Here we have it loyal readers, chapter nine :] Enjoy!
The hospital was a place of death, a place Jack knew too well. How many times had he sat in these halls, clutching cups of tasteless coffee, praying to the unknown that death would not visit that night? And how many times had Gwen sat between police officers, discussing homicide cases? Yet he knew, from the whitewashed palate of her face, from the tightness of her grip on his hands, that she had never been here for a friend.
Was he losing her? Had he already lost Ianto? Nurses, porters, nameless doctors hurried to and fro, here and there, ignorant of Jack's burning questions. Occasionally one of the police officers would reach out to touch the arm of a passing nurse, enquire about Ianto's condition, only to receive a shrug and the overused reply that he was 'still in a critical position'.
Jack had never stayed silent for so long. He had never sat for so long without laughing, bursting out with a witty comment or simply speaking aloud his thoughts. He had never been so bitten with panic.
The clock neared two in the morning and Jack's desperation for answers was driving him mad. He could have ran, of course he could, could have ran for miles, driven by a need to slaughter those murdering impostors. But no, his sobbing heart, his terrific grief kept him fixed to the grey chair, waiting. Gwen drew her legs onto the seat, rested her head in Jack's lap and he knew, from her deep breathing and the slackened grip on his hands, that she had slipped into sleep. Was he losing her?
From the whiteness of the doctor's face as he drew nearer, Jack knew. It was unexplainable, the hue that death leaves on someone's face, yet it was clear from the distress in the doctor's eyes what had happened. He cast a sympathetic look towards Jack and Gwen, still peaceful in sleep, and coughed nervously.
"No," Jack couldn't remember standing up, yet how else would he be glaring at the doctor? How else would Gwen have jerked awake?
"Mr Harkness, Miss Cooper, I'm sorry but… your friend wasn't able to make it through the surgery. The bullet pierced his heart, punctured his left aortic valve, reparation was next to impossible…"
Years of experience, centuries of immortality, worldly battles a million light-years away… nothing had prepared Jack for this feeling of loss, severe loss that cut through him painfully. He was falling headfirst into the void, he was becoming the void, becoming the blackness, the darkness, becoming cold and angry and insane with disbelief. He had felt death a thousand times, yet never had it been as painful as this, as hearing those finite words that Ianto Jones would never be by his side again.
"No but-" Gwen stammered, "he'll be okay, right? He's strong, he can survive it, right?"
"Miss Cooper, he was unable to pull through."
"Yeah but he'll be okay. He… can't be dead - he just can't! - he's… It's his birthday next month - I booked a hot air balloon ride over Glamorgan. Just him and Jack - Jack! Jack, he can't be dead, can he?"
"Miss Cooper-"
"No! He's strong, he's gone through worse than this. He's Ianto."
"My deepest condolences Miss Cooper - Mr Harkness - I know this is a troubling time for you-"
"No you don't! How could you know…? You don't know anything about us, or him, or anything that's happened tonight. This is Torchwood business, so-"
"Mr Harkness, please," the doctor appealed in a quiet voice, gesturing to Gwen.
"Gwen." Jack was surprised to hear his voice so cut and broken, as if he had not spoken for decades.
"Not again Jack, it can't happen again Jack. We can't lose him…"
"Again, I'm sorry for your loss. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must speak with the next of kin - the police have retrieved his sister's number."
At the thought of those uniformed officers in Ianto's spotlessly tidy flat, Jack's stomach dropped with the realisation that this was true. There was no consolation, no word of comfort that could make it better, yet it was true… Ianto was-
"But he isn't! Jack - please - he can't be - not another one - Jack it isn't-" She was howling, clutching at the lapels of his dusty RAF coat, her cries cutting through to his very soul. His hands pushed her hair back from her face, secured themselves around her shoulders, and he whispered childish things to calm her frantic tears. It would be all right, he told her, everything would be okay. She would be okay.
They stood that way, locked in grief and misery, for what could have been hours, with Gwen wretchedly sobbing into his coat, and Jack repeatedly stroking her hair down. His own face was dry and pale, devoid of tears, captivated by suffering. It was too late to cry now, too late to cry for Ianto.
Gwen needed him. He needed himself to be strong, to be alert, to be ready - those murderers were waiting - they had killed Ianto, had broken Gwen - and it had been so long since he had felt this cold rush of rage through his veins.
R&R, as always, for many many cookies! :D
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Chapter 10 coming soon
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