Title: Sleep Well My Angel
Summary: Oneshot. Songfic. Jack watches Ianto sleep for the last time…
Inspired by song Sleep Well My Angel by We Are the Fallen. Set post DW S4 and may contain spoilers for everything in TW and DW up to that. Ignores COE.
Rating: T
Warnings: Some violence and mention of m/m sex.
Disclaimer: I do not own TW, DW, Sleep Well My Angel, We are the Fallen, or anything else familiar. This is for fun, not making any money.
A/N: Italics signifies a memory. Jack's POV.
Lying in the strange room, the red light of dusk streamed through the window creating beautifully eerie shadows around the unfamiliar cherry wood furniture. The sound of a lorry roaring as it passed focused his mind on the unfamiliar noises from the traffic outside as he tightened his grip on the sleeping body in his arms.
He's been watching Ianto sleep for so long now, watching the sun passing through the sky as it changed the shadows on his face, observing at how dusk especially brought out the beauty of his features making his skin glow.
This isn't the first time Jack has held him like this. During his many sleepless nights he watched as Ianto dreamed peacefully, wondering beautiful images crossed behind those flickering eyelids.
But more often than he'd like to remember, those dreams turned to wrestles nightmares turning those gorgeous features into something haunted. He would then hold Ianto down tightly through those terror filled moments, shushing the pained screams. His own body tense, racked with pain and guilt.
I'm sorry.
He selfishly held on to Ianto knowing those nightmares were due to Torchwood and him.
He drove the SUV into the wall of the building, shot gun in hand; he had to restrain himself from killing each and every one of those monsters. He barely noticed the cleaver pressed to the terrified, beaten body and a line of blood pooling on his neck.
Gwen demanded answers and he obliged for over an hour as the paramedics worked on the one person he should have noticed walking stiffly with a limp.
It wasn't until the next morning when the coffee didn't appear on his desk that he went looking for Ianto. It was Owen who told him Ianto was prescribed bed rest for a few days so he could heal from severe bruising and cracked ribs.
A lock of unruly hair fell on Ianto's forehead and he couldn't resist slowly brushing it away, his fingers lingering curled into the soft locks. He memorized each strand as it passed gently under his hand, wondering why this angel loved him so.
It was once simple, a shag in the archives, office, on Owen's desk, his bunk. But it never really was that simple, a delusion he thought he could live with to protect himself. Always thinking about himself, his needs, his desires, his wants. The entire time he thought he's given Ianto all that he could.
Ianto once told him with an upturned eyebrow that he turned the rain into the sun, especially in a city as damp and cloudy as Cardiff. As everything back then he took it to mean that his dazzling personality lit up everything around him, not daring to consider the deeper meaning behind those words.
So many times walking across the Plas Ianto would reach with his hand while he dodged, too scared to hold his hand. Afraid one day he might wake to see the monster and demand to leave.
Ianto called him a monster once, the day he killed the cyberwoman, killed Lisa. Forgiveness came too easily and every revealed secret came with selfish fear that Ianto would leave. And a smaller voice in the back of his head feared he would stay.
I'm sorry.
He ran his hand over the milky white skin of Ianto's arm, soft to the touch except for that scar right above the elbow. Guilty feelings flooded his body because he couldn't remember when it appeared. The scar just emerged one unknown day and by the time he asked about it, all he got was a shrug and a casual, "it's always been there."
Ianto saw him the shelter from the storm, holding back the wind to keep him warm. And so many times he just couldn't live up to that expectation. He missed the gun misfire as it was pressed to his Ianto's head. It wasn't until Tosh gently walked into his office as he stared at Gwen and Rhys on CCTV and pushed him.
He left him all alone the first time he went with the Doctor. No note, no goodbye. Living through the year of hell, Ianto's memory kept him sane until the day the Master dragged him to the engine room. He watched Ianto tortured and executed as his lover kept a calm façade, using his last breath to comfort the immortal.
Then the year reversed.
And then came the hand holding; the dinner and a movie; the dancing; the making love and not just shagging. And somewhere between those unidentifiable moments Ianto crawled under his skin and into a piece of his heart and made his home there.
Dusk was slowly turning into night and he still lay firmly holding on. His heart shattering because it was on a night like this, when watching Ianto's peaceful sleep, he realized that the Welshman was everything to him. This is why he has to leave.
He helped the Doctor save the world again. Terrified when the Earth moved and the Daleks invaded, he held onto Ianto and Gwen close waiting for death. Then the Doctor came, hope calling for help and he followed.
Now the Daleks were dust and he descended down the lift into the Hub wanting nothing else than to see them both alive and well while dragging Ianto off to the Archives to affirm life again. He smiled as he saw Ianto's back as he was sweeping something off the floor. The Hub was a mess and it wasn't a surprise to see his lover cleaning.
He silently sneaked through the main floor and was about the snake his arms around Ianto when he froze, Ianto was sweeping Dalek dust. In the Hub. And he wasn't there. Fear gripped him as he realized just how close he came to losing them both, to losing Ianto that day.
He had no other choice, there was only Gwen and Ianto left. After they lost Tosh and Owen, Ianto held him through the night as he grieved; Ianto's strength holding him up, propelling him to keep moving.
He couldn't let himself think what he would do if he had come back that day and found Ianto and Gwen's ashes instead. It was a fluke, Tosh's beautifully brilliant program that saved them. But it also made him realize that one day, sooner rather than later, he would be watching Ianto sleep to never wake up again. That he'd grieve into the cold night, arms wrapped around himself.
He traced his fingers along his lover's cheekbones, the porcelain skin radiating in the moonlight streaming from the window. As the night passed, he caressed every part of Ianto's body memorizing every line, dimple, and flaw of the perfection before him. His thumb grazed the partially parted pink lips. Craving one last kiss he lowered his lips and brushed them lightly, hearing Ianto's breath hitch in his sleep.
He knew he was selfish still. Ianto called him a monster never truly knowing how right he was. He planned this meticulously for the last two months keeping the secrets and lies painfully in his heart.
Never giving either of them a choice, he first took care of Gwen and Rhys.
It was harder taking Ianto's choice away. He slipped Retcon in his drink and served it under his lover's intense questioning gaze. Ianto knew something was wrong but he trusted the immortal, never even considering such a betrayed of trust. Under the ash and the lies something beautiful here now dies.
I'm sorry.
He held tightly to the man that would never recognize him again; afraid of the vacant stare just slightly less than the cold, lonely nights of knowing that Ianto was living his life the way he was meant to. He envisioned Ianto would stand by him until the moment he died; directing those stormy love-filled blue eyes up at the one whom least deserved it. Jack was just selfish enough to take the choice away, take his memories away.
The starless night blanketed the sky turning the unfamiliar room unusually dark as the tears burned his eyes. He settled Ianto against the pillow, one last caress, one last touch. It was time to leave, afraid that Ianto might wake to see the monster who took everything.
Seeing Ianto all alone, he just wanted to bundle him up and take him back home; take Ianto back to the flat he sold, the bed that's now gone and never let go.
With one last kiss to the forehead, he whispered, "Sleep well, my angel."
I'm sorry.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, coat tails flying and a slammed door, he left the sleeping Ianto alone in an unfamiliar room, on an unfamiliar bed, with an unfamiliar life.
So sleep well, my angel.