Torchwood: Divergence
Book One: Dychwelyd

Chapter 34

Jack was sitting on the bed wearing only a bath towel, his hair spiky and still damp. He was using another length of terry to gently rub the last of the water from his partner's body so he could bandage the twenty-six-year-old's healing but currently open wounds.

When the younger man had finally broken down completely, the American had simply held him close and let him cry. The pent-up guilt, grief, fear, and suffering had poured out of the resurrected Welshman in terrible wrenching sobs, heart-rending moans, and agonised whimpers. Two years of horrific torture and intensive training in Hell, compounded by so much uncertainty and dread, topped with weeks of overexertion and exhaustion. It had seemed the torrential flow of tears would never stop, and at times the Changeling's distress had been so profound that Harkness had cried with him, because it hurt so much to witness the one he loved suffering that badly. Especially when the young brunette had pleaded with him to forgive him for dying in London, for leaving him to wake up alone again and struggle to keep going after. That in itself had hit the Captain like a physical blow and pushed his own guilt levels up a notch or two.

Eventually Ianto had indeed cried himself out however, reaching a point where there just weren't anymore tears left, though the dry sobbing and violent trembling had continued for some time after that. Only when he was so exhausted that he'd nearly passed out did the emotional maelstrom finally come to an end. Then he'd simply rested limply in his partner's embrace, utterly spent.

Shortly after, Jack had gotten them both undressed and into the shower, gently supporting the swaying Scieron-forged immortal as he'd carefully washed every millimetre of his body for him. Now, the towelling ended and the wound tending began, Ianto was laying curled up on his right side naked atop a big bath sheet, head toward the foot of the bed so he was facing the older man who sat on the mattress edge. The young Welshman's eyes looked burnt out; bloodshot, red rimmed, puffy, and deeply shadowed, with his breathing shallow but steady even as an occasional shiver shook his slender though muscular body.

Harkness carefully spread antiseptic cream over the slowly closing but still ugly gash just below the ball of the younger brunette's left shoulder, covered it with a non-stick pad and taped the bandage in place before turning his attention to the more severe of the two injuries. He took up his partner's left hand, examining the ragged hole that passed all the way through from the centre of the palm to the matching space between bones and tendons in the back. It looked like someone had tried to crucify the young Welshman, that thought and a mental image of his companion's silvery wings combining to give the Captain a strangely uneasy feeling. He pushed it aside, bringing the other man's hand to his lips for a soft kiss over each side of the wound, followed by more antiseptic cream. When he had the appendage gauze wrapped to his satisfaction, Jack nudged the twenty-six-year-old and patted the pillows.

With an obvious effort, Ianto roused enough to crawl to the other end of the mattress and burrowed under the covers. The undying time traveller at the bedside rose to gather the bath sheet from the bed, as well as the towels he'd used on his partner and briefly disappeared into the ensuite. He returned without the length of terry he'd had around his waist, slid naked between the sheets with his lover, dimmed the lights and waited for the younger immortal to snuggle close. They'd bunk in for a span, relax in the shared warmth of one another's embrace and see how things looked when they both decided to get up. For now, however, the world would have to wait.

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AN: A much needed rest for Ianto and a little cuddle time for Jack…

Thank you to those reading the story. And thank you to those who have followed, favourited, and reviewed. NM