Author's Note: This fic is ON HIATUS
I'm very sorry to say this, but I don't think that this fic will ever be finished. In my mind it needs a lot of work, and before I continue, I would want to take it down, do a lot of editing, and then put it back up. I'm not ready to give up on it yet, but that's just me. All I have for this story is already up, so I hope you enjoy what's there!
"You know, you can be angry at me if you want."
That endlessly calm tone. Clipped. Decisive. He felt like screaming out 'You think I don't know that? You think that I can't look after myself. I don't need your condescension. And I especially don't need your opinion!' And after that, there would preferably follow a stream of curses in at least three different languages, French, Arabic, German, anything. He just wanted to fatally insult Jack in as many different languages as possible. He wanted to scream until he had no voice left. He wanted to rage at Jack with tears streaming down his face. Jack damn well deserved it after what he'd done. He wanted to hurl something against the harsh brick wall behind the man that would shatter satisfactorily into at least a hundred pieces. The porcelain would scatter to the floor, followed by anything else remotely breakable.
"Well, obviously something is wrong. What is it?"
He bit his tongue; and then thought again, and shifted so that his teeth were in danger of shattering. But at least his mouth wasn't filling with blood.
"Nothing." The period at the end of the sentence was so pronounced that it did absolutely nothing to deter Jack's constant stream of questions. The line of his jaw became even more pronounced.
"Just leave it Jack. It's nothing. Do you need anything else?" This time it was slightly more convincing, though the end was still a tad vindictive. Oh well.
He never stopped. Ianto knew exactly what Jack was trying to do. He was trying to drag out a response from Ianto. Anything to break that mask and provoke his true emotions to come pouring out with fervor. And it was working, damn it all. Jack wanted this fight, and there was absolutely no escape available for Ianto. Nothing. No coffee, no archives, not even a bloody rift alert. Apparently aliens had developed a new way to screw with Ianto's head that now included not interrupting his life at crucial moments. To hell with it all.
Jack was too anxious to be amused. But for that, by now he would have been cracking up. Ianto was practically burning holes in the wall with his death glare. If a living person had been on the receiving end of that gaze, within about a minute they would have turned around and walked the other way very quickly, at risk of grievous bodily harm. He smirked. He was pretty sure that he was the only person that had ever lived to see Ianto that infuriated. But underneath his sarcastic denial there was an undercurrent of despair. Jack knew Ianto better than pretty much anyone else. He knew that Ianto knew that he was trying to clear the air. He also knew that Ianto could be damned stubborn when he wanted to be. And he knew that Ianto was not going to give up and let Jack back into his life very easily. He was going to remain silent until Jack walked away and gave up.
He was getting desperate by now. Jack knew the look on his face was twisting into grief. All he wanted to do was kiss Ianto until neither of them could breathe; and then keep kissing him, hard, until there was forgiveness and love and everything would be right in the world again. He'd dreamt of it, just seeing Ianto again. Physically knowing that Ianto was alive and well. But now that he'd seen Ianto, he wanted to be part of his life again. He wanted to know everything about the Welshman. He wanted to interact with Ianto again with no harsh repercussions for something so honest as love.
Pain twisted through him and tears pricked his eyes. What a fantasy. He wouldn't be surprised if Ianto hauled off and punched him in the face. There would probably be blood, and Jack would undoubtedly deserve it. But he just couldn't bear the thought of not being with Ianto. So he stayed, and even though it was practically a death sentence, he stayed, and asked Ianto one more question.
"Please. Please. Just….
Is there any possible way… you could still want me?"
Ianto turned the full force of his glare on Jack, and the look in his eyes was on fire. It was fury and revulsion and heartbreak. There was no tenderness or indecision. Nothing. There was no love or sadness. There was nothing. This was worse than a blank mask. This was the look that had been in Ianto's eyes since he first saw Jack come back. This was how Ianto looked when he was alone. It had been building for three months.
Ianto was physically shaking. That thin line of control had snapped, and, as it did, tears started streaming down his face. Sobs came ripping out of his chest against his will. He was holding himself up against his desk, supporting his whole body weight with his arms. He looked as though he was restraining himself from collapsing-or holding himself back.
Shock. Paralyzing shock. How could he bear to let Jack see this? Iantowas such a private person. Jack had never once seen him lose control so completely. And it was painful. Jack knew his mouth was open and there was realization dawning in his eyes. He didn't want that Ianto shouldn't see him with pity on his face. He closed his eyes briefly, and choked down a sob.
"Yan…" reaching out a hand and taking a step towards him. He gritted his teeth and his clenched into a fist, and Jack froze. Of course. Mentally he corrected himself…. "Ianto." Another shock of pain through his body. "Just-"
"Don't" It was final, cold, hard; and so full of emotion that Jack's knees practically gave out. Relief washed over him. It was a violent feeling, sweeping away the emptiness of loss yet still intertwined with anguish. Ianto.
"Just don't…say anything. Th- There's nothing." And his voice broke on the last word.
"Please! Ianto I-"
"Get. Out." Now there was anger.
"No…I-I can't just leave you."
So suddenly, that is surprised even Jack, Ianto turned and threw his punch at the nearest solid wall. A very hard, unforgiving wall. Jack flinched.
"Get. The hell. Out." The venom was tangible. Ianto tensed against the wall and Jack just stared as he walked away.
"Bloody Hell!"
Ianto grimaced. "Owen."
"Sorry mate. But what in god's name did you do?"
He sighed. He knew it would come up eventually. Owen, of course, was examining him. He believed that the first word was out of Owen's mouth once seeing him trailing blood had been, very eloquently, "Jesus Christ!"
He sighed again. Might as well get it over with. He was resigned at this point. It was like ripping off a band-aid. Just make it sudden. Owen was speaking again. Ianto had to force himself to tune in.
"Your hand is shattered, and I really don't know what the hell you were-"
"I punched a wall."
Owen continued his examination for about half a second before freezing. Ianto looked up tentatively and then sighed and looked back down. Judging by the look on Owen's face it would be a while before he recovered form the shock. He glanced at his hand critically. Apparently it was broken in three places and he had torn a tendon. He didn't really feel the pain anymore. God, what was it about…him that made Ianto so incensed? He just-
"You did what." It was a straight request for information from Owen. Oh. Maybe not that long to recover from the shock. There was no way he was going to let this go. Still, Ianto decided to resort to sarcasm.
"I threw my hand towards an upright structure supporting the ceiling at a velocity that was very painful."
"Ha ha. And why did you punch a wall?"
"Uh….because Gwen refused to do her paperwork?"
"Ianto" That was his 'not even a weevil will deter me' voice. Ianto replied.
"It's nothing."
"It's nothing."
As soon as Owen saw Ianto, he was in shock. When he heard that professional Welsh voice telling him that the perpetually calm archivist hade hit a wall, he was on the brink of cardiac arrest. When Ianto started evading his questions, he was really pissed off. But it was only when Owen saw Ianto shut down, that he knew that whatever was going on here, it was serious. It had to do with the part of Ianto's life that he didn't want anyone else to know about. The part that hid Ianto's broken past, the part that no-one could predict. He watched that blank look slam across Ianto's face and despised it.
Ianto was intelligent enough to create his own Torchwood base, not to mention what he'd already done. Con his way into Torchwood 3, past Captain Jack Harkness, and rebuild a cyber-conversion unit from scratch. But what was scary was that Ianto was clever enough to blend into the team without a ripple. And that was what Ianto chose to do. He was more secretive than Jack, and he had dark and painful parts of himself that he didn't want anyone else to see. Owen was a little afraid of what Ianto was capable of.
He felt despair reach him. He was a doctor, and, if nothing else, he felt a responsibility to his team. There were endless problems to solve, and he could never do enough. This job destroyed you, inside and out. These were the injuries you carried for the rest of your life.
Sometimes Owen just sat and thought. Everyone here was just trying to survive one day at a time. What if any of them really tried to build a future for themselves? That was what normal people had; stability. Normal people with their normal lives. He already knew the answer to that question. He didn't believe in normality anymore. They were all damaged somehow.
The best he could do for anyone was patch them up, staunch their wounds, help them back to their feet. So that one day, when the time came, they would be able to save the world.
Owen looked slowly up at Ianto, sitting on the autopsy table, and searched his face. There was pain there, and sadness. Stress. They were all so young, of course it was a damn tragedy. Those emotions were reflected in his face every day. Only Owen had lived too much, and bitterness was etched into every line of his face as well.
Somewhat surprisingly, Ianto reminded Owen of why he didn't just quit and get Retconned. It would be a miracle. But the strength that was buried under layers of triviality had grown from their motivation. Not one of them felt trapped at Torchwood. And what kept them going was the fact that they would never want to do anything else. They did more in one day than a normal person could achieve in a lifetime, and what they saw every day convinced them that they could do more, run faster, save just one more person.
These people, the ones Owen worked with everyday had cores of steel. They were all strong. Since the Cyberman incident, Ianto had become one of the strongest people Owen had ever known. If Owen had to name the two hardest moments in Ianto's life….well….
It was something Owen had been required to think about once, back when Ianto had been on his list of "Team members who may commit suicide". He'd finally discovered, after the Breacon Beacons, the most important thing he could have possibly known about Ianto. The thing was, he was never willing to show his suffering or pain to others. It built up to the point where he withdrew into himself so completely that he barely spoke to those who he considered his friends.
After their disastrous outing to the countryside, the Torchwood team had returned to the Hub exhausted and then had immediately gone home, Jack ordering everyone at least two days of rest and recuperation, barring emergencies.
Owen called Ianto at least three times after checking on everybody else, and had then proceeded to break the speed limit in an obscene race to get to Ianto's flat. As he walked in he'd seen Ianto's suit coat abandoned near the door; and, with a sick sense of foreboding he'd turned the corner to find Ianto passed out on his kitchen floor after overdosing on pain meds. Owen still remembered the scene with a nightmare-like clarity.
Everything was sharp planes and cold angles, swimming in front of his vision, as he half-ran towards Ianto's side. Ianto, slumped across the tile, stretched out with the fluorescent lights hitting his face, illuminating the trickle of blood down his forehead and jaw-where he had hit his head on the counter falling. He had been so pale, sweating. Unnaturally still. It was the first time the doctor had panicked.
Owen worked feverishly over Ianto until he was stable. The way Ianto had broken down in his arms once he was conscious was terrifying. Saying he just couldn't take it anymore, that he'd seen too much. He'd been disillusioned with the world. Owen had said just one word, "Tosh", trying to remind Ianto of something he needed to know. Ianto started crying all over again. Whether in relief or self-pity he couldn't tell. Ianto had let Torchwood poison him. The way he coped with everything was by throwing himself into his work. He kept going until someone stopped him. And even then he refused anyone's sympathy.
Tosh was the one who had the strongest connection with Ianto. She bought him coffee sometimes, talking to him in a subdued tone. Owen had caught snatches of fast-paced Japanese from bothof them on more than one occasion. So now it was her name Owen invoked, desperately trying to remind Ianto that they needed each other to depend on. That she needed him and that Ianto was not alone.
It worked; but Ianto was never the same after that trip. Owen would never forget that.
The second time, it wasn't psychological torture. It was worse. The second time was after Jack left.
No-one had had any idea of what to do. They'd each approached him, only to receive polite comments and frosty denials. Ianto had spent about 98% of his time in the archives and the rest in Jack's office, acting as his second in command, keeping a careful distance from every single member of the team. He worked, sure, he filed and kept up with new artifacts and was completely diplomatic towards UNIT (which was a miracle in itself). He'd taken a cold control, assuming a role he was never meant to have, vacated by someone whose absence was so much more significant than an empty office. Directly after Jack had vanished, Ianto's heart has been broken.
And that brings us up to now, when Jack had returned and reassumed his role as the team's charismatic leader. Meanwhile, Ianto had made use of his free time, making a careful and incontrovertible decision not to put up with any more shit. From anyone. Least of all Captain Jack Harkness. Torchwood had it's Teaboy back.
Ianto had always been a solid presence in their lives. He filled a gap in the team that they didn't even realize was there. He was always in the Hub, with coffee or food, or that file they had desperately needed for days that they couldn't find anywhere. He was silent support, never asking thanks, offering things that helped them through every particularly impossible day.
But now, he would back them up from the Hub, proposing ideas and giving them information that ended up being vital to the mission at hand. He coordinated the comms and stabilized the team. He was their focus. It was hard to beleive that the team had ever survived without Ianto.
On field missions he would immediately take the lead when a situation spiraled out of control. He organized the pursuit without hesitation, yelling into his earpiece while pulling out his gun, stowed safely away behind his jacket. He had gained new respect from the team while Jack was away, simply because he had risen to fill the gaps, working as hard as he could as he was needed.
When Jack left, Torchwood 3 was left dangerously shorthanded. Ianto's fieldwork had saved lives.
