A/N Well, let us all say goodbye to the canon. Bye bye canon, bye bye sanity. Since this is a spin-off to a fic of mine (Wronging Rights or Righting Wrongs) which takes place during the "year that never was"(yep, I know I have told you but listen, that is important!) So the main point is in this fic the Master releases Jack because of... reasons. You will understand everything, don't worry. For now- Enjoy!
You
"We have to kill him," insisted Owen for the n-th time, his voice getting even more piercing and loud as he realized nobody was paying him any attention.
"Why?"Ianto finally piped up, the slight tremor of his hands around the tray the only implication of how uncomfortable he felt joining the conversation.
But as it was the norm this days, the only answer he received was a glare and a raised eyebrow. How could have he dared speaking, after all. He wasn't even... yeah.
He had to bite his lips to keep the sad smile from showing. At least they knew now, he didn't have to keep it a secret any longer. They knew everything. His sharp teeth sunk into his lips even deeper... he couldn't deny he liked the pain.
"Anything else you want to share with the class, tea boy," Owen snapped at him. It was the first thing he had said to him, directly, that didn't involve his preference for his coffee or food. Ianto was almost ashamed of the amount of happy that made him. So happy, that before he could respond with anything, the other man was already firing an insult, that wouldn't have hurt as much as it did if he hadn't, for just one moment, left his guards down.
"Did you hide the Master in our basement as well."
His heart skipped a beat, the response, as sharp as his teeth, on the tip of his tongue.
It was weird, though. That he had needed that to snap. All this time he dealt with the ignoring and the glares with no problem. Sure, it stung, it made the heart they all thought he had lost after the first time he had died clench. But he never raised his voice, never dropped the act of the good little servant. Never showed them how much it hurt.
And yet, when they proposed to hurt the Master, he reacted. A man who he barely knew, except of a mirror reflection of him in a different world, a man who had enslaved the whole planet... and he wanted to save him.
The only man that had found out about his secret and never thought him a freak. The only man that ever will.
His heart clenched again at that. No! Jack was going to understand. They were the same. He wasn't going to think of it as betrayal, because it wasn't. He had just... kept it to himself.
And maybe that was the reason he finally cracked, maybe the reminder that he was a freak and nobody, nobody but the Master, and how sad was that, would understand. He didn't know, nor did he care as he was screaming at them, all of his pain and sorrow, hidden from view for years, leaving his mouth.
He was in the middle of screaming about something when all of them just... went still. For a second, one blissful blink of an eye, he thought that maybe, maybe they had finally understood. They felt bad, he had managed to reach them and now they were all goi... How stupid. You can't change people.
Ianto realized that when he heard footsteps behind him before two hands wrapped around his waist. Nice hands, familiar. He was starting to feel he might have a heart attack, what with the number of times his heart had skipped a beat today.
Had he heard? Did he know? The questions crept in the Welshman's mind like an unwanted visitor before being chased away. No. He wouldn't be hugging him, touching him, if he knew.
Wonder why he didn't feel better from that revelation.
But worry quickly replaced everything as millions of questions bombarded Ianto's mind again. Are you okay? Where have you been all this time?! It was the Master, wasn't it? But how did you escape? Did he do something to you? Oh, never mind Owen, I would kill him with my bare hands if he had.
Instead, the only thing that made it pass his lips was a whisper of a name.
"Jack."
The hands tightened around his waist and he shivered from how familiar, possessive, that felt.
"Don't call me that," was mumbled in his neck. There was something in that voice, soft and warm, light years away from the meaning of the words.
"It's your name," Ianto explained, as if to a small child. It struck him, suddenly like a blow to the head, that he didn't know what had happened to his Jack. For all he knew the man could have amnesia or that might be someone entirely different or someone coming from the future or... the Welshman forced his mind to quiet down. The last thing he wanted was to scare the man in front of him, whoever he was and from whenever he was coming.
"It's also his name," Jack whined, bloody whined, the words muffled from the way he was continuing to press his face into the other's neck.
Ianto's body shook again, but for an entirely different reason. That... that brat, that a hundred-year and something man-child, was pouting. It was so cute, so unexpected, so Jack-like and all the relief that was washing through him along with the pain and all the sorrow that had had its iron grip around his throat for so long ... they all filled him all at once and, truthfully, he didn't even want to know how he looked- laughing and crying and holding Jack tightly like that.
"But it's you who I am holding, isn't it," he finally found the strength to mutter. It was only then that he realized how true the statement was.