Broken Like Me (Torchwood)

[Jelloicious]

Haven't had a thought worth writing down in months.   But, I found this on my hard-drive, decided it was just complete enough.  This follows the incident with the faeries, and is set just after Ianto’s suspension for hiding the Potential end of the World in the basement. Everyone is angry at Jack. Or so he thinks.

 

TWTWTWTWTW

Jack doesn’t bother to watch as his team leaves, loud complaints and the echoes of angry footfalls following them through the cogwheel door and up the corridor, until the door rolls thunderously shut behind them, and the silence fills the empty space. He knows they are furious with him; disappointed, disillusioned. Deep down, he doesn’t blame them, not really. From their perspective, he’d let a little girl be taken by monsters. He’d left a mother, torn apart with grief. He knows, of course, that it is pointless to try and explain. Knows that from far too much experience. Still, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t sting just the smallest bit. After all this time.

They’d need time, he knew, to at least try and work through it all, to find a way to live with this. With him. With themselves. They always did. They would go off together. Maybe get drunk. Rage. Wonder out loud what sort of man he was. Curse him. Dare each other to leave him, leave Torchwood.  Eventually, they would come back. They always did. And when they came back, they might even try to reason with him, and show him the error of his ways---the folly of his choices. In the end, though, they would let it go, (even Gwen), and when the time came again, they’d all stand back, and let him do what needed to be done. Every time.

They would never understand though. Never forgive him for it. And when the time came that they realized just what they themselves had become capable of, they’d hate him for it.

Sometimes, he wishes it could be different, If only for a while.

He swallows, imagines he can feel the rose petals in his throat, suffocating him, and he coughs against the strangling sensation.

He sighs heavily, and lets himself feel the weary weight of the past few days. Maybe later, in the still dark of his bunker, he’d let himself feel the grief of losing Estelle. Maybe later, he thinks darkly, he’ll wait for it, the all-consuming pain of loss, and find he can’t feel it anymore. What kind of monster would he be then?

Through his many, many years, he’d gotten very good at losing people (he tells himself this). Sometimes, he loses them on purpose, even. He is nothing if not very good at moving on. Soldiering through, pretending that everything is going to be okay. Pretending, until one day it is. He has no choice, so he has to be good at it. At boxing up feelings, keeping them controlled, contained, and out of sight. It’s just a necessity. Sometimes, when he lets himself consider this, he thinks a day will come when he will not remember how to open his boxes. He pinches his nose against a sudden urge to sneeze, that vanishes as quickly as it came, a reflex to chase away the dark thoughts, thick with the suffocating, sickeningly sweet scent of roses.

Often, it’s just this sort of disconnected feeling that sends him climbing to the tops of buildings, to catch his breath, to gain perspective, and clear his head. Sometimes just to scream. But, he won’t do that, not tonight. Tonight, he thinks, he feels his age. Tonight, he just wants to burrow deep, deep under ground, until he finds the sort of mindless, dreamless sleep that is so elusive for him anymore. Sleep, they say, is a sort of small death. Neither one properly sticks for him, anymore.

He stalks through the dim, silent and empty Hub to his office, not even bothering to turn on the lights. A headache has been brewing behind his eyes for most of the day, and he tells himself the dark will be soothing. He knows its a lie, but the dark just better suits his sour mood, and so he allows himself this. The glow of the flickering monitors is enough to see anyway.

Sometimes, he wonders why he stays here. Sometimes, he thinks it would be better if he didn’t. Better for him, better for all of them. Still, he knows he won’t leave. Can’t leave. Not if he ever wants to find the Doctor again.

He drops heavily into the chair at his desk in the dark. There’s no real point...he’s not going to do any work tonight. But he’s not quite ready yet to retreat to his bunker, alone in the deep darkness with just his thoughts. Of Estelle, of Jasmine, of Jasmine’s mother, raging at him, beating him with her fists in grief, in fury, (in the shame of relief). Of his team, who cannot understand. He waits in the half-light of the blinking monitors, as the discomfort in his sinuses builds again. This time he sneezes. Het’Chuhh…. It doesn’t shake the unsettled feeling, and despite the discomfort, there are no rose petals, and he’s just a little surprised.

Hut’CHuhhh!!

“Bless you, Sir.”

Ianto’s voice is warm, and earnest and startles the hell out of Jack. He thought he’d been alone in the Hub, his team gone off to curse him.. Instead, the young man who very nearly destroyed the world last month is standing awkwardly in the doorway, armed with a tray, a teapot, two fragile china cups and a little plate of biscuits.

Jack almost laughs out loud. Instead, he sniffs, and takes a moment to compose himself, clearing his throat before inviting the young man into his office. Ianto doesn’t disturb the mood by turning on the light, and Jack is oddly grateful for this.

Ianto sets the tray on Jack’s desk, pours them each a cup, then pulls up a chair, helping himself to a biscuit. Jack nods his thanks to Ianto, picks up his cup, and sips cautiously, hot liquid burning his throat and he coughs.

When he recovers himself he says, “I thought you’d left. With the others.” Jack is guarded. They all think he’s a monster, but Ianto’s the only one who has called him that to his face. (Jack prefers the honesty).

In the dim light of the blinking monitors, Jack doesn’t quite see the shadow pass through Ianto’s eyes. The young man sips his tea carefully, then forces a hollow sort of smile.

“I don’t think...” the young man begins, then breaks off.

Jack’s made a bit stupid by the ache in his head, the ache in his soul, and doesn’t quite catch on. Thinks to himself as he swallows again, maybe he is coming down with something. Which would just be the capper on this week, wouldn’t it?

Ianto starts again. “I just thought…..I thought you could use a cup of tea.”

And, just there, is a tiny bit of warmth. Jack takes another sip of tea, lets the warmth spread a bit further, inside of him, as he watches the man across the desk from him, appraisingly.. Jack should have ret-conned him back to nursery school. Jack very nearly put a bullet in his brain. Instead, Jack left him to live. It wasn’t a kindness, Jack knows.

Jack had destroyed this man’s world, destroyed his reason for surviving, his hope, and condemned him to live with the memories, all those memories, day after day. Jack can’t even put into words why. Jack thinks Ianto wasn’t far off, when Ianto called him a monster.

The next sneeze gives him almost no warning, and he can barely set his teacup on the desk before it takes him. Het’CHuuhhh!!

This one is wetter and more forceful than before, and he thinks he’s definitely coming down with something, even as Ianto moves smoothly to offer him a neatly folded handkerchief. It’s rather an odd thing, especially given Ianto’s age, and the times but he doesn’t have much chance to think about it as he sneezes yet again, forcefully into the soft handkerchief. Heschhhhhhhhh!!!

“Bless you,” Ianto says. “Are you alright?”

Jack blows his nose, trying to recall the last time he managed to actually fallen ill. He offers Ianto a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Ianto." Then, “Think I might be coming down with a cold,” he admits.

“So I’d noticed. Can I get you anything, Sir?” Ianto’s tone in neutral, efficient, but...he’s here, Jack thinks.

“I’m sure I’ll live,” Jack says, a private joke that the young man across from him wouldn’t understand. “The tea is lovely, though.” Jack sips again, and allows the steam to soothe him.

They sit in dark silence, sipping tea and eating biscuits. It’s surprisingly easy, this silence with Ianto. Jack wonders why he’s never noticed this before. Thinks there’s something about this young man he quite likes. 

He doesn’t ask how Ianto is doing, but it’s not indifference that holds his tongue. He knows how dark grief is. How ready it waits to shatter even the most benign of moments, and he thinks healing is made of moments like this, here in the silence, with biscuits and tea, and so Jack takes care not rush it, and sips his tea slowly, savoring it carefully, allowing it (allowing Ianto's presence) to soothe him.

When Jack does finish his tea, he sets his cup down carefully, before breaking the silence by sneezing harshly.  Definitely coming down with a cold.

Ianto blesses him again, and frowns. “Perhaps you should call it a night, Sir.”

“Perhaps, I should,” Jack says with a sniff, and Ianto moves to collect the empty cups on his tray.

“Ianto,” Jack says, as the younger man picks up the tray.

Ianto meets his eyes in the dim light, “Yes, Sir?”

“Thank you for the tea.”

He can’t quite see it, but he imagines Ianto’s smile. “Good night, Sir. Feel better.”

Jack thinks he already does.

“Good night, Ianto. See you in the morning.”

 

 

Edited April 14, 2019 by Jelloicious
punctuation; stupid sentence that didn't need to be there

[Seeker]

This is sad and sweet...well written 

 

[quietsucker]

Thanks for this!  It's already been quite a week here--and i loved starting the morning with this little gem.  Great characterization and voices for both Jack and Ianto.  I particularly enjoyed Jack trying to work out why Ianto stayed at the Hub. 

 

--QS

[Jelloicious]

Thanks @ReidSeeker and @quietsucker!  Was trying to capture  a bit of the profound loneliness of Jack (overlayed with the beginnings of a head cold, of course). Jack's hard-wired to connect with people, but his "difference" means sometimes he's just SO different in his experiences and perspective.  And every connection comes with a reminder that there will also be loss, making him such a lonely character under all that bravado and flash. 

 In the grand scheme of the development of Jack and Ianto's relationship, this is the moment of "Hmmm.  There might be something to this man beyond hot suits and coffee," as Ianto, who moreso than any member of the team, has the right to hate Jack, HAS hated Jack, is also the one who sees that some of those hard decisions have to be made, even at great cost, and that Jack is, after all, only human. (or possibly, Ianto is just a raging codependent looking for another dysfunctional relationship, and let's face it, when your last girlfriend was a cyberman, everyone else looks like an improvement anyway).

[AngelEyes]

Mmmmm. I don't even know where to start with this, it's so beautiful. It captures the essence of this period completely. 

On 4/1/2019 at 12:31 PM, Jelloicious said:

He knows, of course, that it is pointless to try and explain. Knows that from far too much experience. Still, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t sting just the smallest bit. After all this time.

You hit on the fact that he's probably been through this countless times, and he thinks he should be used to it, but it does still hurt.

 

On 4/1/2019 at 12:31 PM, Jelloicious said:

Maybe later, he thinks darkly, he’ll wait for it, the all-consuming pain of loss, and find he can’t feel it anymore. What kind of monster would he be then?

Heartbreaking. But I think that fear is what means he is still human.

 

On 4/1/2019 at 12:31 PM, Jelloicious said:

Often, it’s just this sort of disconnected feeling that sends him climbing to the tops of buildings, to catch his breath, to gain perspective, and clear his head.

I absolutely Love this. What a great insight!

 

On 4/1/2019 at 12:31 PM, Jelloicious said:

Instead, the young man who very nearly destroyed the world last month is standing awkwardly in the doorway, armed with a tray, a teapot, two fragile china cups and a little plate of biscuits.

I love how you put this.

 

On 4/1/2019 at 12:31 PM, Jelloicious said:

They all think he’s a monster, but Ianto’s the only one who has called him that to his face. (Jack prefers the honesty).

In the dim light of the blinking monitors, Jack doesn’t quite see the shadow pass through Ianto’s eyes. The young man sips his tea carefully, then forces a hollow sort of smile.

“I don’t think...” the young man begins, then breaks off.

Jack’s made a bit stupid by the ache in his head, the ache in his soul, and doesn’t quite catch on. Thinks to himself as he swallows again, maybe he is coming down with something. Which would just be the capper on this week, wouldn’t it?

Ianto starts again. “I just thought…..I thought you could use a cup of tea.”

This is so perfectly Ianto.

 

On 4/1/2019 at 12:31 PM, Jelloicious said:

They sit in dark silence, sipping tea and eating biscuits. It’s surprisingly easy, this silence with Ianto. Jack wonders why he’s never noticed this before. Thinks there’s something about this young man he quite likes. 

Awww.

 

On 4/1/2019 at 12:31 PM, Jelloicious said:

He doesn’t ask how Ianto is doing, but it’s not indifference that holds his tongue. He knows how dark grief is. How ready it waits to shatter even the most benign of moments, and he thinks healing is made of moments like this, here in the silence, with biscuits and tea, and so Jack takes care not rush it, and sips his tea slowly, savoring it carefully, allowing it (allowing Ianto's presence) to soothe him.

I love how this shows where the relationship between them shifts after everything that has happened.

This is wonderful. Total mood. Love it.