he tried to say, but all that came out was a gagging sound.
“So it's a mutiny,” Jack said, from somewhere above and behind him.
“Let him go,” said Gwen. She was pale, with two spots of color high in her cheeks.
“Okay,” said Jack, and at that moment Ianto's diaphragm unlocked and he took his first deep, heaving breath, like a man coming up from a free dive.
“Ianto,” Gwen said, staring at him. “Are you okay?”
Forget me, he wanted to say, watch out for Jack. Watch out for-
Jack took the pistol from the desk beside Ianto's hand-inches away, it had been-and held it to his ear.
“Surrender your weapons,” he said. “Or I'll turn his head into a pencil cup.”
There was a pause. An eternity.
“Fucking hell,” said Owen.
“Jack,” said Gwen, her tone despairing.
“You're all traitors,” said Jack. “Put down your weapons now.”
Gwen first, Owen last, they put down their guns. Tosh clung to the railing behind them, her face a mask of shock.
“Well now,” said Jack, nudging Ianto to one side, letting him slide off the desk and crumple to the floor. “It looks like we have a situation on our hands.”
Continued in the next post.
Author: witling
Parings/characters: Jack/Ianto
Disclaimer: No infringement intended, pure joy.
Summary: “Jack's sick,” said Gwen. “We need to find out what's wrong with him. Someone needs to get close to him. Talk to him.” There was a pause, and then Ianto noticed they were all looking at him. The autopsy room felt suddenly very small. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Okay.”
Spoilers: I'm not terrifically sure about episode names, but up to mid-S2 including A Day in the Death etc.
Rating: NC17
Notes: I'm posting here in response to a couple of requests from people who've asked for this to be up somewhere public. It's a thank-you fic for a friend who requested this pairing.
Later, when it was all over, he demolished half a bottle of whiskey and explained it all, all the ins and outs, the reasons it was unimportant, to Owen. It seemed important that he do that. Explain it to someone.
“The thing is,” he said, struggling to keep his eyes open, to keep himself upright in the booth, “the thing is, the thing is, it didn't change him. You said so, you said it just made him more himself. It was still him.” He pointed, because that was the important thing. Where the hell was his whiskey? Owen was looking at him, his brow furrowed. “Still him. Just more so. Just more so than usual.”
“You're not much of a drinking man, are you, mate?”
“I'm fine.” He fumbled for his glass, which was emptier than he remembered. Faintly, he could feel heat from his split lip. “Wait-did you drink this?”
“Time for bed,” Owen said, reaching across the table. He slipped a hand under Ianto's arm, and for a dead man, he was very strong. “I'm calling you a taxi.”
“The funny thing is,” Ianto muttered, letting himself be led out of the pub. “The funny thing is, he'd never say under ordinary circumst...circumsit... He'd never say that any other way.”
It was a tiny little thing, like the flame of a single birthday candle, that came floating out of the rift when no-one was looking.
They weren't looking because they were busy firing silver-jacketed rounds into the giant gila monster that had come out of the rift at the same moment. The one that was bent on making Cardiff's main shopping district its own personal buffet. It took all the bullets they could throw at it, shook off a lather of frothy brown blood, and set off at what looked like a casual lope: thanks for the welcome, I'm a bit peckish, think I'll just go see what's in the back cupboards.
“Gwen, Owen!” Jack barked, snapping around and sprinting for the SUV. Tosh was already there, disappearing into the backseat and the blue glow of the computer. “Tosh, tell me how to get ahead of it.”
“Ahead of it?” She was stabbing at the keyboard when Owen and Ianto piled in beside her, crowding her into the computer arm. “Ow! Get off me, for God's sake.”
“Where's it going, Tosh?” They were peeling out, the doors still open, Jack's foot through the floor. The tires squealed and smoked. Ianto, last in, flailed for the door handle. Later, he'd think of that moment, when he'd seen that brief yellow spark visit the top of the door, then drift inside, toward the driver's seat. Toward the back of Jack's neck. At the time, he didn't even really register it. Everything was so confused-there'd been sparks from the bullets, the muzzle flares, the glare of the streetlights. There was no time to ponder a spare spark, an optical illusion produced by stress and darkness.
He heaved, the door slammed. He was tossed sideways into Owen, who didn't seem to notice the elbow in his ribs.
“Downtown,” Tosh reported, tracing the screen with her finger. “It's going downtown.”
“I always hated that song,” Jack muttered, and with a wrench of the wheel and a stomach-slewing swerve, they were headed downtown too.
Ianto, struggling to get his gun back into its holster, trying not to bruise Owen, thinking ahead to the situation downtown when a komodo dragon the size of a Volkswagen bus burst onto the scene and started eating people, didn't think twice about the spark.
It took three rounds from the big gun to put the beast down, and when it was done they all stood on the top of the slope, staring at its torn and twitching carcass in the bottom of the drainage culvert. Breathing hard, regrouping. Gwen had a bloodied gouge across her forehead, her empty pistol in her fist. Tosh was holding a twisted length of pipe; she'd grabbed it up when the thing had yanked her gun from her hand with its long forked tongue, and literally eaten it. The pipe was steaming, disintegrating-as they stood there, half of the length fell off and hit the pavement, and they all jumped.
All except Jack. He had the big gun in his hands, the muzzle still smoking, and he was grinning. Ianto caught sight of the grin, and couldn't look away. It was perfect Jack, quintessential Jack, manic and cocky, flushed with success. You couldn't fail to respond to it, to be transfixed by it. Not if you were Ianto Jones, at least. Office boy, sidekick, hero worshipper.
“Down, boy,” Jack said, and for a terrible moment Ianto thought it was directed at him, an admonition for the adoring look he'd just been caught out giving-but Jack was still looking at the monster. “Bad dog.” He laughed, slung the gun up against his shoulder, and turned on his heel. “That was kind of fun.”
Gwen stared at him. Blood was running into her eye, but she didn't wipe it away. He gave her a paternal smile, then reached down and pinched her ass. She jumped again, and almost dropped her gun.
“Jesus Christ, Jack.” Tosh swung the rest of the pipe into the culvert and stepped between them. “Gwen, let's get that fixed up, shall we?” She gave Owen a look, and he kick-started guiltily.
“Right, sorry. Come on, my kit's in the car. I'll stitch you up nice and neat, Gwennie. No visible seams.”
The three of them started for the SUV. Ianto lingered, fiddling with his gun, ejecting the cartridge to verify that yes, indeed, he had no bullets left. He'd fired every one when the thing had come at him full tilt, its mouth gaping like a red-and-black view into Dante's second circle, and of course the bullets had made no difference-it had run right over him, knocking him sideways and silly without even noticing he was there.
Jack was looking at him. Ianto dropped his hands and tried to look alert. He had to repress the automatic Sir that rose to his lips, product of all his upbringing and training. When you were shagging the man, you didn't call him Sir. Except sometimes, when you were both in the mood and things were clearly tending that way and there was nobody else around to hear what was or wasn't said.
Jack opened his mouth, then paused, his eyes narrowing. This was where he'd say, Are you okay? Ianto had a quick answer and a smile prepared.
“Come here,” said Jack.
Ianto paused. This wasn't how the script was supposed to go. It wasn't like the others didn't know what was going on-for God's sake, Gwen had walked in on them with Ianto's hands down Jack's pants, Owen had made comments about stocking flavored condoms in the infirmary, the bastard-but they had an agreement. A tacit one, maybe, but that was the kind Ianto liked. They agreed to follow protocol. No public displays of affection, for lack of a better term. No pet names, no petting. None of that, not at work. It was already complicated enough-they had to at least pretend, for everyone's sake, that it was simpler. That it could be simpler.
Jack tipped his head to the side. “That's funny. I thought I just told you to come here.”
Ianto stepped forward. “What's going-what is it?” It must be something he wasn't seeing, something about the dragon-beast, something about him. Or-was Jack hurt? He hadn't even thought of that. He never thought of that. “Are you all right?”
Jack said nothing. He reached forward, slipped a big hand around the back of Ianto's neck, and pulled him in. The kiss was hot and hard, almost painful. Ianto pushed away.
“What are you doing?” Jack still had hold of his neck; their faces were inches apart. Jack was grinning again. “Stop it.” A shove to Jack's chest did no good. Feeling that this was getting out of hand, Ianto tried to twist his head free, but Jack caught hold of his ear and yanked. It hurt. Ianto turned with it, and felt something hard and heavy drop onto his other shoulder. It brushed his throat. Cold metal. With a shock, he realized it was the big gun. “Fucking hell-Jack!”
“You two all right?” That was Tosh, twenty feet off across the car park, staring at them as if they'd both caught on fire. Ianto froze. Jack's hand released his ear, and gave the side of his head a quick stroke.
“Fine,” he called back. “Just settling the details.” He lifted the gun from Ianto's shoulder. It hadn't been pointed at him, Ianto realized. Just resting there, using his shoulder as a shelf. Not all that unreasonable-none of it had been unreasonable, really. He'd overreacted. A quick kiss after a thing like that, was that so strange? Still, he stepped out of arm's reach.
“Someone's going to have to clean this up,” Jack said, turning to look down at the monster's steaming corpse. “I nominate you, Ianto Jones.”
“I-”
“And make it quick. We can't have the locals seeing it.” He turned and gave Ianto the Are you going to challenge me? look. The one that didn't seem to work on Gwen. It always worked on Ianto.
“I'll need...” Ianto stared at the body, trying to imagine how he was going to do this. “God, I don't even know, it's so bloody big.”
“Size doesn't matter,” said Jack merrily. “As I'm sure you've been told before. Just get it cleaned up, Ianto. That's the job.”
He walked away to the SUV, taking Tosh by the elbow and steering her back with him. Alone by the culvert, Ianto realized that he was still holding his gun uselessly in his hand. Had been, the whole time.
Owen wanted the monster for an autopsy, of course, and the whole process involved chains and pulleys and the big lorry they garaged in the basement for occasional jobs like this, but it was done before dawn. Ianto stumbled into his office with his tie pulled loose, his jacket and holster long gone. His shirt was a disaster, covered in shit-colored smears of monster blood. He smelled like a knacker's, and felt ready for one.
“Oh six hundred thirty,” said Jack, from Ianto's desk chair. Ianto jumped and stumbled over the wastepaper basket. There was a click, and his desk light came on. Jack had his boots up on the desk, on the neat stacks of incident reports. He'd wrinkled them, Ianto noticed with irritation.
“What?”
With elaborate care, Jack checked his watch. “Oh six hundred thirty. That's the time. You must be exhausted.”
Ianto pulled his tie over his head, wadded it up, and dropped it onto the edge of the desk. He was exhausted. He was too tired for this, whatever it was, Jack's teasing tone and his too-proprietary manner. Another time, Ianto knew he'd fall for this, be on his knees for it. Willingly. Not tonight.
“I'm going home,” he said. “To sleep. I'll be back in a few-“
Jack was shaking his head. “No way. Sorry, Ianto. We need you here.”
“What-why?”
“You belong here,” Jack said flatly. His gaze was level and blue. “Take a shower, we'll call out for a pizza. You can sleep in the infirmary.”
“What?” The whole night, the insanity of it, had started to snowball. Giant dragon monsters, corpse removal, that stupid twist to his ear, and now what-sleep on a stretcher? Jack was out of his tree.
“Stay here.” Jack's tone was final, the tone of a captain who brooked no refusal.
“Sod off.” Ianto grabbed a clean jacket from the back of a chair, and left.
He went home. To his little flat with its quiet rooms, its empty shelves, its dust. He was raised to be neat, but he was never here, and he had other things to do. Monsters to shoot. Reports to write.
He stood in the shower for ten minutes, stumbled damply to bed, and lay awake. He'd swept straight past fatigue and beached somewhere else, in a strange flat space where he could listen to the early songs of the birds and see, over and over, the grin on Jack's face, the smoke drifting from the mouth of the gun, the long, twitching claws in the bottom of the ditch. Vaguely, he wondered if Jack loved him. He'd always assumed no, but tonight had been different. That kiss, in front of everyone. The command to stay. You belong here, Ianto. Was that what love looked like?
It was stupid and strange, but he couldn't let it go. Finally he gave up and had a peremptory wank, just enough to let him drop the whole bloody thing and fall asleep.
He made it in for three o'clock, yawning and puffy-eyed but in pinstripes and carrying a very tall, very strong cup of coffee. Tosh was on the computer; she watched him walk directly to the espresso machine.
“Two at a time,” she observed. “You look like you need it.”
He nodded somberly, banging grounds from the filter.
“You're late,” she said, going back to the screen. “Everyone else is already here.”
“Late?” A lifetime's phobia of lateness, disorder, and disorganization sent a throb of adrenaline through him. “Late for what?”
“You didn't get the call?” She was slipping off the stool, turning from the computer, gathering up a few files. “Jack called everyone in. He's got a new case.” She started toward the conference room, then paused. “Ianto, last night-I just wondered, is everything all right?”
He looked at her from under his brows. Willing her to stop talking.
“I just mean, it seemed like Jack was...it looked like it hurt, what he was doing.”
“Don't know what you mean.”
She stared at him. He kept his eyes down. The machine sputtered, and a few drops of boiling water hit his hand. He didn't move.
“When you were at the culvert,” Tosh went on, earnest and dogged, as if somehow she thought he really didn't understand her. “He was holding your head down.”
“Oh, that.” He smiled, and gave a little laugh. “Wasn't anything. I had something in my eye.”
She opened her mouth, and he abandoned the machine and brushed past her. “In the conference room, are we?”
He was conscious of holding himself stiffly, his shoulders pulled to his ears, his head down, everything about him saying oh-so-clearly, as it always had, Nothing to see, nothing to see, move along.
“So,” said Gwen, “what's this new case?” She was slumped in her chair with a plaster on her forehead and circles under her eyes, eight stone of bad attitude and sleep deprivation. They'd all been in a couple of hours already, Ianto learned. Everyone but him had got the call. His mobile was in his other jacket, in the trailer, in the basement. Covered in monster blood.
Owen looked...well, he looked like Owen, pretty much the same as ever. He'd managed not to get banged up by the monster, and he didn't need to sleep, so he just sat there looking pale and drawn, with his long white fingers tapping the underside of the table. Tosh looked tired, but not shattered. She had good staying power, better than the rest of them. Something to do with keeping a low profile, or else she plugged herself into the same socket as the servers.
Jack looked great. He sat at the head of the table, hands spread to grip its edge at either side, leaning forward as if he were about to pitch them all a really killer sales plan. He was practically glowing with energy, his eyes alight, his cheeks pink. As Ianto watched, he brought his hands together in a single loud clap like a rifle report. Everyone but Owen jumped.
“Jesus, Jack-“ Gwen was pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly trying for self-control. “We're all a little tired today, so could you please just tell us what's going on?”
“We're a family,” said Jack, and then he smiled at them as if he'd just said the most genius thing in the world. They all sat staring at him.
“Er,” said Owen, his eyes cutting left to Ianto, then across to Tosh.
Gwen took a breath, and templed her fingers beneath her chin. “And?” she prompted.
Jack shook his head, as if they still weren't getting the fabulousness of what he'd said. “We're a family. Torchwood. We work together, we belong together. We're a team.”
There was another small silence.
“I fail to see,” said Owen, “what's so meeting-worthy about this.”
Jack held up a finger. “I've made a decision. I'm the leader, I'm the head of the family. Basically, kids, I'm the boss.” He paused to smile at each of them in turn. “From now on, we stick together. And we stay here.”
“We what?” Tosh leaned forward, a look of complete bewilderment on her face.
“We stay,” Jack said, taking something from his pocket and holding it up. “Here.” It was a small, flat device, like a remote control. He showed it to them, like a magician misdirecting attention, then thumbed a button. From somewhere above, there was a low, heavy whump. Then another, and another. “We don't leave.”
Gwen opened her mouth, looked at Ianto, then looked back at Jack. “That's not funny.”
“What is that thing?” Owen was squinting at the device.
“It's the master key,” said Toshiko. “It controls the Hub. All the systems.” She sounded flat, almost absent, as if she were running ahead, chasing her thoughts down to an inevitable conclusion and not liking what it was. “Jack just locked us in.”
“Locked us-what the hell? He can't do that. Why the hell would you do that?”
“I told you.” Jack slipped the device back into his pocket, and spoke slowly, as if they were backward children. “We belong together. No more running around in the world, getting hurt, getting shot-” He waved a hand at Owen. “Or worse. I care too much about all of you to let that happen.”
“To let what happen?” Gwen was sitting up straight now. “Jack, what are you going on about?”
“Sometimes,” Jack said, “a leader has to make hard decisions. I just made one. Cope and deal.” He sat down and leaned back in his chair, his legs crossed expansively at the knee. “This meeting's over. You're dismissed.”
“Dismissed to do what?” Owen looked around at them. “Are you completely out of your-“
“Dismissed,” Jack repeated. “That means leave. Go do your job, Dr. Harper. If you're still sitting there at the count of three, I'll come over and start breaking fingers.”
They gaped at him.
“One.”
“Jack, this is insane!” Gwen stood up, her hand out. “Give me that thing.”
“Two. Get out, Gwen.”
“I really think-“ Ianto started to say.
“You can't do this!” Owen was on his feet now too, his voice raised, and Ianto felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Bad, bad. Somehow this had gone very bad.
“Three,” said Jack, and then he swung up out of his chair and started for Owen. Ianto leapt up; he was between them. Jack went around, but he stepped sideways, into Jack's way.
“Jack. Jack!” He got a hand up against Jack's chest, had to backpedal as Jack kept going, ignoring him. “Jack, stop. He's going. Owen, get out.” Bad, bad, bad.
Behind him, he could hear Gwen and Tosh hesitating, caught between the urge to help him and the fear that anything they did would make this worse. He couldn't hear Owen at all, but then, Owen didn't breathe.
Jack stopped. Ianto pressed his palm into Jack's chest. Warm, solid. He'd felt it many times before. Never like this. Never afraid that violence was about to be done.
“He's going,” Ianto said again, and thank God, Owen went. Didn't say anything, but Ianto heard him go, and then Tosh. Leaving Gwen at the end of the table, waiting for him.
“Don't ever disobey my orders,” Jack breathed, his eyes on Gwen, then flicking briefly to Ianto, almost as an afterthought. As if Ianto were a foregone conclusion, a faithful retainer he could afford to ignore. Which, well. “Tell them that. If any of you disobey me, I won't count to three again.”
“No,” Gwen said. There was an angry catch in her voice. “What will you do, Jack?”
Jack took a deep breath, and for a moment he looked terribly, ferociously happy. “I'll do whatever it takes. To discipline you.”
“Ianto,” Gwen said. “Ianto, come on. Let's go.”
He stayed there a moment, his hand to Jack's chest, searching for something in Jack's face. A window, a chink in the armor. Some sign that this wasn't really happening, not really. Thinking, It's me, Jack. Ianto Jones, faithful retainer. What the hell is going on?
Jack didn't even look at him. He stared over Ianto's shoulder, at Gwen.
“Ianto,” Gwen said again.
Ianto dropped his hand, turned, and followed her out.
“What the fuck is going on?” They were in the autopsy room; Owen was whispering. The lights made him look more dead than usual. “What the fuck is wrong with Jack?”
Tosh, consulting her handheld, shook her head. “I don't know. He's locked us in, he's locked down the armory and the electrical closets. He's killed the phones, cut us off from the network...and I'm getting strange readings. Almost like rift energy, but...”
“But what?”
“But they're coming from Jack.” She looked up at them, her eyes wide. “How is that possible?”
“The monster,” Ianto said. “Something about the monster. Did it bite him, or, or, do anything--”
Owen was shaking his head. “Not the monster. Definitely not the monster. I autopsied it. Cut it into bits of stew meat. No rift energy on it, nothing weird about it at all.”
“Nothing weird,” Gwen repeated, one eyebrow raised. “Giant, slavering dragon-beast running on all fours through Cardiff, trying to eat people.”
“Well, nothing apart from that.”
“It's not the monster,” Tosh confirmed. “I checked Owen's report, there's no sign of anything like this kind of energy coming off it. It must be something else.”
“Something else from the rift.” Gwen chewed her lip. “Did anything else come through?”
Later, Ianto would think back on that moment, and on the moment in the SUV. The memory would seem much clearer, much more obvious, in hindsight.
“No,” he said. “Nothing else. Just the giant slavering dragon-beast.”
“I didn't see anything,” Owen said. “Maybe another rift?”
“I'd have caught it,” said Tosh.
“Look,” said Gwen. “The important thing is, something's wrong with Jack. He's locked us in here, he's threatened us-”
“He said he cares about us,” Tosh put in. “Too much to let us go.”
“Too much to let us leave the building,” Owen said bitterly. “Me, I'd be fine with some neglect.”
“Jack's sick,” said Gwen. “We need to find out what's wrong with him. Someone needs to get close to him. Talk to him.”
There was a pause, and then Ianto noticed they were all looking at him. The autopsy room felt suddenly very small.
“Oh,” he said. “Right. Okay.”
He found some papers that needed to be signed, just regular workaday requisitions stuff. They all stood around watching while he foamed milk for a cappuccino.
“Check his pupils,” Owen said in a low voice. “Respiration-see if he's breathing funny. Sweating, shaking, anything like that. Any odd smells. And if you get close enough for a quick heart rate check-“
Ianto stared at him.
“Right, sorry.” Owen backed off, his lips compressing. “Anything you can find out, just let me know.”
“Don't do anything brave or stupid,” Gwen said. “Really, Ianto. We don't know what we're dealing with, we just want a little information.” He nodded, wiping down the foam pipe. “Be careful, all right?”
“Maybe you should take a gun.” Tosh shrugged when he looked at her. “Just to be safe.”
“I'm not shooting him.” It had already occurred to him, but carrying a gun into Jack's office for some routine paperwork would give the game away. Besides, he was fairly certain the gun would only end up in Jack's hands anyway. It wasn't a theory he cared to test. “I'll be fine.”
“We'll be right down here,” Owen said, handing him the saucer. “Yell if you need help.”
Ianto gave him a tight smile, adjusted the cup on the saucer, and picked up the papers. Then he had to wait for Gwen and Owen to realize they were standing in his way, and get out of it. “Thank you.”
“Be careful,” Gwen repeated, and he nodded, cleared his throat, and started up the stairs to Jack's office.
The door was closed, the shutters drawn. He hesitated, wondering if a knock would bring Jack out in a rage, then reminded himself that that was part of what he was here to find out. At least the pinstripes weren't his favorite suit. He steeled himself, gripped the saucer, and knocked with two knuckles.
“Come.” That was Jack, sounding relatively sane. Ianto risked a quick look back down to the first floor, which seemed very far away. The others were down there, supposedly going about their work but in fact clustered suspiciously close to the base of the stairs. Gwen glanced up, and their eyes met. He turned and opened the door.
The office was dark except for the desk lamp, which was turned to the wall, and the glow of Jack's computer screen. Jack himself was in his chair, turning something over in his hands and studying it.
“Some papers for you to sign.” Ianto tried to sound normal, brisk and impersonal. The Sir felt closer to the surface than ever. If you didn't say it when you were shagging the man, did you say it when he went mad and took you hostage? Maybe. “And I thought maybe a cappuccino.” He lifted it with a faint, self-deprecating smile.
Jack looked up, looked at the coffee, and smiled. “You're not trying to drug me, are you?”
“What? No-no.” They'd discussed it; it had seemed too risky, possibly too pre-emptive. Thank God. “Just coffee.” He smiled, unsure how to play this. How conscious Jack was of his own strange behavior. “A bit of a peace offering, I guess.”
Jack's smile turned quizzical.
“For that...all that, in there.” Ianto gestured vaguely toward the conference room. “I'll just put this down here.” He stepped forward and set the cup on the edge of Jack's desk. It also allowed him to see what Jack was fiddling with beneath the desk. His pistol.
“Close the door, will you?” Jack said.
Ianto stood frozen. “I just have,” he said finally, raising the papers. “Just some quick things to sign.”
“Close the door.”
Ianto took a breath, nodded, and went back to close the door.
“Lock it,” said Jack. His attention was on the gun. Ianto could hear the small snicking sounds of bullets going into the cartridge.
“I really should get back to work.”
“Ianto.” Jack looked up, and flashed him a grin. “It can wait. You, on the other hand.” He left that hanging, finished loading the gun, and put it on the desktop, within reach. “You need immediate attention.”
“No, really, I'm fine-“
“Come here.” Jack raised a finger before Ianto could say anything. “And I think we both know by now that I don't like having to repeat myself.”
“No,” Ianto said automatically. “Of course not.” He flipped the deadbolt on the door, and walked across to Jack's desk. The room seemed very quiet, the gun very big. He had to fight to keep his eyes on Jack's face. What had Owen told him to look for? Enlarged pupils, sweating, trembling hands. Signs of a toxic substance in the bloodstream. Jack didn't seem to have any of the symptoms. Ianto, on the other hand, felt reasonably sure he was showing all of them.
“Ianto Jones,” Jack said in a speculative tone, sitting back and letting his hands fall to his thighs. “Did I ever tell you what I thought the first time I saw you?”
“Yeah.” Ianto smiled weakly. “You thought I was a pushy little twat and you were never going to hire me.”
“No, that's what I told you. I thought you had the prettiest mouth in the empire.” Jack smiled. “And that I was never going to hire you.”
“And look at us now.”
“Yeah.” Jack nodded, swiveling in his chair so that he faced Ianto, his legs spread, an open invitation that under other circumstances, Ianto would have been happy to receive. “Look at us now. We're a team.”
“We are that.” Ianto dragged his gaze from Jack's face to the papers in his hand. “Speaking of which-“
Jack leaned forward and took Ianto's wrist in his hand. His touch was gentle. “Forget those,” he said.
“Oh, I can't forget them, we have to file these with the London office by this evening or we won't be able to geargh.” Jack's hand had tightened, his thumb digging into Ianto's tendon. “Right, forgotten.” He let them fall, seesawing to the floor. “What papers?” Feebly, he laughed.
“That's better.” Jack pulled, and Ianto tried manfully not to resist, to let himself be drawn down but not completely down, not onto his knees, which was clearly where Jack wanted him. He succeeded in perching awkwardly on the corner of Jack's desk, on top of some probably-very-important papers. Jack let go of his wrist, sat back, and studied him. “Ianto, it's almost like you're avoiding me.”
“What?” He had to resist the urge to rub his wrist. “No, not at all. I came up here, didn't I?”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Look,” Ianto said, trying desperately to think. “It's just...are you sure you're feeling all right?”
“Why wouldn't I be feeling all right?”
“I don't know.” There was a look in Jack's eye now, a look Ianto didn't like. It was close to the look he'd had in the conference room, before he'd gone for Owen. “Jack, listen to me. It's me, all right? Ianto. You trust me.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. There was a long pause, and then he nodded. Ianto breathed again.
“It's just,” he said, leaning forward, willing his fear and sincerity to break through whatever madness was going on here. “You're acting strange. You locked us in. You threatened Owen.”
Jack took a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh. “I'm disappointed, Ianto.”
“I think you're sick, Jack. I think something's wrong with you.”
“You do.” Jack looked away, his jaw tightening. “Is that what you think?”
Ianto said nothing.
“I see,” said Jack. He looked briefly at the gun, then away. “You think I'm sick, you think I'm crazy. Because I love you.”
Ianto caught his breath, then swallowed hard. He had to clear his throat to speak. “I just think-“
“You think someone else should be making the decisions.” Jack's chin was up, his voice was rising. “You're not a military man, Ianto, but maybe you know what the military calls that. Mutiny. You know what the punishment is for mutiny?”
“Jack, listen to me.”
“It's very severe. It's about as severe as it gets. It's like desertion, or treason. When a man betrays everyone he cares about, everything he stands for, what does he deserve, Ianto?”
Ianto blinked hard, and put his hand on Jack's knee. “Please stop this.” Jack knocked his hand away and Ianto turned it, caught hold of Jack's wrist, and quickly, before Jack could react, leaned down and kissed him. It was awkward but heartfelt, and the smell of Jack's body, the taste of his mouth, were wonderfully familiar. For a moment Ianto closed his eyes and let himself go, let himself swing in the breeze.
Then Jack grabbed him by the hair, jerked his head back, and yanked him to his knees. The desk lamp was hot and bright beside his face. His eyes watered, his mouth gaped open. The angle of his throat kept any sound from leaking out.
Jack's face was close to his, his breath hot on Ianto's cheek.
“Are you a traitor?” he whispered. Ianto choked out a small animal sound, and Jack pulled his head down, corkscrewing him to the floor. “Can I trust you, Ianto Jones?”
Yes, he tried to say. Yes, you can trust me. You're mad, but I still love you, still serve you. I'm just that pathetic. At the same time, he knew that if Jack didn't take the gun from the desk and blow his head off, he'd do whatever he could to get out from under him. Mr. and Mrs. Jones hadn't raised any suicides.
He was practically full-length on the floor now, gasping and blinking, vaguely aware that Jack was straddling him, a knee on either side of Ianto's hips. He could smell Jack's body, his breath, those latter-day pheromones that could pique his body's interest even with a hand around his throat.
Jack noticed, of course. He shifted, glanced down, and loosened his hold on Ianto's hair. When Ianto's vision cleared, he found Jack regarding him speculatively.
“Bad dog,” Jack said, shifting again. His tone pleased, a smile starting up on his lips. Ianto swallowed, coughed, and tried to smile back.
“You can trust me,” he said.
“Of course I can,” Jack said, and kissed him. It was real kissing this time, not the hurried, half-participatory clinches they'd had the last few times. It was the kind Gwen had caught them at, heated and messy, buttons popping off and rolling away, fingers in each other's hair, the clack of teeth and the hard push of Jack's tongue, like being fucked in the mouth. Ianto heard himself make a ragged panting sound, heard himself say the kinds of ridiculous pleading things he always said when Jack was on top of him. Please God yes fuck, that sort of thing. Begging for something he knew better than to want, but Christ in heaven, he still wanted it.
They wrestled briefly on the floor, on top of the requisition forms, until Ianto realized he was half-naked, his shirt wide open and Jack's hand on his belt, undoing him as easily as opening an envelope. Bad, bad, bad. And getting worse.
“Wait-“ Ianto caught Jack's hand. “Wait, we can't do this.”
“Oh, but we can.” Jack grinned, the crazy devil-may-care grin. “We're consenting adults, Ianto. We can do whatever we want. And I want...” He cupped Ianto's cock, his palm big and warm. “Mmm, nice.”
“Yes, but.” Ianto's mind was blank. “But the others-“
“Fuck 'em.” Jack paused. “Actually, maybe we could-“
Dear God, no. Ianto felt his interest shrivel. “We agreed, nothing obvious at work. It's too complicated.”
Jack frowned. “That's ridiculous. I'm the boss, I decide what we can and can't do. Besides, Gwen shagged Owen.”
“That's not the point.” He was hurriedly doing up his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. “The point is, I report to you. It's bad enough we're doing this in the first place.”
Jack's expression had shifted; he looked wary, cagey. “A minute ago you were climbing me like a tree.”
“I...forgot myself.” He was flat on his back, Jack kneeling astride him-how was he going to get out? He started to squirm free, and was relieved when Jack didn't pin him down. In a minute he was staggering to his feet, pressing the remains of his erection down with the heel of his hand, shoving his shirt into his trousers. “I'm sorry, it's just we agreed about this.”
“And now I'm saying, let's agree on something else.” Jack was rising with him, reaching out to catch hold of his sleeve. “You want it, I want it. We agree.”
“I don't.” Ianto pulled his sleeve away. “I'm sorry.” He was straightening his cuff, so he didn't see it coming until too late. Jack came at him from the side, hard and fast, sending them both into the wall, cracking Ianto's head into the plaster. Ianto let out an involuntary yelp. Jack's hands were at his belt again.
“I'm sorry too,” Jack said, and bit Ianto's ear. Ianto yelled, and Jack swung him sideways into the desk. It caught him in the diaphragm, winding him. He lost his legs for a minute, long enough for Jack to get behind him, kick his feet apart, and shove his shirt and jacket up to his neck. “But I'm the boss. God, you've got a nice back.”
Ianto, heaving for breath, knocking papers and Post-its and the cappuccino to the floor, felt Jack's hands tugging at his belt loops and thought, He's going to rape me. It was a flat certainty, unrelated to the horror he was feeling, or to the mounting pain and pressure in his chest and belly as he pulled over and over for air that wouldn't come. He hadn't seen this coming. Really hadn't, not this.
Jack said something, he didn't catch what it was-he'd lost track of details and was scrabbling on the desk for something to use as a weapon when there was a pistol crack, and the door flew open on one hinge. Gwen stood in the frame, her gun leveled at him. No, not at him. At Jack. Behind her, Owen with his gun. Behind him, Tosh with no gun at all.
Don't shoot, he tried to say, but all that came out was a gagging sound.
“So it's a mutiny,” Jack said, from somewhere above and behind him.
“Let him go,” said Gwen. She was pale, with two spots of color high in her cheeks.
“Okay,” said Jack, and at that moment Ianto's diaphragm unlocked and he took his first deep, heaving breath, like a man coming up from a free dive.
“Ianto,” Gwen said, staring at him. “Are you okay?”
Forget me, he wanted to say, watch out for Jack. Watch out for-
Jack took the pistol from the desk beside Ianto's hand-inches away, it had been-and held it to his ear.
“Surrender your weapons,” he said. “Or I'll turn his head into a pencil cup.”
There was a pause. An eternity.
“Fucking hell,” said Owen.
“Jack,” said Gwen, her tone despairing.
“You're all traitors,” said Jack. “Put down your weapons now.”
Gwen first, Owen last, they put down their guns. Tosh clung to the railing behind them, her face a mask of shock.
“Well now,” said Jack, nudging Ianto to one side, letting him slide off the desk and crumple to the floor. “It looks like we have a situation on our hands.”
Continued in the next post.