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Ianto never understood when people claimed that silence was deafening. Silence calmed him; silence massaged the tendons that were bonded together in his shoulders; silence allowed him a moment to think. Silence felt like brief pausing of time. So the idea of silence being deafening, plainly confused him. How can silence make a person feel like their ears are bleeding? How can silence make the entire world feel like it's turning blurry? How can silence flip the world upside down? How does silence force your brain into a corner until it's screaming, kicking, attacking its self as though self-destruction isn’t a real thing?
How does silence scare people?
He didn’t understand- or maybe just refuse to comprehend it.Maybe he knew all too well how it can send your thoughts cowering into a corner, maybe he just was too afraid to admit it.
But no, he doesn’t understand it; He can't understand it.
So when he’s sat in SUV, covered in jacks blood, he refuses to admit he can understand the deafening silence. Jack lies limp in the passenger seat, eyes staring forward, lifeless. Ianto refuses to give in to the overwhelming urge compelling him to glance over because he knows he’ll get lost in his head, swerve the car and then there won't be one corpse but two. Deep down, Ianto knows that when he looks to his right he’ll meet a lost soul. Jacks eyes will just water and Ianto will swear he can see his life replaying as his soul slowly threads itself back inside of jack; Ianto knows he can't stand to watch that happen. Instead, Ianto focuses his eyes on the road. Forces himself to watch as the street lights blink past his vision leaving little blank spots on his pupils. He focuses on the way the cars fly past him, and how he may never see them again. He thinks about how he’s gripping the steering wheel too tightly; about how his knuckles are turning white at the top; about how the lack of blood there mimics the lack of blood in Jacks face; about how jacks sprawled across the seat next to him with a gaping wound that, even after death, won't stop bleeding; about how -oh god- about how everything is his faul-
“Breathe,” He tells himself, shaking his head as though it’ll rid him of these thoughts, “he’ll be fine, Ianto, you know he will be, just- just breathe.” So he does. And once more he’s focusing on the reds and yellows flashing past the corners of his eyes and convincing himself that the dead-weight in the seat next to him isn’t there, it is just a figment of his imagination- just a bad dream.
But even when he attempts to zone out and let muscle memory take over, he can’t fathom it so the hyper-focus on the road continues, not noticing the wound stitching its self back together. Not noticing the way the skin meets itself again, kitting itself without leaving a mere trace, doesn’t notice how the only evidence anything bad ever happened is currently crusting on his own clothes. Then it's too late, and jacks being hauled back into life. There's breathe being forced into his lungs and he has no choice but to deal and inhale it. There's blood re-pumping itself into his veins and he can feel as it starts to drown his lungs in the sticky crimson. He can feel the injury sewing its self back together, tying the final knot- and he feels more alive than he ever has breathing.
Trees blur outside the window into a thick green line and cool air tickled the hairs on jacks neck. He glances around scanning the area; he’s in the SUV, everything’s spinning, he’s covered in half-dried blood. It's slightly tacky, when he presses his hand on it it feels slightly like super glue, making him grimace. Turning to his right, he spots Ianto- clinging onto the steering wheel and scanning the road as if his life depends on it. A truck swerves past them, screeching and sparking slightly when it meets the tarmac and the friction becomes too much- but Ianto doesn’t flinch. Even when a car beeps, violently, at them the man sits with his body completely tensed.
“Ia-“
“Don’t.”
Jack stared for a moment, clinging onto the clothing he’d absentmindedly grabbed whilst being thrown through hell. He tried to gather thoughts, think about what had caused the harsh word of the man before him. The word cut through his skin, easier than the claws of a weevil or the blade of a knife could ever; They left a scar in their path and there was nothing anyone could do to hide it. ‘Don’t’ what? Don’t talk? Don’t try? Don’t hang on to me like that? Jack didn't understand- so he took it as all three.
Reluctantly, he peeled the hand off of Iantos wrist and placed it in his lap, then began staring blankly out the window.
Ianto could sense something burning beneath his eyelids. He felt it threaten to spill but he held it back and refused to allow it to. Jacks now warm skin rested on Iantos own and he didn't know what do about it. It was so warm, it made him feel safe, and he was so relieved jack was finally okay- but the blood. Dried blood on jacks hands, jacks face, jacks coat, jacks shirt and it felt like he was drowning in it. It felt like the blood was consuming him, eating him alive while he screamed jacks name. He felt like he was bent forward gaging and retching and coughing out his lungs just to rid his body of something inside of him that was mercilessly screeching its way out. In the end, he just couldn’t deal with jacks warm hand caressing the blood on his own- just too much. So as jack nodded, and removed the warmth, Ianto refused to look at him once more. He didn’t dare look at the confusion he just dreaded to see he’d placed in jacks eyes- he couldn’t do it. Because even if the world was falling apart in front of Iantos Jones’ eyes, hurting Jack Harkness was something he couldn’t deal with. What's worse, the eyes of a dead man; or the eyes of one that can never be a dead man?
The pair left the rest of the drive in a spine curling silence.
“What?”
“What do you mean ‘what?’, sir?”Ianto shuffled the mugs around in the cupboard, attempting to find something- not that he himself was sure what exactly. Jack went to wrap his arms around the younger man's waist, so he could mumble incoherent bullshit in his ear, but the Welshman merely shook him off; striding toward another cupboard and searching that one too, as though nothing had happened.
” What’s wrong?”. The quiet hum of the hub left the momentary silence unbearable. Myfanwy screeched in the background in the excruciatingly short time, and Iantos mugs clanked together occasionally but that was all.
“Nothing, sir.” He said, sternly-eventually. “Coffee?”
Jack glared at him. “Don’t do that, Ianto.” He said. “Don’t pretend there's nothing wrong; you haven’t even met my eyes since we got out of the SUV. Every time I try and touch you, you back away like I’ve got some disease. What’s wrong?”
Ianto persisted, ignoring Jacks words, “I asked if you want coffee, sir.”.
“What’s wrong?”Jack crossed his arms.
“Sir-“
“What’s wrong.”He ignored the pleading in Iantos voice, he had to.
“Sir, please-“
“What’s wr-“
“-JACK.” Ianto slammed the mug he was holding onto the counter and winced as the pottery shattered beneath his hand and onto the worktop. That silence again. He sighed, miserably, rubbing a hand across his temple and regaining his composure as jack just stared, stunned into silence. “I’m fine. Please, just give me your shirt and coat and get in the shower- everything’s fine.”
“No it's not, Ianto, but okay; 'll go and get changed.” Ianto mumbled a small thank you and began picking up the pieces of shattered clay, as though he’d dropped the mug by accident.
Jack handed ianto the coat, noticing the way the man formed a lump in his throat at the sight of it. As Ianto walked toward the washing machine, he felt like he did in the car once more. The world started spinning and everything started to feel cold and it took all of his efforts not to throw up the little he’d eaten. As the coat was thrown in the wash, he stripped his shirt and trousers off then grabbed a pair of joggers hanging on a hook, as well as a white T-shirt. He then walked back down to the hub, noting jacks absence and the distant noise of water hitting plastic.
Eventually, He strolled past Myfawny’s nest, listening to the wind bustling on the top of the Plass and sighed deeply a few times. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, and finally sat down. He wouldn’t let the nights' events replay through his head, he just sat in the silence. Myfanwy occasionally screeched in the corner and the occasional noise of Jack dropping something echoed throughout the building. Smiling, despite his screaming head. Jack humming in the background, him drinking beer, sprawled across a sofa- it all felt very domestic. Almost like that time when-
“I could fall in love with you, Jack.”
“Don’t.’’
God, but what if he did? Would it be that bad? He wasn’t the type of guy to walk down the Plass holding jacks hand and whispering poems in his ears, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fall in love. Maybe that was why he felt the way he did when jacks life was ripped away from him so thoughtlessly. It would make sense: he felt like... well, like a part of him crumbled each time he watched jack fall limp before him. Seeing his soul tearing away from his body was excruciating, like every atom of his body was slowly melting into the floor. He wants to grab jacks soul. He wants to shove it back down his throat; back to where no one can see it so jack can just be Jack again- but it just won't go again. It's just floating around in the air and he’s screeching at the top of his lungs, sobbing and choking and pleading his soul to just let jack be jack again. But the soul just sits back, hovering just out of reach and chuckling at the sight before him; after a while, it sighs. It gets bored of the pathetic man screaming for life and it retreats home- like it never left.
“You know, beer at 3 am is how alcoholism starts.” Jacks voice floated into the hub.
Ianto laughed, harshly, “I think with torchwood, alcoholism is the least of my worries.”
“Oh wow,” Jack mused, “He speaks.”
Ianto opened his eyes, not realising they were closed in the first place and looked toward jack- not at him just toward him.
“Don’t.”
Jack mirrored the harshness of Iantos laugh and flung his limbs about, aimlessly “Oh-ho, you’re back with that again? What am I not doing this time? Because if I recall last time you said that you refused to elaborate on it.”
“Don’t act like a prick, just so you can get under my skin,” He said, leaning back in his chair and slumping his shoulders not caring for his unprofessionalism.
“How am I acting like a prick?”
“Jack, I’m serious, don’t.” He blew air over the top of the beer bottle, listening to the way it caught on the top of the bottle- shouting out as if it was in pain.
“Feels like even you’re not sure what I’m not doing at this point.”
“Maybe I’m not.” He stated, restlessly. “Think of that one, Captain?” Some form of bitterness fed throughout his words, he bit his bottom lip cursing the alcohol for letting his tongue slip. Ianto waited a moment, “I should go,”
“We’re not done.” Jack crosses his arms, parting his legs and standing like a brick wall between Ianto and the outside world. “There’s nothing to discuss, sir.” He grumbled, through gritted teeth. “If there is nothing to discuss why can't you look at me?”
“It's not-”
“If there's nothing to discuss,” He began, striding towards where Ianto was sat “How come every time I do this...” Hot breathe curled around Iantos neck, and a hand rested on his thigh, the heat scolding his skin, melting it like candle wax. Iantos brain ran into overdrive and he stood up, brushing jack away. “You do that.”
“I’m fine.”
“Talk to me,” say it, Ianto.
“You died.”
“Your point?”
“Is that not point enough for you?” The air smacked jack in the face as Ianto bounded toward the hub door.
“Ianto! Ianto, come back- or at least wait-”
“I spend my life waiting jack! I spend my time, most nights waiting for you to come back. Waiting to see if maybe this is the last time. Waiting to know if you’ll wake up again. Waiting to see if I need to put your cold body in the morgue.” Every muscle in Iantos body tensed up and he dragged his feet toward jack, poking him hard in his chest knowing the bruise that would form wouldn’t last forever. “I spend every moment with you waiting like it's fucking nothing, sir.” He spat the words out of his mouth, “And then here you go, lolling around the place all jaunty and happy like a fucking child when I just saw you dead. You act like all the bollocks that happens here is basically fucking nothing and you just can't fathom the fact that maybe jack, maybe it hurts. Maybe when you die, other people are affected. Maybe the way your eyes roll into the back of your head is scarring, Jack.” And then Jacks back hit the wall, and Ianto was looming over the top of him. Tears pouring from Iantos eyes, and him clinging to jacks shirt like it was be all or end-all. “I hate you, jack. I hate you so much it burns my throat when I say your name.” Lips collided, hair was pulled and salt trickled into the kiss reminding them of the pain coating them at this moment. Ianto clung to jacks shirt pressing jacks body against his own and really feeling jack. He presses his fingers into jacks hips and he pulls him closer into his body, mercilessly. His hands roam jacks body and he loses every part of his body to jack.
“I hate you,” He murmurs in a brief parting. “I hate you so much, I think I love you.” Then he leaves jack glued to the wall, his lips swollen and his shirt untucked. Sweat beads mix with tears as Ianto walks away and he feels something catch his wrist.
“How can you say that and leave?”
“Because I’m tired of waiting!”
“How can you do that!”
“Fuck off jack, get off that fucking high horse and learn when shit hurts people!”
“You never told me.” He yelled, Chasing Ianto as he stormed up the stairs. “How should I know?”
“I don’t think that’s something that needs a lot of knowing, it's just an obvious fact, how would you feel if someone you lo-,” He stammered slightly, but carried on to the stairs. “If someone you cared about died before your eyes and there was nothing you could do except wait.” Jacks body froze on the spot, but Iantos carried on ploughing forward parting the air as he raged up the stairs.
“Ianto!” As the pair reached the tourist office, the rain outside hammered on the rooftop and Ianto slung his body around the front desk, opening the door. “Ianto!”. The door slung open with a thud as it collided with the wall. Jacks shirt stuck to his body as the rain pelted down on him, all noises ringing in his ears and the sight of Ianto a few paces ahead of him keeping him going. He lunged for Iantos wrist once more; Ianto was too quick.
He spun around on his heels, the world blurry and off-balance as the bones in his fist crunched against jacks mouth. The crimson liquid trickled down Jacks lip immediately being washed away by the storm above. The clouds roared and the stars hid behind layers of thick black smog savouring their beauty for a night they were called on.
Iantos hand hurt.
But by god, did it feel good. Like his entire body was on fire and when he threw himself into jack, he finally, finally let everything crash to his feet; finally, the chains on his feet were let loose and god could he feel. He felt the wind that whipped his cheeks, the choking in his throat from where mound upon mounds of cotton clogged it, forcing his words down; he felt the blood rising; the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Ianto felt. “What do you want from me?” Jack roared, his voice cracking slightly.
“I don’t know, Jack! Okay? I don’t know.” He barged forwards, tears streaming down his face. But then he froze at three words.
“Wait, Ianto..please?” The pair stood in silence- deafening silence. Iantos back was turned away from jack and he didn’t dare move a muscle. “Can I call you?” He paused, waiting for an indication allowing him to. He got nothing. “Later, please?” Ianto turned his head, studying jacks face. He looks jack over, head to toe. He took the sight in, jack drenched from head to toe, pleading Ianto- just for a phone call- nothing but sincerity in his eyes. The water echoed around his eardrums and his suit stuck to the skin beneath it, wrinkling it.
Then he nodded.