Torchwood: Divergence
Book Three: Rheoleiddiad

Chapter 43

They headed out of the ward and toward the lifts, more than ready to get back to base and hope that the rest of the day was less traumatising than the morning had been. Once inside the otherwise empty elevator car, Harkness gently massaged his lover's shoulders and leaned over to kiss him on the top of the head.

"You went way above and beyond for your sister and her family," he stated quietly, his pride obvious in his tone. "And you've really managed to hold it together, even though you're still healing and trying to come to terms yourself. Losing friends and family is the hardest part of living forever. It never gets any easier, but this shows me you can cope. Because if you can step up the way you did in the morgue and with your nephew when you're in such bad shape to begin with, you can definitely weather the loses through the years without being destroyed by them. And I know it's selfish, but that really means a lot to me."

"If you weren't with me, I'd be an hysterical wreck," Ianto confessed, closing his eyes and letting the older man's touch on his hair and coat muffled shoulders ease the tension in his muscles. "Rift allowing… I really need a major cuddle when we get back to the Hub."

"The Rift can wait if Gwen and Turlough are busy," the Captain promised without hesitation. "Getting my Barista Boy feeling better is definitely my first priority."

The lift doors opened and they emerged into the main entrance area, a porter appearing from near the desk and asking if they needed help. Jack told the man the wheeled chair belonged on the seventh floor, and enlisted him to stay with Ianto out front while he brought the SUV around. Soon they were on their way back to the Millennium Centre, both hoping things continued to improve for the Davies.

When they made it to base, the younger man was so shaky his partner was afraid to let him walk the corridors to the lift this time and opted to carry him instead. Too exhausted to protest, Jones simply rested his head on his lover's coat clad shoulder and closed his eyes. He didn't open them again until the older immortal sat him carefully on his feet and took his coat off for him, then got him safely sitting on the bed. The twenty-six-year-old managed to get his field jacket off, was working on the black turtleneck he wore as the American removed his boots and socks for him. Finally, Harkness helped him up again, undid his belt and trousers, then urged him back onto the mattress in his boxer-briefs as he draped all the articles of clothing over the chair nearby.

"Crawl under the covers," the older man insisted quietly. "I'm gonna hang up the coats, find out where the others are and be right back."

Ianto shivered his way into bed, desperately hoping he felt better soon and trying not to think about what had been happening over the past couple of days. But as soon as he started to relax, the memory of his niece's damaged, death whitened face rose to haunt him. He opened his eyes with a startled jerk, his heart rate climbing. The more he tried to focus on other things, the more vivid the memory from the morgue became, and it was soon joined by the visions the Scieron had shown him of Mica's fragile body crushed between the car tyre and the sloped concrete kerb… her breathless, blood-tinged sobs of agony and fear filling his mind.

Chest aching, injured arm throbbing, vision tunnelling down, breathing reduced to short painful gasps, the Changeling knew he couldn't fight the impending seizure. Still, he made a desperate effort to call for his partner, needing the comfort of older immortal's presence but all too aware there was no chance he'd be heard.

"Jack…"

Barely a strained croak, the effort to call the Captain's name tipped the balance and the young Welshman went into convulsions with a strangled cry of pain. And at that exact moment, Jack rushed into the room because he'd though he'd heard the younger man call for him. He quickly moved to restrain the eternal twenty-six-year-old, gathered him close blankets and all, and held him tight through the throes of the seizure. When the horrific muscle spasms finally faded, Ianto shakily wrapped his arms around the American holding him, hid his face against the older man's shoulder and cried.

"I'm here, buddy," Harkness murmured comfortingly, his heart aching for his beloved Archivist's distress and his own inability to do anything to really help. "I'm sorry I took longer than I thought I would. But I'm here now, I won't let go… just try to relax, I've got you."

It took a fair span for the overwhelmed Guardian to settle once more, long enough that Gwen felt the need to check on the situation.

"Jack… everything okay?" she called from the doorway into the bedroom.

"We're good," the Captain nodded, still cradling his partner and gently stroking the younger man's sweat damp hair. "Just the wind-down after a seizure."

"Martha checked in a minute ago," Cooper offered, hoping a bit of good news would help. "She's had David released to her care. Said she'd going home with the family to get him settled, arrange visits with a friend of hers that does grief counselling, make sure he's got enough time away from school to really process everything. She'll catch a taxi back here once she's done. Thinks your nephew will be feeling much more himself in a few days, Ianto, and talked to your sister about things other than the counselling that can help the family cope."

"That's all good hear," Jack replied with a brief smile. "I'm glad we could help them that much. Could you do me a quick favour and grab a bottle of water for me? His fever's back in full swing."

"Want a cold pack as well?" the former PC asked as she started to leave.

"Sure," Harkness nodded, feeling the Welshman in his arms finally relax his own grip and start to breathe more normally.

The raven-haired woman disappeared through the office, and though Jack could have shifted his lover to lie down against the pillows once more, he simply continued to hold him close instead. He stroked the spent Changeling's hair, ran a gentle hand up and down a small area of his permanently prominent ribs, and softly hummed one of the Big Band tunes they'd danced to in the past. This whole situation had been a horror show from the very beginning. And he could only hope he truly had the wherewithal to get Ianto through it.

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AN: Poor Ianto… trying to do what's right isn't always pleasant or easy.

Think the problem is with the firewall I'm using. Can't be helped though. Sorry for the constant issues lately.

Thank you to those reading the story. And thank you to those who have followed, favourited, and reviewed. NM