author : chasingxtheair
fandom : Torchwood
pairing : Jack/Ianto
characters : Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, &team, Martha Jones, some OC's (but none major)
summary : Jack's always so perfectly gorgeous, Ianto can't stand it. Especially now that he's become so terribly broken.
rating : PG for now!
spoilers : it's set somewhere in late season 2 (let's say after 2x12), so spoilers up to that episode! &warning ; this story's got fluffy angst - or angsty fluff. Roll with it : )
A/N : I will be continuing this!! I just don't know how many chapters the story's going to have, which explaines the question mark in the '[2/?]' bit. Also, none of these characters belong to me, and no copyright infringement was intended!
Also; I have NO idea whatsoever if Ianto's mum is still alive, but for the sake of my story, she is... ;D
chapter one - chasingxtheair.livejournal.com/2768.html
I'm pretty sure I posted the first chapter on this site as well, but it's been a while and I can't seem to locate it 0_o
“You realize the implications of your condition?”
Ianto nodded; he really couldn’t do anything else, to be honest. He’d seemingly lost every ability to speak, and while contrary to popular belief his mouth was not quite dry, the simple act of swallowing all those horrible implications down hurt like nothing he’d ever felt before. They were in a room – a pale, cold room on the third floor (he vaguely remembered taking the lift here) with windows too large for such an office. It was plain cruel to build an execution room where the recipients of this kind of news could still marvel at nature’s beauty. Stare at the trees, covered in white blankets of snow and think oh, what a great life.
“I’m sorry,” he heard himself say. “Am I dying?”
Ianto’s eyes were fixated on the way the doctor’s chest expanded when he breathed in and out. Slowly, surely – building up the tension, no doubt. Pompous arse of a man. “Your body’s been affected by whatever toxin you’ve inhaled,” he began, “we’ll have to do farther testing to see how much damage it’s caused. See if we can stop it.” The office chair shrieked into the silence that followed his statement. “Listen, I could tell you everything will be alright,” he said, “but I don’t want to..”
“…get my hopes up.” Ianto murmured. He was so damn frightened out of his mind, but realistic enough to understand that the only available option to him was just to face things. Stare death in the face and hopefully not imagine Jack’s eyes as he did. “So what now?”
“We’ll need to monitor you for a few days. We’ll probably know more by the end of the week.” This was supposed to be reassuring. It failed epically.
Already his mind searched feverishly for an excuse to offer. A lie to keep the worries at bay. In this hostile room where shivers ran down his spine, he thought of Jack, so perfect and gorgeous, and his smile as he’d wave goodbye. A trip up north, Ianto would tell him. My mum’s sick, he would say. I can’t stand the thought of her being alone in such a cold, cold hospital room. She needs me, Jack.
I can’t leave her to die on her own.
A small bag, like carry-on luggage, lay opened on his bed, the dark blue almost blending in perfectly to the background of his midnight coloured sheets. If he were a man able of kidding himself, Ianto’d pretend it wasn’t even there. But he’d always failed miserably at pretending, even when he was a kid. Other children his age had had imaginary friends who played with them; ran with them through the high grass, chasing the wind. As much as he’d tried, Ianto’d never been able to conjure one up out of thin, crisp air. He was a realist – right until the minute he met Jack.
Captain Harkness, who had made the stars swirl all around them.
Ianto closed his eyes, pressing back the sob he knew was in there somewhere, the one trying to push its way upward. If he hurried now, he could just make it before everyone packed up and left for the night. There was the option of writing a cowardly note, or placing an equally pathetic phone call – but if things turned out to be really, really bad, he couldn’t live with himself without this goodbye. This last chance to … everything.
It was nearly five when he arrived at the hub; five-o-two when he saw Jack’s smile from across the room. He answered it, trying his best to look equally happy; and welcomed the way Jack wrapped him in his arms, pressing a kiss to the side of his face. A slight tremor ripped through his body; but it was caught by Jack.
“Mum.” He heard himself say, and he grimaced. So that’s the lie we’re going with. “She’s ill, Jack. I need to go to her straight away.”
“You’re going to Rhyl?” Ianto nodded and by God, he desperately fought to keep from breaking down as he saw Jack’s expression turn only mildly sad. While Jack knew Ianto’s family was greatly important to him, Ianto knew that everything would change once he found out the truth. At least now, he could pretend that somehow, Jack’s mind was flooded with relief; something along the lines of well, at least Ianto’s alright. At least this way, he wouldn’t be faced with Jack’s true feelings for him. He didn’t want to think about what would be written in those beautiful eyes if he just came out with it.
“Jack, I might be dying.”
Shock. Sadness. Whether they would show anything even slightly resembling love was a question he really, truly, didn’t want the answer to.
But that night, he pretended Jack loved him, not just with his body, but with more than that…with everything. He deluded himself into thinking that every single cell in their bodies seemed connected somehow, the warmth between them fusing them together. Captain Jack Harkness bled into his veins, and Ianto did the same, making his own love flow through that immortal bloodstream. He pressed his lips to every single inch of skin he could find in a desperate attempt to keep the sensation alive, imprint it in his mind.
So that an echo of Jack to remain with him, always. A ghost with callused fingertips.
It was the memory of that night that got him through the check-in procedure at the bloody local Cardiff hospital and warmed him as he laid bare-assed in the cold and sterile room 237 they’d assigned to him. It kept him from crying out when the medication they gave him made the pain unbearable and he could only distinguish the blurry outlines of Jack’s text message on his mobile.
I’ll bet you ten quid Rhyl’s not nearly as exciting as this place.
If he were honest with himself, he’d say he missed Ianto more than he was supposed to. He’d would’ve been a heartless pig if he hadn’t allowed Ianto Jones to visit his dying mother, but a part of him had selfishly not wanted to let him go. Possibly not only because Jack had certain…urges…only the sexy Welshman could satisfy. The idea of not knowing when he’d be back made something itch underneath his skin; and Jack didn’t like it at all.
Which was why, after spending several hours mulling it over in his head – no, no, he wouldn’t call it obsessing, thank you very much – he finally reached for his phone and – blatantly ignoring the fact that he had no unopened messages or even missed calls – reached out.
Ianto didn’t even take half an hour to send his reply.
Don’t underestimate Rhyl. Revealing hospital gowns can be…well, revealing.
The comment made him laugh; and the sound of it almost made him forget Ianto was even gone in the first place. One quick glance at his desk told him otherwise, though, and he swallowed the disappointment down.
He’d be back soon.
So, what did you think? Let me know, yeah? Would mean a lot. a LOT LOT. <3