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fictionalTitle: Up, Down, Strange, Charm, Truth, Beauty: or, A Child's Guide to Modern Physics
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto, Gwen
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rm & kalichan
Rating/Warning: NC-17, slash, hurt/comfort, fluff
Summary: The moral of the story is never let Jack make the travel plans. Takes place just after Torchwood: Lost Souls [The Radio Play] and sometime before Doctor Who 4x13: Journey's End
Wordcount: 7,200
Authors' Notes: This is a little outtake from our series, I Had No Idea I Had Been Traveling. It takes place sometime after "Many of My Favorite Things Are Broken" and before "In Our Bedroom After the War". This one's just a little bit of candy floss for all of you who were sad that we were turning our attention to prequels! Speaking of which, if you're reading the series, you will probably want to go take a look at the Jack/Nine/Rose story, And I Cannot Know How Long She Has Dreamed of All of You that we've just posted; it will be relevant to the rest of the main story arc.
Previous installments:
1. A Strange Fashion of Forsaking | 2. Dear Captain, Last Night I Slept in Mutiny | 3. To Learn This Holding and the Holding Back | 4. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World | 5. I Imagine You Now in That Other City | 6. Many of My Favorite Things Are Broken
Jack scrubbed a hand over his face as he realized that begging, pleading, and flashing his Torchwood credentials to get a room at an overbooked airport hotel was desperately a task he wanted to hand over to Ianto.
Ianto, though, was still looking slightly gray, definitely traumatized and was clearly gritting his teeth against passing out. Gwen was at least keeping an eye on him, but she looked pretty weary herself. Which left Jack feeling like he was playing personal assistant to Mr. and Mrs. Ambassador of Wales. Again. He hated Switzerland.
"I don't care who you are. Do you know how many dignitaries we've had through here this week? One room. I can get you one room. You could be the ambassador from Mars and I wouldn't be able to do more for you. It has two beds, and I can send a cot up, but that's it."
"Don't bother," Jack snapped, sliding his credit card across the desk as Gwen muttered something about not wanting to hear him and Ianto screwing all night.
"You'll be lucky if you're not hearing him have nightmares all night," he said to her, sharply.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, sir," Ianto said with humor even though his voice was weak.
Jack shrugged. It wasn't Ianto's fault, and his capacity to get into a mess, come through it and still be relatively functional was admirable, but Jack was feeling more than a little sick of him being the prime target for every bit of bullshit that stumbled through the Rift.
He sighed. They'd talk about it later if Ianto wanted. Otherwise, he wanted to see both him and Gwen asleep, while he'd no doubt be reduced to pacing a groove in the carpet in hopes that could somehow get them back to Cardiff sooner. He hated commercial travel. He hated flying not being up to him. Their work was supposed to be local. He wasn't supposed to want a jet. Hell, he wasn't supposed to need one.
And since he was also supposed to have forgotten everything, he definitely wasn't supposed to want to apologize to Ianto for this clusterfuck being the result of the first time they got to see the sky together.
Jack sighed and looked over his shoulder as the hotel clerk disappeared somewhere with his credit card. Ianto was sagging against Gwen, who was propping up some of his weight.
"God, Ianto," she said, the sharpness in her voice belying the worried look in her eyes and the tender way she was supporting him despite being so much smaller. "Haven't I carried you around enough today?"
"Sorry," Ianto muttered and tried to stand up straight.
"Don't be ridiculous," Gwen snapped. "Jack, we need to get up to a room, now."
Jack held up his hands. "Going as fast as I can. Where the hell did they go with that card?"
***
In the room -- which was as soulless, dreary, and businesslike as every hotel near every airport and spaceport Jack had ever been to, bar none and irrespective of galactic coordinates -- Gwen eased Ianto down onto one of the two beds, and then collapsed herself next to him.
"I've got to ring up Rhys," she said, sighing. "He's not going to be best pleased."
"Unavoidable," Jack said, as he pulled the curtain and peered through the window at the airfield in the distance.
"You couldn't get U.N.I.T. to spring for a chalet or bed and breakfast at least?" Gwen asked. "We did just save the world and all."
"U.N.I.T.'s not very happy with us at the moment," Jack said, still gazing out the window. "Besides, I think Rhys would be even more miffed if he thought you were having a luxury vacation without him. This way, you can tell him you were suffering."
"Thanks, Jack," Gwen said. "Your concern and advance planning are truly touching."
Jack turned to look at the two of them, and noticed that Ianto was not only being oddly silent but was also rubbing his temples.
"You okay?" he asked moving towards the bed as he and Gwen exchanged a worried glance.
"Fine," Ianto said with his eyes closed. "Bit of a headache, that's all."
"You don't look fine," Jack said a bit combatively.
"I can't imagine why, Jack," Ianto began. "I come into work four hours after you've left my flat and somehow, in that time, you've decided we're all going to go on a trip. But can you be bothered to tell any of us that until we're at the airport? No. Do we have any luggage? No. Did you see to accommodations? Of course not. Did you even consider how long we might wind up here or the fact that Switzerland is absolutely not under our purview? Apparently not."
"Hey. One day job. Got lucky," Jack said.
Ianto continued as if he hadn't spoken. "And then, because I am apparently a feast for telepathic aliens that like to impersonate the dead, I almost get killed, in an underground tunnel, in Switzerland."
"At least your bike had a bell," Gwen interjected.
Ianto offered her a weak smile before continuing. "So no, Jack, I am not fine. I feel like shit, and we're in an airport hotel far from home and the Hub and our stupid pet pterodon and all I want is for my damn head to stop hurting and everyone and everything else to go away."
Jack frowned. If Ianto could bitch at him in so prolonged a fashion he was probably fine. On the other hand, Ianto only talked in paragraphs when he was at least bordering on distraught, so 'fine' probably had a looser definition than maybe most people would approve of. Also, he wished Gwen would move to the other damn bed, although he supposed that wouldn't really help them have a word in privacy either.
"We'll be home soon," Jack said quietly. "Get some rest. Both of you. We're on the first flight out in the morning."
For a long time no one said anything or moved. Finally, Ianto spoke. "Sir, it is incredibly difficult to sleep with you hovering at the foot of the bed."
Jack sighed and went back to the windows to pace.
"You know," Gwen said softly to Ianto, "they tried to get in my head too."
"But they didn't, did they?"
Gwen shook her head. "Don't know why. Lucky I guess."
Instinctively, Gwen looked to Jack for his insight on the matter, but he had his back to them and was staring out at the planes again. With a soft grunt, Ianto turned on to his side away from them both and curled in on himself. It was, Gwen thought, the most obviously futile attempt at sleep she'd ever seen.
She lay there for a minute or two, trying not to fidget and then exhaled with exasperation. No good, and she still had to phone Rhys anyway. There was no sense in putting it off. She sat up, eased herself off the bed, and went over to stand by Jack at the window.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" he whispered, without turning to look at her.
"I've got to call Rhys," she said back softly. "Can't sleep anyway. Besides, you'd rather stretch out with Ianto. And I'd like a bed all to myself."
"Thought you didn't want to listen to us screw."
"As you said, not much screwing that lad's going to be up to, unless you like them unconscious," she shot back.
"I can hear every word you're saying," Ianto said from the bed, his voice sounding pained.
"Sorry," Gwen said, and Jack took her by the shoulders and led her from the room.
"Need anything, Ianto?" he asked, as he opened the door.
"Just some peace," Ianto replied.
"Okay," Jack said. "We'll be just outside. Gwen can do her telephoning, and I'll look in on you in a bit."
"I'm fine, Jack, you don't need to--"
"Yeah, yeah," Jack said. "I know, you're a big boy and all that. Just go to sleep, Ianto. We'll be back later."
As they shut the door and stood in the hall, Gwen peered at Jack suspiciously.
"Okay, Jack. I want to know what's going on."
"What makes you think there's something going on?"
"What's the matter with Ianto?"
"He's got a headache."
"Oh yes? Since when does he get headaches?"
Jack leaned against the wall, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't know. People get headaches. Didn't you have to call your husband?"
"Is it possible for you to say that word without sounding sarcastic?"
"Don't know. Never tried."
"Jack. Don't try to change the subject on me. Rhys'll keep. What the hell is going on with Ianto? I know that thing tried to get into his head. But why's he so --?"
"He'll be fine," Jack said. Then he looked at Gwen and realized that she was wearing an all too familiar expression of ill-conceived but dogged tenacity that he knew was capable of withstanding any order he chose to give her. He sighed. "He's susceptible, that's all. More than you."
"Why's that?"
"How much do you know about Torchwood One?" Jack asked.
"I know Ianto's Lisa died there. I know about Canary Wharf. What more do I need to know?"
"They weren't like us, held together with spit and chewing gum. They were a proper organization. Had lots of interesting ways to… uh… handle human resources."
"You make them sound like cannibals."
"Only if they'd have thought of it. And if there was a point, then I'm sure they would've. Not a lot of scruples. But what they did have was discipline and a system. Rules and training."
"You almost sound envious," Gwen remarked.
"Hardly," Jack said. "I designed this one this way on purpose. You run things like an army, well then, that’s what you get -- a war. Not that it wouldn't do you lot some good to follow an order now and then. But anyway. Point is, they gave everyone some psychic training. Ianto's been through the full course."
"Psychic training?" Gwen repeated incredulously. "You're telling me Ianto's psychic?"
"How else you think he gets everyone's coffee so perfect?"
There was a pause. And then Gwen said hesitantly, "You're joking, right?"
"About the coffee? Yeah, probably. Although I wouldn't put money on it, necessarily. About the psychic training? Not at all."
"He told you that?" Gwen asked.
"Didn't have to. He worked for Yvonne Hartman, he's been through the whole thing."
"So? I mean, psychic training. Shouldn't that make him safer from things trying to get into his head?"
"Nope," Jack said. "He probably just started out with really low barriers. Naturally open. Good at sussing out people, instinctually. He's like a… what do you call them?"
Gwen tried not to show that she was wincing as he fumbled for the word. Watching Jack forget and remember things had become routine by now, but she still found it heartbreaking every time.
"A… chameleon? Yeah. That's it," he said, snapping his fingers and sounding pleased with himself at finally locating the word. "Constantly reads the environment in order to blend in. Training can only help so much. He's probably got to be consciously shielding to avoid getting input. And believe me, we'll be having several conversations about the necessity of keeping those up in the future."
Gwen stared at him. Then, not sure she even wanted the answer, but unable to stop digging for it regardless, she asked, "Were you ever at Torchwood One, Jack?"
"Are you asking me if I've had training?"
"Sort of," she said. "Yeah."
"What do you think?"
She shook her head and then slumped against the wall next to him. Great. A boss who could probably read minds. A boss from whom she kept secrets, who she adored with an unbelievable and peculiar intensity, not to mention lusted after, and just to top things off, a boss whose orders she ignored whenever it suited her. Well, that was just brilliant, that was. "Just when I think this job can't get any weirder."
"Do you want some, by the way?"
"Want some what?"
"Training," Jack said shortly. "You don't need it; you've got barriers that are tough as nails, or I'd have insisted before. But if you want it—"
"No," she exclaimed hurriedly, cutting him off. "Thanks, Jack, but I really, really don't."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Afraid?" he asked. "Really? P.C. Gwen Cooper? I can hardly believe it."
"I've changed enough," she said flatly.
Jack looked at her fondly. "Yeah," he said, and ran a finger down the side of her cheek. "Guess you have."
She closed her eyes, and they stood there in silence for a moment, before Jack said. "Hey. You need to call Rhys."
"Right," she said, and pulled herself up. "There's a pay-phone downstairs, and I'm charging the call to Torchwood."
"Fair enough," Jack said. "Just don't tell Ianto. I don't want him freaking out about the budget when he's got a headache."
Gwen laughed. "You two. I'll never understand it."
Jack smiled. "Go call your husband. And remember, if you have phone sex on the company shilling, I really should get a recording. Or at least a reprise. Blow by blow," he purred.
Gwen rolled her eyes at him.
As she headed down the hallway, he called after her. "Gwen?"
She turned back. "Yeah?"
"Thank you," he said. "For saving him. And you." And before she could answer, he'd slipped back into their room.
Jack crept back through the door on the off chance Ianto had fallen asleep, although he doubted it. He slid onto the bed quietly and watched as Ianto studiously didn't react.
"Hey. I know you're awake."
Ianto made an acknowledging noise in response.
"Are you in pain or freaked out?" Jack asked.
"Little of both."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
Ianto sighed and rolled over to face him, and Jack thought he looked more relaxed than he had since this thing started. Jack suppressed a smile. When under stress Ianto seemed to do better when forced into a corner. Jack was noticing that more and more. Remembering it too.
"So what happened down there?" Jack asked.
"Gwen told you."
"She did. But I want your version."
"I could hear them," Ianto said quietly, not opening his eyes. "Tosh and Owen. Lisa. It was nice. Except for the part where they sounded scared, like they didn't even have each other. I don't know. Maybe if I thought they had I could have left it alone."
"But you know it's not like that, right?" Jack said, almost as if he were talking to a child.
Ianto shook his head. "I don't. I only know about the place we've got people back from. And where you go. We don't know if that's it. Not really. And I don't know. I just have to keep taking everyone's word for it."
"Do you believe --"
"I don't believe anything anymore, Jack. That's not what I do. I'm just saying I feel the possibility still. Like a bad habit."
"All right," Jack said, trying to appease him.
"I wanted to help them. But I wanted to help Gwen too, who was saying we should leave, but she was really hard to hear, and I thought maybe if she was just quiet for a little while I could get everyone sorted, but she kept talking about you. And coffee. And I was so cold. And I knew enough to be scared, but not why really. And then she rescued me. The end."
Jack made a considering noise. "You get what actually happened there, right?"
"Psychic aliens impersonating the dead and preying on the grieving. Fairly clear, sir," Ianto said irritably.
"You smell like food to them," Jack said, wincing at the clumsiness of the metaphor. Ianto had a track record of smelling like food to all sorts of things, and it was something Jack wished he had more sense than to remind him of.
"That's why they hired me," Ianto said.
"Why's that?" Jack asked, only slightly startled that Torchwood One should be on his mind too. Besides, Jack was curious to hear what Ianto knew or thought about it and even more curious to know if he had some information in his head the surviving files from London didn't.
"A capacity for attentiveness."
"More useful in an assistant than an archivist," Jack mused.
"They didn't appreciate my commentary. So into the archives with the rest of the freaks and geeks it was."
"Probably saved your life," Jack noted, thinking of Canary Wharf.
"Yeah," Ianto agreed.
Jack took a deep breath. "So is it that you forget to put up barriers or that you're not very good at it?" Jack asked.
Ianto chuckled darkly. "If I could do that, what use would I be? It's not like I have a library science degree or something."
"So you didn't have the full course?" Jack asked, incredulously.
"Of course I did. But I flunked that part. They didn't care, really. And why should they? As long as you're good enough to see through psychic paper, what difference does it make?" Ianto said in the same tone Gwen had used in the hall, as if it was all too weird and revolting to even merit real consideration.
Jack made a disgusted noise. It was all so typical of Torchwood One. Greedy and barbaric. He wondered how subtly and constantly they played the issue with him, wondered if they managed to convince him that his own desires were moot and he was clearly just a mirror, a creature who responded and didn't create demands in his own right. It wasn't true of course, not by a long shot, but Torchwood One had lied all the time. Jack smiled. Ianto exhausted Jack with his will. But whether Ianto truly knew that was another matter entirely. Either way, Jack was grateful for it.
"We've never talked about this before, have we?" Jack asked.
Ianto shook his head. "No, Jack, we haven't."
"My bad. We should have. And we should deal with London's little training negligence too."
"No one around to teach me anyway, even assuming I could learn."
"I'm gonna to try hard to not be offended by that."
"I'm half convinced it's a load of crap anyw-- wait -- what?" Ianto stared at Jack with disbelief as he registered his comment.
"You don't actually believe it's crap. You're not stupid, and you've seen plenty," Jack went on, ignoring Ianto's shock.
"Of course, I don't believe that, Jack, I'm not an idiot. It's just pleasant to think so on occasion. That's not important. What do you mean, 'you're going to try not to be offended by that?'"
"What, you think just because I grew up poor, that I haven't been to school?" he asked, grinning, somehow loving the idea of having to go down this particular road with Ianto. Afterall, it was one way to get to know the man again, increasingly less awkward dinners and sex aside. "What're you trying to say?"
"What?" Ianto sputtered. "That's not what I meant--"
"Relax," Jack said. "Anyway. Fully educated in everything a gentleman should know. Time Agency makes sure of that. Table manners, low and hi tech weaponry, armed and unarmed combat, history, physics, engineering, literature, probability theory, assassination, strategy & tactics, navigation, cosmology, chemistry -- recreational and otherwise -- multi-dimensional mathematics, covert ops, machine arts, and, of course, psychic training.
"Are you serious?"
"How do you think Torchwood One got the whole idea for it in the first place? It's one of the first courses. I can teach you," Jack said. "Give it a go, anyway. I'm terrible at reaching out, but I didn’t fail and nothing gets in my head when I don't want it to -- exactly what you need to learn."
That it was all relative anyway, and that Jack was on a different psychic level then anyone else on this planet in this time period was probably immaterial to this particular discussion. Although maybe not. Ianto might appreciate knowing he was more ordinary than not.
What was definitely irrelevant was the fact that he wasn't quite as terrible at reaching out as he'd just implied. Not anymore, thanks to his two millenia long day. Somehow he'd come out of it not just with a dodgy memory but with an annoyingly intermittent heightened telepathic broadcast, which to be honest, was totally useless considering he could neither predict nor control it. Also it spooked Ianto, which now that Jack thought about it, should have been his first clue that Ianto couldn't protect his mind worth a damn.
Luckily, episodes of that seemed to be happening with less frequency, and Jack was, quite frankly, hoping the whole thing would just go away.
He glanced at Ianto out of the corner of his eye and noted he didn't appear to be getting convinced. So Jack went on.
"And it doesn't matter anyway, because your brain can only go so far. Unless you're some weird genetic sport, which I doubt, I've got 3,000 years of evolution on you. You couldn't catch up to that anyway. But we could certainly improve those exterior shields of yours. Your deep screens are fine. You just need to practice."
In some ways, this was all his fault anyway. For giving the idea to Torchwood in the first place and letting them butcher and mishandle the whole thing, which of course they were bound to do. Ironic, really. He'd wanted to give them some protection -- god knows why, considering that they were all a bunch of sociopathic lunatics as far as he could tell, but nevertheless, he'd felt impelled to try somehow and ended up presenting them like lambs to the slaughter instead.
A little learning was a dangerous thing; they'd been opened up enough to be in danger and enough to think, mistakenly, that they'd learned enough to protect themselves and could meddle in anything that suited them. He might as well have painted little targets onto boys like Ianto, going through life smelling like a smorgasbord to any passing level four species. Only, of course, it didn't matter now. There was only Ianto left.
The rest were all dead. Mistake erased, he thought bitterly. Wouldn't the Doctor be proud.
"I'm sure, with the proper incentives," he added to Ianto, trying to sound encouraging and seductive at the same time, "you could learn anything you needed to know."
"You can't have been trained," Ianto said flatly, not paying any attention to Jack's attempt to reassure him or his not-so-subtle innuendo.
"Why not?"
"Well. Lisa."
"What about her?"
"You didn't know. About her, I mean."
"As flattering as the idea that you think I just go about mind reading people without their permission is," Jack said, actually a bit hurt, "how exactly would you suggest I do that sort of thing without letting you know I was doing it? There's a reason we use that machine Toshiko put together. You know humans can't get through people's deep screens without help."
Ianto sighed and rolled onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, and then closed his eyes. "Sometimes, I just don't know how to deal with any of this."
"You do a pretty good job."
"Yes, I'm very effective at getting into trouble and requiring rescue," Ianto said. "Thank you for noticing, sir. I've worked long and hard to perfect my skills in that arena."
"And you look pretty while doing it," Jack said. "That's what's really important."
"Thanks," Ianto said shortly. "Just what I wanted to hear."
"Look," said Jack, turning serious because Ianto was clearly only capable of serious right now. "We had to come. It was Martha. She needed help. But I fucked this whole thing up. I've got that. No planning. No sense. Didn't even book us rooms. I just thought it would be... fun."
"Fun?" Ianto asked dryly.
"Torchwood sees the world."
"As opposed to the universe's garbage," Ianto added.
"Exactly. Look, you weren't incompetent, you were ill-equipped, and you probably kept that thing busy enough for Gwen to be able to get you out. If either of you had gone in there alone, might not have been good."
"It wasn't good," Ianto noted.
"Nobody's dead," Jack offered.
Ianto stared at him.
"Okay, no one new who we care about is dead."
"Doesn't it bother you?" Ianto asked.
"What?"
"Thinking like that."
"Tell me I've got a choice."
"You've got a choice," Ianto said.
"All right. Tell me it's a good one."
He said nothing.
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
They were quiet then for a long moment, and Jack eventually reached out, tentatively, to run his fingers through Ianto's hair. Things had been better between them since the roof, but it hadn't stopped everything from feeling fragile to Jack all the time, which made him too gentle and then too harsh with the world by turns. Ianto assured him he'd always been like that, but if it were true, Jack was pretty sure it had never bothered him before. Maybe it had been an act. He couldn't be certain.
"Ah, that's nice," Ianto said, smiling a little.
"You should rest."
Ianto frowned and forced himself to sit up wincing as he did. "Shower," he declared instead.
"Still cold?" Jack asked.
Ianto tilted his head at Jack's perceptiveness. "No. Just the memory of it really," he said and climbed off the bed.
"Do you want company?" Jack called just before Ianto closed the bathroom door behind him.
Ianto laughed, and it was the sound of surrender, the sound of absurdity. "Sure," he shouted back over the sound of water. If he was going to almost die in a tunnel in Switzerland, he could at least have a bit of fun in a shower with Jack there too. Even if he did feel like his head was going to hatch something dreadful at any moment.
"Where's Gwen?" he asked when Jack had stepped under the spray with him and plucked the washcloth out of his hand. Ianto let him, not having the energy to argue.
The water was as hot as Ianto could stand it, more like the way Jack usually preferred. Ianto supposed getting boiled alive was more pleasurable if your skin instantly healed itself. But he still felt cold inside, as if the warmth of the water could only penetrate so far and no farther. He tried to lean against the wall as casually as possible.
"She went to call Rhys," Jack said. "Are you all right? Maybe we should have filled the bath instead."
Ianto looked down at the tub which was not very large and laughed weakly. "I don't think so," he said.
Jack stepped forward and pulled Ianto around so that his back was pressed against him. "Lean on me," he said. "The tile's too slippery."
"And you're not?"
"Not for you," Jack said, sounding proud of his cleverness.
Grabbing soap, he rubbed it into the washcloth and then started to rub it in slow circles over Ianto's chest. Even in the water-diffused light, the too-white hotel tile seemed painfully bright, and Ianto closed his eyes and lifted his face into the stinging, hot spray, letting Jack more than half support his weight.
Jack's hands, the delicious roughness of the cloth, the slickness of the soap, the water rushing over him made everything seem like a dream of heat and steam, and that was nice too. So were Jack's hands rubbing soapy lather and the rough cloth over his thighs and cock, and even with everything and the pounding in his head, Ianto could feel himself immediately getting hard and slipping away, just a bit, from all the day's indignities.
"That's it," Jack whispered, and Ianto felt himself melt just a little bit more from the encouragement.
After he'd stroked Ianto all the way hard, Jack dropped the washcloth, braced him with a forearm across his chest, and then, with his other hand, went into him using two fingers, first gently, steadily massaging and then slipping surely inside. Ianto moaned and let Jack's fingers carry him away, even if it was a bit foolish and he felt blind from exhaustion.
But then it was Jack fucking him smooth and efficient against the white tile as the torrents of water washed over them, and Ianto thought that drowning might be a nice way to go after all. At least until he felt something that could only be described like a pressure from right inside his headache.
“Jack?” he asked nervously.
“Shhhhhh.”
“No,” he gasped as Jack stroked into him just right.
“What?” Jack asked, a smile in his voice.
“It hurts. My head.”
“But –
“No. Not now. It’s too much, too weird….”
“I don’t know if I could do this under any other circumstances,” Jack said softly, his voice strained, concentration clearly elsewhere even as he continued to fuck into Ianto shallowly.
“Well, you’ll have to try,” Ianto said with some sharpness and some despair, before slamming down on Jack’s presence in his mind.
Jack laughed and bit at Ianto’s throat. “See, you can do it.”
“But all I want is this,” Ianto breathed, losing himself in the sex again as Jack placed a kiss just behind his ear as if he were precious.
Once they came Jack stayed in him for what seemed like ages, and Ianto thought he might have dozed for a moment leaning back against him, the man's arms around his waist. The possibility that Jack had actually been shaken by the day's events finally occurred to him then, and somehow, it made him less rattled. Perspective, he was finding, would do in lieu of safety or sanity.
When they got out of the shower -- finally -- Ianto realized that there was no way he was putting on the clothes he'd been wearing earlier so he wrapped a too small towel around his hips and grimaced at Jack, who was doing the same.
Jack shrugged.
If he started talking, Ianto didn't have a lot of faith that he wouldn't say something embarrassing or requiring more energy than either of them had, so instead he opened the door, actually enjoying the moment where the steam rushed out of the bathroom and the colder air of the room rushed in. With any luck, he could be under the covers before Gwen arrived back.
Of course, luck hadn't figured much in the last 24 hours and was clearly still on holiday, so Ianto didn't even know why he was so surprised to find Gwen stretched out on the bed with the television on. It was in French, of course.
She turned to him and lifted an eyebrow. "Oho!" she said, with mock horror, looking him up and down. "Not exactly dressed for company, are we?"
If he hadn't been scalded red from the shower, he knew he'd be blushing.
"And you, Jack," she went on. "Washing his back, were you?"
"Among other things," Jack said from somewhere right behind Ianto.
Without deigning to give Gwen a response, Ianto turned back and said, "Jack, your arrangement making privileges have been revoked. Never again."
Jack, of course, just walked by him, looking completely comfortable, and stretched out on the other bed. "You know," he said lazily, "I was under the impression that I ran things around here. I'm pretty sure you don't get to revoke my privileges."
"Tell me, if you say it often enough, does it become true?" Gwen said, laughing.
"Jack, get up," Ianto said, not even giving Jack a chance to answer.
"What? Are you kicking me out of bed now?"
"No, I'm trying to get in bed and it's rather hard to pull down the blankets if you're lying on top of them," Ianto said, relying on his irritation to hide his continued utter embarrassment.
"Maybe I just want to lie here and look at you."
"Jack."
"Oh, all right," Jack said, getting up and yanking the blankets back.
Ianto did his best, although Jack had to acknowledge it wasn't very good and that, that was very good, to climb into the bed without flashing him and Gwen any more than was strictly necessary.
"You'll be asleep in five minutes," Jack murmured as he pulled the covers up for him.
Ianto just smiled. "Thank you," he said softly.
Gwen knew she shouldn't be staring, but she couldn't help herself, and it wasn't just because Jack brought out the worst in everyone when it came to the open appreciation of, well, everything. It was that he was being tender. Not that this was entirely new. She'd seen it before. Towards her, and Ianto, and on the rare occasions Jack had really talked to her, about his past. But it was something Jack used to try to hide, although since his time under Cardiff it seemed to be a detail of his behavior she suspected he had forgotten, or at least misplaced, the urgency of. Certainly it made her glad for Ianto, even if it sometimes made her own feelings towards Jack more complicated than she would have liked.
"Gwen," Jack said, startling her out of her thoughts.
"What? Oh! Hi. Sorry," she said, embarrassed at having been caught staring.
"Was there a shop downstairs?" Jack asked, sitting on the edge of the bed where Ianto had now curled to face the wall. He rested a hand on the other man's hip, buried under blankets.
She tried not to smile. "Yeah? Why?"
"Think they've got cards down there?"
"Who're you writing to?"
"Playing cards, Gwen."
"Oh. Might have," she said still puzzled.
Jack chuckled and got up to fetch his clothes that were still strewn around the bathroom.
"Soldiers with nothing to do 'til morning," he called, and then popped his head out to look at her around the bathroom door. "We can raid the minibar," he offered.
Gwen chuckled, oddly charmed as Jack disappeared again.
"That's how fond of you I am, Gwen Cooper," he said from the bathroom. "You're another soldier in the war. Doesn't occur to me I shouldn't wander around naked in front of you," he continued, finally padding out of the bathroom in slacks and his t-shirt.
"Wouldn't occur to you anyway, Jack."
"True," he said, considering. "But thought you should know it's not just that sweet little gap in your teeth," he said and winked.
She chuckled and shook her head.
"Thanks for looking after him," he said softly, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I'll go see if they've got cards. Back in five!"
When he returned, triumphantly brandishing two packs of playing cards, Gwen was pretending to flip through a magazine, but really still looking at Ianto. He wasn't so much younger than her really -- only five years or so, but she felt a rush of tenderness whenever she looked at him, something she couldn't quite explain. And complicated too, because the more she watched him and Jack together, the more she realized how much he had something she'd thought she wanted almost more than anything.
She'd given up on fantasies of her and Jack the day after her wedding. Sure, a bit late, some would argue, considering the whole actual day of the ceremony she'd been waiting for something, someone, okay, Jack to stop her. And the more she had that feeling, the more she fought against it. Protesting too much, she knew, even as she couldn't stop herself. Because through the long course of that terrible, awkward day, she'd known that if Jack would ask, really, properly ask, she would have given it all up -- Rhys, the normal life, everything -- in a heartbeat.
But he didn't ask.
And then, the day after, when it had all quieted down, and they'd had a bit of peace, lying in the dark hotel room, after -- it had to be said -- some fairly mind blowing sex, and Rhys was drifting off into sleep, she'd curled around his back, pressed a kiss into the back of his neck, and just for a moment, just like that, she'd been able to let Jack go.
Not stop loving him -- she'd never do that. Or probably even wanting him.
But she'd been able to stop imagining that if she just put enough force of will into wanting it, it would somehow happen. Because she didn't want it enough to tear down her whole life chasing after it. What she really wanted was for someone else to do the tearing down for her, carry her away as she kicked and screamed. Disgusting, but true. And he wasn't going to. At first she'd thought he just didn't have it in him, all that bravado aside. But it seemed he did have. Just not for her.
"Want a drink?" Jack asked, as he sat down on the bed next to her.
"Shush," she said, nodding to Ianto.
"He's out like a light," Jack said. "Don't worry. A little conversation's not gonna wake him up, trust me."
"He's had a hard day," she whispered. "I don't want to --"
Jack grinned. "Okay," he whispered back. "Come on." He pulled her off the bed and led her into the bathroom.
"Jack! What are you doing?" she hissed.
He put her inside the door, and then disappeared back into the room for a few moments. When he appeared again, he was juggling several bottles of beer, and Gwen stood with her arms folded, as he shut the bathroom door after him.
"Don't say I never take you anywhere," Jack said with a grandiose flourish.
"The bloody floor's wet!"
"Oh," Jack said. He pulled down a couple more towels and scuffed them around the floor. "See? All better." And then he slid down to sit on the tiled floor.
"Well?" he asked. "Aren't you going to join me?" He handed her a bottle of beer, and she rolled her eyes, before taking it from him, and then sliding down to sit across from him with her back against the bathtub.
"This is ridiculous," she said and took a long pull from the bottle. "And it's still damp."
"Fun though," he said and winked before asking, "C'mon. Don't be a spoilsport. What should we play?" as he unwrapped the cellophane on the cards.
After a few attempts at Gin rummy, one valiant effort to teach Jack the rules of Snap (which devolved into a slap fight), and in the middle of an endless hand of War, which was the only thing their ravaged minds seemed able to handle, Gwen was feeling even punchier than ever. The three bottles of beer might've had a little to do with it as well.
"I think I'm a wee bit drunk," she announced, somewhat surprised.
Jack laughed. "Is it time for bed?"
"Maybe." She leaned her head back to look at the ceiling and then realized she was feeling a bit dizzy.
"You okay, Gwen?" Jack asked, his voice tinged with concern and maybe a bit of guilt.
"Yeah. Listen, Jack. Can I ask you a question?"
"That sounds ominous. Should I be worried here?" He fixed her with his gaze for a long moment, before throwing out a card and taking hers. Then he said, "Okay. Go ahead."
"Why didn't you stop me?"
"Stop you? I'm not getting your meaning here."
"From getting married."
There was a long pause. "Could I have?" he asked finally.
"You know you could."
"I was married once," he said. "A long time ago."
Gwen stared at him. Whatever she'd been expecting -- it wasn't this.
"It was nice," he said. "But they were all lies, you know, Gwen. All my promises. Those vows. And I still feel awful about it. Death doesn't part you people really. You all share it. Eventually. But not me. I go on. What Rhys promises you. That's real. Not a lie. I couldn't... you can't give that up. Not for me."
Gwen looked at him, and he looked back.
Jack cleared his throat. "You know that you're... that I--"
"Yes, Jack," she said, cutting him off, not able to bear hearing him say it. "I know you do. Me too."
There was an uncomfortable silence into which they both threw another card.
"I think you're cheating," she said, as he claimed the pair again.
"Would I do something like that?" he asked innocently, but the layers of the word couldn’t be ignored.
"Every time," she said. "What about Ianto?"
"What about him?"
"Doesn't that bother you? The promises? The vows?"
"Haven't made any."
"Jack. Come on," she said, having at the moment no patience at all for his completely obvious evasions.
"It should have. It did. But I haven’t said any of those things aloud. Not really. And anyway, he's different from you," Jack said, mildly worried that he was saying too much, but knowing there would always be something about Gwen Cooper that would make pieces of him tumble out one way or another.
"Different how?" she asked.
Jack looked straight at her. "He chose it. He chooses it. Over and over again. Whether I want him to or not. But you wanted me to choose it for you, and I wasn’t willing to do that."
Her eyes widened; it felt a little like Jack had just punched her in the stomach and knocked the breath out of her.
"It's okay," he said, trying to soothe. "You had -- you have more to lose."
"That's true," she said, forcing the tears back, and smiling at him. "You're better off, anyway. I'd not put up with half your antics. Ianto's got the patience of a saint."
Jack barked with laughter. "Not exactly how I'd have put it."
"A very fit, very perverse saint. Or so Martha told me."
"You girls and your gossip," he said, grinning.
"You're happy though, Jack?"
Jack looked up from throwing another card. "Happiness serves hardly any other purpose than to make unhappiness possible."
"What?"
"Proust."
"You've read Proust?"
"Sort of. Dated him, actually."
Gwen stared at him, and then shook her head. Some things it was best to not even acknowledge. "You didn't really answer my question," she said.
"If you haven't got anything to lose, then there's nothing that can be taken away."
"Have you ever heard of living for the moment?"
"Do I have any other choice?"
Gwen threw a card, and finally was able to take the two cards. "Ha!" she exclaimed.
"I'm lulling you into a false sense of security," Jack proclaimed.
"Good job," she said.
They played on in silence for a while, and then Gwen gave an earsplitting yawn.
"Go to bed, Gwen," Jack said. "That's an order."
She laughed, but struggled to her feet. "I don't want to pass out in a bathroom," she said, sleepily.
"That would be silly. I'll wake you when it's time to leave."
"Okay," she yawned, and went to open the door. Jack jumped to his feet, and seized her wrist.
"I am," he said.
"You are what?"
"Happy. Damaged and fucked up too. And guilty about all of it. But yeah, happy."
"Oh," she said. "Good. I'm glad."
"And you?"
"Yes," she said. "I get to have it all."
"The only way it should be," Jack said, and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. "Good night."
"You're beautiful," she said. "The two of you."
Jack smiled. "And you're something, Gwen Cooper. It was my lucky day, when you found us."
She tried to reply, but could feel her brain shutting down, and then Jack was ushering her back into the room, and tucking her under covers before turning out the light. But the room glowed from the lights of the airport and its highway approach and just before she fell asleep, she saw him sit on the edge of Ianto's bed and gently touch the man's hair. In the night, when she woke briefly he was at the window again, but this time, he wasn't looking at the planes; he was looking at the two of them, her and Ianto, stretched out in their beds.
And through all that the morning brought -- the mad scramble for toothpaste and toothbrushes, made more trying by the slight hangover; the horrendous snafu at the airport and the plane delay in Amsterdam, where she'd had to bodily prevent Ianto from marching into the city because of some frankly startling desire on his part for a hash muffin; the ride back to Cardiff in coach, while a screaming toddler kicked the back of their seats, and Jack bickered with Ianto about the budget and the mile high club 'til she was nearly ready to force both their heads into the airplane loo, and flush; and the turbulence that had Ianto paling with terror and Jack threatening to go up front to the cockpit to fly the plane for them till they almost had to physically restrain him -- through it all, that was the image that stayed with her: Jack standing upright against the window, guarding them against the dark.
end
Continue to In Our Bedroom After The War
Andlaurab1 has made a gorgeous set of icons, illustrating a Time Agency education or what every gentleman should know. We are absolutely thrilled. Please do go and fanperson her!
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto, Gwen
Authors:
rm & kalichanRating/Warning: NC-17, slash, hurt/comfort, fluff
Summary: The moral of the story is never let Jack make the travel plans. Takes place just after Torchwood: Lost Souls [The Radio Play] and sometime before Doctor Who 4x13: Journey's End
Wordcount: 7,200
Authors' Notes: This is a little outtake from our series, I Had No Idea I Had Been Traveling. It takes place sometime after "Many of My Favorite Things Are Broken" and before "In Our Bedroom After the War". This one's just a little bit of candy floss for all of you who were sad that we were turning our attention to prequels! Speaking of which, if you're reading the series, you will probably want to go take a look at the Jack/Nine/Rose story, And I Cannot Know How Long She Has Dreamed of All of You that we've just posted; it will be relevant to the rest of the main story arc.
Previous installments:
1. A Strange Fashion of Forsaking | 2. Dear Captain, Last Night I Slept in Mutiny | 3. To Learn This Holding and the Holding Back | 4. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World | 5. I Imagine You Now in That Other City | 6. Many of My Favorite Things Are Broken
Jack scrubbed a hand over his face as he realized that begging, pleading, and flashing his Torchwood credentials to get a room at an overbooked airport hotel was desperately a task he wanted to hand over to Ianto.
Ianto, though, was still looking slightly gray, definitely traumatized and was clearly gritting his teeth against passing out. Gwen was at least keeping an eye on him, but she looked pretty weary herself. Which left Jack feeling like he was playing personal assistant to Mr. and Mrs. Ambassador of Wales. Again. He hated Switzerland.
"I don't care who you are. Do you know how many dignitaries we've had through here this week? One room. I can get you one room. You could be the ambassador from Mars and I wouldn't be able to do more for you. It has two beds, and I can send a cot up, but that's it."
"Don't bother," Jack snapped, sliding his credit card across the desk as Gwen muttered something about not wanting to hear him and Ianto screwing all night.
"You'll be lucky if you're not hearing him have nightmares all night," he said to her, sharply.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, sir," Ianto said with humor even though his voice was weak.
Jack shrugged. It wasn't Ianto's fault, and his capacity to get into a mess, come through it and still be relatively functional was admirable, but Jack was feeling more than a little sick of him being the prime target for every bit of bullshit that stumbled through the Rift.
He sighed. They'd talk about it later if Ianto wanted. Otherwise, he wanted to see both him and Gwen asleep, while he'd no doubt be reduced to pacing a groove in the carpet in hopes that could somehow get them back to Cardiff sooner. He hated commercial travel. He hated flying not being up to him. Their work was supposed to be local. He wasn't supposed to want a jet. Hell, he wasn't supposed to need one.
And since he was also supposed to have forgotten everything, he definitely wasn't supposed to want to apologize to Ianto for this clusterfuck being the result of the first time they got to see the sky together.
Jack sighed and looked over his shoulder as the hotel clerk disappeared somewhere with his credit card. Ianto was sagging against Gwen, who was propping up some of his weight.
"God, Ianto," she said, the sharpness in her voice belying the worried look in her eyes and the tender way she was supporting him despite being so much smaller. "Haven't I carried you around enough today?"
"Sorry," Ianto muttered and tried to stand up straight.
"Don't be ridiculous," Gwen snapped. "Jack, we need to get up to a room, now."
Jack held up his hands. "Going as fast as I can. Where the hell did they go with that card?"
In the room -- which was as soulless, dreary, and businesslike as every hotel near every airport and spaceport Jack had ever been to, bar none and irrespective of galactic coordinates -- Gwen eased Ianto down onto one of the two beds, and then collapsed herself next to him.
"I've got to ring up Rhys," she said, sighing. "He's not going to be best pleased."
"Unavoidable," Jack said, as he pulled the curtain and peered through the window at the airfield in the distance.
"You couldn't get U.N.I.T. to spring for a chalet or bed and breakfast at least?" Gwen asked. "We did just save the world and all."
"U.N.I.T.'s not very happy with us at the moment," Jack said, still gazing out the window. "Besides, I think Rhys would be even more miffed if he thought you were having a luxury vacation without him. This way, you can tell him you were suffering."
"Thanks, Jack," Gwen said. "Your concern and advance planning are truly touching."
Jack turned to look at the two of them, and noticed that Ianto was not only being oddly silent but was also rubbing his temples.
"You okay?" he asked moving towards the bed as he and Gwen exchanged a worried glance.
"Fine," Ianto said with his eyes closed. "Bit of a headache, that's all."
"You don't look fine," Jack said a bit combatively.
"I can't imagine why, Jack," Ianto began. "I come into work four hours after you've left my flat and somehow, in that time, you've decided we're all going to go on a trip. But can you be bothered to tell any of us that until we're at the airport? No. Do we have any luggage? No. Did you see to accommodations? Of course not. Did you even consider how long we might wind up here or the fact that Switzerland is absolutely not under our purview? Apparently not."
"Hey. One day job. Got lucky," Jack said.
Ianto continued as if he hadn't spoken. "And then, because I am apparently a feast for telepathic aliens that like to impersonate the dead, I almost get killed, in an underground tunnel, in Switzerland."
"At least your bike had a bell," Gwen interjected.
Ianto offered her a weak smile before continuing. "So no, Jack, I am not fine. I feel like shit, and we're in an airport hotel far from home and the Hub and our stupid pet pterodon and all I want is for my damn head to stop hurting and everyone and everything else to go away."
Jack frowned. If Ianto could bitch at him in so prolonged a fashion he was probably fine. On the other hand, Ianto only talked in paragraphs when he was at least bordering on distraught, so 'fine' probably had a looser definition than maybe most people would approve of. Also, he wished Gwen would move to the other damn bed, although he supposed that wouldn't really help them have a word in privacy either.
"We'll be home soon," Jack said quietly. "Get some rest. Both of you. We're on the first flight out in the morning."
For a long time no one said anything or moved. Finally, Ianto spoke. "Sir, it is incredibly difficult to sleep with you hovering at the foot of the bed."
Jack sighed and went back to the windows to pace.
"You know," Gwen said softly to Ianto, "they tried to get in my head too."
"But they didn't, did they?"
Gwen shook her head. "Don't know why. Lucky I guess."
Instinctively, Gwen looked to Jack for his insight on the matter, but he had his back to them and was staring out at the planes again. With a soft grunt, Ianto turned on to his side away from them both and curled in on himself. It was, Gwen thought, the most obviously futile attempt at sleep she'd ever seen.
She lay there for a minute or two, trying not to fidget and then exhaled with exasperation. No good, and she still had to phone Rhys anyway. There was no sense in putting it off. She sat up, eased herself off the bed, and went over to stand by Jack at the window.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" he whispered, without turning to look at her.
"I've got to call Rhys," she said back softly. "Can't sleep anyway. Besides, you'd rather stretch out with Ianto. And I'd like a bed all to myself."
"Thought you didn't want to listen to us screw."
"As you said, not much screwing that lad's going to be up to, unless you like them unconscious," she shot back.
"I can hear every word you're saying," Ianto said from the bed, his voice sounding pained.
"Sorry," Gwen said, and Jack took her by the shoulders and led her from the room.
"Need anything, Ianto?" he asked, as he opened the door.
"Just some peace," Ianto replied.
"Okay," Jack said. "We'll be just outside. Gwen can do her telephoning, and I'll look in on you in a bit."
"I'm fine, Jack, you don't need to--"
"Yeah, yeah," Jack said. "I know, you're a big boy and all that. Just go to sleep, Ianto. We'll be back later."
As they shut the door and stood in the hall, Gwen peered at Jack suspiciously.
"Okay, Jack. I want to know what's going on."
"What makes you think there's something going on?"
"What's the matter with Ianto?"
"He's got a headache."
"Oh yes? Since when does he get headaches?"
Jack leaned against the wall, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't know. People get headaches. Didn't you have to call your husband?"
"Is it possible for you to say that word without sounding sarcastic?"
"Don't know. Never tried."
"Jack. Don't try to change the subject on me. Rhys'll keep. What the hell is going on with Ianto? I know that thing tried to get into his head. But why's he so --?"
"He'll be fine," Jack said. Then he looked at Gwen and realized that she was wearing an all too familiar expression of ill-conceived but dogged tenacity that he knew was capable of withstanding any order he chose to give her. He sighed. "He's susceptible, that's all. More than you."
"Why's that?"
"How much do you know about Torchwood One?" Jack asked.
"I know Ianto's Lisa died there. I know about Canary Wharf. What more do I need to know?"
"They weren't like us, held together with spit and chewing gum. They were a proper organization. Had lots of interesting ways to… uh… handle human resources."
"You make them sound like cannibals."
"Only if they'd have thought of it. And if there was a point, then I'm sure they would've. Not a lot of scruples. But what they did have was discipline and a system. Rules and training."
"You almost sound envious," Gwen remarked.
"Hardly," Jack said. "I designed this one this way on purpose. You run things like an army, well then, that’s what you get -- a war. Not that it wouldn't do you lot some good to follow an order now and then. But anyway. Point is, they gave everyone some psychic training. Ianto's been through the full course."
"Psychic training?" Gwen repeated incredulously. "You're telling me Ianto's psychic?"
"How else you think he gets everyone's coffee so perfect?"
There was a pause. And then Gwen said hesitantly, "You're joking, right?"
"About the coffee? Yeah, probably. Although I wouldn't put money on it, necessarily. About the psychic training? Not at all."
"He told you that?" Gwen asked.
"Didn't have to. He worked for Yvonne Hartman, he's been through the whole thing."
"So? I mean, psychic training. Shouldn't that make him safer from things trying to get into his head?"
"Nope," Jack said. "He probably just started out with really low barriers. Naturally open. Good at sussing out people, instinctually. He's like a… what do you call them?"
Gwen tried not to show that she was wincing as he fumbled for the word. Watching Jack forget and remember things had become routine by now, but she still found it heartbreaking every time.
"A… chameleon? Yeah. That's it," he said, snapping his fingers and sounding pleased with himself at finally locating the word. "Constantly reads the environment in order to blend in. Training can only help so much. He's probably got to be consciously shielding to avoid getting input. And believe me, we'll be having several conversations about the necessity of keeping those up in the future."
Gwen stared at him. Then, not sure she even wanted the answer, but unable to stop digging for it regardless, she asked, "Were you ever at Torchwood One, Jack?"
"Are you asking me if I've had training?"
"Sort of," she said. "Yeah."
"What do you think?"
She shook her head and then slumped against the wall next to him. Great. A boss who could probably read minds. A boss from whom she kept secrets, who she adored with an unbelievable and peculiar intensity, not to mention lusted after, and just to top things off, a boss whose orders she ignored whenever it suited her. Well, that was just brilliant, that was. "Just when I think this job can't get any weirder."
"Do you want some, by the way?"
"Want some what?"
"Training," Jack said shortly. "You don't need it; you've got barriers that are tough as nails, or I'd have insisted before. But if you want it—"
"No," she exclaimed hurriedly, cutting him off. "Thanks, Jack, but I really, really don't."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Afraid?" he asked. "Really? P.C. Gwen Cooper? I can hardly believe it."
"I've changed enough," she said flatly.
Jack looked at her fondly. "Yeah," he said, and ran a finger down the side of her cheek. "Guess you have."
She closed her eyes, and they stood there in silence for a moment, before Jack said. "Hey. You need to call Rhys."
"Right," she said, and pulled herself up. "There's a pay-phone downstairs, and I'm charging the call to Torchwood."
"Fair enough," Jack said. "Just don't tell Ianto. I don't want him freaking out about the budget when he's got a headache."
Gwen laughed. "You two. I'll never understand it."
Jack smiled. "Go call your husband. And remember, if you have phone sex on the company shilling, I really should get a recording. Or at least a reprise. Blow by blow," he purred.
Gwen rolled her eyes at him.
As she headed down the hallway, he called after her. "Gwen?"
She turned back. "Yeah?"
"Thank you," he said. "For saving him. And you." And before she could answer, he'd slipped back into their room.
Jack crept back through the door on the off chance Ianto had fallen asleep, although he doubted it. He slid onto the bed quietly and watched as Ianto studiously didn't react.
"Hey. I know you're awake."
Ianto made an acknowledging noise in response.
"Are you in pain or freaked out?" Jack asked.
"Little of both."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
Ianto sighed and rolled over to face him, and Jack thought he looked more relaxed than he had since this thing started. Jack suppressed a smile. When under stress Ianto seemed to do better when forced into a corner. Jack was noticing that more and more. Remembering it too.
"So what happened down there?" Jack asked.
"Gwen told you."
"She did. But I want your version."
"I could hear them," Ianto said quietly, not opening his eyes. "Tosh and Owen. Lisa. It was nice. Except for the part where they sounded scared, like they didn't even have each other. I don't know. Maybe if I thought they had I could have left it alone."
"But you know it's not like that, right?" Jack said, almost as if he were talking to a child.
Ianto shook his head. "I don't. I only know about the place we've got people back from. And where you go. We don't know if that's it. Not really. And I don't know. I just have to keep taking everyone's word for it."
"Do you believe --"
"I don't believe anything anymore, Jack. That's not what I do. I'm just saying I feel the possibility still. Like a bad habit."
"All right," Jack said, trying to appease him.
"I wanted to help them. But I wanted to help Gwen too, who was saying we should leave, but she was really hard to hear, and I thought maybe if she was just quiet for a little while I could get everyone sorted, but she kept talking about you. And coffee. And I was so cold. And I knew enough to be scared, but not why really. And then she rescued me. The end."
Jack made a considering noise. "You get what actually happened there, right?"
"Psychic aliens impersonating the dead and preying on the grieving. Fairly clear, sir," Ianto said irritably.
"You smell like food to them," Jack said, wincing at the clumsiness of the metaphor. Ianto had a track record of smelling like food to all sorts of things, and it was something Jack wished he had more sense than to remind him of.
"That's why they hired me," Ianto said.
"Why's that?" Jack asked, only slightly startled that Torchwood One should be on his mind too. Besides, Jack was curious to hear what Ianto knew or thought about it and even more curious to know if he had some information in his head the surviving files from London didn't.
"A capacity for attentiveness."
"More useful in an assistant than an archivist," Jack mused.
"They didn't appreciate my commentary. So into the archives with the rest of the freaks and geeks it was."
"Probably saved your life," Jack noted, thinking of Canary Wharf.
"Yeah," Ianto agreed.
Jack took a deep breath. "So is it that you forget to put up barriers or that you're not very good at it?" Jack asked.
Ianto chuckled darkly. "If I could do that, what use would I be? It's not like I have a library science degree or something."
"So you didn't have the full course?" Jack asked, incredulously.
"Of course I did. But I flunked that part. They didn't care, really. And why should they? As long as you're good enough to see through psychic paper, what difference does it make?" Ianto said in the same tone Gwen had used in the hall, as if it was all too weird and revolting to even merit real consideration.
Jack made a disgusted noise. It was all so typical of Torchwood One. Greedy and barbaric. He wondered how subtly and constantly they played the issue with him, wondered if they managed to convince him that his own desires were moot and he was clearly just a mirror, a creature who responded and didn't create demands in his own right. It wasn't true of course, not by a long shot, but Torchwood One had lied all the time. Jack smiled. Ianto exhausted Jack with his will. But whether Ianto truly knew that was another matter entirely. Either way, Jack was grateful for it.
"We've never talked about this before, have we?" Jack asked.
Ianto shook his head. "No, Jack, we haven't."
"My bad. We should have. And we should deal with London's little training negligence too."
"No one around to teach me anyway, even assuming I could learn."
"I'm gonna to try hard to not be offended by that."
"I'm half convinced it's a load of crap anyw-- wait -- what?" Ianto stared at Jack with disbelief as he registered his comment.
"You don't actually believe it's crap. You're not stupid, and you've seen plenty," Jack went on, ignoring Ianto's shock.
"Of course, I don't believe that, Jack, I'm not an idiot. It's just pleasant to think so on occasion. That's not important. What do you mean, 'you're going to try not to be offended by that?'"
"What, you think just because I grew up poor, that I haven't been to school?" he asked, grinning, somehow loving the idea of having to go down this particular road with Ianto. Afterall, it was one way to get to know the man again, increasingly less awkward dinners and sex aside. "What're you trying to say?"
"What?" Ianto sputtered. "That's not what I meant--"
"Relax," Jack said. "Anyway. Fully educated in everything a gentleman should know. Time Agency makes sure of that. Table manners, low and hi tech weaponry, armed and unarmed combat, history, physics, engineering, literature, probability theory, assassination, strategy & tactics, navigation, cosmology, chemistry -- recreational and otherwise -- multi-dimensional mathematics, covert ops, machine arts, and, of course, psychic training.
"Are you serious?"
"How do you think Torchwood One got the whole idea for it in the first place? It's one of the first courses. I can teach you," Jack said. "Give it a go, anyway. I'm terrible at reaching out, but I didn’t fail and nothing gets in my head when I don't want it to -- exactly what you need to learn."
That it was all relative anyway, and that Jack was on a different psychic level then anyone else on this planet in this time period was probably immaterial to this particular discussion. Although maybe not. Ianto might appreciate knowing he was more ordinary than not.
What was definitely irrelevant was the fact that he wasn't quite as terrible at reaching out as he'd just implied. Not anymore, thanks to his two millenia long day. Somehow he'd come out of it not just with a dodgy memory but with an annoyingly intermittent heightened telepathic broadcast, which to be honest, was totally useless considering he could neither predict nor control it. Also it spooked Ianto, which now that Jack thought about it, should have been his first clue that Ianto couldn't protect his mind worth a damn.
Luckily, episodes of that seemed to be happening with less frequency, and Jack was, quite frankly, hoping the whole thing would just go away.
He glanced at Ianto out of the corner of his eye and noted he didn't appear to be getting convinced. So Jack went on.
"And it doesn't matter anyway, because your brain can only go so far. Unless you're some weird genetic sport, which I doubt, I've got 3,000 years of evolution on you. You couldn't catch up to that anyway. But we could certainly improve those exterior shields of yours. Your deep screens are fine. You just need to practice."
In some ways, this was all his fault anyway. For giving the idea to Torchwood in the first place and letting them butcher and mishandle the whole thing, which of course they were bound to do. Ironic, really. He'd wanted to give them some protection -- god knows why, considering that they were all a bunch of sociopathic lunatics as far as he could tell, but nevertheless, he'd felt impelled to try somehow and ended up presenting them like lambs to the slaughter instead.
A little learning was a dangerous thing; they'd been opened up enough to be in danger and enough to think, mistakenly, that they'd learned enough to protect themselves and could meddle in anything that suited them. He might as well have painted little targets onto boys like Ianto, going through life smelling like a smorgasbord to any passing level four species. Only, of course, it didn't matter now. There was only Ianto left.
The rest were all dead. Mistake erased, he thought bitterly. Wouldn't the Doctor be proud.
"I'm sure, with the proper incentives," he added to Ianto, trying to sound encouraging and seductive at the same time, "you could learn anything you needed to know."
"You can't have been trained," Ianto said flatly, not paying any attention to Jack's attempt to reassure him or his not-so-subtle innuendo.
"Why not?"
"Well. Lisa."
"What about her?"
"You didn't know. About her, I mean."
"As flattering as the idea that you think I just go about mind reading people without their permission is," Jack said, actually a bit hurt, "how exactly would you suggest I do that sort of thing without letting you know I was doing it? There's a reason we use that machine Toshiko put together. You know humans can't get through people's deep screens without help."
Ianto sighed and rolled onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, and then closed his eyes. "Sometimes, I just don't know how to deal with any of this."
"You do a pretty good job."
"Yes, I'm very effective at getting into trouble and requiring rescue," Ianto said. "Thank you for noticing, sir. I've worked long and hard to perfect my skills in that arena."
"And you look pretty while doing it," Jack said. "That's what's really important."
"Thanks," Ianto said shortly. "Just what I wanted to hear."
"Look," said Jack, turning serious because Ianto was clearly only capable of serious right now. "We had to come. It was Martha. She needed help. But I fucked this whole thing up. I've got that. No planning. No sense. Didn't even book us rooms. I just thought it would be... fun."
"Fun?" Ianto asked dryly.
"Torchwood sees the world."
"As opposed to the universe's garbage," Ianto added.
"Exactly. Look, you weren't incompetent, you were ill-equipped, and you probably kept that thing busy enough for Gwen to be able to get you out. If either of you had gone in there alone, might not have been good."
"It wasn't good," Ianto noted.
"Nobody's dead," Jack offered.
Ianto stared at him.
"Okay, no one new who we care about is dead."
"Doesn't it bother you?" Ianto asked.
"What?"
"Thinking like that."
"Tell me I've got a choice."
"You've got a choice," Ianto said.
"All right. Tell me it's a good one."
He said nothing.
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
They were quiet then for a long moment, and Jack eventually reached out, tentatively, to run his fingers through Ianto's hair. Things had been better between them since the roof, but it hadn't stopped everything from feeling fragile to Jack all the time, which made him too gentle and then too harsh with the world by turns. Ianto assured him he'd always been like that, but if it were true, Jack was pretty sure it had never bothered him before. Maybe it had been an act. He couldn't be certain.
"Ah, that's nice," Ianto said, smiling a little.
"You should rest."
Ianto frowned and forced himself to sit up wincing as he did. "Shower," he declared instead.
"Still cold?" Jack asked.
Ianto tilted his head at Jack's perceptiveness. "No. Just the memory of it really," he said and climbed off the bed.
"Do you want company?" Jack called just before Ianto closed the bathroom door behind him.
Ianto laughed, and it was the sound of surrender, the sound of absurdity. "Sure," he shouted back over the sound of water. If he was going to almost die in a tunnel in Switzerland, he could at least have a bit of fun in a shower with Jack there too. Even if he did feel like his head was going to hatch something dreadful at any moment.
"Where's Gwen?" he asked when Jack had stepped under the spray with him and plucked the washcloth out of his hand. Ianto let him, not having the energy to argue.
The water was as hot as Ianto could stand it, more like the way Jack usually preferred. Ianto supposed getting boiled alive was more pleasurable if your skin instantly healed itself. But he still felt cold inside, as if the warmth of the water could only penetrate so far and no farther. He tried to lean against the wall as casually as possible.
"She went to call Rhys," Jack said. "Are you all right? Maybe we should have filled the bath instead."
Ianto looked down at the tub which was not very large and laughed weakly. "I don't think so," he said.
Jack stepped forward and pulled Ianto around so that his back was pressed against him. "Lean on me," he said. "The tile's too slippery."
"And you're not?"
"Not for you," Jack said, sounding proud of his cleverness.
Grabbing soap, he rubbed it into the washcloth and then started to rub it in slow circles over Ianto's chest. Even in the water-diffused light, the too-white hotel tile seemed painfully bright, and Ianto closed his eyes and lifted his face into the stinging, hot spray, letting Jack more than half support his weight.
Jack's hands, the delicious roughness of the cloth, the slickness of the soap, the water rushing over him made everything seem like a dream of heat and steam, and that was nice too. So were Jack's hands rubbing soapy lather and the rough cloth over his thighs and cock, and even with everything and the pounding in his head, Ianto could feel himself immediately getting hard and slipping away, just a bit, from all the day's indignities.
"That's it," Jack whispered, and Ianto felt himself melt just a little bit more from the encouragement.
After he'd stroked Ianto all the way hard, Jack dropped the washcloth, braced him with a forearm across his chest, and then, with his other hand, went into him using two fingers, first gently, steadily massaging and then slipping surely inside. Ianto moaned and let Jack's fingers carry him away, even if it was a bit foolish and he felt blind from exhaustion.
But then it was Jack fucking him smooth and efficient against the white tile as the torrents of water washed over them, and Ianto thought that drowning might be a nice way to go after all. At least until he felt something that could only be described like a pressure from right inside his headache.
“Jack?” he asked nervously.
“Shhhhhh.”
“No,” he gasped as Jack stroked into him just right.
“What?” Jack asked, a smile in his voice.
“It hurts. My head.”
“But –
“No. Not now. It’s too much, too weird….”
“I don’t know if I could do this under any other circumstances,” Jack said softly, his voice strained, concentration clearly elsewhere even as he continued to fuck into Ianto shallowly.
“Well, you’ll have to try,” Ianto said with some sharpness and some despair, before slamming down on Jack’s presence in his mind.
Jack laughed and bit at Ianto’s throat. “See, you can do it.”
“But all I want is this,” Ianto breathed, losing himself in the sex again as Jack placed a kiss just behind his ear as if he were precious.
Once they came Jack stayed in him for what seemed like ages, and Ianto thought he might have dozed for a moment leaning back against him, the man's arms around his waist. The possibility that Jack had actually been shaken by the day's events finally occurred to him then, and somehow, it made him less rattled. Perspective, he was finding, would do in lieu of safety or sanity.
When they got out of the shower -- finally -- Ianto realized that there was no way he was putting on the clothes he'd been wearing earlier so he wrapped a too small towel around his hips and grimaced at Jack, who was doing the same.
Jack shrugged.
If he started talking, Ianto didn't have a lot of faith that he wouldn't say something embarrassing or requiring more energy than either of them had, so instead he opened the door, actually enjoying the moment where the steam rushed out of the bathroom and the colder air of the room rushed in. With any luck, he could be under the covers before Gwen arrived back.
Of course, luck hadn't figured much in the last 24 hours and was clearly still on holiday, so Ianto didn't even know why he was so surprised to find Gwen stretched out on the bed with the television on. It was in French, of course.
She turned to him and lifted an eyebrow. "Oho!" she said, with mock horror, looking him up and down. "Not exactly dressed for company, are we?"
If he hadn't been scalded red from the shower, he knew he'd be blushing.
"And you, Jack," she went on. "Washing his back, were you?"
"Among other things," Jack said from somewhere right behind Ianto.
Without deigning to give Gwen a response, Ianto turned back and said, "Jack, your arrangement making privileges have been revoked. Never again."
Jack, of course, just walked by him, looking completely comfortable, and stretched out on the other bed. "You know," he said lazily, "I was under the impression that I ran things around here. I'm pretty sure you don't get to revoke my privileges."
"Tell me, if you say it often enough, does it become true?" Gwen said, laughing.
"Jack, get up," Ianto said, not even giving Jack a chance to answer.
"What? Are you kicking me out of bed now?"
"No, I'm trying to get in bed and it's rather hard to pull down the blankets if you're lying on top of them," Ianto said, relying on his irritation to hide his continued utter embarrassment.
"Maybe I just want to lie here and look at you."
"Jack."
"Oh, all right," Jack said, getting up and yanking the blankets back.
Ianto did his best, although Jack had to acknowledge it wasn't very good and that, that was very good, to climb into the bed without flashing him and Gwen any more than was strictly necessary.
"You'll be asleep in five minutes," Jack murmured as he pulled the covers up for him.
Ianto just smiled. "Thank you," he said softly.
Gwen knew she shouldn't be staring, but she couldn't help herself, and it wasn't just because Jack brought out the worst in everyone when it came to the open appreciation of, well, everything. It was that he was being tender. Not that this was entirely new. She'd seen it before. Towards her, and Ianto, and on the rare occasions Jack had really talked to her, about his past. But it was something Jack used to try to hide, although since his time under Cardiff it seemed to be a detail of his behavior she suspected he had forgotten, or at least misplaced, the urgency of. Certainly it made her glad for Ianto, even if it sometimes made her own feelings towards Jack more complicated than she would have liked.
"Gwen," Jack said, startling her out of her thoughts.
"What? Oh! Hi. Sorry," she said, embarrassed at having been caught staring.
"Was there a shop downstairs?" Jack asked, sitting on the edge of the bed where Ianto had now curled to face the wall. He rested a hand on the other man's hip, buried under blankets.
She tried not to smile. "Yeah? Why?"
"Think they've got cards down there?"
"Who're you writing to?"
"Playing cards, Gwen."
"Oh. Might have," she said still puzzled.
Jack chuckled and got up to fetch his clothes that were still strewn around the bathroom.
"Soldiers with nothing to do 'til morning," he called, and then popped his head out to look at her around the bathroom door. "We can raid the minibar," he offered.
Gwen chuckled, oddly charmed as Jack disappeared again.
"That's how fond of you I am, Gwen Cooper," he said from the bathroom. "You're another soldier in the war. Doesn't occur to me I shouldn't wander around naked in front of you," he continued, finally padding out of the bathroom in slacks and his t-shirt.
"Wouldn't occur to you anyway, Jack."
"True," he said, considering. "But thought you should know it's not just that sweet little gap in your teeth," he said and winked.
She chuckled and shook her head.
"Thanks for looking after him," he said softly, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I'll go see if they've got cards. Back in five!"
When he returned, triumphantly brandishing two packs of playing cards, Gwen was pretending to flip through a magazine, but really still looking at Ianto. He wasn't so much younger than her really -- only five years or so, but she felt a rush of tenderness whenever she looked at him, something she couldn't quite explain. And complicated too, because the more she watched him and Jack together, the more she realized how much he had something she'd thought she wanted almost more than anything.
She'd given up on fantasies of her and Jack the day after her wedding. Sure, a bit late, some would argue, considering the whole actual day of the ceremony she'd been waiting for something, someone, okay, Jack to stop her. And the more she had that feeling, the more she fought against it. Protesting too much, she knew, even as she couldn't stop herself. Because through the long course of that terrible, awkward day, she'd known that if Jack would ask, really, properly ask, she would have given it all up -- Rhys, the normal life, everything -- in a heartbeat.
But he didn't ask.
And then, the day after, when it had all quieted down, and they'd had a bit of peace, lying in the dark hotel room, after -- it had to be said -- some fairly mind blowing sex, and Rhys was drifting off into sleep, she'd curled around his back, pressed a kiss into the back of his neck, and just for a moment, just like that, she'd been able to let Jack go.
Not stop loving him -- she'd never do that. Or probably even wanting him.
But she'd been able to stop imagining that if she just put enough force of will into wanting it, it would somehow happen. Because she didn't want it enough to tear down her whole life chasing after it. What she really wanted was for someone else to do the tearing down for her, carry her away as she kicked and screamed. Disgusting, but true. And he wasn't going to. At first she'd thought he just didn't have it in him, all that bravado aside. But it seemed he did have. Just not for her.
"Want a drink?" Jack asked, as he sat down on the bed next to her.
"Shush," she said, nodding to Ianto.
"He's out like a light," Jack said. "Don't worry. A little conversation's not gonna wake him up, trust me."
"He's had a hard day," she whispered. "I don't want to --"
Jack grinned. "Okay," he whispered back. "Come on." He pulled her off the bed and led her into the bathroom.
"Jack! What are you doing?" she hissed.
He put her inside the door, and then disappeared back into the room for a few moments. When he appeared again, he was juggling several bottles of beer, and Gwen stood with her arms folded, as he shut the bathroom door after him.
"Don't say I never take you anywhere," Jack said with a grandiose flourish.
"The bloody floor's wet!"
"Oh," Jack said. He pulled down a couple more towels and scuffed them around the floor. "See? All better." And then he slid down to sit on the tiled floor.
"Well?" he asked. "Aren't you going to join me?" He handed her a bottle of beer, and she rolled her eyes, before taking it from him, and then sliding down to sit across from him with her back against the bathtub.
"This is ridiculous," she said and took a long pull from the bottle. "And it's still damp."
"Fun though," he said and winked before asking, "C'mon. Don't be a spoilsport. What should we play?" as he unwrapped the cellophane on the cards.
After a few attempts at Gin rummy, one valiant effort to teach Jack the rules of Snap (which devolved into a slap fight), and in the middle of an endless hand of War, which was the only thing their ravaged minds seemed able to handle, Gwen was feeling even punchier than ever. The three bottles of beer might've had a little to do with it as well.
"I think I'm a wee bit drunk," she announced, somewhat surprised.
Jack laughed. "Is it time for bed?"
"Maybe." She leaned her head back to look at the ceiling and then realized she was feeling a bit dizzy.
"You okay, Gwen?" Jack asked, his voice tinged with concern and maybe a bit of guilt.
"Yeah. Listen, Jack. Can I ask you a question?"
"That sounds ominous. Should I be worried here?" He fixed her with his gaze for a long moment, before throwing out a card and taking hers. Then he said, "Okay. Go ahead."
"Why didn't you stop me?"
"Stop you? I'm not getting your meaning here."
"From getting married."
There was a long pause. "Could I have?" he asked finally.
"You know you could."
"I was married once," he said. "A long time ago."
Gwen stared at him. Whatever she'd been expecting -- it wasn't this.
"It was nice," he said. "But they were all lies, you know, Gwen. All my promises. Those vows. And I still feel awful about it. Death doesn't part you people really. You all share it. Eventually. But not me. I go on. What Rhys promises you. That's real. Not a lie. I couldn't... you can't give that up. Not for me."
Gwen looked at him, and he looked back.
Jack cleared his throat. "You know that you're... that I--"
"Yes, Jack," she said, cutting him off, not able to bear hearing him say it. "I know you do. Me too."
There was an uncomfortable silence into which they both threw another card.
"I think you're cheating," she said, as he claimed the pair again.
"Would I do something like that?" he asked innocently, but the layers of the word couldn’t be ignored.
"Every time," she said. "What about Ianto?"
"What about him?"
"Doesn't that bother you? The promises? The vows?"
"Haven't made any."
"Jack. Come on," she said, having at the moment no patience at all for his completely obvious evasions.
"It should have. It did. But I haven’t said any of those things aloud. Not really. And anyway, he's different from you," Jack said, mildly worried that he was saying too much, but knowing there would always be something about Gwen Cooper that would make pieces of him tumble out one way or another.
"Different how?" she asked.
Jack looked straight at her. "He chose it. He chooses it. Over and over again. Whether I want him to or not. But you wanted me to choose it for you, and I wasn’t willing to do that."
Her eyes widened; it felt a little like Jack had just punched her in the stomach and knocked the breath out of her.
"It's okay," he said, trying to soothe. "You had -- you have more to lose."
"That's true," she said, forcing the tears back, and smiling at him. "You're better off, anyway. I'd not put up with half your antics. Ianto's got the patience of a saint."
Jack barked with laughter. "Not exactly how I'd have put it."
"A very fit, very perverse saint. Or so Martha told me."
"You girls and your gossip," he said, grinning.
"You're happy though, Jack?"
Jack looked up from throwing another card. "Happiness serves hardly any other purpose than to make unhappiness possible."
"What?"
"Proust."
"You've read Proust?"
"Sort of. Dated him, actually."
Gwen stared at him, and then shook her head. Some things it was best to not even acknowledge. "You didn't really answer my question," she said.
"If you haven't got anything to lose, then there's nothing that can be taken away."
"Have you ever heard of living for the moment?"
"Do I have any other choice?"
Gwen threw a card, and finally was able to take the two cards. "Ha!" she exclaimed.
"I'm lulling you into a false sense of security," Jack proclaimed.
"Good job," she said.
They played on in silence for a while, and then Gwen gave an earsplitting yawn.
"Go to bed, Gwen," Jack said. "That's an order."
She laughed, but struggled to her feet. "I don't want to pass out in a bathroom," she said, sleepily.
"That would be silly. I'll wake you when it's time to leave."
"Okay," she yawned, and went to open the door. Jack jumped to his feet, and seized her wrist.
"I am," he said.
"You are what?"
"Happy. Damaged and fucked up too. And guilty about all of it. But yeah, happy."
"Oh," she said. "Good. I'm glad."
"And you?"
"Yes," she said. "I get to have it all."
"The only way it should be," Jack said, and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. "Good night."
"You're beautiful," she said. "The two of you."
Jack smiled. "And you're something, Gwen Cooper. It was my lucky day, when you found us."
She tried to reply, but could feel her brain shutting down, and then Jack was ushering her back into the room, and tucking her under covers before turning out the light. But the room glowed from the lights of the airport and its highway approach and just before she fell asleep, she saw him sit on the edge of Ianto's bed and gently touch the man's hair. In the night, when she woke briefly he was at the window again, but this time, he wasn't looking at the planes; he was looking at the two of them, her and Ianto, stretched out in their beds.
And through all that the morning brought -- the mad scramble for toothpaste and toothbrushes, made more trying by the slight hangover; the horrendous snafu at the airport and the plane delay in Amsterdam, where she'd had to bodily prevent Ianto from marching into the city because of some frankly startling desire on his part for a hash muffin; the ride back to Cardiff in coach, while a screaming toddler kicked the back of their seats, and Jack bickered with Ianto about the budget and the mile high club 'til she was nearly ready to force both their heads into the airplane loo, and flush; and the turbulence that had Ianto paling with terror and Jack threatening to go up front to the cockpit to fly the plane for them till they almost had to physically restrain him -- through it all, that was the image that stayed with her: Jack standing upright against the window, guarding them against the dark.
Continue to In Our Bedroom After The War
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Date: 2008-10-10 09:12 pm (UTC)