((New installment. Whee! Hope you all like it, this was my first time writing for Mr. Enigmatic himself, Jack Harkness. Please let me know how it went. As always, your favs and reviews are a huge inspiration so please, don't stop now. And most importantly, I hope you enjoy.))
~~~~~~~~xXx~~~~~~~
Jack Harkness hated coming back. He'd always imagined that it would be warm somehow, but instead the cold seemed to penetrate every cell of his body. He let out a groan, his hand reaching for the offending object protruding from his abdomen. He really hated this part.
"Hey, Ianto?" He gasped, trying for levity. "You think the dry cleaner has a frequent flyer program? I must have reached the 10,000 mark by now—" He choked back a scream as he pulled out the pipe and the silence was punctuated by his ragged gasps—only by his ragged gasps. "I-Ianto?" He managed again.
But there was no reply. Jack squinted through the darkness, his heart pounding. He never should have brought the boy along. He had just been so quiet… so frighteningly quiet after the incident with his girlfriend. But it more than that, if Jack was to be honest, it was much more than that.
He'd always considered himself a good judge of character. But Ianto somehow managed to overturn every preconception. And to think that he had dismissed the boy as average. But it was the great deception—the incredible act that Ianto had lived for months—that was the one Jack was still trying to figure out. Perhaps if he spent more time with Torchwood's guard dog, he might get some insight into the boy, anything to shed some light onto the subject.
Yeah, that plan worked out well. Jack groaned, painfully crawling the last foot that separated him from the boy. His eyes were finally adjusting to the dark, though his lungs protested violently to the damp. He paused to cough before finally reaching his pinned assistant.
He found Ianto's hand first, splayed out over the debris. The chill in those callused fingers frightened Jack and he cradled it for a moment, pondering that hand. Somehow, he never imagined such a manicured man having such a rough touch—just another preconception. Jack swallowed heavily, afraid to see when he finally looked to Ianto's face.
Funny. After so many decades, Jack had thought that he had prepared himself for the inevitability of death.
"Ianto?"He murmured, kissing the boys palm, heart still pounding, still betraying him.
He wasn't ready for this.