In Sickness and in Health (7/?)
Owen hated him; there was no other explanation for it thought Jack as he scanned through the seemingly endless paperwork the medic had so kindly sent him. All it seemed to do was make him want to hit his head against a brick wall. Repeatedly.
Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he leant back against the sofa and gazed up at the ceiling. Last night had been long and exhausting; when Ianto hadn’t been throwing up, he’d been plagued with relentless nightmares that had left him insecure and wanting to be held. Jack had always obliged, gently soothing and stroking him as the boy clung to him, occasionally lapsing into Welsh during his incoherent ramblings. This in itself worried Jack more than he was willing to admit. Whilst Ianto’s native language was Welsh, he always dreamt in English. Except when he was particularly stressed or exhausted in which case he would revert back to the comfort and security of his first language. It was a trait Jack found particularly useful for gauging the young Welshman’s state of mind when he was keeping things from him for whatever reason.
Oh, I didn’t see you there,” said Jack pleasantly, looking over the back of the sofa and seeing Ianto standing hesitantly in the doorway, fiddling awkwardly with his sleeves. The ghostly pallor of his skin knocking years off his already young age and giving him an aura of fragility.
“Couldn’t sleep anymore,” mumbled Ianto, wandering over to Jack’s open arms and curling gratefully against the inviting warmth.
“Bad dreams?” murmured Jack, idly carding his fingers through the tousled hair at the nape of Ianto’s neck.
“Something like that,” said Ianto quietly, his throat hoarse from the constant abuse it’d suffered the last few days.
“How d’you feel?” asked Jack softly, carefully pulling his coat down from the back of the sofa and draping it over Ianto.
Ianto just made a quiet sound in the back of his throat as he snuggled closer. “What time is it?” he asked softly, fiddling with the soft fabric of Jack’s shirt.
“Just gone three.”
“You should’ve woken me,” murmured Ianto, rubbing his cheek against Jack’s chest.
“You needed the rest; you had a bad night,” said Jack gently, trailing his hand up and down Ianto’s side.
“Did I wake you?” asked Ianto, glancing up at the Immortal.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m more worried about you. What’s going on hmmm?” asked Jack gently, making sure to keep his tone neutral so Ianto didn’t feel like he was being interrogated.
“Nothing,” mumbled Ianto, fiddling nervously with his sleeve so he didn’t have to look at Jack.
“Darling, you were tossing and turning all night and…you were talking in your sleep. In Welsh,” said Jack cautiously as he felt Ianto tense and pull away from him so he was sitting with his forearms resting on his thighs, head bowed.
“Yeah. Well. I was delirious. I didn’t know what I was saying,” he muttered, avoiding the Immortal’s enquiring gaze.
“But you were speaking Welsh. You never speak Welsh,” pointed out Jack reasonably.
“For God’s sake, Jack! I’m Welsh! Of course I speak the bloody language! Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that it takes more effort for me to speak English so if I’m tired it’s easier to speak Welsh?” snapped Ianto.
“Okay. Don’t get upset about it,” said Jack soothingly as he pulled Ianto close, not taking any of it personally as he knew it hadn’t been intended that way. However, it did serve to prove that there was something wrong as Ianto never lost his temper and very rarely swore.
Ianto exhaled as he relaxed against Jack’s solid form. “Sorry, you didn’t deserve that. I’m just really tired and my head hurts that’s all,” he said quietly, nuzzling Jack’s shirt clad shoulder.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get that aspirin shall I?” murmured Jack, stroking his hair lightly. Ianto nodded as he buried his face deeper into Jack’s shoulder, sounding as if he were trying not to cry.
“What was that?” asked Jack as he heard a loud bang in the hallway. He felt Ianto shudder quietly before moving out of his arms as a large man staggered into the room.
“What’s going on ‘ere then?” he slurred, casting an eye over Jack and Ianto who were now standing beside the sofa.
“Get out,” growled Ianto; clearly trying to convey a silent message he didn’t want Jack to hear as he maintained eye contact.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?” jeered the man as he staggered closer, quite clearly drunk.
“No I’m not! Now go!” shouted Ianto hoarsely indicating towards the door. The fact that he instantly stepped back and was trembling slightly betraying his otherwise strong exterior.
“He always was a stroppy kid,” said the man who must’ve been at least twice Ianto’s weight as he ignored Ianto and addressed Jack.
“Get out!” yelled Ianto, losing any control he’d had and Jack could tell he was close to hysterical.
“I think you should leave,” stated Jack firmly, moving in front of Ianto and attempting to push the drunkard away, but at 6’5’’, the man was quite a bit larger than him.
“Pathetic! You’ve got to get your girlfriend to deal with your own Tad! No wonder you Mother left! She was ashamed of you and I don’t blame her!” shouted the other man.
“Okay, that is enough. Out!” snapped Jack, using the man’s drunken lack of coordination to his advantage and dragging him down the hallway and pushing him out the door, trying not to listen to the amount of obscenities that were streaming out of the man’s mouth.
Exhaling softly, he straightened himself before going to see if Ianto was okay.
http://welsh-scotsman.livejournal.com/7180.html chapter six
http://welsh-scotsman.livejournal.com/8121.html chapter eight