Torchwood: Divergence
Book One: Dychwelyd
Chapter 29
Ianto had gone to meet Jack on the firing range more than an hour ago, the CCTV was switched off to that room from their end, and neither man was wearing their earcomm. It hadn't seemed like the two were planning anything intimate, so the lengthening time span and bid for secrecy made Gwen curious. When there was still no sign of either brunette after another half hour, Cooper decided to wander their way. As she approached the vaulted section of old tunnel the range had been set up in, she was very conscious of the fact that no weapons were being fired. The she heard the Captain's voice and really started to wonder what her friends were up to.
"No way," Jack called, his tone one of surprise and high spirits. "Show me that again... slow if you can, then at normal speed like the first time."
Gwen was now at a point where she could see down into the practice area from the gantry leading to the stairs. The American was leaning back against the heavy iron weapons table Johnson had installed in her first days at the base, his arms folded across his chest, his attention focused on the younger man in the middle of the firing range's floor. And that sight alone was enough to surprise the former PC up on the walkway. Ianto stood in the centre of the room minus his tie, suit jacket, waistcoat, belt and shirt, clad only from the waist down. She'd seen the young Welshman stark naked recently, but somehow it was much more shocking to have him bare-chested in only his trousers and footwear.
Then she understood what was going on, as Jones extended his right arm and a mirror bright short sword materialized in his hand. He spun the blade, casting it into the air to be caught by his left hand where it suddenly turned into a short spear. That twirled upward and the young brunette did a flat-footed back flip, catching the weapon mid-arc in his right hand at which point it became a rapier type sword. A pirouette and sharp side kick as he landed found the spinning blade switch hands once more, this time behind his back where it transformed into a long, elaborate broadsword.
Each time the weapon changed hands it morphed into something different, the path of its airborne spins as well as the accompanying attack or defence moves becoming increasingly complicated. Finally, the short sword reappeared and her friend ended the exercise in the exact same spot and position he'd started from, as the ornate weapon turned to quicksilver and disappeared. It was amazing, beautiful as a dance but potentially lethal at the same time. And then it went from amazing to jaw dropping, as Ianto repeated the entire series at "normal" speed. Each transition flowed seamlessly into the next, the whole exercise taking on a nearly ethereal grace as the changing weapons flashed like silver ribbons connecting the individual movements. It was over in what seemed to be the blink of an eye, and Jack was obviously impressed.
"Outstanding," the Captain called, his blue eyes bright and excited as he applauded his partner's performance. "I can see why you saved that one for last."
"It's even better mid-air," Ianto insisted, slightly out of breath from doing the complex exercise three times in a row. "But there's not enough wing room in here to do it safely."
"Quite the force to reckon with," Harkness stated firmly, now approaching the younger man with slow steps, an oversized hand towel dangling from one hand. "Looks like the Scieron were pretty serious when they trained you."
"Deadly," Jones nodded, reaching for the length of terry cloth only to have the former Time Agent pull it away so he could use it himself to wipe off his lover's face and torso. "And there's never a danger of an enemy using a blade against me or one of the team."
"You sure about that?" the undying American prodded with a raised brow, pulling out the waistband of his companion's trousers and boxer-briefs to slide the towel down along his lower abdomen.
"We have an audience, Jack," Jones warned evenly, nodding toward the door along the gantry. "But if you really want to try disarming me, you can."
"Gwen," Harkness grinned, not even looking in her direction. "Care to come relieve my Barista Boy of his sword?"
"No," Ianto interjected firmly before a somewhat embarrassed Cooper could reply. "You, Jack. There's a reason."
"Okay," their leader nodded, flipping the towel over his shoulder after one final rub over the younger man's sweat damp chest hair, his eyes narrowing slightly at the urgent undertone of his Archivist's voice.
The Changeling before him summoned a small, ornately hilted blade, similar to a steak knife or lady's bodice weapon, held it in the palm of his right hand and offered it to the Captain. Jack accepted it, but before he could even shift it a millimetre to take a firm grip let alone attack, the weapon turned to quicksilver and dissolved with an angry hiss. The former Time Agent cried out in pain, his right palm and fingers scorched and blistered as though he'd plunged his hand into boiling water or pressed it to a hot stove. Ianto immediately reached out to catch hold of his partner's wrist, and lead him over to the weapons table where a half-finished glass of ice water sat. He confiscated the towel, poured the liquid over it and folded the terry around the remaining pieces of ice, then pressed it to the older brunette's injured palm.
"Sorry," the young Guardian whispered, looking a little pale once more, his eyes clouded with guilt. "I knew you'd want me to prove it even if I explained. The bigger the weapon, the more extensive the damage when it leaves contact with my body and I don't sustain the shape, that's why it was something small."
"It's okay," Jack reassured, using his uninjured hand to rub the back of the twenty-six-year-old's neck. "I pretty much asked for it, and my hand will be fine in an hour or so. Good defence... and now I understand why you didn't want Gwen to do it."
"And I'm unbelievably grateful," the former constable put in, having hurried down the stairs as soon as Harkness had cried out. "Bloody hell. That is a wickedly ingenious way of keeping those blades out of the wrong hands, not to mention an option for doing additional damage to your target."
"If such a small knife did this," the Captain pointed out. "Think if someone or something tried to take that monster broadsword or footman's lance from you. They could lose a limb."
Ianto nodded, still looking guilty as he briefly pulled the impromptu icepack away from his partner's scorched palm.
"I'm really sorry, Jack," he murmured contritely. "I knew what would happen in theory, but I'd never actually seen the results. It's a lot worse than I thought. Let me grab the first aid box from the ammunition room."
"I'll get it," Gwen volunteered, trotting off under the stairs.
"Don't. Worry." Harkness stated emphatically, squarely meeting the younger man's anxious gaze. "It's already starting to heal and it illustrated a very important fact. You're getting upset for no reason."
He pulled his lover a little closer, placed a soft kiss on his forehead.
"Why don't you do your meditation routine for a few minutes and let Gwen play field medic," the immortal American suggested helpfully. "Try to relax again, then we'll call it a day on the demonstrations. Let you hit the shower, maybe get your head down for a bit before the next Rift surge, yeah?"
"You two head up," Ianto countered, stepping back out into the firing range floor. "Have Martha dress that properly. I'll... be up shortly."
"Come on," Cooper half smiled, leaving the first aid kit on the weapons table and taking their leader by the elbow to steer him toward the stairs. "I know when my medical skills aren't wanted."
"Relax!" Jack called as he and the one-time PC disappeared up the risers and out the door, his voice trailing back. "Wow... that was a really nasty surprise..."
Ianto was shaking now, finding it hard to focus enough to even attempt his meditation exercise. He tried to take deeper breaths, but the ache in his chest wouldn't let him. And the more he thought about the fact that he hadn't meant to hurt his partner so badly, the worse it got.
"Shit..." the young Archivist gasped, knowing what was about to happen as his muscles started to spasm and his knees buckled.
Sharp pains radiated up both legs as he hit the polished concrete floor hard, but it didn't stop the darkness closing in around him, slow his frantically beating heart, or lessen the nausea rising from his gut. This was what he'd wanted to avoid earlier, the proof that there was something not right about him now, the imperfection that would see Jack turn his back forever.
A gasping cry of pain escaped the young brunette as his spine stiffened, his head went back and he collapsed onto his side in convulsions. The world had gone black even before his head struck the floor, and time ceased to have any meaning. Eventually he became aware of his surroundings once more; sick, confused, afraid.
Ianto struggled up onto his hands and knees, trying to orient himself and desperately hoping he was still alone. Bile burned the back of his throat but he knew he wasn't likely to be sick. He panted for air, crawling drunkenly over to the nearest wall where he turned to sit against it and huddle in on himself as tears started to fall.
"What's wrong with me?" he half sobbed to himself, hiding his face against drawn up knees and unconsciously rocking as he wondered how the day had become such a total disaster after such a promising start.
It took a few minutes for the trembling to stop as his heart rate slowly returned to normal, and by that time the eternal twenty-six-year-old had managed to halt the flow of tears as well. He was conscious of a sticky warmth in his hair above and behind his right ear, the less than steady fingers he pressed to the sore area coming away smeared with blood. He must have cracked his head on the floor pretty hard when he went down.
Trying to get himself back under control, Ianto slowly got to his feet, dusted off his dark grey trousers and walked carefully to the weapons table. He used surgical spirits and a couple of gauze pads from the first aid kit to clean up the small gash in his scalp with the help of the tiny hand mirror the little white box contained. Another dry pad cleared the residue and got the cold sweat and tears off his face. A few wipes and more spirits took up the small smeared blood stain on the floor where he'd fallen, then everything was tightly bundled into a section of kitchen roll from the ammunition room before being placed deep in the bin there, and the kit put back on its shelf. Finally, the young Welshman resumed his crimson-coloured shirt, buttoned it but didn't bother to tuck it in, draped the rest of his clothing over one arm, locked the ammunition room door and headed upstairs.
The still somewhat rattled Archivist had just crossed the threshold when he heard Jack shouting his name from the corridor ahead.
"Coming," he called back, finding the man waiting around the first bend in the passageway. "Lost track of time. Do we have a Rift alert?"
"No," Harkness half smiled. "I was just worried that you got distracted and sliced off your nose or half your fingers or something. You look beat. Things are still quiet if you want to shower and lie down before we decide to do anything for lunch."
"Sounds good," Ianto nodded with a there and gone smile, following the older man back to the Hub and trying not to stare at the bright white dressings wrapped around his lover's burnt hand. "Martha got you patched up then?"
His voice caught on the last three words, but his partner didn't seem to notice.
"Good as new before tea time," the Captain chuckled, urging his lover past the nearest workstation toward the office and inside, where he finally shucked his RAF coat. "I'll try to keep the kids quiet. Enjoy your shower."
Then he was headed back out into the main room, leaving Ianto to continue on to the bedroom and close the door. If Jack would have stayed, he'd have heard a few minutes of quiet shuffling before the shower came on... followed by the sound of wrenching sobs too blurred by the rush of running water for the CCTV link in the office to pick up.
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AN: Poor Ianto has had a really horrible day…
Posting early, as I'll not be able to get to my computer Saturday. Back to business-as-usual next weekend.
This marks about the half way point of Book One… hopefully you're not all bored out of your minds yet.
Thank you to those reading the story. And thank you to those who have followed, favourited, and reviewed. NM
