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Wednesday
Finally, he was back in his own clothes, waiting for Jack to come and 'collect' him. His stomach rumbled from avoiding breakfast as well as dinner the night before, and he was getting grumpy with the lack of sustenance. Finally he could hear heavy boots thudding on the sterile floors, and he was on his feet before the Captain could enter the room.
He grinned wide, but faltered when he saw the greyness of Jack's skin and the shadows under his eyes. "Not get much sleep?" he asked.
The Captain shook his head silently.
"C'mon," sighed Ianto, and guided him out of the room. He let himself be lead to the main reception and signed himself out, not waiting to find Doctor Shay to say goodbye. He knew it was rude and out of character for him, but he just couldn't stand the sight of that damned notepad anymore.
Jack put a firm arm around his waist and Ianto returned the hold as they set off together. They relaxed away from each other and walked normally the further from the hospital wing they got. Ianto was semi-relieved to note that the School hadn't fallen apart without him over the past day and a half, though he did feel only slightly annoyed that it hadn't.
"These stairs are gonna be the death of me," groaned Ianto, halfway up and still having to climb.
Jack gave a small laugh. "C'mere!" he grinned, and before Ianto could fully register what was happening, found himself lifted and cradled in Jack's arms.
"Ohhh no, Jack ...." he moaned.
"What?"
"Put me down," he grumbled.
"Why? You hate the stairs."
"I don't need to be carried like a girl!"
He yelped as Jack practically tossed him in the air and flung him over his shoulder. "You're going to do your back in!" he yelled, lauging. "Jack!"
"Shut up. You're supposed to be relaxing," Jack chastised.
"And what are we supposed to do on Thursday night if every movement is painful for you?"
"Fair point," sighed Jack, pausing to put him down. They began their upward climb again. "Ianto?" Jack eventually asked.
"Mm?"
"Why did you never tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"That you needed medication."
He sensed Ianto tensing as they walked. "It never came up," he settled on saying.
"What about at the hospital when you first came through? They didn't ask you if you needed any medicines?"
"Not that I can recall. It was a while ago."
"And you've just been quietly stressing without them all this time?"
"I've been fine," Ianto insisted.
"You had a breakdown," Jack reminded him.
"I know. I was there," grumbled Ianto, feeling his lungs starting to hurt as they got near the top of the stairs. He groaned as his calves started to burn, and was thankful when they finally reached the end. "I want lifts, and I want them now," he glowered.
Jack laughed, probably not taking him seriously. He lead Ianto down the spiral stairs to his house, shucking his jacket and insisting Ianto take his off too. The Captain yawned and Ianto took pity on him, leading him by the hand to the bedroom.
"When did you last sleep properly?"
"It's not the sleep. It's the stress," Jack sighed as Ianto pushed him onto his squishy bed and started pulling at his boots. "Just think ... this time next week ... we might have to give all this up."
Ianto set his boots aside and crawled up to lie beside him, head on his shoulder. "Never mind that," he sighed. "This time next week we'll be married men."
"Mmmm," Jack agreed. He closed his eyes, then cocked one open. "You're going to be my wife," he smirked.
"No. You're going to be my wife," insisted Ianto with a grin.
"You're the well-dressed eye candy with a penchant for organisation," Jack reminded him.
Ianto smiled to himself at the 'eye candy'. He would never, ever admit to Jack that he loved John Hart calling him that. "So I'm just going to be a trophy wife?" he pouted.
"Ha! So you are going to be the wife!"
"Well, they always say that the wife is dominant in the bedroom," smirked Ianto.
"Like a tiger?" asked Jack, suggestively.
Ianto bit down on the Captain's ear hard enough to give him a little shock. "Like a whore," he whispered. He felt Jack shiver before strong arms shoved and pushed until Jack was lying on top of him, flush together and comfortably between his legs.
"Mmm I think I'll come to like this arrangement ...." He leaned down and kissed him, using his weight to constrict and pin him to the bed.
Ianto wondered if Jack took the hint that he liked to be called 'whore' in the bedroom. Jack had thus far not once uttered the word, and it was the nearest thing to a term of endearment Ianto would allow.
The Captain slid his hand between them, pushing his fingers into the fabric of Ianto's trousers so that it would put more pressure on his erection, making him hiss and moan into Jack's mouth. "Stop ...." he managed to bring himself to mutter as Jack finally let his mouth free.
"Huh?"
"You need to nap - you're practically grey."
"I'm restless," Jack pouted.
Ianto pushed him off. "Not until our Wedding Night," he chastised.
"Um ... what?"
"We're not having sex again until we're married. You're going to have to be celibate for the next twenty four hours at least."
"But ... we haven't ... since ...."
"I know - it'll be hard for you. But you'll appreciate it all the more when we get to do it again."
Jack groaned, stretching out on the bed. Ianto rolled onto his side, rubbing the Captain's belly. Jack sighed sleepily. "Mmm. Maybe a nap won't hurt," he pondered, then promptly fell unconscious. Ianto smiled, watching him for a while before falling asleep himself.
~*~*~*~
"Mr. Turnbull ... just ... give Jack the purple and silver two-tone, and me the red and gold," Ianto finally decided. "Don't let me change my mind."
Mr. Turnbull laughed. "But you would look good in the silver and purple two-tone shirt."
"But red is my colour - and Jack in red looks ... strange."
"Then don't have the red?"
Ianto kneaded his forehead, Jack lounging in the chair in the corner of his living room while his wedding clothes were decided by his wife-to-be.
"Maybe he could have blue and silver? I could have purple? The Captain's favourite colour is blue, after all ...."
"Hmm. Yes - I would think blue is his colour," agreed the tailor. "And while red is yours, it is not the colour for a husband to wear on his wedding day."
"Well, you know best," smiled Ianto. "Purple for me; blue for the Captain."
"With the silver two-tone," finished Mr. Turnbull. "You say you don't want jackets?"
"No point having waistcoats to cinch in our middles if you can't actually see them. And this way the shirts are shown off to full effect."
"Mmm," agreed Mr. Turnbull. "but what about other occasions?"
"Other occasions?"
"You're only planning on wearing them once?"
"Where I come from, you're only supposed to wear them on the day itself, sorry. Okay then - we'll have jackets."
"What waste!" laughed Mr. Turnbull. "Anyway - you have your cut and colours chosen, so I shall begin work on these right away and deliver them first thing tomorrow morning."
"You're a miracle worker," smiled Ianto.
"Sometimes a tailor has to be," sighed Mr. Turnbull. "Right! I must be off!"
He gathered up his papers and swatches and made his way out of the living room, up the spiral stairs and through Jack's office, Ianto a step behind to see him out.
"Ahh!" sighed Mr. Turnbull, almost proudly. "It must be so exciting for you - your last night as a boy. Tomorrow, you become a man, and your youth is all but gone ...."
Ianto stared at him. "Gone?"
Mr. Turnbull laughed. "In my culture, Mr. Jones, you are a child until you are married. And tonight is your last night as a child - shall you use it wisely?"
"I ... I suppose I should try ...."
Ianto waved goodbye to Mr. Turnbull, keeping his words in mind, and shut the door to the office again, locking it and wandering back downstairs with two mugs of strong coffee. He set Jack's on the coffee table before him, settled himself on the couch with a heavy sigh and tipped his head back, eyes closed, relaxing.
Jack moved and sidled closer, resting a head on his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"
"Good," Ianto smiled. He squirmed as Jack reached into his pocket, and produced the little brown bottle of blue pills Doctor Shay had prescribed. "What are they for?" he asked.
"Forgot I had them in my pocket and they were digging in my side," sighed Jack, putting them on the coffee table as far away as he could be bothered reaching. "But ... I think you and I need to talk ...."
"What about?"
"Well ... I've thought of a place to start," Jack suggested.
"Oh?" Ianto raised his head to look at him.
"Why don't you tell me why you were on those things to start with?"
Ianto bit his lip and glanced away. "I ... uh ...." He cleared his throat. "Um ... okay. Well...."
He started with Canary Wharf, and the Cybermen. Then Lisa, and what he did. The cannibals; shooting Owen; thinking he'd forever lost Jack, Jack leaving - then coming back. He told him about John Hart - and was a little peeved to find that the Captain was still visited by him - and Gray. Owen's death and resurrection and the tortured aliens of the Pharm; Pearl and the Ghostmaker and the one little boy they were able to save. Finally, he spoke openly about the effect Toshiko and Owen's deaths really had on him, despite how he had had to hold it together for Jack and Gwen, really only getting to mourn in private.
Jack was quiet a moment. "And then," he pondered. "after all that ... this happens ...."
"Mmm," agreed Ianto. "Why couldn't it have been Gwen?" he joked.
"Mmm," nodded Jack. "At least she'd have had Rhys ...."
"I was joking," Ianto told him with a small laugh. "I ... I don't think I would change this. It's been hard but ... I think I'm adjusting."
"You'll be happy here?"
"I think I very nearly already am."
"... and you won't need the medications?"
"I already don't need them," huffed Ianto.
Jack bit his lip. "But if you did, you'd tell me, right?"
Ianto nodded, though he didn't mean it. "Now! I need to be getting back home. It's late, and Rhys will have been expecting me back a while ago ... I hope he's not angry ...."
"If he is, you can set me on him," Jack offered, helping him to his feet. "... or you could just stay here?"
"Can't sleep in the same house the night before the ceremony," Ianto grinned, and Jack pouted. "S'a pity we never got to have Stag Do's though."
"We'll find a strip club after the ceremony, if you're desperate," offered Jack, innocently. Ianto gave a small laugh and rolled his eyes. "I also know a rather ... easy ... guy who has some rather ... exciting tentacles ...." he added, with suggestive eyebrows.
"Sounds delightful ...." agreed Ianto, a little sarcastically.
"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it. I bet you'd love it ... Hey! For your wedding gift, how about I-"
"Wedding gift?" Ianto cut him off, eyes wide. "We're doing gifts?"
"Well ... yeah ... you ... didn't think of ... y'know?"
"Hahahahaha," laughed Ianto, trying not to sound nervous. "Got you! I ... uh ... I have something in mind," he lied.
Jack grinned. "Like what?"
"Just ... something ... erm ... yeah."
Jack grinned wider. "Hey - did you ever get anywhere with that puzzle box?"
Ianto cleared his throat. He'd had that bastard thing for months now. "No," he scowled. "I found it an insanely cruel present."
"I wondered why you never, ever spoke about it," sighed Jack.
"Is the box itself the gift? Can I just smash it open?"
Jack smiled softly. "Be patient with it," he advised.
"I have been," grumbled Ianto. "Anyway ... I need to ... go home."
Jack offered to walk him back, but he declined, wandering through the twilit corridors and smiling with the precision of the timed lights as they flickered on. He hesitated by a window to gaze out into the garden, pushing open the pane to let the cold air into his lungs. He hadn't been outside for days ....
He tried to push the window open further, but this high up it only opened a fraction to comply with health and safety regulations. Biting his lip and checking his watch, he decided that a quick stroll wouldn't hurt. Climbing back up the stairs would, but at least he only had to go to the flat and not the offices on the topmost floor.
Mr. Turnbull's words came back to him: "Tonight, is your last night as a child - shall you use it wisely?"
He decided to see how fast he could run down the stairs without jumping, stopping himself at the halfway point and taking a surreptitious look around. Last night as a boy, he decided, and swung his leg over the bannister. He checked to make sure there was still nobody about, bent forward, loosened his grip and let himself slide down.
The corners would bruise his inner thighs, but he didn't care: he hadn't done this for years. He let himself laugh as he slid towards the last flight of stairs - the longest, leading straight into the lobby. He picked up speed, flew off the end and landed as gracefully as a cat. He stood upright, adjusted his tie and glanced around.
He cleared his throat, spotting a middle-aged woman with two young boys, watching him. "Good evening, ma'am," he greeted, the boys watching him agape and the woman glaring at him sourly. He quickly slid out of the front doors and began to wander towards the back of the building and the stretch of gardens. The grass out front needed mowing, he noted - not that it mattered too much, as hardly anyone ever came by the front entrance.
He stopped.
His instincts were prickling.
He hadn't had a gun for months, but still his muscle-memory reached for the back of his waistband. To disguise the movement he hitched his trousers up, then carried on wandering along, listening as carefully as he could to any form of movement.
A small clump of grass shook to his right, and Ianto froze, turning towards it. "Who's there?" he barked, authority in his tone.
No answer.
Taking a deep, calming breath, he ignored his constricting chest and fear-beating heart pounding in his ears, edging forwards. He didn't know if this was a good idea or not - chances were it was just kids hiding out past their curfew or ... a large mouse.
The mouse stared up at Ianto, and Ianto breathed a sigh of relief. He then tensed again when he realised what the mouse was sat on. He rushed back inside, opened an emergency panel and pulled out a torch - which boasted to him that it had the 'power of a million candles' - and ran back outside. The mouse was gone, but as he flicked on his torch Ianto saw that he wasn't wrong.
It had been exploring a patch of freshly-turned earth - freshly-turned earth in a vast expanse of green, covered with a mis-matched shade of new turf. Had Ianto not been on high-alert, he probably would have missed it.
Glancing around, checking he was alone, he got on his hands and knees and pulled a little at the grass. It came free, soil and all, in a large square. It was heavy, and solid, as if someone had put wood through it to make a ... door. A trap door. In the ground, and leading to a tunnel. He frowned to himself. There were no tunnels in the grounds on the blueprints ... maybe some kids had dug it for funsies? He wanted to explore the mystery, find out where the tunnel lead ... maybe apprehend a villain ....
Ianto felt like one of the Famous Five.
I'll be Julian, he thought, lowering himself into the hole. Jack is such a Dick. He shone his torch around and grumbled as he realised that while the initial hole was man-deep, he would have to crawl on his hands and knees to follow it. Getting dirty wasn't what he liked doing ... but this tunnel ... it shouldn't be here. And he could always have ginger beer and a shower later ....
Last night as a boy, he reminded himself, and crouched down, tying his tie around his head like Rambo to hold the torch in place by his temple as he crawled. He frowned around him, pausing, moving his head from side to side. The sides of the tunnel were propped up with wooden planks, and looked ... professional. He bit his lip, wondering if he should go back for Jack. His instincts were no longer prickling like they did when danger was ahead, so he decided to carry on. The planks would ensure he wouldn't wind up buried alive, at any rate.
And something had being going on that shouldn't have been.
He crawled along, hoping his suit would forgive him, for about five minutes before the tunnel forked. The fork was well-supported with wooden beams, and judging from the level of damp in the soil and the relative dryness of the planks, Ianto guessed they hadn't been there long at all. One of the forks was sporting darker support beams up the wall and Ianto assumed it was an older tunnel. He decided to go down the newer-looking one, trusting the wood a fraction more and trying to mentally map out where he was in his head. He assumed this fork was leading towards the older, more easterly part of the grounds, and followed it as the damp soil soaked through his knees and made them ache.
The roof of the tunnel finally started getting higher - the floor lower - and eventually Ianto could walk, slightly hunched, for a few meters before turning a sharp corner and finding himself face-to-face half with soil, half with brick, aluminium and concrete foundation. He touched it, frowning, assuming it was the foundations of the School itself. Maybe work was being done that Jack had organised while he'd been with Doctor Shay?
But no ... Jack would have told him and wanted his approval first.
Ianto's instinct told him something was very, very wrong. Using his bare hands, he scraped away more soil from the building in front of him, digging and digging away until he saw that the tunnel did, in actuality, lead straight to a corner.
He frowned. Was the tunnel incomplete? Had it gone off in the wrong direction? Had they meant to hit a corn-
It hit him. It his him so hard it nearly winded him. FUCK, he mentally yelled. On auto-pilot he dropped to his hands and knees crawling as quickly as he could back to the fork. Instead of heading to the exit, however, he hurried down the other tunnel as quickly as he could manage, dreading but almost certain he knew where it would lead.
Similarly to the other tunnel, this one lengthened until he could stand, but there was no wall of aluminium, concrete and brick, only loose soil and debris. Running on adrenalin, he began to dig using his hands, pretty much clawing at the dirt until finally fresh air began to filter through from the other side. He managed to create a man-sized hole, and pulled himself through it, breathing hard and groaning through his aches.
He was exactly where he thought he would be.
The ruined site of the school rooms - right at the edge.
Not caring how dirty his fingers were, he ran them through his hair, staring around him, the enormity of what he had found bearing down on his shoulders. He bit the back of his hand, trying not to panic, using the pain to re-centre himself and focus.
He hastily refilled the hole so that it looked still undiscovered and used the temporary door to get back inside the building. He came across the same woman and children from the lobby on the stairs, and the look he received was even more sour than the last thanks to his shockingly dirty and dishevelled appearance. He ignored her, trying to get up the stairs faster as the lactic acid that built up in his calves made them burn as his thighs began to complain.
Ianto practically crawled up the final flight, dragging himself by his hands up the last few steps. FUCKING LIFTS, he screamed in his head. If it wasn't for those tunnels, I'd HAVE THEM BY NOW!
He was catching his breath enough to stand, when he heard footsteps moving towards him. Piqued, he raised his head, panting. He stared. "It's ... you?"
"Me what?"
"What are you doing ... why are you here? ... what are you doing here?"
"Put two and two together, my love."
"You ... you know what ... what's going ... going on?" he panted, trying to stand up.
"Need help?"
Ianto found himself being tugged to his feet.
"Blimey, you must be unfit. Those stairs almost killed you."
"What the hell do you know about the ... the tunnels?" demanded Ianto.
"Everything."
"Are you ... are you ? ... no ... please no ... not you ... please not you ...."
Ianto was too tired, and his reactions were too slow. He found himself spun around, forced forward a little and winded on the banister of the landing. There was a mouth close to his ear, and he felt something hard shoved into his back.
"Because it will make him mine!" came the hissed reply.
It wasn't until the blade was pulled out that Ianto realised he'd been stabbed.
No longer pinned to the railing, his weight went from under him, and hot wetness seeping through the back of his shirt told him he was bleeding copiously. It hadn't felt like he'd thought being stabbed would - hell, he thought it would feel like when he'd been pierced by shrapnel, or that time Owen's scalpel had to be used to cut open his thigh and pull out that weird bug thing. It had felt like ... being pushed. As if someone had clapped him hard on the back ...
Ianto tried to grip the bars of the banister, unsure whether or not he was alone or in company still. His fingers weakened, and he found himself lying on the floor, waiting for the pain to come and ... help. He needed help.
He tried to turn onto his stomach, but feeling pain lance through the wound in his back he gave up. He tried calling out, but his voice wouldn't work. He felt afraid - truly afraid - and his heart began beating faster, pumping more blood out of his stab wound and killing him quicker. He took advantage of it, pushing the puddle of blood out and hoping against hope someone might see the red liquid dribbling down and come to investigate sooner rather than later - though he doubted he could be saved now.
"Is that blood?" he heard a woman exclaim. Three storeys down, he reckoned. She must be able to see it dripping down. He could hear delicate heels clicking on the steps, and her scream when she saw him. "Oh my ... help!" she yelled. "Help! Mr. Jones has been stabbed!"
She knelt by him, "I don't know if anyone heard," she whispered. "I don't want to leave you but ... I'll run and get help, I will ... I'll run ...."
He couldn't really hear that much anymore, but at the promise of gossip people were drifting up the stairs to see what was going on. They stopped dead, staring at him lying sprawled in his shroud of red. Then the talking started. It escalated - panicked shouts echoing through the hall. Someone ran down the corridor to the Captain's office, knocking frantically on the door until he finally emerged, disgruntled.
"Mr. Jones ...." the lad whispered, pointing down the hall, and Jack saw.
The gathered were silenced by his shout of anguish, watching quietly as he charged down the corridor like a bull. "Ianto!" he yelled, gathering his limp form up in his arms. His skin was pasty and clammy, his suit caked with soil and his eyes were closed. "Ianto ... stay with me ... stay with me ...."
He pressed his fingers to his neck and sagged, cradling him closer as if he was precious. The Captain moved until he was cross-legged, crushing Ianto to him, rocking backwards and forwards as tears poured down his face.
"What happened?" he begged the unresponsive body laid across him. "What happened?"
The End.
(... kidding! I'm not RTD!)
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Wednesday
Finally, he was back in his own clothes, waiting for Jack to come and 'collect' him. His stomach rumbled from avoiding breakfast as well as dinner the night before, and he was getting grumpy with the lack of sustenance. Finally he could hear heavy boots thudding on the sterile floors, and he was on his feet before the Captain could enter the room.
He grinned wide, but faltered when he saw the greyness of Jack's skin and the shadows under his eyes. "Not get much sleep?" he asked.
The Captain shook his head silently.
"C'mon," sighed Ianto, and guided him out of the room. He let himself be lead to the main reception and signed himself out, not waiting to find Doctor Shay to say goodbye. He knew it was rude and out of character for him, but he just couldn't stand the sight of that damned notepad anymore.
Jack put a firm arm around his waist and Ianto returned the hold as they set off together. They relaxed away from each other and walked normally the further from the hospital wing they got. Ianto was semi-relieved to note that the School hadn't fallen apart without him over the past day and a half, though he did feel only slightly annoyed that it hadn't.
"These stairs are gonna be the death of me," groaned Ianto, halfway up and still having to climb.
Jack gave a small laugh. "C'mere!" he grinned, and before Ianto could fully register what was happening, found himself lifted and cradled in Jack's arms.
"Ohhh no, Jack ...." he moaned.
"What?"
"Put me down," he grumbled.
"Why? You hate the stairs."
"I don't need to be carried like a girl!"
He yelped as Jack practically tossed him in the air and flung him over his shoulder. "You're going to do your back in!" he yelled, lauging. "Jack!"
"Shut up. You're supposed to be relaxing," Jack chastised.
"And what are we supposed to do on Thursday night if every movement is painful for you?"
"Fair point," sighed Jack, pausing to put him down. They began their upward climb again. "Ianto?" Jack eventually asked.
"Mm?"
"Why did you never tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"That you needed medication."
He sensed Ianto tensing as they walked. "It never came up," he settled on saying.
"What about at the hospital when you first came through? They didn't ask you if you needed any medicines?"
"Not that I can recall. It was a while ago."
"And you've just been quietly stressing without them all this time?"
"I've been fine," Ianto insisted.
"You had a breakdown," Jack reminded him.
"I know. I was there," grumbled Ianto, feeling his lungs starting to hurt as they got near the top of the stairs. He groaned as his calves started to burn, and was thankful when they finally reached the end. "I want lifts, and I want them now," he glowered.
Jack laughed, probably not taking him seriously. He lead Ianto down the spiral stairs to his house, shucking his jacket and insisting Ianto take his off too. The Captain yawned and Ianto took pity on him, leading him by the hand to the bedroom.
"When did you last sleep properly?"
"It's not the sleep. It's the stress," Jack sighed as Ianto pushed him onto his squishy bed and started pulling at his boots. "Just think ... this time next week ... we might have to give all this up."
Ianto set his boots aside and crawled up to lie beside him, head on his shoulder. "Never mind that," he sighed. "This time next week we'll be married men."
"Mmmm," Jack agreed. He closed his eyes, then cocked one open. "You're going to be my wife," he smirked.
"No. You're going to be my wife," insisted Ianto with a grin.
"You're the well-dressed eye candy with a penchant for organisation," Jack reminded him.
Ianto smiled to himself at the 'eye candy'. He would never, ever admit to Jack that he loved John Hart calling him that. "So I'm just going to be a trophy wife?" he pouted.
"Ha! So you are going to be the wife!"
"Well, they always say that the wife is dominant in the bedroom," smirked Ianto.
"Like a tiger?" asked Jack, suggestively.
Ianto bit down on the Captain's ear hard enough to give him a little shock. "Like a whore," he whispered. He felt Jack shiver before strong arms shoved and pushed until Jack was lying on top of him, flush together and comfortably between his legs.
"Mmm I think I'll come to like this arrangement ...." He leaned down and kissed him, using his weight to constrict and pin him to the bed.
Ianto wondered if Jack took the hint that he liked to be called 'whore' in the bedroom. Jack had thus far not once uttered the word, and it was the nearest thing to a term of endearment Ianto would allow.
The Captain slid his hand between them, pushing his fingers into the fabric of Ianto's trousers so that it would put more pressure on his erection, making him hiss and moan into Jack's mouth. "Stop ...." he managed to bring himself to mutter as Jack finally let his mouth free.
"Huh?"
"You need to nap - you're practically grey."
"I'm restless," Jack pouted.
Ianto pushed him off. "Not until our Wedding Night," he chastised.
"Um ... what?"
"We're not having sex again until we're married. You're going to have to be celibate for the next twenty four hours at least."
"But ... we haven't ... since ...."
"I know - it'll be hard for you. But you'll appreciate it all the more when we get to do it again."
Jack groaned, stretching out on the bed. Ianto rolled onto his side, rubbing the Captain's belly. Jack sighed sleepily. "Mmm. Maybe a nap won't hurt," he pondered, then promptly fell unconscious. Ianto smiled, watching him for a while before falling asleep himself.
~*~*~*~
"Mr. Turnbull ... just ... give Jack the purple and silver two-tone, and me the red and gold," Ianto finally decided. "Don't let me change my mind."
Mr. Turnbull laughed. "But you would look good in the silver and purple two-tone shirt."
"But red is my colour - and Jack in red looks ... strange."
"Then don't have the red?"
Ianto kneaded his forehead, Jack lounging in the chair in the corner of his living room while his wedding clothes were decided by his wife-to-be.
"Maybe he could have blue and silver? I could have purple? The Captain's favourite colour is blue, after all ...."
"Hmm. Yes - I would think blue is his colour," agreed the tailor. "And while red is yours, it is not the colour for a husband to wear on his wedding day."
"Well, you know best," smiled Ianto. "Purple for me; blue for the Captain."
"With the silver two-tone," finished Mr. Turnbull. "You say you don't want jackets?"
"No point having waistcoats to cinch in our middles if you can't actually see them. And this way the shirts are shown off to full effect."
"Mmm," agreed Mr. Turnbull. "but what about other occasions?"
"Other occasions?"
"You're only planning on wearing them once?"
"Where I come from, you're only supposed to wear them on the day itself, sorry. Okay then - we'll have jackets."
"What waste!" laughed Mr. Turnbull. "Anyway - you have your cut and colours chosen, so I shall begin work on these right away and deliver them first thing tomorrow morning."
"You're a miracle worker," smiled Ianto.
"Sometimes a tailor has to be," sighed Mr. Turnbull. "Right! I must be off!"
He gathered up his papers and swatches and made his way out of the living room, up the spiral stairs and through Jack's office, Ianto a step behind to see him out.
"Ahh!" sighed Mr. Turnbull, almost proudly. "It must be so exciting for you - your last night as a boy. Tomorrow, you become a man, and your youth is all but gone ...."
Ianto stared at him. "Gone?"
Mr. Turnbull laughed. "In my culture, Mr. Jones, you are a child until you are married. And tonight is your last night as a child - shall you use it wisely?"
"I ... I suppose I should try ...."
Ianto waved goodbye to Mr. Turnbull, keeping his words in mind, and shut the door to the office again, locking it and wandering back downstairs with two mugs of strong coffee. He set Jack's on the coffee table before him, settled himself on the couch with a heavy sigh and tipped his head back, eyes closed, relaxing.
Jack moved and sidled closer, resting a head on his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"
"Good," Ianto smiled. He squirmed as Jack reached into his pocket, and produced the little brown bottle of blue pills Doctor Shay had prescribed. "What are they for?" he asked.
"Forgot I had them in my pocket and they were digging in my side," sighed Jack, putting them on the coffee table as far away as he could be bothered reaching. "But ... I think you and I need to talk ...."
"What about?"
"Well ... I've thought of a place to start," Jack suggested.
"Oh?" Ianto raised his head to look at him.
"Why don't you tell me why you were on those things to start with?"
Ianto bit his lip and glanced away. "I ... uh ...." He cleared his throat. "Um ... okay. Well...."
He started with Canary Wharf, and the Cybermen. Then Lisa, and what he did. The cannibals; shooting Owen; thinking he'd forever lost Jack, Jack leaving - then coming back. He told him about John Hart - and was a little peeved to find that the Captain was still visited by him - and Gray. Owen's death and resurrection and the tortured aliens of the Pharm; Pearl and the Ghostmaker and the one little boy they were able to save. Finally, he spoke openly about the effect Toshiko and Owen's deaths really had on him, despite how he had had to hold it together for Jack and Gwen, really only getting to mourn in private.
Jack was quiet a moment. "And then," he pondered. "after all that ... this happens ...."
"Mmm," agreed Ianto. "Why couldn't it have been Gwen?" he joked.
"Mmm," nodded Jack. "At least she'd have had Rhys ...."
"I was joking," Ianto told him with a small laugh. "I ... I don't think I would change this. It's been hard but ... I think I'm adjusting."
"You'll be happy here?"
"I think I very nearly already am."
"... and you won't need the medications?"
"I already don't need them," huffed Ianto.
Jack bit his lip. "But if you did, you'd tell me, right?"
Ianto nodded, though he didn't mean it. "Now! I need to be getting back home. It's late, and Rhys will have been expecting me back a while ago ... I hope he's not angry ...."
"If he is, you can set me on him," Jack offered, helping him to his feet. "... or you could just stay here?"
"Can't sleep in the same house the night before the ceremony," Ianto grinned, and Jack pouted. "S'a pity we never got to have Stag Do's though."
"We'll find a strip club after the ceremony, if you're desperate," offered Jack, innocently. Ianto gave a small laugh and rolled his eyes. "I also know a rather ... easy ... guy who has some rather ... exciting tentacles ...." he added, with suggestive eyebrows.
"Sounds delightful ...." agreed Ianto, a little sarcastically.
"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it. I bet you'd love it ... Hey! For your wedding gift, how about I-"
"Wedding gift?" Ianto cut him off, eyes wide. "We're doing gifts?"
"Well ... yeah ... you ... didn't think of ... y'know?"
"Hahahahaha," laughed Ianto, trying not to sound nervous. "Got you! I ... uh ... I have something in mind," he lied.
Jack grinned. "Like what?"
"Just ... something ... erm ... yeah."
Jack grinned wider. "Hey - did you ever get anywhere with that puzzle box?"
Ianto cleared his throat. He'd had that bastard thing for months now. "No," he scowled. "I found it an insanely cruel present."
"I wondered why you never, ever spoke about it," sighed Jack.
"Is the box itself the gift? Can I just smash it open?"
Jack smiled softly. "Be patient with it," he advised.
"I have been," grumbled Ianto. "Anyway ... I need to ... go home."
Jack offered to walk him back, but he declined, wandering through the twilit corridors and smiling with the precision of the timed lights as they flickered on. He hesitated by a window to gaze out into the garden, pushing open the pane to let the cold air into his lungs. He hadn't been outside for days ....
He tried to push the window open further, but this high up it only opened a fraction to comply with health and safety regulations. Biting his lip and checking his watch, he decided that a quick stroll wouldn't hurt. Climbing back up the stairs would, but at least he only had to go to the flat and not the offices on the topmost floor.
Mr. Turnbull's words came back to him: "Tonight, is your last night as a child - shall you use it wisely?"
He decided to see how fast he could run down the stairs without jumping, stopping himself at the halfway point and taking a surreptitious look around. Last night as a boy, he decided, and swung his leg over the bannister. He checked to make sure there was still nobody about, bent forward, loosened his grip and let himself slide down.
The corners would bruise his inner thighs, but he didn't care: he hadn't done this for years. He let himself laugh as he slid towards the last flight of stairs - the longest, leading straight into the lobby. He picked up speed, flew off the end and landed as gracefully as a cat. He stood upright, adjusted his tie and glanced around.
He cleared his throat, spotting a middle-aged woman with two young boys, watching him. "Good evening, ma'am," he greeted, the boys watching him agape and the woman glaring at him sourly. He quickly slid out of the front doors and began to wander towards the back of the building and the stretch of gardens. The grass out front needed mowing, he noted - not that it mattered too much, as hardly anyone ever came by the front entrance.
He stopped.
His instincts were prickling.
He hadn't had a gun for months, but still his muscle-memory reached for the back of his waistband. To disguise the movement he hitched his trousers up, then carried on wandering along, listening as carefully as he could to any form of movement.
A small clump of grass shook to his right, and Ianto froze, turning towards it. "Who's there?" he barked, authority in his tone.
No answer.
Taking a deep, calming breath, he ignored his constricting chest and fear-beating heart pounding in his ears, edging forwards. He didn't know if this was a good idea or not - chances were it was just kids hiding out past their curfew or ... a large mouse.
The mouse stared up at Ianto, and Ianto breathed a sigh of relief. He then tensed again when he realised what the mouse was sat on. He rushed back inside, opened an emergency panel and pulled out a torch - which boasted to him that it had the 'power of a million candles' - and ran back outside. The mouse was gone, but as he flicked on his torch Ianto saw that he wasn't wrong.
It had been exploring a patch of freshly-turned earth - freshly-turned earth in a vast expanse of green, covered with a mis-matched shade of new turf. Had Ianto not been on high-alert, he probably would have missed it.
Glancing around, checking he was alone, he got on his hands and knees and pulled a little at the grass. It came free, soil and all, in a large square. It was heavy, and solid, as if someone had put wood through it to make a ... door. A trap door. In the ground, and leading to a tunnel. He frowned to himself. There were no tunnels in the grounds on the blueprints ... maybe some kids had dug it for funsies? He wanted to explore the mystery, find out where the tunnel lead ... maybe apprehend a villain ....
Ianto felt like one of the Famous Five.
I'll be Julian, he thought, lowering himself into the hole. Jack is such a Dick. He shone his torch around and grumbled as he realised that while the initial hole was man-deep, he would have to crawl on his hands and knees to follow it. Getting dirty wasn't what he liked doing ... but this tunnel ... it shouldn't be here. And he could always have ginger beer and a shower later ....
Last night as a boy, he reminded himself, and crouched down, tying his tie around his head like Rambo to hold the torch in place by his temple as he crawled. He frowned around him, pausing, moving his head from side to side. The sides of the tunnel were propped up with wooden planks, and looked ... professional. He bit his lip, wondering if he should go back for Jack. His instincts were no longer prickling like they did when danger was ahead, so he decided to carry on. The planks would ensure he wouldn't wind up buried alive, at any rate.
And something had being going on that shouldn't have been.
He crawled along, hoping his suit would forgive him, for about five minutes before the tunnel forked. The fork was well-supported with wooden beams, and judging from the level of damp in the soil and the relative dryness of the planks, Ianto guessed they hadn't been there long at all. One of the forks was sporting darker support beams up the wall and Ianto assumed it was an older tunnel. He decided to go down the newer-looking one, trusting the wood a fraction more and trying to mentally map out where he was in his head. He assumed this fork was leading towards the older, more easterly part of the grounds, and followed it as the damp soil soaked through his knees and made them ache.
The roof of the tunnel finally started getting higher - the floor lower - and eventually Ianto could walk, slightly hunched, for a few meters before turning a sharp corner and finding himself face-to-face half with soil, half with brick, aluminium and concrete foundation. He touched it, frowning, assuming it was the foundations of the School itself. Maybe work was being done that Jack had organised while he'd been with Doctor Shay?
But no ... Jack would have told him and wanted his approval first.
Ianto's instinct told him something was very, very wrong. Using his bare hands, he scraped away more soil from the building in front of him, digging and digging away until he saw that the tunnel did, in actuality, lead straight to a corner.
He frowned. Was the tunnel incomplete? Had it gone off in the wrong direction? Had they meant to hit a corn-
It hit him. It his him so hard it nearly winded him. FUCK, he mentally yelled. On auto-pilot he dropped to his hands and knees crawling as quickly as he could back to the fork. Instead of heading to the exit, however, he hurried down the other tunnel as quickly as he could manage, dreading but almost certain he knew where it would lead.
Similarly to the other tunnel, this one lengthened until he could stand, but there was no wall of aluminium, concrete and brick, only loose soil and debris. Running on adrenalin, he began to dig using his hands, pretty much clawing at the dirt until finally fresh air began to filter through from the other side. He managed to create a man-sized hole, and pulled himself through it, breathing hard and groaning through his aches.
He was exactly where he thought he would be.
The ruined site of the school rooms - right at the edge.
Not caring how dirty his fingers were, he ran them through his hair, staring around him, the enormity of what he had found bearing down on his shoulders. He bit the back of his hand, trying not to panic, using the pain to re-centre himself and focus.
He hastily refilled the hole so that it looked still undiscovered and used the temporary door to get back inside the building. He came across the same woman and children from the lobby on the stairs, and the look he received was even more sour than the last thanks to his shockingly dirty and dishevelled appearance. He ignored her, trying to get up the stairs faster as the lactic acid that built up in his calves made them burn as his thighs began to complain.
Ianto practically crawled up the final flight, dragging himself by his hands up the last few steps. FUCKING LIFTS, he screamed in his head. If it wasn't for those tunnels, I'd HAVE THEM BY NOW!
He was catching his breath enough to stand, when he heard footsteps moving towards him. Piqued, he raised his head, panting. He stared. "It's ... you?"
"Me what?"
"What are you doing ... why are you here? ... what are you doing here?"
"Put two and two together, my love."
"You ... you know what ... what's going ... going on?" he panted, trying to stand up.
"Need help?"
Ianto found himself being tugged to his feet.
"Blimey, you must be unfit. Those stairs almost killed you."
"What the hell do you know about the ... the tunnels?" demanded Ianto.
"Everything."
"Are you ... are you ? ... no ... please no ... not you ... please not you ...."
Ianto was too tired, and his reactions were too slow. He found himself spun around, forced forward a little and winded on the banister of the landing. There was a mouth close to his ear, and he felt something hard shoved into his back.
"Because it will make him mine!" came the hissed reply.
It wasn't until the blade was pulled out that Ianto realised he'd been stabbed.
No longer pinned to the railing, his weight went from under him, and hot wetness seeping through the back of his shirt told him he was bleeding copiously. It hadn't felt like he'd thought being stabbed would - hell, he thought it would feel like when he'd been pierced by shrapnel, or that time Owen's scalpel had to be used to cut open his thigh and pull out that weird bug thing. It had felt like ... being pushed. As if someone had clapped him hard on the back ...
Ianto tried to grip the bars of the banister, unsure whether or not he was alone or in company still. His fingers weakened, and he found himself lying on the floor, waiting for the pain to come and ... help. He needed help.
He tried to turn onto his stomach, but feeling pain lance through the wound in his back he gave up. He tried calling out, but his voice wouldn't work. He felt afraid - truly afraid - and his heart began beating faster, pumping more blood out of his stab wound and killing him quicker. He took advantage of it, pushing the puddle of blood out and hoping against hope someone might see the red liquid dribbling down and come to investigate sooner rather than later - though he doubted he could be saved now.
"Is that blood?" he heard a woman exclaim. Three storeys down, he reckoned. She must be able to see it dripping down. He could hear delicate heels clicking on the steps, and her scream when she saw him. "Oh my ... help!" she yelled. "Help! Mr. Jones has been stabbed!"
She knelt by him, "I don't know if anyone heard," she whispered. "I don't want to leave you but ... I'll run and get help, I will ... I'll run ...."
He couldn't really hear that much anymore, but at the promise of gossip people were drifting up the stairs to see what was going on. They stopped dead, staring at him lying sprawled in his shroud of red. Then the talking started. It escalated - panicked shouts echoing through the hall. Someone ran down the corridor to the Captain's office, knocking frantically on the door until he finally emerged, disgruntled.
"Mr. Jones ...." the lad whispered, pointing down the hall, and Jack saw.
The gathered were silenced by his shout of anguish, watching quietly as he charged down the corridor like a bull. "Ianto!" he yelled, gathering his limp form up in his arms. His skin was pasty and clammy, his suit caked with soil and his eyes were closed. "Ianto ... stay with me ... stay with me ...."
He pressed his fingers to his neck and sagged, cradling him closer as if he was precious. The Captain moved until he was cross-legged, crushing Ianto to him, rocking backwards and forwards as tears poured down his face.
"What happened?" he begged the unresponsive body laid across him. "What happened?"
The End.
(... kidding! I'm not RTD!)
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