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d8rkmessngrAuthor: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17 (betaed)
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on. Be sure to read the warnings.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: Very dark, suicide/ self harm themes. Graphic. Mentions past non-con/dubious consent. This is the 'dark' part of my name, folks..I pared it down, but it still reads dark. Be warned.
Notes For This Chapter: Note there are parallels to TW's "Out of Time"
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13,Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18. Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30 Act 1/4
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 30 "Out of Time 2.0"
Act II
Beep.
"It's me again. I was hoping I wouldn't get your voice mail again—it's not a Weevil, is it? No, that can't be it. I didn't get an alert on my mobile. I ah…just wanted to see how you were doing. I'm playing favorite uncle, currently getting my spine misaligned because apparently, they all want to ride up on my shoulders, which doesn't really make any sense since my brother is taller and has a much better vantage point aloft his… Sorry, babbling again and I half-expected you to interrupt me…call me when you get this."
Beep.
It wasn't enough to stop his heart immediately. He sat there, staring at the water sculpture that stood below the surface and watched it glow like a kaleidoscope as the drugs and a glass full of wine slowly congealed in his stomach, seeped into his blood and traveled sluggishly up to his heart. It didn't hurt. Actually it was, out of all of them, the most painless death. His body was too numb to register the tightness in his throat.
This combination, however, didn't let him go quietly or quickly. Suzie sat down next to him when the water tower began to burn green then umber; the gunshot that had blown the back of her head off smelled foul and iron-rich. She sat there, talking to him about that Gelth that wouldn't leave the basement of that PC's house. Suzie laughed, placing her cold, bloodless hands on his thigh, then turned towards him so he could see every bullet hole he had graced her body with on the pier.
When he lost all feeling in his legs and his arms tingled, Estelle took over. It was Estelle as he last saw her: white, soaked from an unearthly rain, skin loose and folded from age and death. Her voice, however, was like the young girl who had sat on his lap as he tried to pedal his bike up the slope, the war momentarily forgotten as Estelle laughed and screeched. She'd feared she would fall. She never did. He had always been careful about that.
She told him the names she was thinking about for their children. Eerily enough, she wanted to name her first daughter Rose.
Except there was no daughter.
Only the priest, himself and the restless groundskeeper who had waited nearby with his shovel attended her funeral.
His lungs filled, his throat soured with bile and Estelle left as quickly as Suzie did. Rose came and it nearly broke his heart when she sat there. Icicles from space clung to her once beautiful hair, eyes bloodshot from capillaries exploding when she must have suffocated in the vacuum of space.
Rose sat there, her head on his shoulders like when they were in Callicus. They had watched the moons set, the Doctor chatting behind them about the atmosphere ionizing due to one of the asteroids slamming into its orbiting sibling. Rose had told the Doctor in a cheerful voice to shut up and the three of them had sat there on a blue grassy hill and watched space entertain them with fireworks of copper, electric blue and gold. They had fallen asleep against each other's shoulders and he woken to find the Doctor leaning against the TARDIS, watching. The Doctor only chuckled when accused teasingly of being a voyeur.
By now, as Rose reminisced about 10th century Tokyo, it was getting harder to breathe, his lungs hitching and tensing like they were being squeezed. He no longer felt the weight of her head on his shoulder, heard her voice and just as his heart began to slow, Rose left. The next voice…
It was young, untainted, and called his name tearfully. Tearfully because death flew overhead. Aliens howled as a frightening preamble to their destructive arrival. A small hand slipped into his. It was cold, gritty with wet sand and shook as it tried to hold on.
And then child asked him not to let go.
Beep.
"Sorry. It's me once more. Please don't tell me you have your mobile on vibrator again. The purpose of it is not to keep it in your pocket just so you can—Anyway, thought I'd call. I'm currently seeking asylum in my old boyhood room. My great aunt has been having tipples of scotch and is now telling embarrassing stories of my youth to my nieces and nephews. It was either listen to that or my uncle Devon about the elections. He's been going on and on about Saxon and frankly, he's becoming a bore. He's usually far more opinionated and reliable for a good row with my father, but they're both too agreeable about those blasted elect—Are you even listening to these things? Listen, call me. If nothing else at least to rescue me from tales about me and my stuffed tiger Wobby…Long story. Just…I hope everything's alright. Call me."
Beep.
When he returned, it took a few moments to realize they were all gone; the dead no longer queued up to watch him fail. The last bottle from Owen's cabinet and the rest of the wine was forced down his throat as soon as he realized he was alone again. He stumbled towards his office, crashing and spilling papers from everyone's workstations. He fell into his office, glass grounding into his hand, wine spilt and dried like blood. It was unfair. The stain will remain whereas a bullet, a knife gash, bloody vomit would go away.
He crawled, his arms trembling as he braced himself climbing down the ladder and collapsed onto the bunk. He sat, back up against the wall, against the old flyers and yellowed mementos from an era that started it all. He stared up to where his desk would be. He remembered the piles of paperwork fanning out for his attention. He should feel something for the papers stacked high; his responsibility, his duty to the four charged with saving the future. He should feel something for the body in the morgue. He should feel something for…just something other than being hyper-aware of the sharp lump pressing inside him, stirring uneasily, as the rest of him grew colder and colder.
He knew he should feel something other than death. He just didn't know what he should feel anymore.
The familiar out-of-body sensation returned. He slid down onto his side, curled and fetal against the wall. The darkness around him soothed him, like a lover's promise. No one came to sit by him and he could only hope, as lethargy blanketed him, that he would see them again soon.
Ianto slipped in between the cog doors, not waiting for them to open completely. Ianto wanted to wait for his sister to return, but after two more failed calls, the little voice inside him had started to scream.
Ianto stood there, his face flushed from the cold air. He huffed from having to run down the Plass, his arm aching from holding one of the bags of treats his father had made him take. It was the only way to appease him, especially after his awkward lie that work had called him in.
His eyes scanned the central area quickly, feeling a little bit like a hysterical git. If it turned out that Jack was napping on the couch or out on a solo Weevil hunt, Ianto was going to have to hurt someone—immortal or not.
A glance at the work platform to his left showed him no sleeping captains. A peek behind the kitchen area yielded the same results.
He placed the bag on the small table in front of their couch. The Hub was quiet save for the trickle of water cascading down to the pool below their work area. The pterodactyl was cawing loudly above, impatient and trapped in its nest. Odd. Jack, when he was alone in the Hub, usually indulged the creature by letting it fly freely in the Hub.
"Hello?" Ianto brushed his hands on his denim jeans. He grimaced at the crumbs still clinging to him. The children were sticky from raspberry thumbprints, their little fingers stained with ruby red jam and marzipan from the kitchen.
"Jack?" Ianto called out again, but again, no answer. Did Jack go out to the bars after all? Ianto scowled at the thought.
Something chimed loudly, audible because Ianto was listening for anything. It lay to his right, unseen, but it was loud enough for Ianto to follow.
One ear out for it, Ianto headed towards the work area near their armory. To his surprise, it was coming from Jack's greatcoat, spilled out onto the floor in front of the short column of stasis jars that stood stoically over the coat.
Ianto crouched and picked up the greatcoat that smelled oddly acrid and smoky. Jack's right pocket shook and Ianto pulled out Jack's mobile. Ianto checked it. Four missed calls. He frowned, weighing the mobile in one hand, the other clutching the greatcoat's collar. He looked up and froze.
The hand waved through a bloody jar.
Ianto rose to his feet and examined it. It wasn't a lot. It was more of a splatter than anything else. Frantic, Ianto eyed the rest of the area and caught sight of another bloodstain, up against the wall opposite the columns, where the greatcoat once was. Ianto steered right for it, his nostrils flaring at the coppery stench of drying blood. He stooped down and fingered the dents in the concrete. He could feel the smashed ends of four bullets embedded in the wall. Ianto swept his hand shakily and felt the raised texture of dried blood and white fragments that looked suspiciously like bon—
"Jack!"
Ianto didn't finish his thought, jumping up on his feet and sprinting halfway towards the medical bay before he realized it. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs when over the railing, he caught sight of the mess scattered around the ground. He pivoted around and it was like seeing the Hub for the very first time.
Papers, pens and shards of a coffee mug—Owen's—lay across the floor like footprints. There was a vague foul odor of old vomit that lingered around the couch area. There was a suspicious dark stain by the furniture, by the steps, and by the water tower.
His throat squeezed tight, threatening to choke him. Ianto's vision blurred as he checked the morgue, the armory, the work desks. The more signs he found, the more it felt like the air was being squeezed out of him.
Jack's coat was clutched tight, like a water diviner that Ianto hoped would lead him to Jack. His voice was hoarse by the time he staggered into the office. There were traces showing Jack was here—an empty pill bottle and broken glass from an empty wine bottle. They all led to the open hatchway.
Ianto could barely manage a reed-thin "Jack" when he spied boots curled up on the bunk. As he climbed down the ladder—he nearly slipped off the rungs—Ianto could see Jack curled fetal and solitary up against the farthest corner of his bunk.
The dull, unseeing, half-mast stare Jack gave Ianto galvanized him to jump down the last three rungs. His ankles throbbed vaguely as he scrambled up the bunk, his hands anxiously on Jack.
Jack was cool and dry to the touch. He didn't move as Ianto straightened his limbs, his head lolling when Ianto sat him up.
"Jack!" Ianto repeatedly tapped his face, his hands a little more frantic. He stopped when he realized a red patch was showing on Jack's right cheek. "What happened? Jack? Can you hear me?"
Jack mumbled something before his head lolled back. His eyes opened a slit, staring right through Ianto, then slid shut again despite Ianto's calls.
Ianto held Jack tightly against him, his mind mentally flipping through what he could recall. Shallow breathing, cold, unresponsive…Ianto closed his eyes briefly when he remembered the office.
"God, tell me you didn't," Ianto cracked as he hauled Jack to his feet. "I won't let you do this," Ianto puffed. "Damn it, I should have—I won't let you do this to yourself, Jack." This time, he received a stronger response: a tremor as Jack slumped against him. Ianto grunted, his knees quaking as he fought to keep them both upright. He ducked under Jack's arm.
A moan and a wheeze replied when Ianto staggered into the ladder, but nothing else.
Ianto nearly dropped him back onto the bunk to wait for Jack to recover, but another moan set his jaw. Undaunted, Ianto half-carried Jack towards the bathroom.
He would not let Jack go like this.
The space station rang hollowly even when he stood still. The dust and ashes of dead Daleks stirred like sand and for a blink of an eye he thought he was in Boeshane again. Another blink and he saw another dead body perched behind a crate—perhaps thinking she could hide behind it—and time leapt back to 200,100.
He had called out for any survivors for so long, his voice gave out. There was no one.
"…to yourself, Jack…"
A breeze went by him, soothing against his exposed arms. Wait, how could there be a breeze here?
He kept hearing the whoosh whoosh of the TARDIS yet every corner he rounded, there was nothing. He was going mad in this metal tomb.
"…won't let you die like this…"
But didn't he already die?
It had occurred to Ianto as he cupped a hand over Jack's clammy forehead that perhaps it would be better if he let whatever Jack took finish him off. His stomach still churned with the unpleasant memory of constantly forcing Jack's head back and pressing two fingers down the back of Jack's throat. The older man had revived enough each time to recoil but was too weak to completely pull away from Ianto's hold around his shoulders. Jack's body jerked, he made a weak half-whimper, half-gagging noise, and his stomach rebelled.
"Easy," Ianto murmured as once more, Jack's body shuddered, huddled over the toilet. Jack's eyes were still unfocused—did he even know what was going on?—as he slumped over the porcelain, his body convulsing as it tried to rid itself of whatever abuse Jack had fed himself.
The sounds of choking misery made Ianto ill as well. He swallowed, his arm braced around Jack's shoulders. Surely, it would have been easier to let Jack die, but frankly Ianto had completely forgotten about Jack's immortality until now.
"What have you done to yourself?" Ianto murmured as he rubbed Jack's back. He could feel every tremor. Jack shook like he was cold. "What were you hoping for, Jack?"
Jack only made a sound that could have been a plaintive "Doctor" but then he tensed and vomited more violently, interrupting himself.
By now, Jack's skin had warmed to a low-grade fever and when Ianto spotted the droplets of blood in Jack's vomit, he stopped trying to force him to empty the contents of his stomach. He dragged Jack into the shower, not even bothering to shed their clothing or shoes.
The cold water was a shock. Ianto clenched his teeth as he sank down to the tiled floor with Jack. He deliberately angled Jack's face towards the showerhead and tried not to think about how the water streaming down Jack's face looked like tears.
"Snap out of it," Ianto tried to make it a command but his voice quavered too much. How long had Jack been like this? Since last night? Jesus.
Jack stirred. He violently shuddered and made a feeble attempt to escape the deluge, but Ianto's grip was firm. Jack sagged and uttered one more defeated syllable that simply broke Ianto's heart.
"I'm right here." The thought Jack might die again thinking he was alone was too much. "Right here," Ianto whispered. He cringed as pink water streamed down Jack's neck. Dried blood was dissolving from Jack's hair and his throat. Crimson water wept to the shower floor beneath them.
"'hat…" Jack revived enough that a slit of blue eyes were revealed. Jack pushed at him feebly. His head lolled. "…'on't…"
"You're alright," Ianto soothed or tried to between chattering teeth as the shower continued to batter down on them. He didn't dare turn it off. "I think we got most of it out of your system."
"S-stop," Jack slurred, still trying to wiggle out of Ianto's hold. He slumped against Ianto, exhausted. His hands slapped uselessly at Ianto's arms. "L-leave me 'lone," he gasped.
Heat flared in Ianto's chest. What could Jack possibly hope this would accomplish? Ianto knew this wasn't directed at him, but the fact Jack would try so hard to…that he would keep trying…
"What are you doing?" Ianto couldn't stop himself from shouting or shaking Jack by the shoulders. Jack jerked. "Did you want to die?"
"'his time," Jack mumbled.
"This time?" Jack's head bobbed as Ianto gave him a hard shake. "How many times have you tried? How many? What was the point?" The last part came out as a scream.
Jack's eyes blazed under half-shut lids. "'et go!"
Jack's feet kicked out with surprising strength. Taken aback, Ianto started and Jack wrenched free.
Water plastered their shirts to their skin and now Ianto could see all the dried bloody lines where gashes once were. They trailed behind Jack like red tendrils in the water.
Something roared in Ianto's ears. He scrambled forward, splashing in the flooded shower floor. He yanked hard, harder than he ever meant to and Jack went tumbling back, nearly sending them both crashing into the tile wall behind him.
"No" Jack howled; fists that could barely strike flailed. He bucked.
"Stop it!" Ianto gasped as he tried to wrestle Jack back under the shower. "Stop this! Calm yourself—Jack!" A fist smacked him near his ear. Christ, that hurt! Ianto gritted his teeth and dragged Jack back under the water.
"S-snap out of it!" Ianto chattered. He slapped Jack's jaw over and over.
"Let me go," Jack moaned. Feebly, he batted at Ianto's chest. "H-have to…ha'e to t-try a'ain…"
Ianto wanted to shake him, yell until Jack roused out of his stupor, but he caught the misery peeking out of Jack's face. It muted him. Ianto held Jack's face between his hands.
Jack blinked back blearily, his face gray, his lips cracked.
"L-let 'e go," Jack pleaded. "'elp me d-die…"
Ianto choked and his anger bled away along with the pinkish water beaten out of Jack's body by the shower. He pulled Jack closer, settling him between his legs, and shivered with Jack as ice crashed over them both.
…thrum-thrum…
He never gave any warning.
Out of the dark, in his room, the Doctor never waited or bothered to wake him. By the time he roused, it was to the burning agony of the Doctor entering him as nonchalantly as he would enter a room.
It never mattered that it hurt. In fact, the Doctor seemed oddly angered when pleasure wavered alongside hurt after a while and arched his body off the bed. The thrusts became punishing when that happens, to the point that his body would thrash in the dark.
The Doctor never lingered. Never said a word. This was all he could offer to an abomination; in the dark, with no words or sounds. The Time Lord had pressed a pillow over him once, when his cries became too much. It didn't matter if they were cries of pain or of passion. To speak was to acknowledge and the Doctor's denial could be felt in the muffling strength of his arms braced on the pillow over his face. The darkness would then become real and when he'd revived, the Doctor was gone, his cum and blood drying inside him.
He was here again, cutting, tearing, lashing out at him from the inside out. His body bucked. God, it hurt. Why did it hurt to be with him?
"…wake up. You're alright."
The Doctor's eyes glittered darkly the rare times he looked at him. Agony cut his breath, but he called out to the Doctor. Begged him to stop. He didn't want it like this.
"God…he…no…not you…Wake up! You have to wake up!"
His hands were hot yet dry as they curled around his hips to have better leverage. Stop…Please…
"Don't do this to yourself. Wake up. Shh…it's over…Shh. You're safe. He can't hurt you anymore. Wake up. God, open your eyes…Please."
He fought him once. It was a moment of too much time on the dais, frustration that the treatment didn't seem to work and the Doctor's too clinical stare at him the whole time he screamed and sobbed in agony. He had lain there, sick even from taking a breath when the Doctor came. It proved to be too much and even though it was just a punch to the jaw, the Doctor left. He didn't touch him that day.
For five days. It was worse than the treatment; to be treated as less than nothing and ignored every single minute. It was like being on the deserted space station again. Alone among the dead, unheard in the vacuum of space. It was almost a relief when he woke to the agony again.
Hot and bitter, the Doctor's release had constantly filled him before he left him gasping in the dark. The TARDIS never hummed, its silence as cold as his bedroom. He laid there, sheets tangled around him, blinking because he wasn't sure if it was real or nightmare, blinking because it was—raining?
Jack stirred, flinching as he could feel the icy sharp droplets on his face. Someone behind him murmured something and the rain was gone. Jack shivered. It was like the rain had warded away the chills. Now, he couldn't stop shaking.
Hands pulled at his sodden shirt, his trousers, and Jack simply let whomever it was take whatever they wanted. He was garbage, unwanted by a Time Lord, betrayed by a fellow time traveler and damned to be living and only living, never dying. Why? What had he done that required such an unforgiving punishment?
When Jack felt a hand on his cheek, he opened his eyes a crack. Jack found himself slouched against a wall on his bunk, his legs stretched out before him. Ianto was smiling in front of him, but his expression was pinched, his lips bloodless like he had seen something that scared him.
"Welcome back," Ianto rasped, his hand cupping Jack's jaw. His thumb brushed against Jack's jaw and made tiny circles.
"Did I go 'ome'here?" Jack wheezed.
Ianto's smile faltered and he swallowed hard. Ianto tried to smile again, but the attempt was gruesome.
Jack squinted sleepily at Ianto as the young man pulled the afghan up to his shoulders. Ianto took great care to tuck the sides in.
Jack's eyes fluttered. He jerked at the tap on his face.
"Stay awake for a little longer," Ianto told him. "I'll get you something warm to drink." It sounded urgent so Jack tried to obey. But he was so tired, limbs leaden and unresponsive to his command. Jack fought to keep his eyes open, but it proved to be too much and they slid shut as soon as Ianto's voice vanished from his ear.
When he opened his eyes again, Ianto was gone. Maybe he was never there.
Act III
Additional Notes: Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
soullessminion for betaing this chapter. And trtmx for her magic trick that saved my sanity! LOL.
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17 (betaed)
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on. Be sure to read the warnings.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: Very dark, suicide/ self harm themes. Graphic. Mentions past non-con/dubious consent. This is the 'dark' part of my name, folks..I pared it down, but it still reads dark. Be warned.
Notes For This Chapter: Note there are parallels to TW's "Out of Time"
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13,Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18. Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30 Act 1/4
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 30 "Out of Time 2.0"
Act II
Beep.
"It's me again. I was hoping I wouldn't get your voice mail again—it's not a Weevil, is it? No, that can't be it. I didn't get an alert on my mobile. I ah…just wanted to see how you were doing. I'm playing favorite uncle, currently getting my spine misaligned because apparently, they all want to ride up on my shoulders, which doesn't really make any sense since my brother is taller and has a much better vantage point aloft his… Sorry, babbling again and I half-expected you to interrupt me…call me when you get this."
Beep.
It wasn't enough to stop his heart immediately. He sat there, staring at the water sculpture that stood below the surface and watched it glow like a kaleidoscope as the drugs and a glass full of wine slowly congealed in his stomach, seeped into his blood and traveled sluggishly up to his heart. It didn't hurt. Actually it was, out of all of them, the most painless death. His body was too numb to register the tightness in his throat.
This combination, however, didn't let him go quietly or quickly. Suzie sat down next to him when the water tower began to burn green then umber; the gunshot that had blown the back of her head off smelled foul and iron-rich. She sat there, talking to him about that Gelth that wouldn't leave the basement of that PC's house. Suzie laughed, placing her cold, bloodless hands on his thigh, then turned towards him so he could see every bullet hole he had graced her body with on the pier.
When he lost all feeling in his legs and his arms tingled, Estelle took over. It was Estelle as he last saw her: white, soaked from an unearthly rain, skin loose and folded from age and death. Her voice, however, was like the young girl who had sat on his lap as he tried to pedal his bike up the slope, the war momentarily forgotten as Estelle laughed and screeched. She'd feared she would fall. She never did. He had always been careful about that.
She told him the names she was thinking about for their children. Eerily enough, she wanted to name her first daughter Rose.
Except there was no daughter.
Only the priest, himself and the restless groundskeeper who had waited nearby with his shovel attended her funeral.
His lungs filled, his throat soured with bile and Estelle left as quickly as Suzie did. Rose came and it nearly broke his heart when she sat there. Icicles from space clung to her once beautiful hair, eyes bloodshot from capillaries exploding when she must have suffocated in the vacuum of space.
Rose sat there, her head on his shoulders like when they were in Callicus. They had watched the moons set, the Doctor chatting behind them about the atmosphere ionizing due to one of the asteroids slamming into its orbiting sibling. Rose had told the Doctor in a cheerful voice to shut up and the three of them had sat there on a blue grassy hill and watched space entertain them with fireworks of copper, electric blue and gold. They had fallen asleep against each other's shoulders and he woken to find the Doctor leaning against the TARDIS, watching. The Doctor only chuckled when accused teasingly of being a voyeur.
By now, as Rose reminisced about 10th century Tokyo, it was getting harder to breathe, his lungs hitching and tensing like they were being squeezed. He no longer felt the weight of her head on his shoulder, heard her voice and just as his heart began to slow, Rose left. The next voice…
It was young, untainted, and called his name tearfully. Tearfully because death flew overhead. Aliens howled as a frightening preamble to their destructive arrival. A small hand slipped into his. It was cold, gritty with wet sand and shook as it tried to hold on.
And then child asked him not to let go.
Beep.
"Sorry. It's me once more. Please don't tell me you have your mobile on vibrator again. The purpose of it is not to keep it in your pocket just so you can—Anyway, thought I'd call. I'm currently seeking asylum in my old boyhood room. My great aunt has been having tipples of scotch and is now telling embarrassing stories of my youth to my nieces and nephews. It was either listen to that or my uncle Devon about the elections. He's been going on and on about Saxon and frankly, he's becoming a bore. He's usually far more opinionated and reliable for a good row with my father, but they're both too agreeable about those blasted elect—Are you even listening to these things? Listen, call me. If nothing else at least to rescue me from tales about me and my stuffed tiger Wobby…Long story. Just…I hope everything's alright. Call me."
Beep.
When he returned, it took a few moments to realize they were all gone; the dead no longer queued up to watch him fail. The last bottle from Owen's cabinet and the rest of the wine was forced down his throat as soon as he realized he was alone again. He stumbled towards his office, crashing and spilling papers from everyone's workstations. He fell into his office, glass grounding into his hand, wine spilt and dried like blood. It was unfair. The stain will remain whereas a bullet, a knife gash, bloody vomit would go away.
He crawled, his arms trembling as he braced himself climbing down the ladder and collapsed onto the bunk. He sat, back up against the wall, against the old flyers and yellowed mementos from an era that started it all. He stared up to where his desk would be. He remembered the piles of paperwork fanning out for his attention. He should feel something for the papers stacked high; his responsibility, his duty to the four charged with saving the future. He should feel something for the body in the morgue. He should feel something for…just something other than being hyper-aware of the sharp lump pressing inside him, stirring uneasily, as the rest of him grew colder and colder.
He knew he should feel something other than death. He just didn't know what he should feel anymore.
The familiar out-of-body sensation returned. He slid down onto his side, curled and fetal against the wall. The darkness around him soothed him, like a lover's promise. No one came to sit by him and he could only hope, as lethargy blanketed him, that he would see them again soon.
Ianto slipped in between the cog doors, not waiting for them to open completely. Ianto wanted to wait for his sister to return, but after two more failed calls, the little voice inside him had started to scream.
Ianto stood there, his face flushed from the cold air. He huffed from having to run down the Plass, his arm aching from holding one of the bags of treats his father had made him take. It was the only way to appease him, especially after his awkward lie that work had called him in.
His eyes scanned the central area quickly, feeling a little bit like a hysterical git. If it turned out that Jack was napping on the couch or out on a solo Weevil hunt, Ianto was going to have to hurt someone—immortal or not.
A glance at the work platform to his left showed him no sleeping captains. A peek behind the kitchen area yielded the same results.
He placed the bag on the small table in front of their couch. The Hub was quiet save for the trickle of water cascading down to the pool below their work area. The pterodactyl was cawing loudly above, impatient and trapped in its nest. Odd. Jack, when he was alone in the Hub, usually indulged the creature by letting it fly freely in the Hub.
"Hello?" Ianto brushed his hands on his denim jeans. He grimaced at the crumbs still clinging to him. The children were sticky from raspberry thumbprints, their little fingers stained with ruby red jam and marzipan from the kitchen.
"Jack?" Ianto called out again, but again, no answer. Did Jack go out to the bars after all? Ianto scowled at the thought.
Something chimed loudly, audible because Ianto was listening for anything. It lay to his right, unseen, but it was loud enough for Ianto to follow.
One ear out for it, Ianto headed towards the work area near their armory. To his surprise, it was coming from Jack's greatcoat, spilled out onto the floor in front of the short column of stasis jars that stood stoically over the coat.
Ianto crouched and picked up the greatcoat that smelled oddly acrid and smoky. Jack's right pocket shook and Ianto pulled out Jack's mobile. Ianto checked it. Four missed calls. He frowned, weighing the mobile in one hand, the other clutching the greatcoat's collar. He looked up and froze.
The hand waved through a bloody jar.
Ianto rose to his feet and examined it. It wasn't a lot. It was more of a splatter than anything else. Frantic, Ianto eyed the rest of the area and caught sight of another bloodstain, up against the wall opposite the columns, where the greatcoat once was. Ianto steered right for it, his nostrils flaring at the coppery stench of drying blood. He stooped down and fingered the dents in the concrete. He could feel the smashed ends of four bullets embedded in the wall. Ianto swept his hand shakily and felt the raised texture of dried blood and white fragments that looked suspiciously like bon—
"Jack!"
Ianto didn't finish his thought, jumping up on his feet and sprinting halfway towards the medical bay before he realized it. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs when over the railing, he caught sight of the mess scattered around the ground. He pivoted around and it was like seeing the Hub for the very first time.
Papers, pens and shards of a coffee mug—Owen's—lay across the floor like footprints. There was a vague foul odor of old vomit that lingered around the couch area. There was a suspicious dark stain by the furniture, by the steps, and by the water tower.
His throat squeezed tight, threatening to choke him. Ianto's vision blurred as he checked the morgue, the armory, the work desks. The more signs he found, the more it felt like the air was being squeezed out of him.
Jack's coat was clutched tight, like a water diviner that Ianto hoped would lead him to Jack. His voice was hoarse by the time he staggered into the office. There were traces showing Jack was here—an empty pill bottle and broken glass from an empty wine bottle. They all led to the open hatchway.
Ianto could barely manage a reed-thin "Jack" when he spied boots curled up on the bunk. As he climbed down the ladder—he nearly slipped off the rungs—Ianto could see Jack curled fetal and solitary up against the farthest corner of his bunk.
The dull, unseeing, half-mast stare Jack gave Ianto galvanized him to jump down the last three rungs. His ankles throbbed vaguely as he scrambled up the bunk, his hands anxiously on Jack.
Jack was cool and dry to the touch. He didn't move as Ianto straightened his limbs, his head lolling when Ianto sat him up.
"Jack!" Ianto repeatedly tapped his face, his hands a little more frantic. He stopped when he realized a red patch was showing on Jack's right cheek. "What happened? Jack? Can you hear me?"
Jack mumbled something before his head lolled back. His eyes opened a slit, staring right through Ianto, then slid shut again despite Ianto's calls.
Ianto held Jack tightly against him, his mind mentally flipping through what he could recall. Shallow breathing, cold, unresponsive…Ianto closed his eyes briefly when he remembered the office.
"God, tell me you didn't," Ianto cracked as he hauled Jack to his feet. "I won't let you do this," Ianto puffed. "Damn it, I should have—I won't let you do this to yourself, Jack." This time, he received a stronger response: a tremor as Jack slumped against him. Ianto grunted, his knees quaking as he fought to keep them both upright. He ducked under Jack's arm.
A moan and a wheeze replied when Ianto staggered into the ladder, but nothing else.
Ianto nearly dropped him back onto the bunk to wait for Jack to recover, but another moan set his jaw. Undaunted, Ianto half-carried Jack towards the bathroom.
He would not let Jack go like this.
The space station rang hollowly even when he stood still. The dust and ashes of dead Daleks stirred like sand and for a blink of an eye he thought he was in Boeshane again. Another blink and he saw another dead body perched behind a crate—perhaps thinking she could hide behind it—and time leapt back to 200,100.
He had called out for any survivors for so long, his voice gave out. There was no one.
"…to yourself, Jack…"
A breeze went by him, soothing against his exposed arms. Wait, how could there be a breeze here?
He kept hearing the whoosh whoosh of the TARDIS yet every corner he rounded, there was nothing. He was going mad in this metal tomb.
"…won't let you die like this…"
But didn't he already die?
It had occurred to Ianto as he cupped a hand over Jack's clammy forehead that perhaps it would be better if he let whatever Jack took finish him off. His stomach still churned with the unpleasant memory of constantly forcing Jack's head back and pressing two fingers down the back of Jack's throat. The older man had revived enough each time to recoil but was too weak to completely pull away from Ianto's hold around his shoulders. Jack's body jerked, he made a weak half-whimper, half-gagging noise, and his stomach rebelled.
"Easy," Ianto murmured as once more, Jack's body shuddered, huddled over the toilet. Jack's eyes were still unfocused—did he even know what was going on?—as he slumped over the porcelain, his body convulsing as it tried to rid itself of whatever abuse Jack had fed himself.
The sounds of choking misery made Ianto ill as well. He swallowed, his arm braced around Jack's shoulders. Surely, it would have been easier to let Jack die, but frankly Ianto had completely forgotten about Jack's immortality until now.
"What have you done to yourself?" Ianto murmured as he rubbed Jack's back. He could feel every tremor. Jack shook like he was cold. "What were you hoping for, Jack?"
Jack only made a sound that could have been a plaintive "Doctor" but then he tensed and vomited more violently, interrupting himself.
By now, Jack's skin had warmed to a low-grade fever and when Ianto spotted the droplets of blood in Jack's vomit, he stopped trying to force him to empty the contents of his stomach. He dragged Jack into the shower, not even bothering to shed their clothing or shoes.
The cold water was a shock. Ianto clenched his teeth as he sank down to the tiled floor with Jack. He deliberately angled Jack's face towards the showerhead and tried not to think about how the water streaming down Jack's face looked like tears.
"Snap out of it," Ianto tried to make it a command but his voice quavered too much. How long had Jack been like this? Since last night? Jesus.
Jack stirred. He violently shuddered and made a feeble attempt to escape the deluge, but Ianto's grip was firm. Jack sagged and uttered one more defeated syllable that simply broke Ianto's heart.
"I'm right here." The thought Jack might die again thinking he was alone was too much. "Right here," Ianto whispered. He cringed as pink water streamed down Jack's neck. Dried blood was dissolving from Jack's hair and his throat. Crimson water wept to the shower floor beneath them.
"'hat…" Jack revived enough that a slit of blue eyes were revealed. Jack pushed at him feebly. His head lolled. "…'on't…"
"You're alright," Ianto soothed or tried to between chattering teeth as the shower continued to batter down on them. He didn't dare turn it off. "I think we got most of it out of your system."
"S-stop," Jack slurred, still trying to wiggle out of Ianto's hold. He slumped against Ianto, exhausted. His hands slapped uselessly at Ianto's arms. "L-leave me 'lone," he gasped.
Heat flared in Ianto's chest. What could Jack possibly hope this would accomplish? Ianto knew this wasn't directed at him, but the fact Jack would try so hard to…that he would keep trying…
"What are you doing?" Ianto couldn't stop himself from shouting or shaking Jack by the shoulders. Jack jerked. "Did you want to die?"
"'his time," Jack mumbled.
"This time?" Jack's head bobbed as Ianto gave him a hard shake. "How many times have you tried? How many? What was the point?" The last part came out as a scream.
Jack's eyes blazed under half-shut lids. "'et go!"
Jack's feet kicked out with surprising strength. Taken aback, Ianto started and Jack wrenched free.
Water plastered their shirts to their skin and now Ianto could see all the dried bloody lines where gashes once were. They trailed behind Jack like red tendrils in the water.
Something roared in Ianto's ears. He scrambled forward, splashing in the flooded shower floor. He yanked hard, harder than he ever meant to and Jack went tumbling back, nearly sending them both crashing into the tile wall behind him.
"No" Jack howled; fists that could barely strike flailed. He bucked.
"Stop it!" Ianto gasped as he tried to wrestle Jack back under the shower. "Stop this! Calm yourself—Jack!" A fist smacked him near his ear. Christ, that hurt! Ianto gritted his teeth and dragged Jack back under the water.
"S-snap out of it!" Ianto chattered. He slapped Jack's jaw over and over.
"Let me go," Jack moaned. Feebly, he batted at Ianto's chest. "H-have to…ha'e to t-try a'ain…"
Ianto wanted to shake him, yell until Jack roused out of his stupor, but he caught the misery peeking out of Jack's face. It muted him. Ianto held Jack's face between his hands.
Jack blinked back blearily, his face gray, his lips cracked.
"L-let 'e go," Jack pleaded. "'elp me d-die…"
Ianto choked and his anger bled away along with the pinkish water beaten out of Jack's body by the shower. He pulled Jack closer, settling him between his legs, and shivered with Jack as ice crashed over them both.
…thrum-thrum…
He never gave any warning.
Out of the dark, in his room, the Doctor never waited or bothered to wake him. By the time he roused, it was to the burning agony of the Doctor entering him as nonchalantly as he would enter a room.
It never mattered that it hurt. In fact, the Doctor seemed oddly angered when pleasure wavered alongside hurt after a while and arched his body off the bed. The thrusts became punishing when that happens, to the point that his body would thrash in the dark.
The Doctor never lingered. Never said a word. This was all he could offer to an abomination; in the dark, with no words or sounds. The Time Lord had pressed a pillow over him once, when his cries became too much. It didn't matter if they were cries of pain or of passion. To speak was to acknowledge and the Doctor's denial could be felt in the muffling strength of his arms braced on the pillow over his face. The darkness would then become real and when he'd revived, the Doctor was gone, his cum and blood drying inside him.
He was here again, cutting, tearing, lashing out at him from the inside out. His body bucked. God, it hurt. Why did it hurt to be with him?
"…wake up. You're alright."
The Doctor's eyes glittered darkly the rare times he looked at him. Agony cut his breath, but he called out to the Doctor. Begged him to stop. He didn't want it like this.
"God…he…no…not you…Wake up! You have to wake up!"
His hands were hot yet dry as they curled around his hips to have better leverage. Stop…Please…
"Don't do this to yourself. Wake up. Shh…it's over…Shh. You're safe. He can't hurt you anymore. Wake up. God, open your eyes…Please."
He fought him once. It was a moment of too much time on the dais, frustration that the treatment didn't seem to work and the Doctor's too clinical stare at him the whole time he screamed and sobbed in agony. He had lain there, sick even from taking a breath when the Doctor came. It proved to be too much and even though it was just a punch to the jaw, the Doctor left. He didn't touch him that day.
For five days. It was worse than the treatment; to be treated as less than nothing and ignored every single minute. It was like being on the deserted space station again. Alone among the dead, unheard in the vacuum of space. It was almost a relief when he woke to the agony again.
Hot and bitter, the Doctor's release had constantly filled him before he left him gasping in the dark. The TARDIS never hummed, its silence as cold as his bedroom. He laid there, sheets tangled around him, blinking because he wasn't sure if it was real or nightmare, blinking because it was—raining?
Jack stirred, flinching as he could feel the icy sharp droplets on his face. Someone behind him murmured something and the rain was gone. Jack shivered. It was like the rain had warded away the chills. Now, he couldn't stop shaking.
Hands pulled at his sodden shirt, his trousers, and Jack simply let whomever it was take whatever they wanted. He was garbage, unwanted by a Time Lord, betrayed by a fellow time traveler and damned to be living and only living, never dying. Why? What had he done that required such an unforgiving punishment?
When Jack felt a hand on his cheek, he opened his eyes a crack. Jack found himself slouched against a wall on his bunk, his legs stretched out before him. Ianto was smiling in front of him, but his expression was pinched, his lips bloodless like he had seen something that scared him.
"Welcome back," Ianto rasped, his hand cupping Jack's jaw. His thumb brushed against Jack's jaw and made tiny circles.
"Did I go 'ome'here?" Jack wheezed.
Ianto's smile faltered and he swallowed hard. Ianto tried to smile again, but the attempt was gruesome.
Jack squinted sleepily at Ianto as the young man pulled the afghan up to his shoulders. Ianto took great care to tuck the sides in.
Jack's eyes fluttered. He jerked at the tap on his face.
"Stay awake for a little longer," Ianto told him. "I'll get you something warm to drink." It sounded urgent so Jack tried to obey. But he was so tired, limbs leaden and unresponsive to his command. Jack fought to keep his eyes open, but it proved to be too much and they slid shut as soon as Ianto's voice vanished from his ear.
When he opened his eyes again, Ianto was gone. Maybe he was never there.
Act III
Additional Notes: Many thanks to
soullessminion for betaing this chapter. And trtmx for her magic trick that saved my sanity! LOL.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2008-06-26 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-30 09:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-30 10:24 pm (UTC)