Captain's Dead

by captain-vegan

When Ianto finds his beloved captain apparently dead in the middle of The Hub, it's a race against time. Owen, Tosh, Gwen and Ianto must bravely tackle every obstacle thrown at them without the help of their dashing, immortal boss - will their skills triumph against an unknown threat? Contains suggestive scenes and minor coarse language, so may be an M rating in later chapters.

1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Torchwood, or the BBC, or any of the characters (not even Jack, sadly). I am also not making any money by publishing this fiction and am doing this out the kindness of my heart for fellow Janto lovers. Please feel free to tell me what a poor job I am making of this fanfic as it is my first attempt :)

Ianto wasn't fazed in the slightest. It wasn't the first time he'd played dead for longer than necessary to see what reactions he could spark; amusement, annoyance, or during his better performances, genuine concern. He closed his eyes and resisted the urge not to check for a pulse, feel him flutter back to life under his fingertips. It might be a thrill to see his boss resurrect over and over again, except that Ianto knew just how much it did kill him.

"You're not fooling me, Jack." Ianto muttered, opening his eyes again to see the captain lying quite still. Scolding himself for giving in he knelt beside him, knocking his arm with a boot as he did so. Not a sound, not a motion.

"I've not got time for this, sir," He said tightly, slipping a hand underneath the man's shirt, searching for the unsteady rhythm of a heart shocked back into beating. Usually Jack's saucy nature showed long before Ianto's hand had fully unbuttoned his shirt and the pair would fall against each other kissing feverishly. Ianto desperately wanted him to give up now, to see his lips turn up in a smile or his eyes open in joyful defeat. But he remained, well, dead.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. No. Jack always woke up, always. Even that time in the morgue after Abbadon, even after all those days, he still came back to life, back to Ianto. He thought about calling for Gwen again after it was her tender kiss that resuscitated him the last time (although, Ianto had always thought to himself afterwards, he couldn't be sure Jack hadn't really been listening when he sat there whispering filthy bribes into his ear in exchange for signs of life, especially because the 'games' they'd played afterwards had some very canny resemblances).

But this was no time for fond memories. Not when his love was so still. Ianto felt tears prick at his eyelids as he pressed down firmly on his boss's chest and placed his cheek against his cold lips. Then he rocked back on his heels, his fingers laced around that of the dead captain's, and wondered frantically what to do.