Title : Flame beneath ashes - Chapter 8 : We need Scotch, a load of Scotch
Summary : AU. After the events of Countrycide, Ianto was retconned and allowed to start a new life in London. Intervening accidentally in a burning building, it's a very different man Jack meets four years later. But can Ianto really escape his own destiny?
Rating :T
Characters: Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Myfanwy, Original characters.
Pairing : Jack/Ianto, Owen/Tosh, Gwen/Rhys (mentioned), Ianto/Lisa (past)
Genres: Alternate universe/action/romance.
Warnings: Violence, swearing, sexual situation (nothing graphic), character's death (temporary)
Spoilers: Spoilers for seasons 1 and 2. Exit wounds and Children of Earth are only mentioned as incidents and Miracle Day, of course, never happened
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes : Special thanks to my precious beta reader badly_knitted. Here comes the time for a little tête-à-tête between Ianto and Jack, and why not a little heart-to-heart too. Hope you like it. Happy New Year to everybody; I hope you'll have a wonderful year, full of love, good health and happiness.
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Chapter 8 : We need Scotch, a load of Scotch
Cardiff, the same day, late at night
Jack stared at the door of the hotel room and hesitated. It was past midnight and two and a half hours since Ianto and he had parted in the park.
He could still turn back and send Gwen later. After all, she was the one who had offered to deal with it. Yes, of course, he could do that, but it would be cowardice and although Jack was undoubtedly a lot of things, he definitely wasn't a coward. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
At first, nobody answered and for a second, he hoped that Ianto had changed his mind and had finally decided to return to London. He was about to turn back when he heard a thud, followed by an oath then the muffled voice of Ianto coming from inside.
"I'm coming. I'm coming."
He sighed and lowered his head. There was no escape now.
Brace yourself and face the music, Harkness.
He heard hurried footsteps behind the door, just before it swung open. As he looked up, his jaw hit the floor and he gaped in a perfect imitation of a goldfish at the sight before him.
One hand on the doorknob, Ianto held a towel in the other one, with which he was wiping his face and neck. He had obviously been interrupted as he was taking a shower and had only bothered to pull on trousers before opening the door.
As he stared at the young Welshman, only dressed in a pair of half fastened jeans, his wet skin glistening under the harsh light of the corridor, the only word that came to Jack's mind was "hot" and the rest of his brain went out the proverbial window.
Mesmerized, he couldn't help but let his eyes roam across the so familiar territory that he knew was now out of his reach. Travelling along the well defined muscles of his broad chest, from the fine tendons of his neck to the taut skin of his stomach, he allowed himself, for a brief moment, to recall the feel of the pale skin under his fingers and its taste on his lips.
It was only when his eyes reached the curve of Ianto's collarbone for the second time, that he suddenly noticed the scars. Some white and smooth, the others looking like a woven pattern, where the doctors had performed transplants, they covered the majority of his shoulder and upper arm. From where he stood, he couldn't see the condition of Ianto's back, but he had no trouble imagining it and his heart sank.
Realizing the direction of his gaze, Ianto self-consciously threw the towel over his damaged shoulder.
"Hi," said the young man, trying to hide his discomfort.
Jack snapped out of his reverie and swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Hi. I know I'm late…"
Ianto tilted his head.
"I have to admit that I didn't expect you anymore."
"Yeah, of course. I'm sorry. It took me longer than I thought." Jack raised his hand and showed Ianto the bottle of Scotch he was holding. "I stopped along the way. I thought a little boost would be welcome."
"For sure." A faint smile lit up Ianto's face and he stepped aside to let Jack in.
He shut the door behind him and headed for the bathroom.
"Make yourself at home. I'll be back in a second."
Jack turned his head and nodded.
"Yeah. Thanks."
Hovering at the threshold, he took a quick glance around him. Like the rest of the hotel, the room was clean and simply furnished. Nothing fancy, just the basics, enough to be comfortable and welcoming. A large bed occupied most of the room, flanked by two nightstands attached to the wall, a lithograph of the port of Cardiff at night hanging on the wall above it. Opposite the bed, a small wooden desk and a cream-coloured armchair, stuck in the corner near the window, completed the furniture. Thick curtains, matched with the fabric of the armchair and bedspread, reflected the dim light of the bedside lamps and created a soft and cosy atmosphere.
An atmosphere conducive to confidences and confessions. That couldn't be more appropriate, thought Jack.
A sound coming from the bathroom made him turn his head and through the door ajar, he saw Ianto, bent over the sink.
The Welshman looked up and their eyes met in the mirror. For an awkward moment, they stared at each other, until Ianto closed the door with a sweep of his foot.
Jack sighed and slumped in the armchair, not bothering to remove his coat. He put the bottle of Scotch on the desk nearby and waited.
When Ianto finally came out of the bathroom, he was still barefoot, but he had slipped on one of his usual long-sleeved t-shirts, this time adorned with the logo of a rock festival. He was holding two plastic cups, which were meant, normally, to be used as tooth glasses. He handed one to Jack with an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, but this is all I can find."
Jack returned the smile and unscrewed the cap.
"I've had worse," he said, as he poured the amber liquid into the makeshift glasses.
Ianto nodded slightly, took his and perched himself on the edge of the bed, one leg folded under himself. He took a sip, before asking with a chuckle :
"So, where do we start?"
Jack merely stared at his glass without looking at him and for a moment Ianto thought he hadn't heard him. But, finally Jack took a deep breath and sighed, before turning towards him with a deadly serious look on his face.
"Ianto, I haven't been completely honest with you, earlier in the park."
The young man felt his stomach churning and gulped down half of his glass, letting the welcome warmth of the alcohol spread along his throat.
"About what?"
"When you asked me if you had done something to deserve having your memory wiped."
"Oh..." Ianto's face fell. It was exactly what he had dreaded. "I… I did ?"
"Yes, you did."
The pained look on Ianto's face was heartbreaking and Jack averted his eyes, staring once again at his glass before continuing.
"You didn't mean to do any harm, but… Well let's just say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. It ate you up until you couldn't stand it anymore and asked me to free you from it."
He glanced at the young Welshman, who was gulping the rest of his glass.
"I don't want to make you feel guilty, but it won't be pleasant and I need to be sure that you understand where you stand. You can still turn back. I can... I can wipe the last hours, so you could go back to your life in London." He paused and sighed, "Ianto, I have to ask you. Are you really ready to hear the truth, no matter how ugly it is?"
A thick silence fell between them. After a moment, Ianto slowly unfolded his leg and stood up. Taking the bottle from Jack's hand without a word, he brought it back with him to the bed and poured himself another drink.
"I'm ready. I want to know," he finally said.
Jack bit his lower lip.
"No second thoughts?"
Ianto's eyes met his, steady and determined, in spite of the apprehension Jack could perceive.
"No second thoughts."
Jack leant backward and huffed.
"Ok. So, let's start at the beginning with a little lesson in history." He closed his eyes and started to speak slowly, weighing each word like a teacher. "Torchwood was established in 1879 by Queen Victoria in order to defend Earth against supernatural and extraterrestrial threats…"
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Three hours later, there was nothing left to say and Jack hadn't moved an inch; his glass of Scotch, now lukewarm, was still intact in his hand.
In front of him, slumped against the pillows and still clutching the neck of the empty bottle of Scotch, Ianto had finally passed out, defeated by the combined effects of the alcohol and all the emotions that had overwhelmed him, whilst Jack unwound the thread of the two missing years of his life.
Almost half of the bottle had been drained whilst he heard the truth about Lisa. This had been probably the most painful moment, but Jack had been determined to remain completely honest and upfront with him. Without dwelling on the sordid details, he hadn't however hidden anything about the events which had led to what he persisted in considering as Lisa's deliverance, though it had caused Annie and Professor Tanizaki's deaths.
He had prepared himself to be the target of the same anger and accusations as on that fateful night, but against all odds, Ianto had remained remarkably calm and collected. With the exception of the silent tears that had quickly flooded his cheeks and the huge number of drinks he had downed in no time, he had allowed nothing of his torment to show.
He had even managed to ask questions about the team and how they had dealt with the aftermath. But when Jack had spoken about his suspension and the episode with the cannibals, he had simply nodded and Jack had started to wonder if he was still aware of what he was telling him.
Nevertheless, he had carried on and given him the outline of what had happened after his departure.
It had only been when Jack had broached the subject of the 456 that Ianto's interest had seemed to awaken again and he had slightly straightened up from the bed.
"My sister, Rhi..." He had cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes. "Before the soldiers came to take the children, she told me she had had a phone call from a man she didn't know who warned her and told her to hide the kids... It was you, wasn't it?"
Jack had nodded.
"Why? I mean you don't even know them."
Jack had shrugged. "You told me once about your nephew and niece and how much you loved them. I just thought it was the least I could do."
He hadn't elaborated. Ianto hadn't asked further questions and a few minutes later his eyes had closed from exhaustion. It wasn't so bad. Anyway, everything had been said.
The only thing he had kept to himself was their relationship and there wasn't much to say. Ianto didn't need to know that he had whored himself in order to protect Lisa, in vain.
Jack put his glass down on the desk and stood up with a sigh. He felt his vertebrae protesting against his motion and stretched slowly to relieve them. He went to the bed, took the bottle from Ianto's hands, screwed the cap on and put it in the bin under the desk. Afterwards, he gently took the young man by the shoulders and shifted him to settle him more comfortably.
"That's better," he said, once Ianto was completely sprawled across the bed. "We can't let you sleep seated, Mister Jones."
Ianto let out a vague grunt, but didn't wake up and Jack stood up with a smile. Even after all those years, Ianto still looked like a kid when he was asleep.
Jack collected his cup and went to the bathroom to empty it in the sink, then he disposed of the two cups in the trash with the empty bottle.
Once the clean up was done, he took a sheet of paper bearing the letterhead of the hotel from the desk and quickly scrawled a note. He folded it in half and stuck it under the phone on the bedside table, then he called reception and ordered a wake up call for nine o'clock.
For a moment, he just enjoyed the sight of Ianto peacefully asleep, then, after one last glance around him, he headed for the door.
As he put his hand on the doorknob, he sensed a movement behind him and turned around.
With a moan, Ianto arched from the bed and rolled on his side to face him.
"You can have what you want, you know," he slurred as he raised himself on an elbow. His blue eyes were dark and feverish, burning with promises which, Jack knew, wouldn't stand the dawn.
Jack briefly closed his eyes and breathed deeply. God, he wanted him so much that it hurt. It could have been so easy to give up and just take what was offered. But he had already taken this path and he knew it only led to more suffering.
If by some miracle he still had a chance with Ianto, it wouldn't be this way.
Steeling himself, he slowly came back and crouched beside the bed.
"Ianto, you're drunk. I don't know what you mean."
Ianto let out a joyless laugh. Grabbing the lapels of Jack's coat, he hauled himself from the bed and stared hard at him, his face barely an inch from Jack's, his hot breath ghosting over Jack's lips.
"Oh yes, you do. And it doesn't matter, anyway, because I won't remember."
Jack closed his eyes and took Ianto's face in his hands. Pressing their foreheads together, he revelled in the sensation of Ianto's warm skin against his, then his hands went down to cover the young man's fists and he gently loosened their grip, whilst moving away.
"It does. And you'll remember. Maybe not everything, given all the alcohol you gulped down. But you will."
Ianto gave him a puzzled look as Jack regretfully stood up.
"Wh... Why?".
Jack wasn't sure if the question was about the fact that he hadn't retconned him or that he was turning him down. Anyway, it didn't really matter, because the answer was the same in both cases.
"I can't. I just can't."
He slowly stepped backward and leant against the door, as far as he could from Ianto.
They stared at each other without a word for a moment, until exhaustion closed Ianto's eyelids once again. Jack stood still for a few minutes, fighting back the tears burning his eyes, then he silently left the room and disappeared into the night.
To be continued