Title: Bloody Melodramas
Author: firesnap
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Jack, appearances by Team Torchwood.
Summary: Jack can be the leader of Torchwood Three. He's good at that. He's good at love and lying too.
Notes: This story hasn't been beta'd, as a warning. It's my first attempt to try and write something from Jack's perspective. It's just a little piece trying to get into Jack's head.
Contains: Language, unbeta'd writing.
Relevant Episodes: None. Pre-Exit Wounds.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all of its characters are owned by the BBC and Russell T. Davies. I make nothing from writing this and wouldn't take your filthy money if you offered it. All characters included and mention within are of legal age.
Jack didn't see the blood at first. He was doing his job and, and on the list of priorities, he had other problems that got taken care of first. He had to make sure the threat of the week was under control, and that no further danger loomed on the horizon. Then Jack, taking a moment to be Jack and not Torchwood, scanned his team. He could see Tosh and Gwen in the distant, patting each other reassuringly as if to ask 'are you still here? Am I still here?' Owen wasn't around and Jack felt panic flare before he remembered yelling at Owen to get the SUV. Of course he sent Owen for the SUV, there are corpses to move and more work to be done. Jack saw Ianto last. He was curled against a brick wall and wrapped all in black wool and pale minty green silk. Jack ran over and knelt next to the huddled figure. He lifted Ianto's chin with a knuckle and saw a dazed expression turn to relief, recognition and something else. Pain? Ianto mumbled something and threw himself into Jack's arms.
It shouldn't have been surprising, the girls had done the same thing once the fight had been over, but for them, for Jack and Ianto, it was. Distance was one of the things they did best. Jack instinctively wrapped his arms around the slimmer frame and frowned. "Are you okay?"
Ianto shook his head and then Jack saw the spreading crimson stain across Ianto's chest. There was swearing. It was Jack's voice, or Ianto's, Jack couldn't tell. Jack called for Owen over the communicator. Help was coming. Of course it was. Owen was on his way before he even knew there was a problem. Jack's mind flashed back to where everyone was when the dead big toothed and snarling creature had stormed through the alley. His mind instinctively went over the orders that had been given and the strategy he'd advised. "When did this happen?" The slight accusation in his voice made the frown on Jack's face deepen. He meant to ask something else, he's sure. He meant to be comforting, not accusing.
Ianto doesn't answer either way. His eyes are wide open and the pupils blown. Jack had shifted him so that Ianto's back was pressed against Jack's chest and his legs were sprawled half-hazardly across the dirty street. One hand is reaching back, clutching one of Jack's braces, and Ianto's mouth is half open while he pants out quick breaths.
Jack's angry all of the sudden and he can't tell if it's at the damn alien that's ripped a hole in one of his staff or at Ianto for not understanding that he's not supposed to get holes ripped into him. It feels intentional and either fate or Ianto had to be blamed for it.
Ianto cries out suddenly and his grip on Jack tightens. Jack looks at the panic now filling blue eyes and the anger starts to melt away. Is he already paler? Jack can't tell. The girls are there now, he can see Gwen kneeling by the mess of Ianto's stomach, trying to get an idea of the damage. Jack's trying to hold on to Ianto's gaze but it isn't working. Gwen touches something, or some jolt of pain goes through Ianto, and he's thrashing out, crying hoarsely, and Jack has to hold him tight enough to cause bruises to stop any further damage. Gwen backs away, eyes wide and already red rimmed with tears.
"Ianto." There's Jack's voice. He'd wondered where it went. Apparently far away with some other parts of him. That would explain this hazy distant feeling. "Ianto." His voice is firmer and in he's in control of it again. Hopefully, the rest of him will be around shortly and this weird glaze that feels like it's separating him from everything will finally go away.
Ianto stills and looks up into Jack's face. He's trembling and his lips, still red but not as red as his shirt, are mouthing something that Jack can't hear. Jack smoothes the hair around Ianto's forehead and says something too. It's probably very reassuring but Jack can't even remember the words the second they're out of his mouth. Suddenly, the rest of Jack's brain checks back in with a jolt. Professional distance be damned, because it's his lover in his arms and it's his lover's blood staining everything and Jack is soul sick of having to repeat this scenario time and time again.
A part of him, the back of his mind still functioning in that hazy zone, realizes he should be better at this. He isn't, and that same grim part of his mind assures him that he has eternity to practice this same scene - with new broken bodies in his arms every time. His partners won't get many shots at this dramatic moment, but eventually, Jack will be so good at it that he can walk them through it blindfolded.
At the present though, he feels just as lost as the kid in his arms. Ianto's pale now, visibly, and his eyes are taking on a glazed frightened sheen. Gwen's holding the hand that isn't clutching Jack and she's murmuring enough placating phrases for everyone. Jack looks up to see where Tosh is and finds the SUV is already there. Tosh is scrambling at the back of the vehicle before Owen can unbuckle his safety belt. Seconds later, Owen is rushing over and Tosh is following with the med kit and pained, barely controlled panic on her face.
Owen's face is a mask of perfect calm. It's something, Jack thinks, med schools teach. Maybe he should take that class. Or go to med school. It's not like he doesn't have enough time. Owen pushes Gwen out of the way and is tearing at the sopping, wet mess of a shirt that looks like some parody of Christmas cheer at this point. There's a tightening around Owen's eyes as he takes in the wound and then he's barking orders at Tosh.
Jack redirects his attention back to Ianto and tries to give him a smile. If it resembles anything like how it feels then Jack can't blame Ianto for looking like he wants to pass out. Twenty-four years old. The youngest Torchwood employee to die in action was twenty-four years and three months old. Harriet Derbyshire. Jack had liked her and after her death he'd supported Cardiff's age restriction on recruitment. The death toll was too high for them to take these children before they'd had any semblance of a life.
Harriet had joined Torchwood too young. So had Ianto, but that wasn't Jack's fault. That damage had been done by people who didn't care and didn't see the danger in a twenty year old filing for them. Now Ianto was bleeding out for Queen and Country and Jack feels fear creeping into his bones. Ianto's twenty-four. Is he older than Harriet? For a panicked moment, Jack can't remember and it seems so important to him that Ianto should be older than Harriet. Jack can't offer Ianto a long life, but he can at least hope that Ianto won't be a tidbit of trivia for future archivists. Youngest agent killed in action isn't a glorious epitaph.
Jack's grip on Ianto tightens to counter the sudden relaxation of Ianto's body. Jack's eyes are wide until he sees Owen throwing an empty syringe on the ground. Painkillers. Of course. He's struck by the urge to gather up this fragile young life in his arms, wrap it in cotton and store it away somewhere safe. It'd be nowhere near Jack, or Gwen or Owen or even lovely Tosh. All of them are too involved, or inflicted, in this life to fully extract from it. Jack could give Ianto a life though. He's damaged, yes, broken and taped together like a ripped up photograph, but he's young and he'd heal. Eventually.
When Ianto's eyes flutter shut and Owen orders for them to move him to the SUV, Jack makes a promise. If Ianto lives, when this is over, Jack will send him away. It'll be for Jack's sake as much as Ianto's. If whatever primal force exists or some god is listening, Jack swears to impose a strict limitation of acting out this bloody scene only once with the same person. If the kid lives, he'll wipe his memories or send him to Scotland to file and sort like a good little curator for the rest of a very long life. Gwen will rage at losing her adopted little brother, Toshiko will sulk and withdraw, and Owen, honestly, will probably respect Jack a little more for it. Ianto will live and be angry and confused at Jack and that, in a perverted way, pleases Jack too.
Jack's discipline snaps back into place just as quick as it left. He's hoisting Ianto up now, helping ease him into the back of the SUV. Jack's next aware of driving the SUV, ignoring the sharp words and sharper silences. Tosh is next to him, directing him to the quickest route and flicking traffic lights to aid their journey. Gwen's in the back, still murmuring comforting phrases to an unconscious man and helping Owen in whatever way she can. Jack's blocking them all out though. He's the leader. He'll lead them to the Hub, and through carrying the bloodied weight of one of their teammates, and be the wall that keeps them from spilling over. It's easier than worrying about anything else.
Later, much later, Jack finally has a chance to decompress. Ianto is alive. He's bandaged in Owen's realm, pale and sleeping. After she'd gathered up blankets and pillows to make Ianto's night a little easier, Jack sent Tosh home. There's no point in all of them holding vigil. Owen's sleeping on the tattered sofa in the main area of the Hub – the demands of being the team medic, and Owen's innate pride in his job, and ability to keep his teammates alive, is keeping him there to check on his patient through the night. Gwen lingered, holding Ianto's hand and staring anxiously at vitals she didn't understand, until Jack sent her home too. A good team leader encourages his staff to not neglect their personal life after all. She'll be in bright and early despite Jack's threats and admonishments to stay home. Now Jack stands, looking down at Ianto's drugged and recovering body, and allows himself to take a long, deep breath. Everyone's safe. Jack's done his job. Giving one last parting look at Owen, Jack heads towards his quarters and shower. He still has dried blood on his hands and the metallic smell is making him nauseous.
Jack suspects, though he has no evidence to support it, that people think he's afraid of the word love. He isn't. The idea is preposterous to him because he's always found, and his mother would definitely agree, that he falls in love too easily. He loves his little fucked up band of global defenders immensely, for example. He loves Gwen's large eyes and the soft perfect surprised face she makes whenever she's amazed by something. He loves the way Owen's mouth is slightly too large for his face and the mental switch the man controls between being Doctor Harper and Owen Harper. He loves Toshiko's delighted gasps when she's puzzled out a problem and, of course, how amazing her tits look in a jumper. He loves the wicked glint in Ianto's eyes and the way he can have an entire conversation with someone entirely with facial expressions. Jack doesn't, in any fashion, shy away from love. Since discovering his immortal affliction, he thinks he's learned about all the different types of love that a human heart can experience. He imagines, in the years to come, he'll create new categories of love that no one's even thought of yet.
Of course, his ability to love comes second to his greatest talent – lying.
As he showers, watching the faint pink water slide down the drain, Jack realizes what a fucking liar he really is. Even when he's trying to do the right thing, and be the hero, he can't help but watch his own interests. Love is naturally a selfish creature - or an addictive drug as the cliché goes. Once he's used to it in his system, it's harder to give up than caffeine. Feeding that addiction creates another one where Jack wants to control and manipulate everything around him. If he keeps people where he wants them, if he uses sugared words and half-truths, he can take his affections at his leisure and everyone will be happier for it.
That's how Jack knows he's lied to any mysterious force that took him up on his bargain earlier. He won't be sending Ianto anywhere. He'll keep him close and probably act out more melodramas of blood and tears and post-coital sweat. Really, Jack's a good liar, but if there is some deity watching out for Torchwood employees, it had to have known Jack had no intention of keeping his end of the bargain. All of his companions have such short lives, and he reasons he should be allowed to take what he can from them while they're around. It's noble of them to give something to Jack to fill the looming empty years he's going to face. The universe, Jack supposes, owes him. It owes him for keeping him here, not letting him die and all of the ridiculous shit that just seems attracted to his life. If all he asks for in exchange is the chance to cling to his followers a little longer – well, the universe should appreciate their sacrifice too.
As Jack turns the water off in the shower, he reconciles with himself the knowledge that he'd made his decision long before they ever reached the Hub. Ianto will stay, and probably die at a later point because of it.
And for some reason, a reason that makes Jack's stomach tighten, that makes Jack love him a little more.