Fic: They Come in Pairs - Part 2
Jack/Ianto
NC-17
set between 1x08 and 1x13




They Come in Pairs - Chapter 2

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The hub had been quiet when they'd gotten back; Gwen, Owen, and Tosh all having gone home for the night. Which left Jack to deal with Ianto.

He was lying on Owen's exam table now, still wrapped securely in Jack's greatcoat. Jack stood watching over him, the heavy weight of the glove on his blood-stained hand, and he didn't even feel it. Not the dried blood, the cold of the metal, his own exhaustion, nothing.

Long minutes dragged by, and Jack waited for it to sink in, waited for all of this to become real. The clipboard was on the desk, paperwork completely filled out except for the name. Then the day would be over, become part of unchangeable history, and it wouldn't be them anymore. Once Jack wrote "Ianto Jones" on that form, it would be only a body on the table, his friend would be officially dead, and Jack would be alone.

The paperwork would then be filed, the glove would be locked away, Ianto's things would be boxed up and stored, and his body would be moved into the empty slot beside one that held another body... that had once been Suzie Costello.

And that was it. No way around or out of it, and he knew that. He'd been a Time Agent, and if there was just one thing that was certain, it was that there was no going back. Today had happened and couldn't be undone, and any notions he might entertain about it being otherwise, well, those were just that. Impossible thoughts and fantasies. Because he knew full well the consequences of thinking differently.

Ianto Jones was dead, and Jack was going to write his name in the blank space on that form. He slid his fingers slowly out of the glove. He just needed to wash the blood off his hands first.

-----

Jack methodically stripped off his clothes, separating the hopelessly stained items from the salvageable. He neatly folded them into two piles. Ianto would complain if he tossed the bloody garments in a heap with the good ones. Except that he wouldn't anymore, Jack reminded himself.

He turned on only the hot water in his shower, and let it scald away the cold. Then he scrubbed Ianto's blood from his skin.

-----

Barefoot, Jack made his way through the hub. The floor was like ice and spread an instant chill back through his body. He needed clean socks and didn't a have single fresh pair in his room. But there was always a spare set of clothing prepared and waiting, for every member of Torchwood 3. Ianto made sure of it.

Jack found his, along with a substantial amount of his wardrobe that Ianto had picked up from the drycleaner over what appeared to be several months. He absently went through the meticulously kept receipts. How the hell had he managed to explain all their work-related clothing mishaps?

Smiling fondly, Jack almost laughed at the four small boxes full of random items. Between them, Ianto could have gotten a nice pay raise in forgotten pocket change. He passed over the ones which were obviously Tosh, Gwen, and Owen's, somewhat surprised at how easily he could tell them apart, and picked up his own.

A small slip of paper quickly caught his eye. He lifted the familiar flower shop receipt from the box and stared at it.

"Damn." Jack dropped the box back onto the table and sighed.

He and Ianto really should have talked about that.

-----

There was work to be done, and sleep the last thing on Jack's mind, he found himself standing back beside Ianto's body again. He should take care of things before morning. Taking a deep breath, he turned to where he'd set the clipboard. The metal glove rested on top of it.

Terrible idea though it might be, there really was no cosmic rule against it, was there? Jack cocked his head to the side, frowned, and contemplated the offensive object. It wasn't like going back in time. There'd be no paradox or destruction of the universe. It was just...

A very bad idea.

Except that maybe it wasn't.

It wouldn't be Gwen this time, and if Jack did it himself... "What's the worst that could happen?"

Ianto, obviously, didn't answer. Jack slid the glove onto his left hand.

He'd never been able to get the other one to work. Perhaps he needed to try with a practice corpse or two. Try again and find whatever it was that he needed to feel. Unless he actually found it, brought somebody else back and had no way to reverse it other than destroying the glove. That would entirely defeat the point, and knowing that, it was bound to fail because Jack wouldn't be wanting it to work. He had to want it.

It had to be Ianto.

And if Jack only managed to wake him for half a minute, then that would be that. No second chances, temptation removed.

He moved to Ianto's head, touched his hair with a single finger, closed his eyes, and felt for a spark. Nothing was forthcoming, so he pressed his palm to Ianto's skin, blindly sought in the darkness. What was it that Gwen and Suzie had been able to reach?

They hadn't done it his way, had they? They were stubborn. They'd forced it.

So he pushed. Shoved his way into the darkness, the nothing, and forced a spark. When there was a flash, and heat, and life, Jack grabbed hold and yanked with his mind. The spark in his palm was fire and exploded in his arm and into his chest. The recoil was automatic as he was practically thrown back, breaking contact.

His left arm was agony and he swore his heart missed several beats as his legs crumpled under him. He gasped for breath and glared at his hand. Had the damned glove just given him a heart attack?

His every instinct was to rip it from his hand, but he didn't, instead forcing his legs to work and shoving himself up. He checked Ianto for a pulse.

Nothing.

Jack let himself collapse against Ianto's chest as he focussed on just drawing air into his own lungs. It hadn't worked, and maybe it wasn't meant to. He had no idea if this glove worked the same as the other. Perhaps it was just the opposite. Perhaps it brought death. He really had no way of knowing.

And whatever emotion he'd been waiting for earlier when he couldn't finish filling out form, when the day didn't seem real, finally hit. That had been it, an end to all the glove's seductive whispers and promises. He'd tried and failed. Ianto was dead. And this was real.

His friend had died for him, whereas if Jack had been the one to get shot...

But there was no use thinking about that.

The physical pain from his attempt had faded away, so Jack pushed himself up and away from the warmth he'd been leaning on.

He bolted back to full awareness and was immediately checking again for a pulse. He moved his ungloved fingers over Ianto's throat and searched. It had to be there, so where was it? He'd find the pulse, he had to. So why wasn't Ianto breathing? How come his throat was cold when he knew he'd just felt heat?

He trailed his fingers down, pushing aside his coat, tracing cool skin as it turned to warm. His fingers stopped over the bullet wound. He'd found his answer.

-----

It took Jack thirty minutes and a fair bit of guilt before the bullet finally came free. At least Ianto hadn't been able to feel his efforts. The real guilt would come with what he was going to replace it with.

He tossed aside Owen's surgical equipment and picked up the knife. He'd hesitated to unlock the "Life Knife" once more, but if he were going to do this, he might as well take a stab at getting it right. He cringed suddenly at that expression.

He needed the right kind of metal. Was it so simple as that? The reason for a second glove? This was meant to be done with both.

He slipped his hand back into the glove and placed it against Ianto's head. With his right hand, he raised the knife. "Umm, this might hurt, so..." He shrugged. "Sorry."

Then he stabbed the knife into the wound left from the bullet. If Jack had to take the injuries himself, better one than two.

The spark came, sudden and sharp, and this time Jack held on. It was fierce and powerful, and good, and Jack could *feel* it.

Ianto gasped.

"Hey there." Jack somehow managed a charming grin around his grimace. It was an effort, but there was a brilliant connection running between them, and he was determined to hold on.

"Jack?"

The voice was confused and panicked, and nothing could have sounded better. "Yeah, and we might not have much time here, so you're going to have to trust me. Want to live. That's an order. Hold on."

Ianto tried to sit up but was held down by Jack's hand on his head and the knife in his chest. "Oh god. You're mittening me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Ianto tried to look around the room. No monitoring equipment was recording, no team, no timer. He tried to pull away from Jack's hand and the glove. "Stop!"

Jack threaded gloved fingers in Ianto's hair. "Not an option."

"You need to let go, Jack." Ianto shifted himself on the table in order to better look at Jack who was standing more beside him than behind due to his hand still being on the knife. "I won't let you do this. You'll die, and for all we know, then so will I. It's not worth it."

"It won't hurt me." He shook his head to shush Ianto's protest. "It's a different glove, remember. It won't hurt me."

"I knew what I was doing," Ianto said firmly, seeing through the lie.

The connection flickered, wavered, and Jack clung to it desperately. "And I know what I'm doing! Don't fight me, please don't fight it. It won't kill me, I swear that to you." Maybe the truth was the best choice. "I've been shot before, and I can't die. I did, once, I think, but now nothing can kill me. Suzie said she killed me, you heard her. She shot me in the head, and I got up."

Words were tumbling over each other and Jack didn't know if any of it was making sense, but he needed Ianto to listen, needed him to believe. "Trust me. Just... trust me."

Ianto passed out, but he didn't stop breathing, and Jack didn't let go.

-----

TBC