Broken
You follow the big crack in the ceiling. You count thirty eight radiating cracks. You start with the dots on the wallpaper. You're not getting out of bed ever again.
You get up for a piss. You tongue feels like sandpaper. You look like shit.
You get a glass of water.
Your fridge is full of ready meals. You don't remember buying them. You don't want to remember anything. Your stomach growls. You heat up a chicken tikka. You may as well be eating cardboard and wallpaper paste. You devour every last mouthful.
You go back to bed. You clutch her pillow.
You don't want to dream.
You don't want to see their faces.
You're not getting out of bed ever again.
*****
"Ianto."
"Fuck off."
Jack ignores this, pushing past him into the hallway. He's laden with M&S bags, and he heads for the kitchen. Ianto chokes on the smell of him, nausea cramping his guts. He runs for the bathroom, heaving over the toilet bowl until his stomach is empty.
A hand rubs his back, but he's too weak to shake it off. He feels Jack's arms reach under his and haul him up. He slumps against the sink, the lip digging hard into his abdomen, his throat burning and the stench of vomit filling his nostrils. Hearing water running, he automatically reaches for the tap, splashing it onto his face. The cold revives him and he remembers how much he wants to kill this man. This murderer.
Hearing Jack re-enter the room, he starts to tell him to leave, but then a cool glass meets his lips and he has to drink. The water soothes his throat for a short moment before the burning resumes. He's not going to accept this. Not going to give in to Jack, the ministering angel. He spits out the next mouthful, aiming for that perfect face with it's smug sorrow. Shock, anger and guilt race across Jack's features, before he reassembles his sympathetic mask.
"Not quite what you wanted? Well, I would go make you some coffee, but I'm not sure if it'll help settle your stomach." Jack rubs his hands over his face before finding a towel and drying first Ianto, then himself.
Ianto does his best to put all of his hatred into his voice and eyes. "I want you to leave."
"I'm here to help you, Ianto. I've put you on suspension for four weeks, and I'm going to keep a close eye on you. I need to make sure that you're in a fit state to return to work."
"You think I'm ever going back to that place? That slaughterhouse?"
"I think you'll feel differently in a couple of weeks."
"Just fuck off, Jack. Fuck off and die."
"I'm here to look after you."
Ianto studies the concerned face. Wants to wipe that pity off it. Make him just that little bit less perfect. Make him pay.
His fist makes crunching contact with Jack's jaw, sharp pain blooming in his knuckles. Jack just stands there, swaying, his lip bloodied. He spits a tooth out into his hand, looking at it with wide-eyed curiosity. The sight makes Ianto's blood boil and he launches a flurry of blows against that body; that body that tempted him away from her. Made him break his last promise. Made him hate himself. His vision narrows, grey clouds obliterating the periphery, so that all he can see are his fists driving into Jack, pummelling him back against the bathroom wall. Every moment he expects to be knocked into sweet oblivion – to be overpowered and forced to submit. He hears somebody yelling something about wanting to kill someone, the sound distant through the rushing of blood in his ears.
But Jack just stands there, unresisting. Silent.
Eventually, his rage spent, Ianto sways, feeling those strong arms holding him up. He looks up into a bloodied face, but sees only sorrow in those deep blue eyes.
Jack swallows before attempting to speak, and when he does the words sound thick, wet with blood. "You need some rest. I'll get Owen to come over later to give you a check up." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small packet, now smeared with blood. Grimacing, he wipes his hand on the towel before shaking a small tablet onto it. "Here, take this."
Ianto recoils, recognising the tiny pill for what it is. "You can't take my memories; they're all I have left!"
"This is just a tiny dose. Just enough to get you into a deep sleep. You might forget the last half hour, but that's probably not a bad idea."
Ianto looks at the puffy face, blood running down the chin. "I need to remember."
"Okay, fine! But look, I've got sleeping pills here. They're in a blister pack. Are you willing to take a couple of these?"
Ianto studies them, heaves a weary sigh and nods. Jack's smile has a gap in the front. He doesn't know if he should be pleased or horrified at the sight. Everything just feels numb.
Ianto is already deep in slumber when the door clicks shut behind Jack.
*****
You take your medication: the sedatives, the sleeping pills. You notice that Owen only ever leaves you enough for the day. You notice that all your kitchen knives are missing.
You sit in the shower and bang your head against the wall. You want to wash the pain away. You want to turn back time and do things differently. You know that you're responsible for their deaths. You don't know what else you could have done to save Lisa.
You wish you'd never set eyes on Captain Jack fucking Harkness.
You think you hate him.
You think you hate yourself more.
You calculate how many hours you spent fucking him when you should have been with her. You decide to bang your head once for every minute you spent with him.
Your head hurts.
You realise that Jack's taken your spare key. You feel him lift you out of the shower and drag you to bed.
I'm not going to let you fuck me, you say.
That's not why I'm here, he says.
You wonder what happened to his missing tooth. You wonder if it was all a dream. You close your eyes as he dries you with a towel and then tucks the duvet around you. You feel his hand stroke your brow. You grab hold of her pillow and bury your face into it, seeking that elusive, lingering scent. You realise that all you can smell is him.
You want him to stay.
You want him to go away.
You don't want to want anything ever again.
*****
The days pass slowly, painfully; moments stretching to eternity as Ianto loses his sense of time in a drug induced haze. Eventually he manages to resist the tablets, and some kind of normal service resumes in his brain. Which is how he finds himself up, dressed, and making coffee for the first time in three weeks.
"How did you sleep last night?" Owen asks, as Ianto fiddles with his coffee machine.
"Not great."
"Still getting the nightmares?"
"Something like that." Ianto finally manages to get the filter holder to co-operate and starts the pump, drowning out Owen's next words.
"I said, you'd get a good night's sleep if you took the temazepam."
"They made me feel even worse the next day. Like having my head stuffed full of cotton wool. I couldn't think straight."
"You want to think straight?"
Ianto looks up in surprise. "Of course I do. How else am I going to make sense of any of this?"
Owen's eyes widen slightly, his eyebrows rise and he seems to be studying Ianto intently, who squirms under the scrutiny.
"Any more violent impulses? Any self-harming?"
Does mentally beating yourself up count? "Not for over a week."
"That's good."
"Yeah." Ianto pauses, wondering how to phrase the question he's desperate to ask. "Owen... Do you think I could come back to work now? It's been three weeks. I need something to do. Something to occupy my mind."
"Not my decision, mate. It's Jack's. Why don't you ask him?"
Ianto looks down at his hands, remembers that he's making coffee and finishes off Owen's mug with a top up of hot water. He lifts it up and inhales deeply, savouring the rich aroma before putting it down in front of Owen. It's the first time anything's smelt good since... He still can't bring himself to think the words. Just since.
"Cheers. We've been missing your coffee, you know?"
Ianto laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. "Is that all you miss about me?"
"Come on, Ianto. That's not what I meant. You never exactly made much of an effort to get to know us anyway. Except Jack, I suppose."
"Yeah, well... I had a lot on my mind."
"No shit! Look, Ianto, this may be none of my business, but is Jack still coming round every day?" Ianto nods. "Is that okay with you? 'Cause the rest of us could take turns if you prefer. Tosh and Gwen both said they wanted to visit you. Be warned, though, I reckon Gwen'll bombard you with photos of her weekend away with Rhys, and Tosh is dying to find someone who appreciates her latest refinements to the Rift monitoring software."
Ianto gives a small, but warm smile. "I'd like to see Toshiko, but I don't mind Jack coming over. It's okay now. We've reached an understanding."
"Are you sure you know– Oh fuck, it's none of my business what you get up to with him, is it?"
"It's not what you're thinking, Owen. We play cards."
"You play cards? Is that some kind of euphemism?"
"Not last time I checked."
"Huh!"
And Ianto finds himself smiling for the second time in a day. Things are definitely improving.
*****
You have good days. You have bad days. You find little things set you off, like the mug that she used to like hot chocolate in. You push it to the back of the cupboard.
You play patience. You watch daytime TV. You want to throw things at the screen. You turn it off and find a book instead. You spend a couple of days having a chronological James Bond marathon. You need something constructive to do. You need a reason to get dressed properly. You're sick of wearing comfortable clothing.
You've started to look forward to Jack's evening visits. You play gin rummy for hours on end. You're fairly evenly matched. You don't talk. You don't touch. You don't want to. You wonder what's happened to your libido. You suppose it must be the grief. You wish it could have gone away like this after Canary Wharf. You wish the only history between you was strictly work related. You keep getting flashbacks to things you did with him. You try to concentrate on the cards in your hand.
You haven't broken down in over twenty-four hours.
You wake up screaming every night.
You miss her.
You miss work.
You miss him.
*****
How can so much grime have accumulated in the few months he's lived here? Ianto scrubs the kitchen tiles with a vengeance, ashamed to realise that he's utterly neglected his home while spending all his time... doing other things. This isn't just because he's having company. This is a matter of pride. He feels something growing within him and wonders what it might be. It's not a bad feeling. It's something unexpected. Anticipation? Hope, perhaps? It's been too long. He's almost forgotten what they feel like; these normal, everyday emotions.
The kitchen gleams by the time Toshiko arrives, smiling bashfully as he holds the door open and waves her through to the only presentable room, then pulls out a chair for her. The small talk is stilted, both avoiding everything they most want to say. The tiny kitchen hardly seems the place for such forbidding topics. She opens her laptop instead.
"It would be such a help if you could look these over for me, Ianto. I just don't have the time, what with all these new security systems Jack's having me install. Oh!" Toshiko claps a hand over her mouth and stares at Ianto with wide eyes. "I'm so sorry. Jack asked me not to mention them."
"It's okay. I wouldn't blame him for wanting to tighten security after– after what I did."
Toshiko's brow contracts as she gives him a long, steady stare; before reaching out, clasping his hand briefly and then turning back to the laptop screen. Ianto swallows hard, her almond-shaped eyes conjuring up Dr. Tanizaki's for a brief moment. He's not ready to think about that yet. He can't afford to right now.
She talks him through the data: part of her efforts to unscramble what she believes to be an alien language translator. It's a pet project, and as such has to be set aside when things get busy.
"So you see, what with idiomatic and metaphorical language, the computer can't really cope with interpreting the data. I thought a human brain might be able to make better sense of it, and then when we have a reasonable translation of this, I can fine tune the programming.
Ianto studies the garbled phrases on the screen. There are over thirty pages of the same. It looks like quite a challenge. It looks perfect.
"Do you have any idea what the source material might be about?"
"Not a clue," Toshiko smiles as he frowns. "But Jack said it looked like the sort of data chip used to send personal correspondence across galaxies. Could be a letter to a friend or loved one, perhaps."
"It's a very long letter."
"Maybe they were a very long way away."
"Maybe..."
When Toshiko leaves, Ianto is already absorbed in the data on the screen, notepad and pen to hand. She gives a small smile in his direction as she lets herself out.
*****
You throw yourself into Toshiko's project. You make progress. You realise that it's a love letter. You're touched by some of the things the writer says.
You begin to write to Lisa. You try to explain what you've been feeling these last few months. You pour out your guilt, your anger, your fear... your love. You find the blame no longer lies so heavy on your soul.
You start to remember some of the good times. You write them down. You try not to remember the end.
You're still writing when Jack lets himself in. You're going to have to ask for that key back. You hide the pages.
What's that, he asks.
Just Toshiko's project, you say. You don't want to share this with him. You don't want to share anything with him. You deal the cards.
You go into work a day early. You see him nod. You pick up the pizza boxes. You try not to see those three dead faces.
You can't stop them finding their way into your dreams.
You still hurt.
You still clutch her pillow at night.
*****
They come back from their mission, trailing thunder clouds. Jack retreats to his office, jaw set and eyes red-rimmed. The others complain in barely hushed voices, rising in pitch with the pressure of anger and disbelief.
Ianto listens discreetly, gathering the salient points.
"I can't believe he just handed her over," Gwen says. "She was a child! You can't do that. You just can't do that with an innocent life. What gives him the right? It's like... murder, or slavery or something."
They storm out early, leaving no explanation, not seeking permission. He can't summon up the energy to feel their outrage, everything paling to insignificance beside the yawning chasm of his grief.
There's nothing he can do or say to make things better, so he makes coffee instead, taking the two mugs to Jack's office like a peace offering. Setting the mug in front of the brooding man, it looks for a moment like he won't be acknowledged.
Jack rubs his eyes and clears his throat. "Thank you, Ianto."
"That's alright, sir. I've finished clearing up so I thought I'd join you, if that's okay." He's not sure why he wants to do this, only aware that Jack's presence has become something of a balm, now that he doesn't seem to want anything from him.
"You're talking to me, then. I don't deserve it, you know."
Ianto doesn't know how to interpret this, so he sits down, taking a slow sip of coffee.
"It's none of my business, sir." He wonders if Jack will try to touch him again, and how he'll react if he does. That hand on his shoulder this morning had caught him unawares. He can still sense it there; the ghost of his touch lingering on his skin. Is this the return of his desire? Will he be held in thrall to this man again? It's not what he wants, and yet...
It's as if Jack can read his troubled thoughts, as he stares at Ianto hard, quizzically, and places a hand over his. The flinch is automatic, and he curses himself as Jack snatches his hand away, eyes clouded with hurt.
"I'd better get going," Ianto says, draining the last of his coffee and wondering how long it will take him to get to sleep as a result.
"You could stay." Jack's voice is small, tentative. Not a tone he's ever heard from him before. Ianto studies his face, trying to discern the subtext. Surely he doesn't expect him to climb back into his bed already?
"I have a pack of cards. Just join me for a game? Please?"
Ianto nods, slowly, feeling something heavy and leaden inside him begin to melt as Jack smiles. He smiles back, the unfamiliar movement brightening his thoughts. Perhaps they can do this. Just be friends, nothing more. Perhaps it could work.
*****
You play cards for a couple of hours. You make your excuses and leave. You wonder why he doesn't reach out for you again. You wonder if this is disappointment you're feeling.
You lie awake for hours. You stroke your body slowly, feeling desire suffuse your numb flesh with life again. You deliberately keep your thoughts blank. You spit on your palm and start to work your cock in earnest. You try to keep your mind empty. You know that it won't be enough. You suck the fingers of your spare hand and reach between your legs. You wish you hadn't left your dildo at the Hub, all those weeks ago. You remember using it on Jack. You picture him with it buried in his arse as he sucked your cock. You remember his wanton groans. You recall the way the sweat glistened on his back. You remember grabbing fistfuls of his hair as you fucked his face.
You come with a series of jerks, your body protesting at its long abstinence. You remember that you hadn't meant to think of him. You reach for her pillow. You find that her fragrance has completely faded. You try to recall it. Your eyes fill with tears.
You realise that all you can remember is Jack's scent.
You sleep fitfully.
You're not going to start fucking him again.
You're not.
*****
"Come on, Ianto. You need to be able to defend yourself. If there's another security breach, I want you to have some options."
Ianto breathes deeply, attempting to hold the gun in the way Jack demonstrated.
"Not quite. Here, your fingers go like this."
As Jack adjusts his grip, the touch sends goosebumps up his arm. He shrugs him off.
"Just show me with yours, okay?"
Jack nods, his eyes downcast. Ianto curses himself. Why does he have to keep hurting people? He wants to make it better, to offer some comfort, but he has nothing to give. Nothing but his body, and that's out of the question.
There is one thing they seem to be able to do, though.
"Fancy a game of cards after this? I could teach you Chinese Patience."
Jack looks up, his eyes still troubled, but he quirks his lips in a small, lop-sided smile.
"I'll thrash you at Chinese Patience," Jack says.
Ianto smiles despite himself. "We'll just have to wait and see."
*****
You spend your evenings on firearms training or playing cards. You don't want to go home alone. You don't want the nightmares to claim you. You don't want to spend the night with him either.
You stay until you're dead on your feet. You leave with a muttered goodbye.
You wonder if this is friendship.
You sense that you both want more.
You don't want to give in to that.
You're not ready.
*****
"Come on you lot, it'll be fun! The great outdoors; campfires; sleeping under canvas; toasting marshmallows! Where's your sense of adventure?" Jack grins at them all like some kind of demented Scout Leader.
"If you try and pass off a night in a sodding tent in the Brecon bloody Beacons as a holiday, Jack, I'm going to hand my notice in right now. That place is only fit for sheep." Owen scowls at Jack, whose smile seems fixed in place.
"Thanks for your input, Owen, but I need you all with me. We don't know what we're facing, so the widest range of skills are called for. Ianto? Do you know how to put up a tent?"
The question is ominous. "Of course, sir, but I hardly think that's relevant."
"It certainly is! I said I wanted the whole team together on this one, didn't I? I want you to pack the SUV with everything we'll need. There should be plenty of gear down in the archives, but go out shopping for anything else that could be useful. I want you all ready to go first thing tomorrow. Practical clothes, please. Definitely no suits, no matter how good you look in them." Jack winks at Ianto, who just gapes.
What's going on? He doesn't go out in the field.
"Oh, is Ianto coming?" Gwen asks. "That's nice."
She gives him a guarded smile, which Ianto doesn't trust. Does she not want him there? Is she scared of what he'll do? How he'll cope? Does she want Jack to herself?
"Yes, Ianto is coming. It's about time he became part of the team. Also, I'll be needing my coffee fix, and nobody makes it better than he does."
"But... but wouldn't it be better if I stayed here and monitored the Rift, sir?"
Jack fixes him with serious eyes. "No, Ianto, I want you with the team. There will be no further discussion. Meeting dismissed."
Ianto stands in the empty room for a moment, a heavy feeling in his guts. Jack doesn't want to leave him alone in the Hub. He still doesn't trust him. He still wants to keep tabs on him.
*****
You pack the tents. You worry that Jack will want to share one with you. You worry about how sound carries through canvas. You plan to steel yourself against any advances. You remember the last time you camped, with Lisa. You remember her speaking with Annie's voice; the blood running down her face. You feel nauseous.
You take your place in the team. You fetch their food. You put up their tents. You fade into the background.
Who was the last person you snogged? She asks.
You listen to their answers. You ponder the entanglements. You hear him evade the question. You wonder if it was you. You wonder if he's ashamed of that.
You want to remind him of her. You want to push him away; hold him off.
You lie.
It was Lisa, you say.
You know that it should have been. You wish that you'd been strong enough to keep your promise.
You remember his lips on yours.
You remember him spread beneath you, looking so debauched. You remember leaning down to kiss him. You remember the taste of his mouth, the feel of his tongue, his teeth, his lips.
Your skin tingles.
You frown.
You don't want him.
You don't... do you?