They Come in Pairs - 6/?
Jack/Ianto
NC-17
set between 1x08 and 1x13




Another quite short part, sorry. I should stop calling them chapters, because they aren't nearly long enough to be chapters. But anyway, I figured you all would rather have shorter parts more often rather than being forced to wait for actual chapter length posts.


They Come in Pairs - 6

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Jack lay down on his bed, listening to the sound of his shower running and trying not to picture Ianto using it. He was actually starting to doze when he heard the water shut off. He was exhausted, actually thought he might be able to fall asleep.

But Ianto exited the bathroom several minutes later and Jack forced himself to sit up. Then he allowed himself to stare. Ianto's spare set of clothing had been a suit, and seeing as it was coming up on half past four in the afternoon on a Friday, Jack had insisted there was no reason for him not to wear something more comfortable and loaned him trousers and a shirt. It actually wasn't a bad fit.

"Glad Owen isn't here," Ianto commented, smoothing a wrinkle from the shirt. "He'd think I had let you have your wicked way with me."

Jack stood, still appreciating the view. "You know, if you ever want to give that a try..."

"Actually, I think I'd like to head home."

Jack purposefully stood where Ianto would have slide past him to get to the ladder. The confined space made it *almost* seem innocent. Ianto merely shook his head at Jack and then actually obliged. Jack grinned as he followed him up.

"Just to be clear before I let you loose on the world," Jack called up to him, "you're not having any homicidal tendencies or strange desires to take over the Earth?"

"No more than usual, Sir," Ianto quipped back.

"If Tosh and Gwen aren't sitting on our doorstep," Jack said while using his wrist computer to release the lockdown, "do you want me to drive you home?"

Ianto didn't answer and Jack could sense that he was being watched and looked up from the display.

"I'm sorry," Ianto offered. He was standing beside the empty coatrack.

"Ah." That must have been a yes to his question then, and Ianto had automatically reached for Jack's coat. He thought he had another one in storage somewhere, along with his various military uniforms and trinkets that he told himself he'd kept because they'd be worth a fortune someday as antiques and not because of sentimental reasons. Burning the bloodied coat had still been a difficult loss, however. He deliberately met Ianto's eyes. "We didn't lose anything that can't be replaced."

-----

Jack gave everybody the weekend off. It was only him and Myfanwy in the Hub, and everything had been surprisingly quiet. And as Sunday evening turned into Sunday night, Jack prayed it would stay that way. Day 3 of slowly dying had been rather painful. Day 4 was moving from torture into agony. He didn't think he'd survive a day 5. Although he probably wasn't going to have to from the look of things.

He'd been popping prescription painkillers and coughing up blood all day. He collapsed into bed, and even if aliens decided to attack, he was not getting back up. He stared at his ceiling, focused on just breathing. The bandage on his chest was soaked through with blood, and he didn't care. He'd rather replace his sheets than deal with it. He'd replace the entire mattress if he had to.

He tried to take shallower breaths as the hours dragged by. Anybody who thought time never moved when watching grass grow or paint dry should try bleeding to death. Jack had actually done that one a couple times already. He'd been through World Wars I and II. He'd lain in a muddy trench, surrounded by explosions and the bodies of fellow soldiers, men under his command that he'd watched die.

He shouldn't have even enlisted, and not only because he'd already seen too much war. There were certain things you just didn't do when time traveling. No killing your own grandfather, no stepping on butterflies, and no altering the outcome of major wars... But he'd been part of the timestream, like it or not, and hadn't been able to merely sit back and observe. He was the type to interfere. He'd kept himself from doing anything overly stupid, though -- such as assassinating Hitler or meeting up with the Doctor and Rose (and himself) during the London Blitz.

He rolled onto his side, coughed a disturbing amount of blood onto his pillow. His shallow breathing was getting too shallow. He kept coughing but couldn't clear his lungs. It felt like drowning. He'd made that mistake before also. For such an epic disaster as to rank as one of the worst peacetime maritime disasters in history, one would have really expected some mention of the unsinkable Titanic sinking to make it into 51st century history books.

He supposed he should be thankful that he hadn't gone down with the ship when he'd died. He didn't fancy the idea of waking up trapped at the bottom of the freezing cold ocean only to drown again, and again, and again. He might just stay dead until dredged up, but he wasn't going to test the theory.

What he should really be thankful for, however, was that this time nobody was dying with him. He was actually bringing somebody back to life. Dying for that wasn't so bad, was it?

He hated dying. Hated the pain, the fear, his inability to simply let go without a fight. No matter how many times it happened, even when he saw it coming, died willingly, there was always that little part that resisted, feared the darkness.

But while he hated the dying, he didn't hate the idea of staying dead. Everything just ending. No more fighting, no more struggling, no more pain. Just nothing. Going into black nothingness was scary, but if he actually got there, could stay there until the darkness didn't exist anymore because he didn't... He'd actually tried suicide, once or twice.

And right now, despite forcing breath after breath, there was a part of him that wanted the glove to take everything, pass the curse on to Ianto, because Jack didn't want it anymore.

He gasped futilely, choking more than breathing, and he hated himself. He honestly wanted his immortality to transfer to Ianto. He was praying to a God he didn't even think he believed in anymore for it to happen.

Living forever was not a gift, and anybody who sought it was either foolish or afraid. Jack wouldn't wish this upon his worst enemy, wouldn't wish it on anyone. And he was wishing it on his friend.

He clenched his fingers into his blood-soaked blanket, closed his eyes tightly against the pain. What if he hadn't done this for Ianto? What if he'd put on that damned glove with the hope of giving up more than his life? What if he'd been lying to himself, had wanted all along for the glove to bleed him dry?

No. He hadn't secretly wished that. He would not do that to Ianto, certainly not intentionally. It wasn't even possible. The glove was a fair trade. Jack would die the same as Ianto had, only more slowly, and then it would be over.

He struggled to get up but couldn't move. He'd already taken enough. He should destroy the fucking glove now. Destroy it now and Ianto would live, nothing more.

He choked more blood onto liquid sheets. He couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe. All he could do was lay there and wait, and worry.

He finally died around 4:30am.

-----

TBC


And please comment, good or bad, because I'm bored and want some feedback to read.