9.
Neither one of them spoke for over five minutes. Jack was wrapped up in his own thoughts, once again remembering his time in Hell and the awful things he'd seen and done there. He'd killed both Gwen and Ianto, shooting one and sending the other into the shadows. In both cases he'd been goaded to it by gross exaggerations of their character and his feelings about them, yet it didn't make it any easier knowing he'd still been capable of murdering two people he cared about.
Gwen's insistent mothering and grating bossiness had driven him to pull out his gun and shoot her. He'd known it was the matches but couldn't resist; it was like he'd snapped and couldn't take it anymore—the constant pushing, questioning, doubting, manipulating. Because that was Gwen at her lowest, and there were times that it drove Jack mad. She refused to back off because she still couldn't understand the reality of Torchwood, or him, even when she claimed to know so much. He'd regretted killing her immediately, of course, had been devastated to hold her dead body in his arms. And he'd gone straight to Ianto for help.
Ianto, the man he knew loved him, the man he loved in return. That scene had been harder to see and accept.
He'd walked in on Ianto with another man, Darren Sowisby, kissing and caressing in the conference room. It had been shockingly out of character, but more than that was the almost instant realization that it bothered him to see Ianto like that, with someone else. And when the other version of Ianto had thrown it in his face, that it wasn't as if Jack didn't go around flirting and kissing and carrying on, Jack understood how hypocritical it was of him to feel that way. With that second insight came a flood of guilt, that he had driven Ianto into Darren's arms with his own behavior, behavior that had hurt Ianto.
But then it had got worse: Ianto wasn't finding refuge in another man to mend his broken heart, he'd been using Darren to get back at Jack. And he'd been using Jack to have revenge for Lisa. He'd seduced Jack, earned Jack's trust and affection, only to betray him both physically and emotionally, and then force him to do the one thing that hurt more than any other. Jack had opened the matchbox and sent Ianto to Hell. He'd had no choice. He'd been compelled, he couldn't resist, and on top of the knowledge that Ianto had used and betrayed him, he then bore the burden of having killed the man he loved.
Which was the crux of it all, wasn't it? Admitting that he cared for Ianto. He tried to show it in small ways, but allowing himself to grow emotionally close and actually express it was not something he was willing or able to do. He kept it to himself because it was easier that way. Denial was a powerful tool for self-preservation, and as Jack had all of eternity to muddle through, his instinct for self-preservation was strong. Though it was not as strong as his ability to love.
It was why he was here, still fighting both, and with Ianto dragged into it somehow as well: as much as Jack tried to protect his heart, still it longed for more.
Ianto's nightmares were fairly obvious in meaning: he was scared that Jack would hurt him. Maybe not literally kill him as Jack had done in the Welshman's dreams, but hurt him in some other way. Because that's what Jack—and what Torchwood—did. It hurt people. Of course Ianto was scared of that, he'd be a fool not to have his doubts and fears about being involved with Jack. It was why Ianto would be better off without him. He needed safety and commitment. He needed someone to go home to like Gwen had Rhys, and Jack was not that man.
But how he wished he was that man.
"Jack?" asked Ianto, and he finally looked up to meet the other man's eyes. Ianto was pale; he looked tired and almost as nervous as Jack felt at that moment.
Jack sat up straighter. "Right. Time to figure this out."
Ianto sighed. "Look, we really don't need to have some sort of heart-to-heart. That's not…well, that's not us. Just because Owen said—"
"Owen might be right," Jack interrupted. "It could be relevant, could help us figure this out."
"And like you said, it's enough to know that this alien is using our thoughts and fears against us. We don't need to know what those are to fight it."
"But—" Jack started, and this time Ianto interrupted him.
"I don't need to know," he said firmly. "But we do need to understand why it's targeting us, and if it's possible that one of the others might be targeted next."
Jack met his eyes and held them for a moment. "Do you think so?" he asked, knowing his own thoughts about the situation and their role in it.
Ianto frowned and looked away. Finally he shook his head. "I have no reason to, but I think it's about us, somehow. It feels personal."
In spite of his experience in Hell, Jack trusted Ianto. Deep down he believed the Welshman would not betray Jack to deliberately hurt him, and he trusted the Welshman's instincts when it came to the work they did. In the end, this was a case, and Ianto's intuition and experience had proven right countless times. He'd been wrong other times, certainly; but something inside Jack agreed. The nature of their visions felt too deliberate. Whatever was happening, it was happening to Jack and Ianto, and it was happening to them for a reason.
Jack took a deep breath. He might not share his deepest thoughts and feelings, but he had to say something. "Earlier, when it had me, you…or rather, the alien…suggested that it was using you to get to me."
Ianto blinked twice, the only sign of surprise Jack noticed. Then he nodded. "Makes sense, I suppose. But it could have been any of us, then. It targeted me for the bad dreams. I can only think it's because I touched it first in the archives."
"Maybe," said Jack. This was hard. It was like talking over rocks, the words constantly sticking in his throat, refusing to give voice to his fears. "Or maybe it knew that hurting you would hurt me."
"Jack, that's true for the entire team," Ianto protested. "It's more likely I was the easiest mind to pick-pocket since I'm the one who was there when it first activated."
Jack hung his head. "If we're even half right about a psychic alien manipulating our thoughts, I don't think that's it. Yes, you were there and you picked it up, but you are also…god, Ianto…you are the one person I…the one I don't want to see hurt, more than any of the others. So it hurt you, in order to hurt me. I think that's why this is happening."
Ianto did not respond, though Jack was sure that the other man's thoughts were racing behind his eyes. "What are you thinking?" he whispered. Ianto blew out a long breath before replying. He did not look at Jack as he spoke.
"It haunted me with visions of being killed, always by you. Stepping into the shower to stab me, pinning me to the bed and strangling me. And it was horrible, every one." His voice cracked and he took a slow breath. "There were times when I wondered if I…if it wasn't going to work out anymore…us, that is…that maybe we'd need to end things, because the nightmares were so vivid, so terrifying. I knew it would never happen for real, but I also thought I'd never get a good night's sleep again." He offered a wan smile at the end, since sleep was the last of their concerns now.
"Which makes sense," Jack said, trying sound professional, though he felt worse than ever, knowing Ianto had considered ending their relationship. "If this alien is trying to hurt me, and it can read our minds, then maybe it went after you to try and drive a wedge between us before actually attacking you."
"But why?" Ianto sighed, closing his eyes. "It still doesn't make sense."
"It's alien," said Jack. "It may never make sense. But if it's after me, then we have something to work with."
"How does that give us something to work with?" Ianto asked with a short laugh. "Do you have any idea why a forty-five-year-old alien stuck in a purple box would want to hurt you?"
"Well, when you put it like that…" Jack tried to smile and failed. "No, of course not." He looked away and was silent. His instinct told him he was right, but he couldn't imagine any reason why the Xrillian might want to hurt him.
"Maybe it's pissed off at you," Ianto offered, sounding slightly bitter and almost flippant. "God knows it wouldn't be the first alien—or former boyfriend—to come back and wreak havoc. You do have a colorful history, after all."
"The Xrillians were dead and gone by my time," Jack protested with a frown. "I'd never met one until it showed up in the Hub and killed one of the team."
"So you shot it," Ianto pointed out. "Maybe that's why, maybe it didn't like being shot, and then left on a shelf for decades, all alone in the dark."
"Maybe," Jack agreed, though he was confused by Ianto's sudden change in attitude.
"Maybe it didn't like you destroying the other cube," Ianto continued. His face had taken on a hard quality, and his eyes…Jack wasn't sure about his eyes. It didn't look or sound like Ianto anymore, and yet Jack couldn't stop listening. "Maybe that second cube was important."
"What?" Jack asked. "We didn't do anything; it was in pieces when they found it. It went right into the incinerator."
"Brilliant. So you not only broke it, killing whatever was inside, but then you burned it to a crisp. That sounds like motivation to me."
"Ianto!" Jack exclaimed. "Where are you getting this? We didn't break it, the Rift did. We had nothing to do with it."
When Ianto grinned, it was all teeth, and it was ugly. Jack was about to call for Tosh, or Owen, but was left stunned and speechless as Ianto slowly brought his feet over the side of the bed, took out the IV in his left arm, and walked over to him, heedless of the thin line of blood dripping onto the floor. He stopped inches from Jack's face.
"If you want to know what's going on, I suggest you listen to me," he said in a low voice that made Jack shiver, but for all the wrong reasons. "You killed its mate, and now it's going to torture and kill yours."
"My mate?" Jack asked, stumbling back from Ianto's aggressive posture. The Welshman rolled his eyes.
"I don't know why it thinks I'm all that, but it's too late to stop it now. Thanks for getting me involved, Jack," Ianto snapped. He held up his bleeding arm, wiped the blood onto the floor, and limped another step closer, holding his side. "It thinks you care about me, and now I'm a target. Dreams and nightmares and being stabbed. I knew Torchwood would be the death of me, but I didn't think it would be you personally, Jack."
"No," said Jack, shaking his head. He kept moving backwards, and Ianto kept moving closer, until Jack stumbled over the steps and fell. He scrambled away on hands and knees, but Ianto crouched down next to him, his voice practically a growl, his eyes blazing.
"You know it's true. It's your fault, it's always your fault. Even if you did love me, which we all know you don't, you still got me into this mess, so what's the point? Love conquers all?" Ianto shook his head in mock sadness before smashing one hand against the other. "Bullshit! I suppose it's bad enough that it ends so soon for you when you have all of eternity. Now you have to consign us mere mortals to torture, too? How is that fair?"
"It's not," Jack whispered. "It's never fair. I hate it."
"So do I!" Ianto snarled, pushing Jack over to land on his bottom. "It's time to end it, once and for all. You're going to hurt me one day, Jack. I know it. It's my deepest fear, that you'll leave again. Maybe you'll leave Wales, or Earth all together. Maybe you'll move on to someone younger, smarter, prettier—parade them around right in front of me. But you will leave, I know that. It's inevitable. And I will shatter into a thousand more pieces than I did when Lisa died. Why do you think it gave me those dreams? Because it saw what's in my heart! So end it! I don't want to go through this anymore!"
"No...no, I can't… I won't," Jack babbled, reaching out for Ianto, who slapped him away. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a small voice telling him this was wrong, this was fake, this was the alien manipulating him again, he was back in Hell. Only everything Ianto had said was right. It was what Jack had been thinking for so long, what Jack felt every time he allowed someone to grow close. Every time he fell in love. They would die, and he would not, so he kept his distance and ended up hurting them, every time.
"Jack," Ianto said, and he leaned over Jack, arms on either side of his head, and stared deep into Jack's eyes. "I love you. You know that. How could I not? Yet how can I keep doing this? Ex-boyfriends who try to kill us, former lovers you sleep with before they disappear into time, mayoral assistants who snog you like the world's ending, bartenders who slip you their phone numbers, co-workers who fuck you with their eyes." Ianto no longer appeared angry, but looked so sad that Jack felt the guilt crushing him down. "I deserve better, and that's not even mentioning all the times you've fucked up and got one of us hurt on the job. I'm tired of it. It's not worth it."
Of course it wasn't. Jack wasn't worth it. He was worthless. Ianto was right about all of those things. Why did Ianto put up with them? Why did Ianto bother going out with him, sleeping with him? Okay, maybe the sex was great, yet the emotional return was nothing but pain and heartache. Ianto had admitted he loved Jack, and yet Jack knew he could never, ever say the same, no matter how strongly he felt it deep down in the part of his soul he couldn't deny. He would hurt Ianto, over and over, with his continued denial, and there was nothing he could do about it.
"You sent me to Hell before," Ianto whispered into his ear. He turned his head and kissed Jack on the lips, soft and sweet. "Send me to heaven now. I'm done hoping and tired of fighting."
Jack felt the cold metal of his Webley being pressed into his hand. Ianto stood up and offered his hand. Jack stood before him, his breathing quick, his hand shaking. This wasn't happening. It wasn't real. He told himself over and over again, and yet…it felt so real. It made so much sense. Ianto's nightmares might have been metaphor for his fears, but this was the truth of their reality. Jack was already hurting Ianto and would only hurt him more. He should end the Welshman's suffering; Ianto didn't deserve the pain of being with Jack. No one did.
Jack raised the gun, released the safety. Tears fell from his eyes. This was worse than being in Hell. This was all him, and him alone, and he was about to shoot the man he loved to save Ianto from the heartbreak of being with Jack. The world was a cruel place, and Jack hated it.
Jack was done with it. He pulled the trigger.
Author's Note:
I'm really sorry about that. I'm not exaggerating when I say that it just happened; it practically typed itself. I had no idea the story would take this kind of turn when I started it. Still, if you know my stories, you know I am generally an optimist and a loyal fan of Jack and Ianto. So have faith; I don't think it will get much worse than this. I plan to update after the weekend, and do hope you will not give up on this story! Thank you for reading!
