A/N: Sorry for the delay, I had trouble with this chapter and I'm still not happy with the pacing, but never mind, I want to get past this onto the good stuff so I'm posting it anyway ;) Also forgot to say in the first chapter, this story is set after 'A Day In The Death'.
A/N 2: Crash_n_Burn, I can't reply to your review privately! Many thanks for the kind words and keep an eye out for that 'subject' ;)
Gwen tumbled through the door into the Tourist Office well after her usual time of arrival. "Hi," she slurred, causing Ianto to glance up from where he'd been fastidiously arranging leaflets on the counter.
"Out late last night, were we?" he teased, taking in her pale face and the circles beneath her eyes.
"No," she protested weakly. "I think I'm getting the flu or something."
"Ah." Ianto moved a tiny step backwards as he reached for the button that opened the Hub's concealed entrance. "How about I make you a Lemsip?"
Gwen smiled gratefully at him. "Oh God, that would be perfect. Could you?"
"Of course. Let me lock up here and I'll be right down."
"Thanks, Ianto." Gwen shuffled over to the door, then paused to look back at him with narrowed eyes. "It only takes a second to lock up. You just don't want to get in the lift with me, do you?"
Ianto gave her an innocent smile. "The thought hadn't even crossed my mind."
Five minutes later, he set a steaming mug on the desk by Gwen's elbow. She was slumped forward, head resting on her folded arms and her eyes shut tight. Ianto smiled and tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the personal gesture. "You should be in bed," he said. "Why don't you go home and I'll let Jack know you're ill."
Gwen shook her head as best she could without lifting it from her arms. "I'll be fine," she told him. "I'm just tired."
Frowning, Ianto moved his hand to her forehead. "You're burning up." Gwen tried to dislodge him, but Ianto held on, noticing something else as he did so. "What's this?" he asked, brushing aside her hair to better see her left arm. There was a small discoloured patch of skin trailing from the back of her hand up onto her forearm, the surrounding flesh lined with the tell-tale red marks of relentless scratching.
"Just a rash," Gwen mumbled, trying to return her head to the pillow of her arms.
A sinking feeling settled over Ianto and he removed his hand. "I'm going to get Owen."
Owen turned away from the slumbering form and carefully climbed the steps up from the autopsy bay. As had become his new habit, he kept one eye on the floor and the other on his hands and the towel with which he was drying them. It was perhaps one of the most frustrating things he had to deal with since his 'resurrection'; having to look at what his body was doing because he couldn't feel anything, not even the ground beneath his feet.
It wasn't a problem he admitted to the others – the fact he had to teach himself to walk all over again was not something he felt like sharing with his colleagues – so instead he was especially careful to stay aware of his surroundings.
At the top of the steps he swung a sharp left towards Jack's office, tossing the used paper towel towards his desk as he passed and clenching his fist in celebration when it dropped directly into the bin beside his chair. His victorious grin faded as he stepped into the office and caught sight of the worried faces within.
"Bad news," he announced, forgoing any preamble. "It's that Rash-ese disease again." He grimaced as he said it and glared at Ianto. "We've really gotta stop letting you name things."
The younger man shrugged. "It produced a rash," he countered. "And, if I recall correctly, you found it funny at the time."
Owen rolled his eyes. "Oh sure, 'cept you asked my opinion when I was hopped up on painkillers."
"How did Gwen get it?" Jack asked, absently pushing aside some papers on his desk. "And why didn't we? Wasn't it highly contagious last time?"
Ianto reached across to pull the papers back in front of the Captain. "Sign them," he told him firmly. "And yes, it was. It spread between us within a couple of hours of skin-to-skin contact. If we're not showing any symptoms she must have been exposed to something we haven't encountered ourselves yet." Realising something, Ianto lifted a hand and squinted at his palm. "Well I definitely touched her earlier, so it looks like I'm out of the hunt for whatever caused this. The question is, has anyone else touched her or me since she started to feel ill?"
"Gwen said Rhys is away on an extended stag-do or something, so we don't have to worry about him, and of course I don't count," Owen announced cheerfully. "I've got a get-out-of-the-frustratingly-itchy-rash card, right here." He tapped his chest, directly over the bullet hole that would never heal.
"How wonderful for you," Ianto said dryly. "I don't think you've touched me today, have you, Jack?"
The Captain pouted. "No, you've been extra slippery this morning."
Ianto ignored his sulky response and took another step away from the desk. "Okay, well if Gwen's got the medical bay then I guess I'll go quarantine myself in one of the guestrooms. I'm sure you won't mind making house calls to me there Owen, as you're so fortunately resistant to the disease." The medic gave him a dark look but Ianto had already turned to Jack. "You'll have to fend for yourselves for the next few days, but I'm sure you'll survive. Oh, but if you could remember that Gwen and I need to eat as well, I'd appreciate it." He fixed each of them with a pointed look, making sure they remembered how hairy things had become the last time they'd all been exposed to the virus. Especially when the supply of food in the locked-down Hub had began to run out...
"How about you don't quarantine yourself and Tosh and I just avoid touching you until you're all better again?" Jack suggested, pulling a face at Ianto's words.
"Then you'd definitely catch it, wouldn't you? Sorry, Jack, I'd rather sit in a room by myself for five days than deal with you whining about being itchy." Ianto smirked at Jack's mock outrage and deftly stepped out of reach when the older man made a grab for him.
He left the office and began to gather up a few things to keep himself entertained whilst he was isolated, far from enthusiastic about shutting himself away but aware from experience that it had to be done; if they all caught the virus again then Torchwood would be out of commission for the better part of the week, possibly longer.
Jack tentatively prodded the mug Owen had just deposited on his desk with the end of a pencil. The dark liquid inside quivered but barely moved, reminding Jack of the thick viscous excretions that came out of a Mynark's reproductive glands. Having become closely acquainted with that substance once before in his lifetime, the Captain wasn't very eager to repeat the experience at all. He shoved the mug away, and then a further inch to the side for good measure, lest the 'coffee' inside decided to make its own way out of its ceramic prison.
"A-hem."
Jack glanced up to find Owen glaring at him and he shrugged, unrepentant. Immortality might bring him back from a coffee-related death, but it certainly wouldn't remove the memory of the taste.
The doctor rolled his eyes and slid further down in his chair. Beside him, Tosh was engaged in a very curious form of twitching that involved both her body and her face and Jack had to resist the urge to laugh.
"So it was in the pod?" he asked, though that had already been established moments earlier.
"Bet you regret giving Tosh free reign over that thing now, eh?" Owen said.
The older man lifted an eyebrow. "As if I could've stopped her." He grinned over at the woman in question, who was still performing some kind of dance, or perhaps it was a new type of aerobics, in her chair. "Besides, I'd say she regrets it more than me."
"AH!" Tosh cried out, surging forward as she contorted an arm around to the middle of her back and began scratching furiously. "The more you talk about it, the worse it gets!"
Jack bit back a chuckle. "But this is purely psychological, right?" he pushed Owen, because Tosh was doing a very good job of convincing him otherwise.
"Yeah, she's fine. I ran her samples three times because she didn't believe me either and they all came out negative."
"So why didn't the internal sensors pick up the presence of the virus when we opened the pod?" Jack flipped his pencil between his fingers, attempting to distract himself from the slight tickling at the back of his neck.
"Because the sensors only recognise airborne oddities and this ain't one of them," Owen said, folding his hands behind his head and looking rather stiff as he did so. Jack eyed him with sympathy for a few seconds before Owen noticed the pity and scowled back at him.
"Okay, that makes sense I suppose, even if it does highlight a gaping hole in our security around here." Jack frowned and turned his attention back to Tosh. "But why is Tosh clear of the virus?"
"Two possibilities," Owen replied immediately, having clearly already considered the question. "One: Gwen came into contact with a part of the pod that Tosh didn't."
"Unlikely," Tosh said, now rubbing her back against the chair like a bear at its favourite tree. "I worked with it for hours but she was only there when it opened. I can guarantee we touched the same things."
Jack had to agree it was a bit of a stretch to think otherwise. "Second possibility?"
"Second possibility is that Tosh simply wasn't infected by the virus this time."
Jack's frown deepened; that seemed almost as much of a stretch as the first option to him. "And that could happen?" he asked dubiously, to which Owen gave him a rakish grin that told Jack he already had an answer for that.
"It could happen if she has an immunity to the virus. One she developed after, say, being exposed to it previously..."
Ah. Jack nodded sagely, approving Owen's speculation despite having no real knowledge of such things. There was a reason why he had a medic on the team after all. "Okay, so, that's good, right? It means we're all immune to it. Apart from Gwen, of course, who'll just have to suffer like we did for that horrible, horrible week of which we shall never speak again." He tapped his chin thoughtfully, a plan forming in his mind. "We could tell her it's another part of her initiation and see if she still buys that line, like last month with the Orli eggs."
Tosh pulled a face at the memory – though it could've been partly due to her phantom itches – and Owen smirked openly. Jack grinned as well, relief easing his concerns that the team would be overrun by the frustrating, if harmless, ailment. Gwen wouldn't have a good week, but at least Torchwood wouldn't be entirely compromised again.
"So Ianto doesn't need to be quarantined after all," Jack went on, once again eyeballing the thick gloop that Owen had dared to present him with.
"No, he does," Owen announced with far too much enthusiasm. "We still need to rule out the possibility that Gwen herself is infectious. I should have him all cleared and out of isolation by the end of the day if my theory's correct."
Jack's expression fell as he imagined the rest of the day without a good drink or a great backside to ogle. Oh, it was an improvement on Ianto being shut away for a week, but now that he knew the Welshman was most likely clear of the virus, he couldn't find the patience to wait.
"Fine," he sulked. "Go update him, then get on with those tests. I'm sure a gifted doctor as yourself could get them done much quicker than you think."
Owen crowed with laughter as he left the office, seeing right through Jack's weak attempt to flatter him into compliance. Tosh gave him a tiny smile then followed Owen out, her movements jerky as she valiantly tried not to start scratching again.
Later that afternoon, in the bare room that he'd claimed as his temporary new home, Ianto was talking with Tosh whilst correcting a report that Jack had apparently written in about ten seconds flat.
The day of isolation had been a surprisingly nice change of pace for the young man, especially once he'd found out he probably hadn't caught Gwen's virus and had stopped worrying about when the infuriating itching would begin. He'd managed to get through a backlog of reports and requisitions and his peace had only occasionally been broken by Owen brandishing a needle or Jack calling over the comms to ask something he really should have known himself.
The more of those needles that made their way into his arm and the more questions that he fielded, the more Ianto considered barricading himself in the room and switching off his earpiece just to get some of the benefits of true isolation.
"I don't understand," Tosh was saying with a sigh. "There's a pattern to the lights, but I can't find anything at all that can tell me what they might mean."
"You've only be working on it for a day, Tosh," Ianto said, typing swiftly as he spoke. "Give it time and I'm sure you'll get there."
"Hmm," she said doubtfully and Ianto smiled to himself.
"Have you eaten yet?"
"Uh..." There was a pause whilst Tosh checked the time. "Oh! No, not yet."
"Why am I not surprised?"
The door swung open suddenly and Ianto looked up to find Owen had barged into the room again.
"You don't even consider knocking anymore, do you?" the younger man asked mildly as he returned his attention to the screen.
"Hey, if you do anything in these rooms you don't want seen, then it's your own fault if you get caught," Owen retorted and Ianto felt his face heat up immediately at the insinuation, though he managed to restrain himself from showing any other reaction.
"I always suspected you were a voyeur, Owen," he said, proud of the control in his own voice. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"This time," the doctor added smugly and Ianto finally threw him a cold look, ruffled by the uncomfortable memory of being caught in a compromising position with John Hart in one of these very rooms.
"Was there something in particular you wanted, Owen?" he asked, his tone all business. "Another pint of blood, perhaps?"
"No blood; this time we're going to have us a little examination. Go on, get yer kit off!"
Ianto blinked across the room at him, a feeling of dread growing in his chest. He was accustomed to Owen's poor bedside manner by now, but the curt command was not what gave him pause; he really didn't want to get undressed in front of the other man right then.
"I don't..." he began, struggling for a good reason to keep his clothes on.
"What, are you shy?" Owen asked. "Or are you worried I'll be so excited by what I see I'll immediately jump you?" He grabbed his crotch ruefully. "No need to worry on that front, mate."
Ianto grimaced, troubled by the reminder of Owen's current not-quite-dead state, but not so much that he'd give into the command to strip out of sympathy. "I'm not itching," he told the doctor instead. "And look, no rash." He pushed up one sleeve of his shirt and waved a pale forearm in punctuation.
With a sigh, Owen stalked across the room and took hold of the proffered arm. Ianto let him, instinctively relinquishing command of the situation, and Owen pushed the sleeve all the way to Ianto's elbow before repeating the action on the other arm. "Good. Now shoes and socks."
"What?"
"Take off your shoes," Owen repeated slowly, "and your socks." When Ianto still hesitated, Owen sighed again. "Look, I'm all for you being prudish, it's not like I harbour any secret desire to get you naked, but at least meet me halfway and show me your damn feet. The rash starts at the extremities, so I have to check hands and feet if nowhere else."
Ianto eyed Owen for a moment longer, both surprised and relieved by his reaction. Whilst he was certainly glad to avoid risking discovery by the other man, he'd never suspected that he would win when Owen had his doctor hat on. He supposed this was another change that death had brought about within the medic, a frustration with the living and their vain habits.
Glad, even if it was at Owen's expense, Ianto quickly slipped off his polished shoes and dark socks before pulling his trouser legs up to his knees and revealing rash-free feet and shins. Owen gave them a cursory look over and grunted in approval.
"How's Gwen doing?" Ianto asked, taking the grunt to mean Owen was content with what he saw and starting to put his clothes back in order.
"No better, no worse. She wanted to get out of bed and I had to sedate her so she could get some rest." Owen shrugged and looked around the room absently.
"That sounds about right," Ianto said. He snagged the suit jacket from the back of his chair and pulled it on, grateful for the additional layer between Owen and his body. "So I can get out of here now?"
"Let me just do one more round of blood tests, then you can come out." Owen began unwrapping a sterilised needle whilst Ianto looked away to hide his grimace. "And for God's sake, make Jack some coffee first. He's been bitching all day about my 'lack of mastery' over that damn machine of yours. It was funny at first, but now I just want to tip the stuff over his head."
The first thing Ianto did after leaving his self-imposed quarantine, even before considering Jack's coffee, was check in on Gwen. She had apparently been unhappy about staying in the medical bay, so Owen had moved her to one of the rooms along the hall from Ianto's.
The virus had evidentially hit Gwen hard, for she was still asleep on the low bed despite the sedatives having worn off some time earlier. Even from the doorway, Ianto could see the inflamed colour of her skin and guessed that the rash had spread across most of her body already. When she woke she would itch all over and the next few days would be torment for her until the rash began to clear. Although Ianto felt sorry for what she had to come, he didn't mind at all that he wasn't going to experience the same problem himself. Once was more than enough, in his opinion.
Leaving her to sleep, Ianto made his way back to the centre of the Hub, setting his laptop down on one of the desks before moving over to the kitchenette. Jack appeared as soon as the smell of fresh coffee spread through the air, his presence filling the small space and alerting Ianto to his arrival before he'd even spoken. The young man turned to see the Captain's expression was a mix of both suspicion and eagerness.
"So...?" Jack pressed, narrowed eyes darting between Ianto's face and the machine gently whirring away.
"Apparently I haven't got it," Ianto told him. "Well, obviously I haven't got it," he amended, "otherwise I'd be red, blotchy and scratching."
"Good. That's good," Jack said, watching Ianto's hands moving empty mugs and bags of coffee beans around.
"Did you manage to get hold of Rhys and let him know what was going on?" asked the younger man, taking his time preparing the Captain's drink purely for the thrill of making him wait.
"Yeah, he picked up our messages a little while ago, called back and proceeded to shout down the phone at me. For some reason he thinks I'm responsible for all this."
"I think he probably blames you for everything by default," Ianto said dryly.
Jack nodded, still staring at Ianto's hands as he worked, and Ianto fancied that if he drew it out any longer the immortal would start hopping impatiently from foot to foot. He smiled to himself and considered tormenting Jack further, sure he could start something highly inappropriate for the time of day, but his professionalism won out. "Here," he said, handing over the mug at last. "One of these days I'm going to remember that you know how to use this thing and you'll have to get your own."
Jack harrumphed into the scorching hot liquid. "You can't do that, it's in your contract."
"My contract says I have to fetch you coffee even when ill and indisposed?"
"Well, it says you're to do as I command, no matter what."
Ianto cocked an eyebrow at him. "Really? I think I'll have to query that in our next progress review."
"Hey, you begged for this job, you can't complain about the terms of your employment now. Anyway, you're not ill or indisposed and I've been waiting patiently all day for a decent drink."
"Oh yes, you've been very brave," Ianto teased, rethinking his decision not to start something. It was technically almost early evening...
Jack considered him for a long moment in silence, long enough for Ianto to start feeling uncomfortable beneath that penetrating blue gaze. There was something not quite right in Jack's expression, something that shook awake the same bead of panic that Owen had caused to form earlier when demanding that he strip.
"So, crisis averted, hey?" the Welshman said, his voice catching ever so slightly. "Not that I don't feel sorry for Gwen, but I'm glad only she's caught this thing. I foresaw a week of 'I'll scratch your back, you scratch mine' jokes and oven mits taped over our hands." He was babbling and he knew it and any moment now Jack was going to call him up on it.
Jack continued to stare intently at the younger man. "I think we need to talk."
Shit. "About what?" Ianto asked carefully. 'Needing to talk' was universal code for 'I want to break up', but he and Jack weren't an item so they couldn't break up. Right?
Instead of answering, Jack tilted his head back towards his office. "Come on," he said and the amicable tone of his voice did nothing to clue Ianto into what they were about to discuss.
Inside the office, with the door closed, the young Welshman watched as Jack moved towards the desk, then turned around instead of sitting down behind it. To Ianto's trained eye that meant it would be a personal chat, one that wasn't work related and yet couldn't wait until they were alone later on. Which did not bode well.
Jack fixed him with a firm gaze. "I need you to be honest with me about something," he said, before Ianto could attempt another nervous quip to lighten the mood. "You've not been yourself for a while now and I want to know what the matter is."
Ianto blinked. Shit, shit, shit. "Nothing's the matter," he responded, fighting to keep the alarm from his expression. "I don't know what you mean."
"I know it's been difficult since Lurrelia..." Ianto shuddered at the name, memories of the loss of control over his body causing a heavy feeling of nausea to settle in his stomach. "...but I thought you were dealing with what happened," Jack went on.
"I was," Ianto hurried to assure him. "I am." He shifted uncomfortably under Jack's scrutiny, heart thumping against his ribs. The older man might not have learnt anything concrete that Ianto was attempting to hide, but the fact that he'd noticed something amiss was bad enough. "Should I not be troubled by aliens messing with my head?" he asked, pitching his tone to show his indignation.
"Being troubled is fine," Jack replied, choosing his words with care. "You, however, are infrequently troubled by anything for long, Ianto. You take things in your stride, and if you can't do that, you find a way around any obstacles you might encounter. That hasn't been the case recently."
Ianto's jaw clenched slightly. "Have I been neglecting my work?" he asked.
"No, of course not," Jack told him, waving away the concern. "As always, I can't fault the execution of your tasks." He locked his gaze with Ianto's and the young man swallowed nervously. "But your heart's not in it anymore. You're going through the motions and I can't see the reason why that might be."
Ianto was unable to look away from Jack's piercing eyes. "That isn't true."
"Even your interaction with the others has changed," Jack went on, ignoring his protest. "You say things that you would have said before, but you don't mean them now. It's as though your words are forced out when you would prefer to stay silent. You're more withdrawn, even though you make yourself talk and joke."
Shaking his head, Ianto struggled to find the words that would stop Jack's list of grievances. He began to tremble, panic rising as it became clear that his attempts to behave normally were not as successful as he'd thought. He had to stop this inquisition before it was too late.
With a sigh, he dropped his eyes and adopted the stance of one defeated. "It is still hard sometimes," he admitted and took solace in the honesty of his own words. It might be only a fraction of the tale he could tell, but it was the truth nonetheless and his conscience could work with that.
The young Welshman glanced up, sensing the questions gathering in the air around them before Jack had even opened his mouth. Another frisson of panic shot through his body and he licked his lips, lifting a hand and placing it against the immortal's chest. He held Jack's gaze intently. "I guess these things just take time," he suggested, mentally crossing his fingers that Jack would abandon this awkward conversation for something he knew – and did – far better.
For a moment it seemed that Jack would protest, but then he smiled wryly and drew Ianto forward until their foreheads touched briefly before pressing his mouth to the younger man's. The kiss was deep from the start, lips parting at first contact and tongues entwining without any of the playful graduation of more casual and lengthy encounters.
Ianto welcomed the solid presence of Jack's body as they came together, the warmth and strength reassuring and all thoughts of shame and deception fled his mind in favour of the far more pleasurable business of distracting the Captain.
Jack's fingers worked their way quickly past the buttons of Ianto's shirt and the younger man smiled against his lips. "Did you miss me?"
"You were only in there for a few hours," Jack replied, sliding his hands across Ianto's torso in a quick eager sweep before moving down to his belt.
"And yet you can't keep your hands off me."
Jack moved his lips to Ianto's neck. "I was worried," he admitted absently, in between kisses, and Ianto very nearly pulled away in surprise at the quiet words. Jack continued his ministrations, entirely ignorant to the response that his simple comment had evoked within the younger man.
Ianto forced his hands to move around onto the older man's back, guilt spearing him through the chest, but then Jack's fingers found their way into his underwear, wrapped themselves around his swiftly growing erection and Ianto's attention was directed swiftly and gladly downwards, away from the endless mystery of his labyrinth-like emotions.