| Jack ran; running
for his life. Under his feet the top leaves
cracked, frost melting as his shoes hit them hard and
fast, the damp
leaves beneath conspiring to trip him so that when his
footing wasn't
pin-point accurate, he would slip, catching the toe of
his shoe under a
fallen branch or down some rabbit hole and falling face
first into the
autumnal forest floor. He'd get right back up,
scrambling to his
feet to carry on running. He could hear them, all around him; in front, behind, rushing along beside him. Chattering, laughing, screeching; talking to one another in their own high-pitched, enthusiastic squeal while he ran, scared beyond rational thought, scared out of his wits, scared to death. His breathing was erratic, pulling in air when he needed the oxygen hit to his muscles, sweating out moisture he could ill afford to lose. Twisting his neck he glanced back, over his shoulder. Like faeries, these things could only be seen out of the corners of the eyes; wisps of movement, hints of teeth and claws, the glint of unearthly eyes like the sparkle of the sun through the trees. Only far from natural. They could be heard but not seen, not until they wanted to be, and then the sight of them was enough to stop a man's heart with fear. Ducking a low branch, Jack tried to weigh up his options, scan the immediate vicinity, work out what to do and where to go with a brain starved of oxygen, strained to breaking point, paralysed with a terror he'd rarely felt. A high-pitched hyena scream almost pierced his right eardrum and he snapped his head to the left, slipped on wet leaves and muddy ground, lost his balance, fell hard against a thick tree trunk. His chest hurt. His eyes stung. He still couldn't see them, but they were so loud in his ears he knew they were on him. He pushed up against the tree as if he could push himself through it, the harsh bark cutting into his shoulder through the thick material of his coat. He couldn't die, oh no, but he didn't want to live through having his limbs pulled off, joints popped, flesh torn, eyes gouged, brains scooped through a hole chewed in the back of his head. He couldn't imagine how he'd wake up, how much would grow back, how much wouldn't. Green teeth. Just a hint. Oh god. He could smell their breath - death, decay - his own particular taste would be added to the mix soon enough and he blinked salty moisture from his eyes. Nowhere to run; he was all out of luck. A hand slapped over his mouth from behind; not a monstrous palm with fingernails like razorblades but a human hand, male, well manicured. And a voice hissed into his ear, "Don't speak. Don't move. Don't breathe." Don't breathe? Jack's heart hammered its demand for oxygen. He filled his lungs out of innate, inbred habit. And under the angry chattering he heard, "Don't. Breathe." Okay, if that was what it took to stay alive�. He let out all the breath he had and held it, waiting for his body to start to scream, for his vision started to blur, for survival instinct to take over. Nothing happened. The minutes ticked passed, the hand over his mouth loosened, fell away, same voice whispering, "Stay still." He didn't need to breathe, and that thought alone sent him hurtling towards the edge of reason, ready to jump. He wanted to breathe. It was natural, it was human, it was instinctive. Not breathing meant� death. He wasn't dead, not yet anyway, but it was coming and damn it if he wasn't going to die alive! The angry chattering was so close now; he should be able to see them in all their terrible glory, that one last vision before the sharpest teeth tore into his eyeballs like meat hooks and a thick, oily, monstrous phallus was forced down his throat to deliver a payload which would slowly turn his internal organs to mush. He could feel his entire body trembling, knew it was from terror but was too scared to be ashamed of it. Any second now his body would purge itself of waste and then he might start on the shame trip. The same hand that had covered his mouth now moved across his shoulder to the base of his throat, long fingers resting under the neckline of his T-shirt, and that commanding voice said, "Calm down. Don't breathe. Don't move." Jack found himself obeying, relaxing his muscles as if he'd just taken a deep breath and released it slowly. He made loose fists of his hands, dug his fingernails into his palms and tried not to feel the dread, tried to ignore the alarm bells ringing like sirens in his head. Something touched the side of his face, like a feather made of glass shards, and a comb of knives ran through his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut, the stench of them rising into his nostrils, playing across his tongue. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat to meet it, felt a warm/cold tingle in his groin and almost groaned. Fingers spread on his chest and he could feel a warm body behind him, embracing him so slowly, hot mouth against his throat, hard shoulder pressing into his own. A scream dragged from the depths of hell scraped like blades across his nerves and stabbed at his eardrums. Something heavy started to press on the right side of his chest, as if trying to force air from his lungs, pushing him closer and closer towards that sheer drop into all-out panic. He felt scratching across his thighs, heard that terrible chatter again like it was already inside his head. And just as his own scream teetered on his lips, it stopped. The sounds grew quieter, the stench ebbed away, the horrible touches vanished. They were leaving, like foiled predators at the end of a trail gone cold. "They're losing interest. Just sit tight." Jack couldn't move anyway. Every joint was locked in place, every muscle he thought he'd relaxed was tensed to solidity. They might have sat there a minute, might have sat there hours, but eventually the tension left the body behind him and he could feel the rise and fall of his saviour's chest. Jack pulled in a deep, painful breath of air into starved lungs and suddenly he could feel his body again; every screaming muscle, every raw nerve ending, every burning drop of sweat, tears and urine. His stomach cramped and he managed a groan of, 'oh god', before scrambling forward out of the stranger's arms, dropping to all fours on the hard ground and throwing up an acidic mix of bile and carrots. A minute or so later he almost landed face first in it as his arms and legs shook like pillars in an earthquake and gave way. He was caught, an arm around his middle, pulling him up and back and he settled heavily against the man who'd saved his life, his sanity and had rescued at least part of his dignity. "Easy." Jack felt as if he was about to fly apart. His whole body was shaking, his stomach rolling, skin damp with sweat plastering his clothes to him despite how cold he was starting to feel. "You've been poisoned," the stranger told him. "It's in their breath. Is there somewhere nearby that's safe?" It wasn't easy to talk with his teeth clattering together like badly packed china but he managed a couple of words, "Can you drive?" He hoped he'd imagined the hesitation before the cheerful, "Yeah, why not?" ~ He barely noticed what he was later realised must have been one of the most terrifying car journeys of his life. He did notice that every swerve, every jerking stop, every pothole (or pedestrian for all he knew) caused his insides to slam together and the headache which felt like a bullet bouncing around his brain to combine with it producing bouts of nausea, all of which he swallowed. He didn't want to throw up in the SUV. Ianto would end up cleaning it up and despite everything that didn't seem fair. He did manage to give directions, although he'd never know how. He even managed to remember to key code to the garage. But when they finally stopped, and the door was opened, he practically fell out of the passenger side of the SUV into his driver's supporting arms, and with legs like jelly and arms feeling like electrical wire, he was half-carried to the wooden door of Torchwood's more conventional entrance. He let the other man open it for him, looking up, avoiding the bright bulb; Ianto was a sight for stinging eyes and his reaction was instantaneous. "Sir!" Supporting Jack's other side, he immediately asked the questions Jack hadn't had chance to, addressing a man he hadn't had a chance to really look at. "Who are you? What happened?" "He was attacked by Nachorae - Sand Pipers to you and me, well, to me - maybe to you for all I know. He's been poisoned. He needs fluids; intravenous saline if you have it, water will do if you don't, although we'll have to force it down his throat and side step the gag reflex." "And the answer to the first question?" They were already half-way along the corridor into the hub. "Who am I? Er. Dave. Yeah, that'll do. I'm Dave. Nice to meet you�?" "Ianto." Still sounding suspicious but Jack was glad of the cessation of hostilities between Ianto and the rest of the world for the time being. He didn't feel much like fighting or breaking one up. "Jack." He managed the introduction just as the circular steel door rolled open, he was lifted through into the Hub proper and his treacherous body failed him again. He tried to pull away from the two in time, but he was tangled and he couldn't hold it back. He threw up over the floor, over his shoes, wishing not for the first time recently that he was really, finally dead. "Are you sure we don't need an antidote?" Ianto enquired, sensibly, Jack thought, as they manoeuvred him around the vomit and up the few steps to the first mezzanine. "Why? Do you have one?" They dropped him gently to the couch and he toppled over onto his side in a slow, graceful movement, curling up into a foetal ball. There wasn't a single square inch of him that didn't hurt one way or another. "Possibly, we have a few squirreled away." "Oh, I just love your accent!" Jack could imagine Ianto's blush, and if he'd had the strength he would have warned the stranger - Dave, did he say? - off; this was his domain, flirting was his right and his alone, especially where Ianto was concerned. But he barely had the strength to moan at the burning in his throat. "Get me some water - glass, jug, kettle, I don't care - but it's urgent." Jack heard a tap running, wished he was able to put his whole head under it, mouth open, and drown himself in the flow. "I'll fetch the saline and the IV." The next thing he knew was a gentle hand lifting his head, crashing the explosive headache against his skull. This time, apparently, he gave enough of a warning, and he was moved swiftly so that he could purge into a bucket that had been placed next to the couch. The lip of a glass jug was tipped against his mouth and he instinctively gulped down the water than filled his mouth, only to be spitting it into the bucket two seconds later. "Rinse your mouth first." And he did as he was instructed. "Now small sips." He became aware of someone else - Ianto, he supposed - doing something above him. Then his left hand was lifted and he felt a sharp stabbing at his skin. The IV line. Something about that very medical procedure reassured him that he was going to be okay and he lay down, pulling in a couple of shuddering breaths, closing his eyes, letting the blackness at the edges of his mind close over him. ~ "�in their breath. It's how they hunt; follow the emissions of their prey and mix their venom with the air, that way they can overcome it without any real expenditure of energy and they're fresh when the move in for the kill�" "�on helpless prey that's still alive." Ianto, sitting close by, and whatever the stranger was called. It definitely wasn't Dave. "Very much so. On their world, their venom paralyzes. Slightly different effect on humans, but the same end goal is met, more or less. Jack didn't have much left to fight with." "You saved his life." Ianto sounded thankful. Aww, you do care. He couldn't give voice to the words. A surge of overwhelming panic wiped away the momentary warm calm he'd felt on waking and he struggled to sit up. Immediately there was a large, gentle hand on his head. "Keep still, it's not out of your system yet." Jack moved his hand to his throat and his meaning was understood. "There maybe some paralysis of parts of your body; that's the poison. It won't be permanent. The fluids will help flush it out; you just need to have some patience." Usually patience was in short supply as far as he was concerned, but it didn't seem like he had much choice this time and he really didn't feel like arguing. He just hoped he hadn't made a mistake by bringing this stranger into the Hub, hoped he hadn't put Ianto in any danger, because he was in not fit state to defend them if he needed to and he hadn't got around to showing Ianto how to properly hold a gun in someone's face and to look like he was meaning it. As he drifted, he felt fingers in his hair, combing through gently, easing the pounding against the inside of his skull. Who was it that knew of aliens and wasn't scared of them? Was comfortable enough with him to touch without invitation? An impossible idea popped into his head but he dismissed it. He wasn't sure he trusted his eyes one hundred percent at the moment, but whoever this was flirting with he and Ianto, it wasn't the face from his memories, daydreams and nightmares. With that in mind, he let go of consciousness. ~ When he opened his eyes he felt so much better that it took him a moment to remember how bad the pain had been. Close by, on a desk chair he'd pulled up, Ianto was sitting, keeping vigil, playing nurse in the same way he played secretary, cleaner and travel advisor. "Just take it easy, Sir." Jack sat up slowly, but his headache (headache! Like calling the Canary Wharf invasion a 'minor incident') was gone and he didn't feel like he was about to chuck his guts up any longer. The IV line and shunt were still in the back of his hand and he presented it to Ianto with some trepidation; all was not smoothed over yet and it wasn't that he didn't trust him with his life; he just didn't trust him not to hurt him more than he really had to. But to his surprise his hand was taken in a gentle supporting hold, and he would have sworn to a thumb brushing his knuckles as the needle was taken out of his vein. "You shouldn't go to one of these sightings without backup, Sir," Ianto berated him softly, and he smiled, nodded, looked around. "Where is he?" "He's� gone, Sir." There was something dark in Ianto's face, a shadow of something in his voice. "He said to tell you� he'd be right back. But I think in his terms it probably means it'll be a while." "In his terms? Whose terms?" Ianto looked him straight in the eye. "The Doctor, Jack," he said gently. "It was the Doctor who brought you here. I recognised him from the Canary Wharf invasion." The first thing to hand was an empty coffee mug on the low table, and Jack launched it across the open space, the shattering of china against brick barely satisfying his need for violence. He didn't know if he said another word to Ianto before he left, or if Ianto answered back, he couldn't hear anything but the rushing of blood in his ears and the hammering of his heart against his rib cage. ~ It was the time of night that decent people didn't inhabit. The darkness of the alleyways was alive with languid hot bodies and low groans of questionable consent, the pavements swayed with drunken men and women helping one another home. The Bay though was its usual late-night quiet calm, and Jack moved slowly and carefully towards the fountain which stood directly above the place he laughingly called home. He wasn't drunk, but it wasn't for lack of trying. He'd tried hard. And failed. He'd consumed most of a bottle of Whisky and still felt more sober than he ever had. So instead he'd had a fight. He'd been desperate for one since leaving the Hub with Ianto's words bouncing around his skull, and he'd found one outside the rough back street pub he'd been drinking in. Four men, big men, had been standing in a loose circle drinking from cans of cheap lager, arguing loudly about some Rugby game or other. Jack had come on to two of them and the fight had actually started itself. He'd fought like a tiger, had gone down fighting to the rain-soaked pavement, boots in his stomach and groin, fists in his face and back, spitting blood into the puddles next to his head. The men had run off to the background sound of sirens and Jack, lying battered on the ground, had laughed so hard he'd been able to feel his two cracked ribs jarring. His clothes were covered in blood and filth, but his cuts and bruises were starting to heal now that his broken bones had knitted. The rain that had been spitting on and off all night turned into a torrent, drenching him in a second, streaming over his hair and face, dripping off his still bleeding nose. He stared through the downpour and for a moment he imagined the TARDIS standing in front of the water feature, remembered joking with the Doctor, Rose and Mickey, felt the warmth of belonging and the sharp pang of grief at losing it. Tears mingled with the rain as a wave of despair washed over him and lifting his face to the night sky, screwing his eyes shut against the hard drops of water, he shouted, "WHY?" with all the power of his lungs. What was the point? As the first sob broke from him he yelled, "Why did you leave me again?" He dropped to the wet ground, voice breaking. "You selfish bastard� I loved you." Tears and rain blinded him and he closed his eyes, wiping his face with his hands. And for a blissful second, the hands on his shoulders belonged to the Doctor. "Sir?" Ianto. Beautiful, deadly, heart-breaking Ianto. He almost laughed. But he couldn't. A harsh sob tore up from deep within him, breaking through the barriers he'd erected, the masks he'd collected to be worn day after day, the fragile web of half-truths and blatant lies he'd woven around himself to protect who and what he really was - to protect everyone from it, including himself. He shattered. And somehow Ianto was there this time to stop him from flying apart. Strong arms caught him, held him firm. He tucked his face into Ianto's neck, knowing he'd be able to tell tears from raindrops; no choice now but to trust this one man not to let go. The weather eased up for a minute around the two men embracing against the edge of the pavement. Ianto didn't move until Jack did; lifted his face, tilted his head and kissed him softly on the lips. It was a few very long seconds before he knew he wasn't going to get pushed away for taking such an advantage, but that Ianto was going to respond with a nervous gesture of faith and trust Jack was sure he didn't deserve; he opened his mouth under Jack's. It was the spark that lit the flame. Hungry, lonely, aching; Jack kissed him like a starved man, cupping Ianto's face in his hands, twisting his fingers in the tangled wet hair, tongue delving into the hot, inviting mouth. He felt Ianto's hands stroking his back, his shoulders, fingers clawing into his coat, trying to pull him closer. Lightening cracked open the dark sky, thunder rumbled somewhere out over the sea. Ianto broke the kiss and with an anxious little smile murmured, "We should get out of these wet clothes, Jack, before one of us catches pneumonia." Jack stole a lick of those heated lips and smiled proudly back, trying not to pull all those protective cloaks back around him or put all of the barriers up immediately. He wanted, maybe he needed, Ianto to find a way through it all to who he really was under the fake and deception. "Nice excuse," he said softly, stroking a smooth cheek, ghosting his thumb over Ianto's mouth. "Let's do that." Rain beat a mad rhythm on the ground above the Torchwood Hub until the sun rose and brought with it a clearing sky. Under the pavement, two men laid bare to one another slept in a tangle of limbs and sheets. |