A/N: First off, my big news...I GOT INTO CARDIFF UNIVERSITY! So thank you, thank you so much for your continued support, it has meant so much to me over the past few weeks. And, in return, I'll give you some advice; some wisdom that I learnt the hard way on Thursday, when I got my results. Do not give in. Be pig-headed, be stubborn; no matter how much anyone tells you to accept what you have, always aim for what you want. I didn't get my grades to get into Cardiff, and everyone told me to just go to my Insurance choice, but I was dead set - it was Cardiff, or nowhere. So I pushed. Even when they said the grades weren't good enough, even when they said they were full, I just kept on pushing and getting in contact and waving my credentials in their face. And, eventually, five hours after getting my initial results, I got a phone call telling me that they could, in fact, offer me a place. And in one month, that's where I will be.
I think that's one of the major themes of this story too. Don't give in. Don't give up. Keep fighting for what you believe in, even if everyone tells you it's hopeless. Because if you don't try, how do you know you can't win?
Served Cold
Chapter 13
x
x
A howl pierced the air as a thin trail of smoke curled from the barrel of the gun; a harsh, guttural sound that vibrated through the stifling space of the ambulance and sent a shiver through the four onlookers.
Jack breathed in hard, the air whistling past his teeth as he lowered his gun. Blood splashed onto the floor, new blood mingling with the old as the two figures crumpled to the ground, curled in and around each other as they merged into one heap. The trail of crimson crept out from beneath them, reaching outwards greedily, as if scrabbling at Jack's boot.
Suddenly there was a scuffle from behind him, the pattering of footsteps, before a lone figure pushed past him, hand buried into the inner pocket of his beige jacket.
Rory's nursing instincts had kicked in almost immediately, the training sparking through his synapses as he watched the attacker and his hostage fall, as if in slow motion. Within moments he had crouched down beside the two crumpled figures, placing his fingers just under the chin of the man in the tattered suit…
No…Ianto...
He'd always maintained that the only way to nurse was to treat the person, not the injury, and he let the name reverberate through his mind, reminding him that beneath the skinny frame there was a person and a soul…someone who needed his help. He felt a faint thrumming just below the skin, the jugular vein pulsing reassuringly beneath his fingertips. He breathed out a sigh of relief.
"He's alive."
There was a sigh of relief, followed by a worried glance from Jack.
"But, why is he…?"
"I can't make out any injuries," Rory quickly checked the body of the Welshman, pressing his fingers beneath the ragged clothes to discern whether there was anything hidden beneath the surface. "He's been here for months, seeing no one, so I'd wager that the shock's knocked him out. Saves me having to administer the sedative…" he unfurled his fingers, revealing the syringe nestled in the palm of his hand.
There was a sudden groan as the figure entangled with Ianto's body twitched, hand flying up to press firmly against the source of the blood. Jack's hand tightened on his gun as the body moved, the head raised as tears coursed their way down the cheeks; a howl of pain escaped him as he tried to sit up, fingers scrabbling for the knife that had skittered away from him. Jack reacted decisively, stepping forward a kicking the weapon to the side of the room.
Greeny-blue eyes fixed on him, hatred and betrayal swimming in amongst the tears.
"Why didn't you kill me?" he wailed, blood seeping through his fingers as he pushed down onto the wound on his shoulder. "That's what you were supposed to do…I wanted you to kill me!"
"I know," Jack whispered, his head bowed as Gray cried out; eager to move, and yet unable to break through the barrier of pain that Jack had shot his way. "And that's why I'm sorry…I really am sorry."
Gray jerked suddenly as the syringe pierced his upper arm, Rory's well practised fingers pushing down on the plunger and forcing the sedative into his system.
"No…I don't want to…" his eyelids began to flutter as the young nurse removed the needle and massaged the area that had been punctured, encouraging the blood flow from the wound. "Why can't you just do this, for me…just once, think about me? I want to die…please…give me what I want!"
Jack shook his head.
"I can't do that."
Gray's lips curled back over his teeth in an animalistic snarl, even as the depressant travelled through his body, shutting down his muscles and slackening his jaw.
"Then…" he hissed, voice slurring as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "…you're so selfish you can't even…what about me…what about me…what about what I want…I hate you, it's your fault…s'all your…fault…"
He slumped back against the floor, his pupils rolling softly, serenely to the back of his head as the blanket of the sedative wrapped itself firmly around him. Jack's gun arm loosened the moment the eyelids of his brother closed, the weapon swinging uselessly at his side as watched Rory pocketing the syringe and moving back to the prone figure of Ianto. His hand pressed against his forehead briefly, testing the surface temperature of his skin before he turned, gesturing to Amy.
"Can you bring that blanket?"
Amy scurried forward almost immediately, her eyes wide as she knelt down beside her fiancé and handed him the length of cloth he had given her for safe keeping. She watched intently as he wrapped the blanket firmly around Ianto's body, brushing his hand roughly along the arms in an attempt to get the warmth moving through his veins. Casting a quick glance towards Jack, who still stood dumbly behind them, his eyes piercing and yet unseeing, Amy leant down and brushed a hand gently through the ragged man's brunette hair.
"He's freezing!"
"We need to get him somewhere warm," Rory looked up sharply at the Doctor. "Doctor?"
The Doctor nodded, striding forward from where he had been watching his companions work, his eyes a confusing mixture of sadness, pride, horror and disappointment as he scanned the room.
"We'll get him to the Tardis as quickly as possible," he brushed past Jack, lifting a hand from his pocket and resting it on the shoulder of the immortal. "Jack?"
The man in question jumped.
"What?"
"We need to get your Jones into the Tardis, so Rory can do his thing…which he does very well I might add…" he threw a small smile in Rory's direction. "…always did help to have a proper doctor on board, even if that doctor is only a nurse."
His thumb roved in small circles across the blade of Jack's shoulder.
"We can't get him in on our own…you'll have to take him…"
Jack shook his head hurriedly.
"No. I mean, yes, of course, we get him to Tardis, but you can take him. I know you're stronger than you look…nine hundred years is a long time to build up your muscles, after all."
A nod of the head, and the hand that had been emitting a reassuring warmth through the material of his greatcoat fell from his shoulder.
"Well, you'll have to take your brother, then," the Doctor stepped forward, crouching down and slipping a hand beneath Ianto's neck. He cradled the head of the Welshman tenderly in the crook of his arm, resting it gently and supportively against his chest, before turning back to Jack, who stood frozen to the spot.
"Come on, get on with it."
"I can't," Jack choked and raised his head, a slight dampness misting over his eyes. "I…I'll carry Ianto. You take Gray."
"If you insist," the Doctor shrugged, throwing a quick glance towards Amy as he carefully laid Ianto's head back onto the filthy floor. Jack stepped forward as the Timelord stood up, moving around to untangle Gray's limp body so that Jack could lift Ianto from the floor. With the help of Amy and Rory, he managed to separate the two, taking a gentle hold of Jack's brother and lifting him over his shoulder, taking care not the exacerbate his wound.
He nodded at Jack, shifting Gray's weight slightly to give himself a firmer grip.
"I'll get the Tardis open for you," he said softly, brushing their arms together as he walked past. As the Doctor disappeared around the corner and down the corridor towards the connection point, Jack licked his lips nervously and turned to look at where Amy and Rory were still crouched, fussing over Ianto's unconscious form. They looked up as he approached, backing away to give him access to the prone body of his former lover; Amy hauled Rory up by the arm, sending a small, reassuring smile Jack's way as she led them out of the room, following the path that the Doctor had trodden. Within seconds, the only sound in the room was the combined rhythm of Jack and Ianto's breathing.
Jack crouched down gently, swallowing harshly as he laid a gentle hand against the pale, grubby skin of Ianto's cheek. The coldness of the body shot through him, making him wince, and he reached forward with the other hand, clutching the blanket and rolling the material in between his fingers.
It was too thin.
Shucking the greatcoat from his shoulders and slipping it down his arms, Jack slid one hand beneath Ianto's neck and carefully manoeuvred him into a sitting position, resting against the skin just above his heart. As the young man lolled comfortably against the blue cotton of his shirt, Jack used his free hand to gently wrap the coat around his shoulders, buttoning it at the top to keep it in place across his body.
When he was convinced that the material was hugging tightly onto the contours of Ianto's body, he adjusted his position and slid his free arm underneath his legs, positioning the backs of Ianto's knees in the crook of his elbow before standing and bracing the weight of both their bodies. He stumbled ever so slightly, but there was barely any muscle left clinging to Ianto's body; his whole form seemed to be a jigsaw of jutting bone and cartilage, making him far easier to carry than he would have been the last time Jack had seen him.
Jack had never carried Ianto before, and he'd never envisioned a scenario in which such a thing would occur. Knocking him off his feet and flinging him onto the bed was something they had both engaged in under various circumstances, of course they had. But Jack could never have expected that, one day, he would be cradling Ianto's lolling body against him like a child, the face of the Welshman burrowed innocently, vulnerably in the warmth of his chest.
A lump formed briefly in Jack's throat, but he swallowed it down, focusing his attention on the grip of his hands on Ianto's body, on the distribution of Ianto's weight across his arms, and the constant beating of Ianto's heart, reassuring Jack that he was still with him, if only slightly. He turned all his attention to the mission: get Ianto to the Tardis.
All things considered, he was doing the detached thing pretty well.
And then Ianto had to go and ruin it by opening his eyes.
x
x
The eyes were blue.
Not the deceptive blue that the madman had had – not that blue that might have been green, and that shone every time he twisted in the knife or forced himself on Ianto, or any of the other things he had come up with over the long months.
No, these eyes were a dull blue, a blue that might have been grey if it weren't for the fact that they were…blue…
Ianto blinked as he tried to focus, the humming of the golden beings ricocheting through his skull as he sharpened his senses and tried to ascertain where he was. He could feel his head was pillowed against something warm, a deep thrumming echoing through the material and combining with the singing of the golden beings. It was comforting, he realised, comforting in a way that the nanogenes in themselves had never been able to be.
The eyes swam into focus again, wide and determined, infused with a tragic sadness that Ianto knew he had seen before. He suddenly remembered hearing those footsteps, those footsteps that had been so familiar and yet so distant – and he'd been so convinced that they weren't real, that it was just his mind playing tricks on him.
But there was something so real, so solid about this. He could feel warm hands curled beneath his abdomen and below his knees, fingers gripping tightly to his body and clothes; and yet, they were soft at the same time, as if they were afraid he might break. Gentle breaths were huffing out on to his hair; he could feel the individual strands at his scalp moving and knocking against one another, his skin hypersensitive as his vision once again blurred. The breath stuttered ever so slightly, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus his gaze on the insides of his eyelids before opening them once again.
This time he could see the eyes clearly, see the moisture that outlined the edges of that deep, deep blue…that real blue. Something small and wet dropped silently onto his cheek, sliding along the line of his jaw and pooling in the corner of his mouth. He felt something his heart stutter as he tasted salt on his tongue, his eyes fixing with a fierce intensity on those blue irises.
He wouldn't quite have believed it, but then he felt that heavy coat hanging from his body, each strand, each thread, smelling, reeking, stinking of those bloody pheromones.
Maybe he wasn't going mad after all. Because this was so real…so, so, so fucking real that he could feel a lump rising in the depths of his throat.
Jack.
It was Jack.
The madman has said over and over again that Jack would never come, that he didn't care, and he had come so, so close to believing it. A part of him hadn't wanted Jack to come. At least, locked in here, with the straw and the madness and the blood and the golden cloud that buzzed in his head…at least here he always knew what was going happen. It had become almost a comfort, some sort of solace – the madman would come and then he would hurt, that much at least he knew, that much at least he expected.
If Jack was here, then everything was going to change. He realised that, and a bolt of pure terror shot through him, more fear sparking through his brain than he had experienced for a long time.
A part of him had drained away with each droplet of blood that was spilt. He had felt it happening. There was still something in him, he knew that, but there wasn't much left. He knew that there was still enough of him left to feel ashamed…because Jack didn't want him like this. More than that – he didn't want himself like this. And whilst he was here, whilst he was a play thing, he hadn't had to acknowledge that. He wasn't him…he didn't have to face whatever he had become.
But now…now it was reality…and, oh God, he didn't want to be this…
He closed his eyes briefly, just for a second, just to bat away the tear that he could feel gathering painfully in the corner of his vision.
When he opened them again, there was a very different pair of eyes staring at him.
x
x
A yawn stretched Rory's features as he checked his watch, gripping tightly, expertly onto Ianto's wrist as he counted the gentle thrumming beneath the pads of his fingers. His eyes watched the clock hand as it brushed past the thirty second mark, the silent tally in his head unfurling as he released Ianto's arm and sat back in the chair. The chest of the young man, now swathed in both the deep blue coat of their elder companion and the full-bodied duvet of the bed, rose and fell gently, the subtle hiss of air ringing through the room reassuringly.
It was a sound that Rory had always associated with life.
Footsteps entered the room behind him, the door clicking gently shut as the individual tried their level best not to wake the man in the bed. Rory turned slightly, smiling as best he could as the slim figure of Amy walked towards him; she neared the bed, leaning quietly over to brush a single lock of hair away from where it had fallen into Ianto's fluttering eyelashes.
"Are you okay?" he whispered, falling once again into nurse-mode to fill the awkward silence. Amy's hand fell away from Ianto's brow as she turned sharply to face him.
"Do I look like I'm okay?" she hissed quietly, a fire burning brightly in her eyes.
"No."
"Then why did you bother asking?" she perched defiantly on the edge of the bed, her fingers playing with the material of her skirt as refused to look him in the eye. Rory froze for a second, watching her, before he reached over and grasped her stiff fingers in his hand.
"Why are you here?"
"I wanted to see him…he's all we've been focusing on for months, I had to see him."
Rory nodded.
"You've seen him now," he muttered softly, giving her hand one final squeeze before returning to his patient, picking up the damp cloth on the bedside table and dabbing it gently onto Ianto's forehead. "Why are you still here?"
She blinked, confusion and indignation clouding her features.
"Because I want to be…I can be here if I want to be."
"Amy," Rory sighed. "I can't help you deal with this. I'm used to treating old women with gammy joints, I can't tell you what we're supposed to be doing here. I can't help you."
His focused on his work, a tiny droplet of water running down the side of Ianto's cheek as he applied pressure to the cloth, intent on soothing and reassuring his patient, even if it was unlikely his patient could feel it.
"You should go and talk to the Doctor. He'll know what to do."
"Yeah, well," she tossed her hair slightly, running her hand through the tangled locks. "I don't want to talk to the Doctor. I want to talk to you. And anyway, he's busy, at the moment."
"With Jack?"
Amy nodded.
"He's not listening. Says we should get back to Cardiff as soon as possible – as soon as he's back on his feet, he wants us to get him back and stick him a hospital. Give him a pill, or something, to make him forget. The Doctor's trying to talk some sense into him, but he won't listen. I don't think he's listened to anyone for a very long time."
"And you would relate to that, wouldn't you?"
Amy chose to ignore the comment, leaning forward in and resting a hand further along the edge of the bed so that she could comfortably peer at its occupant.
"God, he looks so tiny. So young…how could Jack just think of abandoning him like that, in this state? What would happen to him?"
"Well," Rory's voice was emotionless, matter-of-fact, as though he was deliberately keeping something locked in his chest. "In this state…mental hospital, drugs, possibly sectioned. Not many people are going to be able to help him, not out of this."
"And how is he?" she turned back to Rory, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, a worried frown creasing her forehead. "How is he, really?"
"As good as he's going to be. Physically, apart from a bit of malnutrition, he's fine. We won't know the full extent until he wakes up," Rory fixed her with a smile. "But I'll do my best."
"He's better for having you," she smiled back, noting that her's, like Rory's, probably didn't quite meet her eyes. "Plus, he's strong, he'll get through it."
"Amy," Rory shut his eyes, for once unable to take any comfort from her boundless enthusiasm and optimism. "Back in Leadworth, we've had soldiers come through the hospital. Simple injuries, back to physical perfection within days…but there's always something missing. And they're as strong as they come, and yet…" his words became faint, as if he was unable to continue his sentence.
"Hey," she dragged herself closer, putting her arm around his shoulders. "You might be a complete and utter idiot, and a bit of a lousy time traveller, but you're a good nurse. Don't forget that."
Rory looked up at her.
"What do you want?"
"What?"
"You're trying to be nice. What do you want?"
She slapped at the back of his head, and he grinned as he dodged her airborne fingers. Reaching up, he managed to catch hold of her wrist and brought it to his lips, planting a very unattractive, sloppy kiss to the back of her knuckles. It wasn't particularly the action of a dashing romantic hero, and he was painfully aware of the fact that he'd slobbered ever so slightly over her hand, but she smiled anyway.
And then she stopped smiling, her attention focused completely on the figure swathed in the duvet. Her eyes widened ever so slightly as her hand fell from Rory's shoulder and rested onto the bulky figure.
"Rory?"
His eyes followed her's, fixing on the sight of the twitching man. Standing up abruptly, he removed the damp cloth and threw it to the side, resting the palm of his hand on Ianto's cheek and feeling the heat rising from the skin. The eyelids flickered abruptly, the head jerking away from Rory's touch as the heavy duvet was pushed away, revealing painfully pale, yet unblemished, skin.
"Rory, what's happening?"
Rory ignored her for a few more seconds, placing a hand on Ianto's forehead and looking deeply into his face, fixing intently on the twitching muscles around his brow and eyes sockets. The eyelids flickered a few more times before shooting open, fixing him with one of the sharpest, fiercest gazes Rory had ever experienced in his life.
"Amy," he whispered softly, placing a bracing hand on the young man's shoulder as those eyes continued to search his own. "You need to get the Doctor."
He turned, catching her eyes briefly before returning his focus to the man on the bed.
"He's waking up…"
x
x
TBC...
Even if you haven't seen the fifth series of Doctor Who, hopefully I've made it clear that Rory was a nurse in his and Amy's home town of Leadworth, before they travelled with the Doctor.
Thank you once again for reading, and I hope you'll grace me with some more of your wonderful, encouraging comments!
Additional Note: Don't forget that this fiction has been nominated for two "Children of Time" Awards: in the "Angst" category and the "Slash" category. Voting opens on 31st August and closes on September 25th. The address is here: http:/cota(dot)worldsoutthere(dot)com/torchwood(dot)htm. You can also find one of my Drabbles, entitled "Bandaging Wounds" (which can also be found on my FanFiction Profile) nominated in the "Drabble" category.
Thank you once again for your continued support and interest!