Ok guys, here's the first real chapter. The story may get a bit confusing at first, but bear with me because it should all pan out nicely. Oh, and some of it is borderline M-rated, just to give you the heads up. I really enjoyed writing this so I hope you like it. Please read and review. x
DISCLAIMER: As always, I own nothing, I regret nothing, and I love everything Torchwood. :) x
The Present.
Approximately 37 minutes after Time of Death. Deceased Operative: Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist.
Jack was slumped against the wall of one of the lower tunnel corridors, bitterly numb with shock. The remainder of his team awaited his return in the Boardroom, cold and puffy eyed from tears. He owed them an explanation; some kind of solace in their grief. But did he really have one? They needed a leader; they didn't have that anymore. Jack couldn't be that man. He was fragile. He was unstable. He was broken. He had just brutally murdered his lover.
The body was upstairs; removed to the icy, metallic, unyielding autopsy table that so epitomised death. Jack had vaguely overheard them talking about it, though it barely registered. Bloodstained and mauled by the merciless bullet, the corpse had left a corrupted trail, tainting the fountain water red. The body was so pale in comparison.
Jack sighed noisily, the sound startling him as it cut through the silence. He had failed Ianto beyond measure. The spark of hope had been fleeting, but it had seemed so clear what Jack should do. The threat should have brought sanity to the situation, or at least some sense. Jack's actions were irredeemable now. But it wasn't Ianto who Jack had murdered, it couldn't be. It was just wrong. Couldn't the rest see that? Ianto was gone, so Jack couldn't have killed him. It was someone else.
Jack could never look at Ianto now, yet he would never forget him. Jack closed his eyes and tilted his head back until it hit the wall with a dull thump. Pain was irrelevant now; he just couldn't feel it unless it came from his heart, and that seemed ever-present. Now he just remembered and searched.
He searched for their last good memory together. His last true taste of Ianto, when they were alone and happy together in peaceful bliss. Jack needed him so desperately. Not the body upstairs, never. The real Ianto. His Ianto.
Scraping the furthest corners of his confused mind, Jack found the memory he was looking for.
His precious Ianto.
The Past
Precisely 08:52:36 AM. Around 38 Hours Prior to Time of Death. Flat near Grangetown, owned by one Ianto Jones. Current Occupants: Captain Jack Harkness and Mr Ianto Jones.
Jack Harkness lay in bed, duvet bunched up around his waist to expose his naked yet immaculately toned torso. Beside him, a young man slept in an almost childlike state; curled up tightly in the warmth of Jack's arms, with a soft smile upon his face after a night of passion, as Jack played lightly with his hair. He stirred a little before drawing himself closer to Jack's body, snuggling in and looking every inch as adorable as Jack thought he was.
Ianto Jones; twenty-six years of age, blue-eyed and ever so slightly stocky. An amazing barista, an incredible lover and a survivor. In Jack's eyes he was perfect.
Jack had been watching Ianto sleep since the best part of the early hours of the morning, memorising every square inch of his lover's body. Fearing the concept of sleep himself, it was one of Jack's favourite pastimes. People usually assumed that Jack's precocious and avant-garde attitude to bedroom antics was a result of centuries of experience, and part of it was, but he was a changed man when it came to Ianto. Ianto was different; Jack knew Ianto. Everything, from Ianto's ice-blue irises to his squashy insecurities over stomach fat to exactly how long it took for him to come, had been committed to memory. Ianto wasn't the only one who knew everything, because Jack knew everything about Ianto. Jack knew how to caress him, how to comfort him, and how to have fun with him. Although, there were some things Jack couldn't say, he tried to convey them by other means. Ianto allowed Jack to relax and drop his guard, leaving the 'Captain' façade far behind him. Jack smirked silently to himself; hell, he'd actually been nervous the first time they had made love. Both men craved intimacy, but Jack needed love, and it was why he was so passionate about Ianto. Because, with their jobs, Jack never knew how much time they had left. So Jack savoured every fleeting moment of this thing they had, the thing that he could never admit aloud as love, as if it was the last.
Jack was abruptly shaken from his reverie by a loud snore, followed by a jolt from Ianto's body beneath him.
'Mmff! Jack, why did you wake me?' Ianto awoke bleary eyed, hair tousled and a befuddled expression upon his face that made Jack laugh.
'I didn't, I swear!' If he wasn't so tangled up in the beauty that was a sleepy Ianto, Jack would have put his hands up in surrender. 'You snored and woke yourself.'
'Liar.' Ianto looked mortified at the idea of not obeying proper decorum even whilst sleeping. Ianto grabbed his pillow, and Jack felt a playful thump as it landed on his head. 'I don't snore.'
'I know you don't,' Jack admitted slyly, learning from his encounter with the pillow. 'But I know what you do.' Jack's hand slid smoothly down Ianto's chest and crept across his thigh, finding and stroking his target with precision. Ianto visibly stiffened, and let out a small moan before swatting the hand away.
'Jack Harkness, I have just woken up. Get your freezing cold hands away from my penis!' Ianto's face was playful and flustered, but his voice was serious. Jack felt chastened, not to mention a little affronted, but moved his hand away regardless.
Apparently, though, Jack's expression was readable; judging by Ianto's next statement as Jack watched his lover's gorgeous eyes travel to the digital clock on the bedside cabinet and back.
'Stop being childish. We need to get to the Hub.'
'At least give me the chance to warm up.' Never one to surrender so easily, Jack's reply was smooth as he imagined multiple opportunities to get Ianto alone during the day; after all, he was Jack Harkness, and the Archives had become their playground. Jack unleashed his patented megawatt grin because, in spite of what Ianto had said, there was nothing childish about their ample supply of sex toys.
'We are going to be late.'
'Only if I say so. It is one of the many perks of being the boss, you know. Or we could call in sick.'
'Both of us? I don't see how that could work.'
'How? The Rift should be quiet for a while now; they can manage without us.'
'Firstly, you can't die so you don't get sick, and if you do it's about ten minutes worth of manflu and attention seeking until I bring you a coffee. And secondly, it will be obvious to the others what we are doing.'
'At least they'll get the message. How about taking some holiday then, Mr Jones? As your employer and sexual advisor, I thoroughly recommend it.' Jack had been told far too many times that he was an impossible thing; the only difference this morning was that he was a determined impossible thing that wanted more Ianto time. And, even better, he was winning.
Much to Jack's delight, Ianto rolled his eyes and caved in to Jack's desires. 'Fine. Meet me in the shower in ten minutes. And we are going to work, Jack. I am not leaving the Archives anywhere near Owen without protection.'
Receiving a chaste kiss upon the lips, Jack watched as Ianto slid out of bed and headed towards the kitchen; admiring the view of his lover's retreating form. Just because Jack was tender when it came to Ianto, it didn't mean that he entirely relinquished the old Harkness charm. Thoughts of a hot, wet, entirely naked and stunning Ianto filled Jack's head and he bit down on his lip in a half hearted attempt to prevent an impatient self induced orgasm. He already felt deprived of Ianto. Wondering if Ianto could be classed as an addiction, Jack rolled out of bed and stealthily followed Ianto out of the room, planning to pin him against the fridge door with a passionate snog. Well, they could probably finish things up in the shower…
The Present.
Approximately 39 minutes after Time of Death. Deceased Operative: Ianto Jones, aged 26, Caucasian, Torchwood Archivist, Lover. Mental state of Captain Jack Harkness: Unstable.
Jack's eyes snapped open, burning and red-rimmed. If they had just stayed at Ianto's, things might not have changed. Jack should have been firmer. Ianto had been overworked; it was easy for things to snap and deteriorate, what with the pressure they had been under. If they had just stayed at Ianto's, he might be still alive.
Alive. The word replayed over and over in Jack's mind, becoming warped and deranged. Jack would always be alive; sapping life from others as he watched them fall. Or else put a bullet through their skull. Ianto should have still been alive, but why was Jack shocked; people died just by association with Jack, let alone being involved with him.
But as much as it hurt, Ianto had become a threat, and threats had to be dealt with. It wasn't his Ianto, so why should it matter to Jack? That beautiful man had gone when Jack had first seen the danger in those eyes. It was just a threat. But it wasn't. It was embodied in the man he loved. That changed things. Ianto always changed things.
The Boardroom could wait, everything could wait. He needed to be alone in this dark, dank tunnel, because nothing else mattered. Just for once the world could stand still whilst he didn't. Just for once it could stop all the pain and bring Ianto back. But it never would. Succumbing to his grief, Jack let the tears fall.
Apologies for Jack's slight OOCishness in this, but to be honest it is how I think anyone would react to what happened. Please review because there is so much more to come. :) MC. x
