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.
fin
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