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Before the Fall - chapter Index and conclusion
Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10
Chapter 11 It’s not stalking, exactly, what Jack is doing. It’s not like he’s sneaking up on Ianto — he’s simply looking for him. True, he could have just used his comm to ask Ianto where he was, but as Ianto’s still logged into the system, meaning he’s still somewhere on the premises, Jack had thought it wouldn’t be that hard to find him. Having no luck on the main floor, tourist’s office, cells and archives, Jack is more or less ready to either give up and call him or look for him on the CCTV, but then decides to try one more spot. Not hearing any sound of gunshots, he’d initially dismissed the shooting range, but as it turns out that’s where he eventually finds his target. Ianto’s sitting, or more precisely straddling, a wooden chair, arms folded on top of the back of the chair, his chin resting on them. His eyes are closed and his face seems tense with concentration or effort. By his feet there’s an opened cardboard box of what Jack recognizes to be Arkanian plasma magazines. Torchwood has stopped using these a while back, for safety issues. The fuel cells inside the magazines are highly unstable, and Jack can recall more than one occasion where a clumsy operative caused a minor explosion while attempting to change the magazine in an Arkanian plasma gun. On a small wooden table before Ianto, rests one of the magazines, its top cracked open. As Jack watches, a little amazed, a fuel cell the size of a small marble comes floating out of the magazine. It rises up and then moves away from Ianto, towards the target sheet. Jack notices a dozen identical cells, suspended in mid air a small distance from the sheet. The recent addition stops in the same location, and Jack realizes that they form a slowly rotating circle. Another cell leaves the magazine, the last one, by Jack’s count, and joins the circle as well. Ianto shifts a little on the chair and takes a deep breath. Jack finds that he’s almost afraid to breathe, so as not to distract the other man. Ianto’s right hand clenches on the back of the chair, knuckles turning white, and he makes a small sound of effort. A cell shoots from the slowly rotating circle towards the target sheet. As it touches the paper, it explodes in a pulse of energy, leaving a large scorch mark. The sound ricochets off the walls, not quite as loud as a gunshot. Ianto shifts again, and Jack can see he’s breathing faster now. Another cell shoots out of the circle, another small explosion, and then there’s a gasp from Ianto, and the remaining circling cells waver. Jack tenses as, for a moment, it looks as if the cells are about to fall to the ground, but then they disintegrate in a series of quick muffled implosions. Ianto opens his eyes and glares at the target sheet in frustration, still catching his breath. After a moment he brings a hand up and rubs the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, eyes closing again. “Was there something you needed?” he asks quietly. Jack shifts a little. When Ianto turns to look at him he clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. There’s… food upstairs. I just thought you might be hungry.” Ianto’s eyes soften somewhat, and he nods, then runs a hand through his hair. “Sure, let me clean up in here, and I’ll be right up.” Jack sends him a hesitant smile. “I’ll… go look for some plates.” *** Ianto can recognize an apology when he sees one. Jack’s version is a non-verbal one, but it brings the message across loud and clear. One end of the conference room table is set for two, complete with cloth napkins, a bottle of Chianti and two sparkling glasses, and Ianto notes the logo of his favourite Italian restaurant on the takeout boxes. He doesn’t recognize the song playing softly in the background - it sounds like one of Jack’s classics, from long before Ianto was even born. Jack turns away from the audio system when Ianto steps into the room, and sends him a nervous smile. Ianto returns it and raises an eyebrow as he finishes scanning the table. “If there’s a wild mushroom risotto in one of these boxes, I may end up proposing marriage,” he says lightly. Jack chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m not telling,” he answers. “Discover for yourself.” Ianto grins and goes to sit down. Jack picks up the opened wine bottle and pours into the two glasses, before settling down himself. “I had a friend once, long ago,” Jack starts as he reaches for the first box of food, “who was telekinetic. I used to help her practice — we’d play games, one was a little like table tennis, and there was one with darts and a three-dimensional target. I played them the old fashioned way, obviously, but she used just her mind.” “Who won?” Ianto asks. He’s found the box with the risotto and was transferring some onto his plate. “She did, naturally. It was hardly a fair competition. Also, I kind of let her, but my point is…” Jack looks up from his plate, serious now. “If you want, I can help you, too. You looked like you weren’t doing too badly by yourself down there, but if you ever want company…” he trails off. Ianto swallows. After the cool welcome he’d received from Jack two days ago, he hadn’t dared hope for such an offer. He almost doesn’t know how to react to this sudden change in attitude. “I’d like that,” he says a little hoarsely. Jack seems happy with his reply. “Is the risotto as good as you expected?” Ianto is only now taking his first bite, and he’s not disappointed. “Better,” he says with a smile. “Thanks for remembering.” Jack nods, and they eat in silence for a few minutes. A slow, quiet song comes on. It sounds vaguely familiar to Ianto, but he can’t recall the name or the artist. It turns Jack’s expression solemn, for some reason, and he leans back in his chair, reaching for the wine. The lyrics speak of a love found then lost, as they often do in songs from that era — or, Ianto thinks, from any era, really — but for some reason Ianto finds the melody soothing rather than sad. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” Jack’s words are abrupt, and yet at the same time hesitant. “If I came off, in the last couple of days, as… well. Whatever issues there were… they were my own. I’ve… sorted them out,” he says mostly into the wine glass he’s holding. Ianto puts down his fork and knife carefully and stares at Jack. That little stuttered speech is more unsettling to him than anything Jack has said or done in the last forty eight hours. The fact that Jack was not looking at him while he gave it is particularly unnerving. He chooses his words carefully before he replies. “If there is something that you know, that concerns me …” he starts, and when Jack looks up, startled, he keeps his eyes very firmly trained on his, “then I think you should tell me what it is.” Jack’s hand is a little unsteady as he sets down his wine glass. His face grows pale, but he doesn’t look away. Ianto continues in that same controlled tone, trying to broadcast a sense of calm that he’s not really feeling. ”If you think you cannot tell me, for some reason, then I’d rather you tell me that, rather than lie to me.” Ianto’s not quite prepared for the amount of pain he sees in Jack’s eyes. The silence stretches for a long, endless moment, before Jack lets out a long breath and opens his mouth. *** “Get a body bag, will you? I’ll make sure it’s safe,” Jack tells Lilly once they exit the old house. He turns towards the field as she heads back to the car. Even from a distance he can tell the alien is still alive; the shallow, rapid rise and fall of the chest changing the light reflected off the bio-suit. The thing’s arm twitches as the hand presses against the bleeding bullet hole in the neck. Jack pulls out and cocks his gun as he slowly comes closer. He can’t rule out the possibility that the alien is still dangerous. As he takes the final few steps, he keeps the gun trained on its head. He can hear it wheezing - the awful, arrhythmic gurgling sound of a dying creature. As Jack’s shadow falls on it, it turns its head towards him, but Jack can only imagine the face behind the mirror-like visor of the bio-suit. “Where and when did you come from?” Jack murmurs, not really expecting an answer. There’s a hitch in the wheezing, and the alien makes a sound. It’s unintelligible, at first, but then it tries again. “Ja… aa… ack.” Jack shakes his head lightly, positive he misinterpreted. The alien makes another gurgling noise, and fresh dark-red blood gushes out from between the fingers clamped over the neck. The gun in Jack’s hand turns suddenly scalding hot, and he drops it with a hiss. On the ground, the alien twitches again, and suddenly the air crackles with electricity. Jack takes a step back, and another, and then there’s a blinding flash of light and the body on the ground bursts into flames. The heat is so intense that Jack has to shield his face and turn away from the fire. He sees Lilly running towards him, a body bag clutched in her hand. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the bright flames. “What happened?!” Jack shakes his head in confusion. “Spontaneous combustion…?” he suggests. Behind him, the flames are already beginning to diminish. When the heat becomes more or less bearable, Jack approaches the remains, squinting through the smoke. Where an alien once lay, now was only a small pile of ash over charred ground. He hears Lilly on the radio behind him. “Williams, you there?” The radio crackles. “Go ahead.” “There seem to have been a sort of self-destruct mechanism integrated into the suit. There’s not a lot to bring back.” “Self destruct? Are you sure? It doesn’t correspond to the data we have for that species.” “I’m pretty damn sure. I’m standing in front of a pile of ash.” There’s a pause, then another crackle. “Doesn’t matter. Get a sample if you can, we’ll make an analysis.” Lilly huffs, and comes to stand besides Jack. “Well. That was a little creepy,” she offers. Jack shrugs, still not quite able to tear his eyes away from the scorch marks. There’s a feeling of cold dread in the pit of his stomach that he can’t even begin to explain. *** “I can’t.” It’s almost a whisper. Jack looks away, clears his throat. “I can’t tell you. Please don’t ask me…” He keeps his eyes trained on the corner of the table, and tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. There’s a rustle of clothing, the scrape of a chair moving as Ianto stands up. Jack looks up at the movement, and his eyes follow Ianto as he walks around the table towards him. Ianto’s face is the picture of calm as he extends a hand. Somewhat wearily, Jack takes it, and at Ianto’s gentle tug he obediently stands up. They move a few steps away from the table, and then Ianto draws close, sliding both hands around Jack’s waist and pulling him against his body. “Okay,” Ianto says simply. He lets his cheek rub against Jack’s, and his lips brush just slightly against Jack’s ear as he adds, “I won’t ask again.” Jack’s breath stutters a little, relief and pain washing over him in waves. He realizes that he’s standing like a statue in Ianto’s arms, stiff and tense. He lets out a long, shuddering sigh, and slowly allows his surroundings to penetrate his mind again. Awareness trickles in, one detail at a time. The heat radiating from Ianto’s body, his scent, the warm, pleasant lighting in the room, and the soft music playing in the background. Slowly, gradually, Jack melts into the embrace, pressing his cheek against Ianto a little, taking comfort in the contact. “Will you stay here, with me, tonight?” Jack asks quietly. For a moment, there’s no response, just a momentary tightening of Ianto’s arms around him. Then there’s the swell of Ianto’s chest as he breathes in deeply, and then the warm puff of air against his ear as he replies, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” End. Comments = Love -->> motivation -->> moar fic. |
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