This is just short piece to link the Christmas story to the New Year one that I'm planning. Fluff and a bit of angst. Hope you like it.
Jack lay curled against his sleeping lover, trying not to hold on too tightly. And not just in the physical sense. There was more to this than being careful not to put pressure on the bruises or the broken ribs.
It was happening again.
There was no point in remembering how many times he'd promised himself never to go back down this path. As Jack watched the rise and fall of Ianto's chest, the universe tilted, swirled, found a new axis. Every thought, every feeling, coiling around this one person, this frail mortal. Love's a bitch, and then he'll die.
-XXX-
Ianto stirred, turning over in his sleep, waking with a yelp as his injuries protested against the unconscious movement. His eyes opened, blinking in confusion. Jack fought down a wave of panic. Martha said there was no brain damage. And he'd been fine last night. But the panic washed through Jack's brain until Ianto's eyes cleared. You're being stupid, Jack told himself. But it made no difference. He'd let himself fall in love again. Every sign of physical weakness would spark another round of the battle within. Every bright moment would be shadowed by fear of the loss that would come soon, always too soon. This was exactly why he'd avoided love for so long, after all.
Focus on the practical, Jack told himself. "You're due for more painkillers," he noted, after checking the clock. He flicked on the bedside lamp and began sorting through the medication Martha left. "This one," he decided. "I'll get some water."
"Help me up?" Ianto asked shakily.
"Don't be ridiculous," Jack answered.
"But Jack, I need…" Ianto waved vaguely in the direction of the bathroom.
"Oh. Of course." So he helped him out of bed, supported him as he walked unsteadily to the bathroom, chuckled as Ianto indignantly ordered him to leave "and close the door."
The amusement died as he heard the stifled gasps of pain. Ianto was skilled at holding pain inside, showing no sign, making no sound. It must be bad now. Very bad, for those sounds to be escaping his lips.
Jack's hand balled into a fist, hitting the door with something that wasn't gentle enough to be called a knock.
"I'm OK." The words were reassuring but the tone wasn't. "I'll be out in a second."
The door creaked open. Ianto moved slowly forward, limbs stiff, face pale. Jack closed the space between them in a heartbeat and lifted Ianto into his arms, earning yet another weak protest. "I can walk, Jack."
"But you don't have to," Jack countered, quite reasonably, he thought.
Ianto sighed noisily. But he didn't have the energy to argue. After swallowing the painkillers he merely wriggled into a comfortable position in Jack's arms. Soon they were both asleep.
-XXX-
Ianto hadn't really given much thought to how he'd wanted to spend Christmas Day, but this wasn't it.
It wasn't the broken ribs so much, Ianto decided, or the headache that accompanied the tender spot on his skull. The bruises were causing all the problems. They were everywhere. He couldn't get comfortable. Sitting still caused stiffness, moving ached. Even breathing hurt, damn it. But the painkillers made him groggy. And Jack had threatened all sorts of dire things if he didn't take the damn things on schedule. That was their first argument of the day. The first of many.
Jack seemed determined to drive him insane. He was – well he wasn't being Jack. Fussing. Ianto knew the stiffness in his muscles would only get worse if he stayed still, so he'd planned to move around a bit, as much as he comfortably could. But Jack appeared at his side whenever he so much as twitched. When he wasn't ordering him to rest, he was trying to coax Ianto back to bed. Now, that was more like Jack. Ianto was quite happy to go along with that particular suggestion; until Jack made it clear he wasn't going to be sharing the bed this time. This wasn't like Jack at all.
It was a relief when Gwen and Rhys dropped in to visit, on their way to lunch with Gwen's parents. Jack actually left, giving Ianto an hour of blissful peace. Well, it started off as a peace.
Gwen wasn't much help. She just smiled indulgently at Ianto's complaints.
"He's worried about you," she said comfortably.
"He's driving me crazy," Ianto grumbled.
"Would you prefer he didn't care?" Gwen countered.
Ianto would have kicked himself if his legs didn't hurt so much. Of course Gwen wouldn't see a problem with a doting, in-your-face, can-I-get-you-anything version of Jack. It was, in fact, quite probably her idea of the perfect Jack. But it wasn't Ianto's Jack, and that's who he wanted back. Well, perhaps with a bit more capacity for monogamy.
"It's just," Ianto answered feebly, "He wasn't like this before."
Gwen's eyebrows rose. Didn't suit her. "You mean, before when you didn't know whether he'd still be there the next day? Before where you'd look like a kicked puppy half the time and one that'd just been patted the rest? No pleasing some people, is there?"
"Gwen!" Rhys said, shock clear in his tone. He adored Gwen but even he had to admit she tended to open her mouth before her brain got into gear.
"Sorry," Gwen mumbled. Her face dropped into her hands. "That," she said through the hands, "Was a horrible thing to say."
Gwen raised her head. Rhys nodded. "Tell him what you told me," he said encouragingly. After all, he didn't want Ianto looking the other way next time Gwen fell foul of some alien thingy with a weapon. Not that he would. But he'd be tempted, after this.
Gwen looked back at Ianto, eyes pleading for understanding. "If you'd seen him yesterday, Ianto, while you were unconscious. He was so…broken. I've never seen him like that before. And I think…..I think I'm angry with you for doing that to him. Even though it wasn't your fault."
Ianto smiled. A pained smile. He was, Rhys decided with amusement, the perfect host being courteous to an obnoxious guest. Rhys knew that Ianto and Gwen really did care about each other. It was just buried, deep down, where they probably – no, make that definitely - weren't aware of it. On the surface they got along like sandpaper. They were a bit like family. You love each other, of course you do, but that doesn't have to mean you like each other, too. At least not all the time.
"It's OK, Gwen," Ianto said, after an uncomfortable silence. "I think I needed to hear that. I haven't really been thinking about what all this did to him."
"We should go, love," Rhys said decidedly. Before Gwen had the chance to open her mouth and put her foot in it again. And before Ianto hurt himself by throwing a punch.
During the ensuing awkward Merry Christmas and goodbyes, Rhys smiled at Ianto fondly. He was a nice boy. And he kept Jack's mind off Gwen, not to mention his hands, which made him OK in Rhys' book. "Talk to him," he suggested. "Make him talk to you."
Rhys took Gwen's hand firmly. "It works for us," he added, as they left.
Jack returned bearing dinner. Chicken and chips. The takeaway version of a festive feast. At least it wasn't pizza. And he had a gift. Another one. There'd been a bottle of very good scotch and an assortment of ties under the Christmas tree that morning. Some of which Ianto would actually wear. Pretty much what he'd expected.
"You've already given me presents," Ianto pointed out, as Jack dropped the package wordlessly into his lap.
"That was before," Jack explained innocently.
"Before what?"
"Before you gave me a house."
"It's a flat, not a house, and I only gave you half of it," Ianto corrected.
Jack sighed. Ianto had been irritable all day. And picky. But Jack was not going to be drawn into another argument. "Just unwrap the damn thing, would you?"
Ianto smiled. He'd finally got a reaction that sounded like the Jack he knew. Much better.
Ianto smiled in appreciation at the gold-set onyx cufflinks. Nice. Tasteful, even. Again though, not like Jack. His usual method of present shopping was 'one of those, three of those, wrap 'em up for me would you?' before he forgot who he'd bought them for in the first place.
Jack fidgeted, waiting for a reaction. This was why he didn't do sentiment. You felt like such an idiot when you stuffed up. "Do you like them or not?" he asked impatiently.
"Who picked them?" Ianto teased.
Jack swatted gently at his head. "I did. If you don't like them you can change them."
Ianto reached up and grabbed hold of the hand that lingered in his hair. He knew he hadn't imagined the hurt in Jack's voice.
"Of course I like them, Jack. They're lovely."
Jack smiled. "Good, then."
Talk to him, Rhys said. But Jack and Ianto didn't 'talk'. Oh well, worth a try.
"What's wrong, Jack?"
"Does something have to be wrong for me to buy you a present?"
"Usually," Ianto answered stubbornly. "So what is it?
Jack's face sobered. "Nothing."
Make him talk, Rhys said. He didn't know Jack. You could have better conversations with a Judoon.
"I know something's wrong," Ianto persisted. "You're not yourself. What it is?"
"It's…..It doesn't matter." But now that he was really looking at him, Ianto could see the shadows in Jack's eyes. Maybe, he thought, I can annoy him enough to get a reaction.
"Did you have to seduce the jeweler to get the shop open?"
"You little shit," Jack growled. "I wouldn't do that." He watched Ianto's eyebrows lift. Damn the man, he knew everything. And he forgave me anyway. But did he know I only ever did it to try to convince myself I could be happy with someone else? And that it never worked?
"Not any more," Jack amended guiltily. He raised the hand holding his to his lips. "Never again, I promise."
"So what's changed, Jack?" Ianto demanded. "What's different? Why are you different?"
"Bloody hell, Ianto, isn't it obvious? You're the smart one, work it out."
"Maybe I could if you weren't keeping me tanked up on painkillers. As it is you'll have to tell me yourself."
"You nearly died," Jack yelled finally, his voice rasping as if the words had been torn from his throat. He collapsed bonelessly to the couch beside Ianto, all the fight drained out of him. "I thought you'd died."
"But I didn't," Ianto answered reassuringly. Jack's pain hurt more than the broken ribs. Ianto reached up to wipe the gathering tears away with his thumb. "I'm still here."
"But you will," softer than a whisper. "You will one day, and I can't…." Jack's head dropped to rest lightly against Ianto's chest, and the treacherous tears flowed again. Ianto's heart beat beneath his ear, each thud a reminder that it would one stop beating. And the hands that threaded comfortingly through his hair would one day stop moving. Soon. Too soon. Always too soon.
"Yeah, I will," Ianto agreed softly. "And you'll go on."
"Not by choice." Jack's voice was muffled. He was still listening to that heartbeat.
"But you won't have a choice, will you?"
Jack's head rose slowly. "Guess not."
"So will you do something for me?"
"What?" Jack asked suspiciously.
"Stop the bloody fussing," Ianto pleaded. "You're driving me insane. I could have a good half-century left. I don't want to spend it being treated like a piece of glass."
Jack laughed shakily. He should have realized Ianto would know what to say. Ianto knew everything. Fifty years. That helped. Comforting. There were no protests this time as he swept Ianto back up into his arms. Fifty years wasn't long enough, but it was enough to push the fear away. For now.
It wasn't until Ianto was asleep once more, safe in Jack's arms, that the fear inched back. Torchwood wouldn't give them fifty years. And Ianto was just like glass. One day he'd break and Jack wouldn't be able to put him back together again. And when he breaks, Jack thought hollowly, so will I.
But not yet. Not tonight. Jack breathed in the scent of coffee and tried to ignore the other odors that clung to Ianto's skin. The sour sweat of pain, the metallic tang of painkillers. He forced away the choking fear of impending loss, tried to think only of the joy of the present. But while the bruises were still fresh, the reminder of mortality was too close. In time, the joy would outweigh the fear. But not yet. Until then, Jack would have to find a mask of his own to wear. Pretend to himself that everything was fine until he believed it. That would be his New Year's resolution. To pretend himself into reality.
New Year will be next. Sorry it is taking so long but it's not good enough yet.