Chapter 25
"Now will you let me take you somewhere more comfortable?"
Jack wanted to get Ianto off the cold, hard floor and into a warm bed as soon as he could, yet realised that he had yet to convince the shivering man in his arms that he had no intention of taking out his anger on him. Oh yes, he did want vengeance and yes, he was livid – but not with Ianto. Whoever this character was, he had preyed on Ianto when he was at his most vulnerable, whilst trying to rescue what was left of his girlfriend in the aftermath of a horrific war, waged between two alien races that left hundreds of his co-workers mutilated and dead.
Jack wondered what that man had been doing there at Canary Wharf and the only logical conclusion was that he must have been one of the rogue Torchwood Institute employees that faked their own deaths on that fateful day. If that was the case then they should be able to go through the personnel files and identify him. That would be a job for the morning. Jack's priority for now was to look after Ianto, whose self preservation instincts were running at an all time low. He couldn't believe that he'd actually volunteered to kill himself in order to spare Jack the condemnation of the rest of the team. He tightened his hold on Ianto, desperate to prove to him that far from wanting rid of him, he never wanted to let him go.
"Hey there – you still awake?" Jack whispered, not having heard a reply to his previous question, although Ianto's head seemed heavier on his shoulder.
"Yep – don't want to sleep." Ianto was exhausted, but he was too strung out to sleep. He needed to come to terms with Jack's unexpected forgiveness, although there was a voice calling out from the deep recesses of his mind telling him that he was an idiot to think that Jack would want him dead.
"You sure?" Jack hadn't failed to detect the weariness in the other man's voice.
"Jack – why? Why aren't you mad at me?" Ianto's questions were hesitant, yet persistent. He needed to know if this was real. "Last time, you were ready to shoot me."
It dawned on Jack why Ianto was so wary of him. The last time he'd been made aware of a secret that Ianto had been hiding his reactions had been nothing less than murderous and he really had been prepared to put a bullet in the man's skull. It was hardly surprising that his subconscious, fuelled with the depressant effects of the heroin-like drug, had convinced him that Jack would want him dead for such perceived betrayal.
"Because you weren't trying to hide this from me and more to the point, I know you better now. I trust you completely. I've no reason to doubt your loyalty and if I took this out on you I'd be a fool."
Jack thought back to the discovery of the cyberman in the basement and how he'd sworn to himself shortly afterwards that he would never handle a situation as badly as that ever again. He had let his personal feelings, his petulant anger at being taken for a ride, get in the way of how a leader should have acted. He should have isolated Ianto from the situation and dealt with it dispassionately and ruthlessly, instead he'd ruthlessly thrown Ianto into a nightmare and watched him tear himself apart. That had been both cruel and unnecessary. No wonder Ianto feared his reactions to this current revelation; the drug had just unleashed a paranoia founded on bitter experience.
"I'm so sorry. I wish I could have told you then … if only-"
"Thoughts that start with those two words rarely lead anywhere positive. Let it go, trust me you've nothing to be sorry for." Jack carefully pushed away from Ianto to get a better look at him without totally releasing him from his grip. "How are you feeling? And don't lie to me."
Ianto shuddered as the words left Jack's lips, but he felt, deep down, that they weren't meant harshly.
"Honestly? Like shit. I bet I stink." He wrinkled his nose as if to test his speculation.
Jack chuckled gently as it occurred to him that Ianto was gaining a grip on his true self if he was able to be disgusted at the state he was in. He did look rough, that was true, from his dishevelled, sweat-drenched hair to his reddened eyes and flushed complexion. However, he wasn't shaking as badly as he had been earlier, just the occasional tremble, which Jack took to be a good sign.
"How about a shower?"
Ianto nodded. He was feeling sticky with sweat, and itchy for that matter, yet also shivery at the same time. The thought of letting warm water sluice the grime from his tired and aching body was an appealing one, although it would involve him having to remain standing for more than a minute or two.
"I'd love one, but I'm not sure I can keep on my feet," he confessed, snuffling slightly.
"That's OK, I'll take care of you." Jack pulled him forwards into his arms and gently stroked Ianto's back, trying to soothe him as best he could.
After a clumsy shower that almost resulted in a nasty accident on slippery tiles, Jack carefully towelled Ianto dry; he'd noticed red weals where he had begun to scratch his arms once more and wanted to make sure the skin wasn't broken or aggravated any further. Whilst Ianto was brushing his teeth, Jack surreptitiously checked his quarters for anything that could be used as a weapon, besides the obvious, and slipped the offending objects into the pockets of the trousers he pulled on. He needed to speak with Owen and he wasn't entirely convinced that Ianto wouldn't do anything stupid in the meantime.
He managed to settle Ianto back into his bed and tried to maintain the virtue of a carer as the younger man refused to put anything on, saying it hurt his skin. The sight of a drowsy, naked Ianto nestled under a duvet, the damp curls of his hair dark against the white pillows, his hands clenching the sheets, wasn't especially easy to turn his back on. Telling Ianto that he would be back shortly and that he would be in his office if needed, he tore himself away to climb the ladder. Rather than risk going to the autopsy bay itself, he called for Owen via the comm. unit and was pleased that he responded quickly.
Owen paused before entering Jack's office, he could sense the tension from the doorway and Jack was pacing, that was never a good sign.
"I take it you managed to talk with him then?"
"Yes, he told me what he could recall about Patrick, but he thinks there's more that he can't bring to mind yet."
"Right – how's he doing? Let me guess - achy, shaky and sweaty? A bit like the 'flu but a lot jumpier?"
"That about sums it up. I helped him take a shower, that seemed to make things a bit better – and I got him to drink some of that vile sports drink. Found a bottle of that under my bed-"
"Stop there, spare me the gory details. And I really don't want to know why you keep high glucose drinks stashed in your den of iniquity. But, that's probably a good idea, with all the sweating he'll need to replace lost electrolytes as well as water."
"Thought so. He seemed … kinda paranoid when he was lucid. Thought I would want him dead … utterly convinced of that, even offered to do it for me."
"Shit, I was worried about that. I take it you haven't left any –" Owen mimed cutting his wrists and followed it up with an impression of hanging himself. It occurred to Jack that maybe Ianto was right in what he'd said about Owen's bedside manners.
"NO!" However, as he glanced at the pocket knife that he'd slipped out of the bedside drawer, it did come to mind that the remnants of the ties he'd cut were still knotted on the bed below. He shook his head as he thought that the knots were too tight and the pieces too short to pose any danger.
"Sorry, just checking. Look, Jack, he's not behaving rationally – you've got to get it into your head that he's coming out with that crap because of that fucking drug -"
"That and the memories that got stirred up."
"Shit. Are they that bad?" Owen winced as he saw from Jack's expression that they weren't happy reminiscences.
"Oh yes – this guy Patrick was tied up with getting that Cyberman into the Hub. Sounds like he pushed Ianto into doing it. Apparently his objective was to take over Torchwood 3, but Ianto didn't co-operate fully. That's why they messed with his head, buried a few memories here and there, but now they're coming back to haunt him-"
"What? The memories or the bad guys?"
"Both."
"Fucking brilliant –sounds like Teaboy's been sent on a drug enhanced guilt trip with self administered oblivion as the final destination."
"As always, Owen, you manage to make even the bleakest scenario so much worse. Thank you."
"It's not going to help anyone, you included, if I pretend it's not as bad as it is." Owen pointed at Jack meaningfully. "The good thing is that Ianto was only given one dose – this Patrick obviously meant to get him hooked after repeated injections. That's the good news. Means we should be able to deal with the fallout better. For now, we can treat the symptoms of the withdrawal but not the cause. Comforting actually makes a difference, I imagine you'll take care of that."
"No problem." Jack smiled sadly. He'd got better at that with time.
"Me and Tosh have been working on a possible counter agent to the diamorphine derivative. There's always the possibility that flooding the synapses with natural endorphins to compete for the receptors might help. But how the hell you manage to get a terminally depressed introvert like Ianto to bliss out on neurotransmitters associated with pleasure is beyond my capacity-"
"But not mine," grinned Jack as he raised his eyebrows, ideas already coming to mind. "I think I can work on that type of therapy."
"You're a fucking sick bastard, Harkness." Owen grimaced as he realised what he'd inadvertently suggested to Jack. "Trust you to want to take advantage of a drugged up body in your bed."
"Not taking advantage. I'll be trying to help him cope with the after effects of this damn drug."
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Jack. I almost wished I'd never said a thing. I'll need memory modification at this rate."