Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Martha managed to press the ‘call’ button despite her trembling hands, and Jack picked up almost immediately, thank God.

She didn’t bother with formalities. “Are you still at home right now? At my parents’ place, I mean?”

“Yes. What’s wrong?” Jack, bless him, had apparently read something from her tone, and he wasn’t losing time with small talk either.

“You can drive, right?” Martha felt her voice going too high, anxiety creeping in too far, words tumbling too fast. “I’d do it myself, but it’d take me at least 30 minutes to get back home by foot, and I’ve never driven Mum’s new car before ‘cause it’s a manual, and the only times I drove a manual car were during the Year and it was terrifying, and Tish sounded really bad–”

“I can drive,” Jack interrupted, “but I can also have UNIT send a helicopter and a group of agents wherever you or Tish need me to, in a matter of minutes.” He was utterly serious, Martha realised immediately, a bit shocked.

“No, that’s… that’s really nice of you, but I think seeing UNIT would freak her out. What Tish needs right now is someone she knows, someone safe, like me or you,” the young woman tried to explain.

Jack let out a brief sound that was too bitter to be called a laugh. “Definitely not me, but okay. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”

Martha frowned at that weird response, but there was no time to comment on it. She did her best to describe her location, and Jack hung up.

He arrived much faster than she had thought possible, and she wondered just how many traffic laws he had broken to achieve that. Only after she got in the car and gave him directions on where to find Tish did it dawn on her that she hadn’t even told him exactly what was happening. Not that she knew much herself. But still, Jack’s immediate loyalty was warming something in her chest. His loyalty, and his reliability. She could have asked the Doctor, too – but he didn’t have a phone, and although she didn’t doubt for one second his willingness to help, she also knew far too well that he wasn’t always the best person to consult when you needed practical, real-world solutions to an issue. Even if he’d had a fully functional Tardis, she probably wouldn’t have asked him. They would have been way too likely to end up in a completely different time and place than the intended one. The Doctor was a lot of things, but ‘reliable’ wasn’t exactly high on the list.

“So, er… Tish called me,” Martha said hesitantly. “She sounded… bad. I think she had a panic attack or something. And she asked if I could come pick her up, and obviously I wanted to, but I didn’t know how to get there, and I thought of you – hope it’s not too much of a bother.”

“Of course not,” Jack immediately replied. “I’m glad you called me. You can always call me, whatever you need, you know that, right?”

“Thank you,” the young woman replied, feeling like she could suddenly breathe a bit more easily.

She wouldn’t admit it to Tish, of course, but hearing that her sister was in distress had made her react very strongly, reactivating awful memories of being utterly helpless while hearing echoes of her family’s suffering. It had happened a lot, during the past year. Martha did her best to push it all away.

At least she wasn’t alone anymore. “You’re a great friend, you know,” she told Jack.

Who shrugged, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “No need to thank me. It’s the least I can do, really.”

“No, it’s not,” Martha protested. “Why do you always downplay everything you do for me, for us?”

“It’s the least I can do,” he repeated.

Martha huffed and stayed silent, telling herself that she shouldn’t distract Jack from his driving. He was going much faster than limitations allowed, and right in the middle of London, at that. A year ago, she would have been extremely nervous about it. Now, she was just glad that Tish wouldn’t have to wait too long. Funny how having to escape a mad, evil alien who controlled most of the planet could change one’s apprehension of danger.

The silence was becoming uncomfortable, though. “I don’t know if Tish told you – she was on her way to a job interview,” the young woman said. “We all tried to tell her to take it easy, to maybe wait and rest some more, but she insisted.”

“If she needs an excuse for missing the interview, tell her I can have someone at UNIT backing up anything she wants to tell them,” Jack replied.

Again, something in that response was… off. “We’ll pick her up in a matter of minutes, with the speed you’re going at. You can make the offer yourself, you know.”

Jack did not answer.

They had arrived at Tottenham Court Road. Jack didn’t bother looking for a legitimate parking spot – he simply drove the car half on the sidewalk and told his passenger that he would wait for her there.

Martha had kept her phone in her hand, and she immediately called back her sister to get indications on where exactly in the station she could find her. Tish’s voice was still shaky. When Martha spotted her, her sister was pressed against a wall as if she was hoping to merge with it and disappear.

“I’m s- sorry,” Tish stammered. “I made you come all the way here and–”

“None of that,” Martha interrupted gently. “I’m glad you called me, okay? You did the right thing. I’m here now. It’s okay. Everything will be okay. Just come with me, alright?”

But Tish didn’t move. Her shoulders were hunched, her arms wrapped around herself in a sad parody of a protective embrace. Martha felt her heart beat too fast, something clenching painfully in her chest. Praying that her voice would sound stronger than she felt, she asked, “Can I hug you?”

A tiny nod.

Martha took a step forward to hold her sister and squeezed her body as hard as she could against hers. “You’re okay,” she murmured. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay...” She wasn’t sure anymore which of them most needed the hug.

x-x-x

They walked out of the station in silence. Tish was gripping Martha’s arm too hard, but Marha didn’t mind. She welcomed the reminder of her sister’s presence at her side. A bit of pain really wasn’t much of a price to pay for that.

She had already opened the car’s front door when Tish saw Jack in the driver’s seat. And froze.

“I don’t know how to drive a car with a manual gear,” Martha reminded her, ill-at-ease. “Or I’m pretty terrible at it, at least, and our folks left with Dad’s car this morning, so there was only Mum’s by the house. I would have called a cab, but it would have taken longer, and Jack was there, and he knows how to drive Mum’s car, so… Is there something wrong?”

Tish shook her head no, but she looked even tenser than before, if such a thing was possible.

“Do you want the front seat, or would you rather sit in the back?” Martha asked.

“In the back,” Tish immediately said.

Her sister nodded and opened the designated car door.

“You should probably sit in the back with her,” Jack said. His words seemed to startle Tish, Martha noticed.

“Is that what you want, Tish?” the young woman asked.

A nod.

“Okay then.” She sat as close to her sister as humanly possible and took her hand. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Nothing!” Tish sounded on the verge of tears. “Nothing happened! I just… panicked… for no reason! I… It’s stupid,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Martha replied firmly. “Do you have any idea what made you panic?”

“I…” Tish hesitated. “I think… there were many people in the wagon, it was very full, and I just… I needed to get out.”

“Okay,” Martha said, her tone soothing. “It happens, it’s no big deal.”

“No, it doesn’t! It doesn’t just happen! Normal people are able to take the bloody Tube without having something like a panic attack over absolutely nothing! And I… I don’t get it! It’s not even the first time I’m taking the Tube since the Year That Never Was, and it never happened before!”

“Well, maybe it was less crowded, the previous times?”

But Tish shook her head. “I’m pretty sure that’s not even the case! It’s just… I don’t know, guess I’m just broken now,” she said, her voice somewhere halfway between a hysterical laugh and a sob.

“That’s not true,” Martha replied. There were tears in her own eyes, too, and her voice was trembling.

“Were there people behind you?”

Again, Jack’s voice seemed to startle Tish.

“What?”

“In the Tube. Was your back against something or were there people behind you?”

“I was in the middle of people standing up,” Tish replied.

“Was it also the case on the previous times you took the Tube since the end of the Year?”

“I don’t remember. What does it have to do with anything? I mean, even if there’s like, trauma or something, why would the crowd be a problem? N- none of the… the… bad stuff had anything to do with being in a crowded place, it doesn’t make any sense!” Tish’s voice was still unsteady, but she was also starting to sound almost angry.

“Trauma doesn’t always make sense,” Jack said, his tone very soft. “But I’ve known lots of soldiers who got extremely uncomfortable whenever there were people right behind them. It’s a common PTSD thing, I think.”

“Well it’s– it’s… it’s stupid!” Tish stammered. “I’m not a bloody soldier! And I shouldn’t break down on the way to some random job interview!” Tears were running down her face.

“Hey, stop that,” Martha intervened. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, okay? You’re going to be alright, I promise.”

“You can’t promise that,” her sister replied harshly. “Haven’t you learnt anything? I might have believed you before, but I know better now.”

Martha flinched and moved away from her, staring at the buildings they were passing by without seeing them. She would not cry. She would not. Her eyes were burning, but that was just because she was refusing to blink. No other reason.

“I’m sorry,” Tish murmured after several minutes of silence. “I’m sorry, Mar’. I… I was just being an arsehole. I… it’s… you know I’m grateful for everything you do for me, for the family, right? It’s just… you’re handling everything perfectly, like you always do, I mean you’ve gone back to your studies like nothing happened, and you’re acing it as usual, and me, I… I just feel like a complete failure, that’s all.”

“You idiot,” Martha replied, torn between tears and an incongruous bubble of laughter. “You really think I’m handling everything perfectly? I’m a complete mess! The studies thing, it’s just… it’s easier to focus on that, because it makes sense, at least, and when I’m doing that I don’t have to think about other things, but it’s not… it doesn’t mean I know what I’m doing, believe me.”

“Oh, Mar’…” Tish found back her sister’s hand and squeezed it hard. “Well, that makes me feel even more like an arsehole, good job,” she mumbled with exaggerated grumpiness.

Martha managed a tiny smile. “And that was exactly my goal, of course. It’s like you said – I ace everything I do, right?”

They looked at each other. “I’m sorry,” Tish repeated.

“Don’t be. We’re together now – we’ll figure something out. We always do.”

Tish threw an arm around her sister’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she murmured.

In the rearview mirror, Martha briefly met Jack’s eyes. The expression on his face had been awfully sad – but he startled and morphed it into something neutral as soon as he realised she had caught it.

She wondered if he was thinking about his own family, wherever or whenever they were. She wondered if he felt left out. She wondered if he felt lonely.

x-x-x

Martha didn’t get to speak to Jack much before the next day. Despite knowing that it was somewhat illogical, she had been unwilling to let Tish out of her sight for more than a few moments, after the fright she got from her sister’s panicked phone call.

(Martha would have left Tish alone if she had requested it, of course. Her family’s well-being was one of the most important things in the world, always. But Tish hadn’t seemed to mind the company – quite the opposite.)

And Jack, on the other hand, tended to act like he couldn’t get away from Tish fast enough. Which was starting to get a bit puzzling. But he was very good at deflecting, and Martha didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by asking too many questions.

Still, she needed to thank him, and to make sure that he was alright – or as close to alright as could get someone who remembered the Year That Never Was. After a good night of sleep, Tish looked better, and Martha really wanted to check on her friend.

As on most Saturday mornings, Jack was helping the Doctor with repairs in the Tardis. Martha crossed the blue doors and was welcomed by a beaming smile from the Time Lord.

“Martha!” The Doctor exclaimed. Some of the cheer in his voice was forced, but he was trying. “How are you? Did you have a nice morning? Is Tish feeling better?” And, after a second of hesitation – “If… if she needs something, or if you need something… you know you can call me, right? I’m always happy to help!”

“You don’t have a phone, Doctor,” Martha replied – very fondly. “But thanks for saying that. I appreciate the sentiment, I really do.”

The Time Lord blinked, looking almost comically offended. “What do you mean I don’t have a phone? The Tardis has made herself a giant phone box! Sure, she doesn’t technically work right now, and the phone part hasn’t really been in use recently, in fact I might have taken it apart a little in order to fix the blueberry toaster, and I’m not sure there’s a number you can call, exactly, but… okay, I’m starting to see your point. I haven’t been very easy to reach lately, have I?

The young woman hesitated. “Maybe not,” she admitted, “but I know you’ve started to make an effort. And… like I said, I really appreciate it.”

The Doctor was visibly embarrassed, clearly unsure how to answer her declaration. True to himself, he therefore started talking twenty miles a minutes – something about the technology behind a weird alien communication system, and did Martha know that he had actually contributed to the invention of cell phones? Also, it was possible to train squirrels to carry messages, but they weren’t always entirely reliable ‘cause they had a tendency to eat a part of whatever you gave them to carry, and–

Martha watched him, affection swelling in her chest, and couldn’t help but smile. “It’s nice to see you sounding like yourself, Doctor.” She turned towards the other man in the room. “What about you, Jack? How are you feeling?”

“Oh, fine,” the immortal replied with a smile far too bright to be honest.

The young human and the Time Lord glanced at each other. The Doctor’s eyes had turned sad.

Martha knew that he and Jack had recently started sleeping in the same bed. She did not think that they were having sex, but they shared a room whenever one of them admitted to feeling tired (which did not happen that often: both were stubborn and terribly bad at anything vaguely resembling self-care). She wasn’t sure that they were really talking to each other, either, except for the most trivial things (their lack of communication skills was almost impressive) but it was still far better than it had been in the first days following the Year That Never Was, when the Doctor had been actively avoiding everyone.

Better, but certainly not ideal. Martha had not really been able to talk with the Time Lord much, even recently. He was trying to be supportive, she was sure of it, but… sometimes, helping required more than just good intentions.

She had been very vocal about her opinion that everyone needed to be more open about their feelings, and the Doctor seemed to agree, in theory, but he clearly didn’t believe that the notion could apply to him. Half of the time, Martha got the infuriating impression that he just wanted to humour her.

And with Jack… well, many discussions tended to play out in the exact same way – with him insisting that he was doing perfectly fine, before deflecting and moving the conversation to an entirely new topic. The young woman would really have liked to believe that he confided in the Doctor sometimes, when she was not present, but she highly doubted it.

“Do you want to grab a coffee with me?” Martha still asked her human friend, hoping against hope that she would somehow be able to get him to open up a little if it was just the two of them.

Jack hesitated, glancing at the Doctor almost as if to ask for permission. “I need to re-calibre the internal sensors of the time-inertia dampeners,” the alien said. “And that’s more of a one-Time Lord’s job, really. Go with Martha, don’t worry about me. I’m sure we’ll get to tinker with the old girl together some more later.”

“Right,” the immortal replied with another forced smile. “I could probably use a break anyway.”

“Yup, definitely,” the Doctor declared. “Humans in general aren’t particularly quick with spatiotemporal hyperscanners, but you’ve been clumsy and slow all morning.”

Jack’s shoulders hunched and he did not reply. Martha felt her jaw clench. “I think what you mean is, ‘Thank you, Jack, you’ve been a great help, now get a well-deserved break’, isn’t it, Doctor?”

“What? No, I–” But the Time Lord caught her pointed glare and stopped himself. “Oh, is that what you were talking about the other day when you said I was rude? Right, then, er, well, that’s…”

“It’s okay, Doctor, don’t worry,” Jack interrupted. But Martha couldn’t help feeling that he still looked like a kicked puppy.

“No, but I meant, er, you know, what she said,” their alien friend mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture.

Martha sighed. She wordlessly extended a hand in Jack’s direction to steer him towards the exit, but he didn’t take it, saying he didn’t want to dirty her with engine grease.

After a quick stop by the bathroom (although his hands didn’t actually seem very unclean), they started walking towards their favourite café. They always ordered the fanciest drinks on the menu – Martha very much enjoyed seeing Jack get a flat white mocha with whipped cream and extra caramel syrup or something equally decadent. In her experience, many men could get absurdly self-conscious about drinking stuff like that; but Jack would laugh, make a quip about 21^st century gender norms, and enjoy some whipped cream.

Once inside the cosy little coffee shop, they wordlessly chose a small table that allowed them to sit side by side with their backs to a wall. Martha had noticed very early that Jack was always on his guard and tended to be more comfortable when he could see every entrance and exit. It had not been very difficult to notice, because… as much as she hated it, she kind of had the same issue now.

She remembered Jack’s remark to Tish, the day before, about former soldiers panicking when there were people right behind them. Martha had thought that it could perhaps apply to her sister, and definitely to Jack himself, but… couldn’t it also apply to her? She couldn’t stand being startled anymore. It used to be a game, with Leo, a siblings thing – Leo would sneak up on her at the most unlikely moments and yell or jump suddenly to get a reaction from her. It used to be fun. Before, Martha grumbled a lot, but she very much enjoyed these light-hearted moments with her brother. Now…

Leo had tried startling her last week. It was just a joke. For old times’ sake. Or perhaps it was an attempt to reconnect with her a little, to get back some semblance of normalcy. But Martha had jumped, barely refrained from hitting him, and felt her heart still beating too hard in her chest for more than ten minutes after the incident. She knew there had been no real danger, but the adrenaline just wouldn’t leave her body. It felt awful.

She shook her head and did her best to force the memory away. Jack needed her.

Does he though? Aren’t you doing exactly what you always blame him for – focusing on everyone else’s needs and ignoring your own feelings?

Martha ignored the nasty little voice in her head and asked Jack about what he had done on the previous day after driving them safely back home.

He explained that he had been called over by people from UNIT, who had “more stupid questions to ask, what a surprise.”

It was indeed not unexpected – he had been working with them quite a lot, since the end of the Year That Never Was. Although Martha suddenly realised, with a pang to her chest, that she did not even know why, exactly, Jack was being called so often by the powerful organisation.

“What is it that UNIT needs you for anyway?" she asked. “If they bother you so much, can’t you tell them to shove off or something?”

Jack shrugged. "I guess I could, but… they're collecting as much data about the Year as they can. What happened, what it impacted, who died, who survived, who resisted, who worked for him. It’s annoying, but it’s good that they’re taking it seriously. They want to interview everyone who had direct interactions with the Master–” his fists clenched as he said the name – “and to check every major change, to make sure there's no permanent effect from anything."

Martha furrowed her brow. "So, they're going to want to talk to me, aren't they? And... won't they ask my family, too?"

"Nah, don't worry, I took care of it," Jack replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't want any of you to have to deal with those clowns, so I worked around it," he answered.

"Worked around it?" the young woman repeated. "How?"

Jack shrugged again. "Reminded them that you were civilians. Asked for a delay. Made sure to leave a loophole you'll be able to use if you'd rather not talk to them at all."

"Thank you," Martha murmured. She didn’t know if she would have been ready to answer a bunch of official questions about her actions during the Year That Never Was. She couldn’t help remembering an article she had read for her studies, about "re-traumatising" and how being forced to talk about a traumatic event in unsafe conditions could worsen the initial trauma. But...

"What about you, though? Why don't you get a break before talking to them?"

Her question was met with a genuine look of confusion. “Me? No, that’s…” But Jack seemed to recover from his surprise rather quickly. “Honey, it’s really nice of you to think about that, but I’m fine, you know.”

His smile was guarded. An effective mask, most of the time, but a mask nonetheless.

“Are you, Jack?” Martha asked softly. “Are you really?”

This time, he did not reply immediately. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” he murmured after several seconds of silence.

The young woman shook her head and scooted closer to Jack before putting an arm around his shoulder to draw him into a one-armed hug. “You do,” she insisted. “And you don’t have to pretend, Jack. Not in front of me. You’re allowed to feel things, okay?”

The immortal seemed to relax a little in her embrace. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“No need for thanks. After everything you’ve done for me, for my family… you know I’m the one who’s eternally grateful to you, right?”

She meant every word of her declaration, but she had used a light tone, almost teasing, hoping it would keep Jack from feeling embarrassed somehow. But it did not work. He tensed again, perhaps even more than before, and immediately moved away from her.

“Don’t say things like that, Martha,” he replied harshly.

“What? Why not?”

“It’s not… I… Just don’t, okay?”

Jack got up and walked away from their table before she could answer. He immediately went to the counter and gave their waitress two 20 pounds notes, telling her to keep the change (which would amount to almost twice the price of their drinks) before taking hurried steps towards the exit. Dumbstruck, Martha stared worriedly at his retreating back, wondering what had gone wrong.

Chapter Text

Things were peaceful. Mostly. Outside of Jack, at least. But he knew that he had no right to ask for more. The warmth and acceptance he had now – it was already far beyond what he deserved.

He glanced at Martha, doing his best to ignore the guilt that was eating him up from the inside. Her friendship comforted him so much – he didn’t know what he would do when he would lose her.

One step at time, he firmly told himself. A problem for future Jack.

Music was playing in the background – Martha had put a CD in the hi-fi system and was softly singing along. She was currently attempting to sort through the contents of an old storage box found in the Jones’ garage, while Jack repaired a lamp which hadn’t been in use for years. Francine Jones had decided that a big clean-up operation was in order, and when Francine Jones decided something, the rest of the world usually followed. Jack liked that woman. She had just gone out with Clive to buy new cans of paint, but she would probably also come back with enough food to keep half of Britain happy for a week, if past experience was any indication.

Meanwhile, he and Martha were absorbed by their domestic tasks in the living-room. His friend was saying something about her mother’s renovation plans.

Things were peaceful. Almost familiar. Comforting.

“Oh, and Jack, do you think you could go to the store with Tish tomorrow to help her carry the new shelves for her room?”

Jack stiffened. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Isn’t there someone else who could do it?”

Martha gave him a pointed stare. “Jack. Jack! Okay, you know what, this has gone on for long enough. Look at me, please. What happened between you and Tish?”

“Nothing,” he answered too fast. Martha just kept staring, and Jack closed his fists. “She doesn’t need me around, okay? Send anyone but me.”

Peaceful… peaceful couldn’t last.

“She doesn’t need you around,” Martha repeated. “So you don’t have a problem with her; you think she has a problem with you. Have you two talked it through? Are you sure you’re not… over-interpreting something?”

A mirthless laugh escaped Jack’s lips. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Martha sighed and seemed to hesitate. “You slept together, right? But then it was awkward, and you ended it, and now you’re afraid I’ll be mad at you for having sex with my sister?”

Jack tried to answer, but the only noise he was able to produce sounded painfully like a sob. He felt his hands shaking and tried to flee the room, but Martha grabbed his arm. “Hey. Jack. Jack! I’m not mad, okay? I swear I’m not! I know what trauma and grief can do to people, and I’m not judging you, at all! I just want to know you’re alright.”

“You shouldn’t,” he managed to reply. “I don’t deserve your kindness.” But oh, how he had enjoyed it. Why had he allowed himself to enjoy it? Everything would feel so much worse now. He had hoped so badly that he would have more time…

“And why would that be? I’m a grown-up, Jack,” the young woman said, clearly trying to control her impatience. “I believe I can handle hearing about two adults having consensual sex, even if one of them is my sister.”

“It wasn’t consensual.” Jack nearly choked on the words, but he had to push Martha away. He couldn’t let her think… no, he was a miserable bastard, but he owed her the truth, at least. “It wasn’t consensual,” he repeated harshly. “I raped her. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Her face suddenly looked like it was set in stone, and if looks could kill, Jack would have died on the spot. Which would have felt like a very appealing option if he hadn’t known that in his case, dying would do nothing but postpone the rest of the conversation a little. “What did you just say?” she asked, radiating so much fury that Jack had to fight the urge to take a step back.

“You heard me.”

“You’d better explain. Right now,” Martha said. Her voice was made of steel.

“There’s nothing to explain,” he replied, yanking his arm free of the young woman’s grip and pushing her out of the way to access the door. But she kept her balance and caught his other arm with surprising strength before placing herself between him and the exit again.

“You think you can just tell me something like that and leave? Give me one good reason not to punch you in the face right now.”

Jack simply shrugged. “Go on. I deserve it.”

Martha watched him intently, fury still radiating from her, but she made no move to hit him. Instead, she said, “if you’ve really harmed my sister, there’s something I’ll need you to do for me, and you can’t say no.”

Jack nodded. “Sounds fair.”

“Then you’re going to tell me exactly what happened,” she ordered.

Jack closed his eyes and clenched his fists so hard his knuckles became white. She was right, he couldn’t refuse. He took several seconds to distance himself from any emotion, and answered, “Tish was often ordered to feed me, or to wash me. When it wasn’t her, it was some of the Master’s guards. Former soldiers he had chosen because they shared some of his sadistic tendencies. So, it was usually nice to see Tish. For months, she was the only person I saw who wouldn’t actually enjoy seeing me tortured. Well, her and the Doctor, but I never saw the Doctor without the Master in the room. Tish I could talk to. Not much, of course, not about anything important, there were cameras everywhere, but still. It helped. And the Master didn’t seem to care. But at some point, during the tenth month, I think, he ordered me to stop talking to her. I just laughed at him, asked what he was gonna do if I disobeyed, kill me? The next day, he said… he said that if I liked her so much, he had a gift for me. And he ordered me to go to her cell and to... to... to rape her. Said that if I refused, there were several guards who’d be more than happy to do it instead. Or that he could torture her until she begged me to fuck her, if I preferred that. And I had seen… he had never made empty threats. So I... I went there and I did it. There was… he’d sent soldiers with me, too many of them, I had no chance, I… I wanted to fight them, I swear, but I… I knew I couldn’t, and…” he forced himself to breathe. Enough with the excuses. You did it. You have no right to break down now. “Figured I might at least try to spare her additional pain,” he finally spat.

Martha’s face was ashen and her grip on Jack’s arm had tightened so much that he wondered if he’d have a bruise. Not that he minded. The pain was actually helping him stay somewhat grounded.

“Do my parents know?” she asked tonelessly.

“I don’t think so. After… after that happened, the Master started allowing them to come around me more often, for stuff like cleaning. They would not have looked at me the way they did, if they knew. I’m sure the Master did it on purpose. He had to know that having your parents being kind and compassionate would make me hate myself even more. He also made Tish feed me a lot more often, after, and it was… I couldn’t…” His voice was starting to break, and he stopped talking. He had wanted to apologise to Tish, wanted it so much, but… what words could ever be enough? He had managed a pathetic “it wasn’t my idea” at some point, and the young woman had nodded, said she knew it – and Jack had been unable to utter any other word.

“Anything else I should know?” Martha asked, her tone still clinical.

“I… I don’t know. I’m pretty sure he never touched her himself. And if it’s any consolation, I don’t think either her or your parents were ever severely tortured. Hit, sometimes, yes, and I know that he had Tish whipped once – could have happened a second time without me knowing it. I’m not sure about your parents. But as far as I heard, none of them sustained any major injuries besides that.” Jack paused, and when no other question was forthcoming, he managed a small, “I’m sorry, Martha.”

She looked at him directly for the first time since he had started talking, and the former Time Agent almost flinched before the barely controlled rage in her eyes. Something seemed to snap inside her and she let go of her grip on Jack’s arm as she moved forward to violently punch the wall besides him.

“I wish he was still alive so that I could kill him myself,” she said with the same cold, sort-of-neutral-sounding-but-betraying-fury tone that she had used to question Jack before. Then she laughed self-deprecatingly. “God, I look ridiculous, don’t I? Punching walls.”

“Been there, done that,” Jack answered. “And about the Master… believe me, I know the feeling.”

She nodded, and before Jack could turn to finally leave the room, she added, “you didn’t rape her.”

He clenched his jaw, his emotions barely holding on a thread. “She begged me to stop and I kept going, how do you call that?”

Martha’s jaw visibly clenched too, but she answered, “you didn’t rape her. The Master raped you both. I believe threatening to torture someone qualifies as coercion, don’t you? You were coerced into it as much as she was.”

Jack had nothing to reply to that. He wondered how much alcohol he would need before this conversation could become hazy in his head. Probably a lot. He left without a word and told himself he had not heard Martha starting to sob behind him.

Chapter Text

Jack bought two bottles of vodka in the nearest store and downed them both in a row as soon as he could find a discreet enough spot to do so in a nearby park. Things started to get a little blurry after that, but not enough. He made his way to a pub, then to another when he realised that the amount of drinks he had ordered in the first one would have sent any regular human being from this time period directly in a coma. He cursed his far-too-great tolerance to alcohol when he had to leave the second pub he had found, and then the third. The conversations of the people around him were welcome distractions, reminding him that there were still normal, happy lives somewhere. But he avoided talking to anyone, unwilling to do anything besides listening and trying to lose himself in the trivialities of strangers’ existences.

He dozed off on a table at some point before waking up with a startled gasp, having just relived one of his most gruesome deaths from The Year. At least he had not screamed, he thought while searching for a cheap hotel room where he could maybe pass out from exhaustion.

Upon waking up in the shabby room he’d rented, he felt even worse than he had the night before, if such a thing was possible. His hangover was so bad that he seriously considered killing himself to try and come back in a better state. But that was always a gamble – even when his external injuries healed, phantom pains could remain – and he gave up on the idea when he realised that he had no suitable weapons or tools. Instead, Jack resigned himself to buying some of this century’s ill-functioning painkillers. But after having downed more pills than he was supposed to, he was still forced to consider his options for the rest of the day. He did not think he could face Martha, or anyone from her family, in his current state, so her house was out. More drinking sounded appealing enough, but he wouldn’t be able to keep that up forever, would he?

A bitter laugh escaped him when he remembered that technically, he probably would. Alcohol it is, then. The rest is a problem for future Jack, he decided as he was assaulted by a new wave of painful memories. He bought four more bottles – whiskey, this time. Strong stuff. Halfway through the third one, he admitted to himself what he really wanted at the moment, but he had to gulp several more mouthfuls of the fiery liquid before he could shut up the part of his brain that screamed it was a terrible idea and actually act on it.

A few minutes and some shaking gestures around his Vortex manipulator later, Jack was in Cardiff, two streets away from Ianto’s flat.

x-x-x

He didn’t allow himself any time to think about what he was doing and knocked at his occasional lover’s door.

There was no answer. Jack debated his options: he could go back to London, he could stay and wait for Ianto’s return, or… He vaguely considered calling, but using the phone involved using words, and probably being asked for explanations, which was a big no. Jack wasn’t ready to talk. He wondered if he would have more courage, or a better idea, once the fourth whiskey bottle would be empty too. It didn’t seem very likely, but he drank it anyway, slumped against Ianto’s door. What was one more bad decision, at this point?

Jack realised he had passed out again only when he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He grabbed and twisted it reflexively even before being fully awake, but Ianto’s yelp brought him back to his senses, and he let go of the hand as if it had burnt. “Sorry,” the former soldier muttered.

Ianto’s face was the picture of shock. “Jack! What… what are you doing here? What happened to you?”

Jack closed his eyes. His head hurt. He did not answer a word as the other man opened his door and invited him in.

“Sir, you’re drunk,” Ianto stated as they stood in his living-room.

“Not enough,” Jack mumbled.

The Welshman hesitated. “Is there anything I can do?”

The answer was wordless. Jack threw himself at Ianto and kissed him desperately.

He’s alive. He’s alive. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t know. He can’t judge – he thinks I’m still the same person.

Ianto returned the kiss, but not for long, and grabbed the wrists which were trying to relieve him of his jacket before saying, “I have never seen you drinking before, and you seem really intoxicated. Do you… are you sure you want this?”

“Please,” Jack whispered in a voice which barely resembled his. He wasn’t sure what he was begging for. He just knew he wanted someone to stay close.

“Okay,” Ianto replied soothingly, and he led the other man to his bedroom.

Everything was blurry. Jack’s head was spinning. His part-time lover started to unbutton his shirt and to caress his chest. It was... kind of nice? Not bad, at least, which was already more than Jack deserved. But then hands started to fumble with his fly, and the immortal urgently pleaded, “don’t.”

Ianto looked surprised but didn’t comment and obediently stopped undressing the other man. “What do you want, Jack?” he asked softly.

Jack did not know the answer to that question. They were in Ianto’s bedroom, he remarked. The place was familiar. How had he gotten here, again? There were good memories associated to this place. It was nice to be here, maybe. Could he recreate some of the pleasant memories? He helped his partner out of his clothes with slow movements, and soon Ianto was naked in front of a still trousers-clad Jack. The younger man said something about following Jack’s lead. It didn’t make much sense. Jack wasn’t leading anything. But Ianto was here. He liked that Ianto was here. And there was a bed. Jack had shared a bed with someone else, recently. The Doctor. But the Doctor wouldn’t get naked for Jack. The Doctor didn’t like him that way. He never would. The Doctor knew exactly how much of a freak Jack was. But Ianto didn’t. And Ianto wasn’t dead yet. That was good. They climbed on the bed and Jack started to caress the young man’s skin, touching him everywhere. It seemed that Ianto was truly alive. There were images, though, memories, very unpleasant ones, this time, memories of another place, another person… a body that was Ianto’s, but covered in blood and bent at an awkward angle. Not breathing. Jack shivered. He’s alive now, he told himself again. He’s alive, and he likes you. You can touch him. He won’t mind.

Ianto wasn’t like the Doctor. Ianto hadn’t seen how broken Jack was. Ianto wouldn’t be disgusted with him. Ianto was someone Jack could still please.

And Jack had always liked giving pleasure. He still knew how. He could do that. He had felt powerless for so long… but he wasn’t powerless now. He could make Ianto feel good.

The thought was nice.

He slowly began to lick Ianto’s chest. The feeling of the young man’s skin on his lips, on his tongue… it was pleasant. A faint salty taste, the familiar smell of someone he had slept with many times. Jack teased a nipple between his teeth, and Ianto moaned. The sound was pleasant, too.

Ianto was laying on his back, seemingly content to allow Jack’s ministrations. There was a hand in Jack’s hair, but it was not forceful. It was gentle, caressing. He closed his eyes and let his mouth run down to Ianto’s crotch.

As he took the other man’s penis in his mouth, a faraway part of his brain wondered if he would find the act enjoyable. Jack used to love giving head. These days, though? There weren’t many things that could make him feel something vaguely good. But blowing Ianto didn’t feel bad, either. The young man was panting, and tiny sounds of pleasure were escaping his lips. Jack liked hearing that. He remembered what Ianto liked, too, and it reminded him of simpler times. Better times, perhaps. He could use his knowledge to distract Ianto from the questions his former partner would inevitably have about Jack’s disappearance, sudden reappearance and general state.

Louder moans. Ianto was trying to warn Jack of something – that his orgasm was near, probably. Jack redoubled his efforts, and the young man came in his mouth. Swallowing was almost a reflex. Less of a mess that way.

Watching Ianto’s blissful face was pleasant. But after a few moments, the young man opened his eyes and started talking – it sounded like he wanted to thank Jack, maybe? Or just to talk? Neither option sounded appealing, and the immortal immediately moved to silence his partner with a kiss. Ianto was very responsive, and Jack couldn’t stop himself from squeezing him in his arms, breathing in his scent, trying to calm the drumming of his own heartbeat.

But then, Ianto made a new attempt at taking off Jack’s trousers. “Don’t,” the immortal pleaded.

“Sir?” Ianto asked – and it was cute, so very Ianto, always formal and polite, even in the most absurd of circumstances; but it also served as an unwelcome reminder of how little the young man actually knew him.

“Don’t. I… it’s… please just hold me,” Jack whispered. Because he was a sad old bastard and would take all the support he could get, even though he did not deserve it.

“Of course,” Ianto replied, and he pulled Jack into a hug.

The immortal bit his lip as hard as he could, unwilling to let sobbing sounds escape his mouth. But he could not stop the tears leaking from his eyes, nor the tremors running through his body.

Ianto was still holding him. Would the Doctor have held Jack in the same way? Maybe. Or maybe not. But Jack would never ask such a thing from him. Because Jack knew that he could not bear one more rejection from the Time Lord. He needed to protect what was left of his shattered heart.

(It had been literally shattered, at some point. The Master had ripped the organ from his chest, frozen it, waited for Jack to come back to life, and blackmailed the Doctor into shredding the useless thing into tiny pieces with a hammer. The Master had never really been one for subtlety.)

Despite himself, Jack shuddered at the memory. Ianto hugged him tighter.

Slowly, the alcohol and the warmth of the embrace allowed him to drift towards sleep.

x-x-x

They were awakened in the middle of the night by a scream. It took Jack several seconds to identify it as his own, and even more time to realise that the person trying to reassure him was Ianto.

“You’re alive,” Jack murmured, clinging to the other man’s chest. “You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive,” he repeated like a mantra.

“Of course I’m alive.” Ianto sounded concerned. “Jack… what’s this about? What happened?”

“It was Hell,” Jack replied in a whisper. His brain was fuzzy, the aftereffects of alcohol fogging his thoughts, and in his half-asleep state, answering the question sounded like a logical thing to do. “He killed… he killed so many people. You and the rest of the team, you joined the resistance in Japan, but he located you. Showed me the building burning. And then the whole country, of course. But you, you, he… he captured you before he made your hiding place explode, and he brought you onboard. Wanted me to see you suffer. He tortured you, and he… he… there was nothing I could do, and then I had to… I had to…” Jack’s voice trailed off and he squeezed the other man harder, trying to calm himself by listening to his heartbeat.

“That’s… I… You had a nightmare, okay?” Ianto stammered. “It’s just a nightmare. I’m here, I’m fine. None of those things really happened.”

Jack laughed, but the sound was utterly devoid of humour. “It was real. We managed to reverse it, and everybody forgot, but it was real.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” Jack muttered. “’T was stupid of me to say that. Sorry I woke you.”

“I don’t care about that! What the hell were you talking about?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jack mumbled. “It’s over now. Just go back to sleep.”

“What? No! Jack, you have to explain!”

“Nope,” the immortal answered, mentally berating himself for his utter foolishness as some degree of awareness came back to him. Why on Earth had he said anything? “Not gonna do that. Just… need sleep,” he muttered, rolling over. He pointedly ignored Ianto’s next questions, debating instead whether he should just get the hell away from there. If he disappeared again, what were the chances of Ianto forgetting about what he had just said and believing everything had been a dream?

But Jack felt himself enveloped in a tight embrace and knew he would not have the courage to leave. “It’s okay if you need time,” Ianto was murmuring. “But when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be right here.”

Jack would never take him up on that offer, of course. Ianto deserved better. And the immortal wouldn’t talk, at least not while he was fully awake and conscious of what he was doing. He knew he was a monster, but he wouldn’t pollute someone innocent – not any more than he already had, at least. He would accept the softness of Ianto’s hands on his skin, but he would not allow himself to corrupt the young man’s heart.

x-x-x

When Jack woke up again, the first thing he noticed was a warm body pressed against his. He stayed very still, trying to evaluate the level of threat.

Then he heard a voice saying ‘hello’, and he flinched.

“Sorry,” Ianto immediately said. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Are you feeling better?”

Jack blinked, struggling to make sense of the situation, and regretted opening his eyes as he realised that he had a pounding headache. His stomach was also sending powerful signals of pain, and his throat was parched. Jack grimaced. That felt like a hell of a hangover. But, more importantly – where was he? What was he doing there?

He looked around. Ianto. Ianto’s place. Memories of the previous days, starting from his conversation with Martha, abruptly flew back to him, and he groaned.

“I should go,” he said, starting to get up. “I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I’m sorry,” he said, avoiding Ianto’s eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t! You don’t get to disappear for weeks without a word, come back drunk on my doorstep, spurt tales of torture in the middle of the night and then refuse to explain. What happened to you, Jack?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “Had a nightmare, that’s all. Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was drunk. It was a mistake. But I’ll come back to Torchwood, don’t worry.”

“When?” Ianto asked, clearly frustrated.

“I don’t know. When I can.”

x-x-x

Jack’s posture was stiff and closed-off as he put his shirt back on, and Ianto knew that it was only a matter of minutes before the man disappeared again.

“At least tell me that you have people to take care of you,” the Welshman demanded as he hastily got dressed too.

Jack stilled. “I don’t need care,” he answered harshly, his stance even tenser than before.

“Oh, but you do. Jack, I’ve never seen you like that. You… I… You don’t have to talk to me, but please, just tell me that you have someone. Or, if you don’t… just stay for a little while? I would like to know what happened, but I won’t try to force you to answer any questions. The last thing I want is to drive you away.”

He gave Jack a pleading look, but the immortal wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I only wish… oh, never mind,” Ianto huffed. “I know you’re going to leave anyway. Just remember that you’re always welcome here, alright?”

“I don’t deserve that,” Jack whispered.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I left you! I left all of you! Without a warning, without an explanation, without a care!” the Torchwood director yelled in what sounded like a desperate attempt to push Ianto away. “Why aren’t you mad at me? You should throw me out, not ask about how I’m doing!”

“Well, I’m not saying that we wouldn’t have liked to get a note or something before you left, but come on, after the way we acted towards you with the whole Abaddon business, do you really think that we’re in a position to hold a grudge?”

Jack seemed at a loss for an answer and Ianto decided to press his advantage. “I won’t force you to stay. I won’t force you to speak. But I want you to know that I’m here if you need me.”

The other man was still struggling for words when Ianto slowly came closer and pulled him into a hug. At first, Jack showed no reaction at all, standing very stiff, but after a few seconds, something seemed to snap inside him, and he returned the embrace with a very un-Jack-like shyness.

“I’ve got you,” Ianto murmured, acting on instinct. “You’re okay, we’re okay.” He held Jack tighter and felt a shiver run through the immortal’s body as he fractionally relaxed. A loud, heart-wrenching sob escaped Jack’s lips, and he clung to Ianto, burying his head in the crook of the other man’s shoulder.

Ianto kept holding him and murmuring words of reassurance as more sobs shook Jack’s whole body. And as he allowed himself to truly lean on someone else for the first time since that Year from Hell had started, Jack began to think that maybe, maybe, a time would come when he would start feeling better.

x-x-x

“Ianto, I–”

“If your next words are going to be apologies, I don’t want to hear it,” the Welshman interrupted, still not letting go of Jack. Who huffed.

“Fine. No apologies. I should still leave, though.”

“Do you have to?” Ianto asked.

Despite his better judgement, Jack found himself hesitating. “Well, I just think–”

“If you don’t have a life-threatening emergency to deal with in the next few hours,” Ianto interrupted, “then I want you to eat breakfast with me while watching bad TV on my sofa.”

“Is that an order?” Jack replied playfully.

“Hey, what do you know – maybe I’ve been promoted while you were away!”

But the casual reference to Jack’s absence felt awkward, and Ianto hurriedly added, “I just have to tell Owen that I’m taking the day off. Come on, I’m sure you can find yourself something entertaining to watch while I start cooking.”

“Yes, sir!” Jack replied with a teasing grin, and his subordinate sent a mock punch in his direction.

Jack flinched.

It was barely noticeable; he moved a couple centimetres at most. But he could see in Ianto’s eyes that the other man hadn’t missed the gesture and was not fooled when Jack tried to cover his reaction behind a weak joke about how watching Ianto cooking could be better entertainment than anything on TV if the man wore less clothes.

Jack knew that he should probably have followed his initial plan and left as soon as he woke up. But feeling Ianto’s arm behind his shoulders, staying huddled on the sofa with him after having eaten the – delicious – food his part-time partner had prepared… it just felt so good. As he watched Ianto’s profile, Jack found himself unable to truly regret having stayed. If he had to be honest with himself, he knew that it was why he had come here in the first place. Not for sex, certainly not for sex; not for talking, either, and not even for Ianto himself – or not solely for him, at least. He had come here for this. Because he needed a moment like this, safe with in a warm body close to his own. A moment with someone to hold him.

The Doctor had his own demons to battle, and Martha or her family… he tried to stop the thought as soon as it came to his mind, but he knew that they would never want anything to do with him ever again. He deserved it, of course – but knowing it didn’t make the facts any less painful. And since hangover him had apparently decided that lucidity was the way to go, Jack had to admit that, at least for a little while, it was a relief to be with someone who did not know anything about the Year. Ianto still saw him as the leader he had been before all that; he couldn’t pity him, or blame him, or judge him in any way – he just didn’t know. Yes, it was what Jack had been wanting, what he had been needing, perhaps: someone who had no idea what had happened, wouldn’t ask questions, but would be there, would be… affectionate. Because Ianto didn’t realise yet how unworthy Jack was of anyone’s affection.

x-x-x

Ianto worked hard to convince Jack to stay with him for lunch, too. He didn’t want to let him go, and he had to admit that the more he watched Jack, the more worried he felt. His physical form, for starters. Sure, Jack was immortal, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t go through pretty rough patches. And by the look of it, this was one. The previous evening, Ianto had been too surprised, and then too distracted, to actually notice, but Jack had lost weight; he was thinner now, and unhealthily so. (Hence the Welshman’s insistence on proper meals.) There was more than just that, though. It was subtle, and Jack was clearly trying very hard to appear normal, but Ianto could see the way he tensed at any physical contact and looked ready to bolt or shy away from it – for a second. Before making a visible effort to relax. And yet he also seemed to crave some form of closeness, and to lean into Ianto’s touch as soon as he could control his first reflex – his reactions spoke of a man starved of any kind of physical affection for a very long time. Which did not bode well for a person as tactile as he had always known Jack to be. Then there was the way Jack was startled by any sudden or loud noise. He hid it well, but Ianto was nothing if not observant, and he knew Jack’s normal behaviour. This was not it. And there was also the fact that, despite spending the entire morning in close proximity with a lover he had not seen in weeks, Jack had yet to make any kind of move towards something even remotely sexual. Oh, he had made a few innuendos alright, but nothing that would lead to them actually doing anything, and even the innuendos felt forced. More telling still was the way he had refused to let Ianto touch him the previous night. Everything about Jack’s behaviour evoked severe PTSD, and Ianto had no idea what to do about it, or even simply what could have caused it.

A significant portion of the afternoon had already gone by when he finally found the courage to try saying something.

“Jack? When you leave, take care of yourself, okay?”

“Of course,” Jack answered with a spectacularly fake grin.

“I mean it,” Ianto insisted. “I’m not blind, you know?”

“That would be a shame – you would miss so much of my magnificent physique!” But that sounded forced, too.

“Something happened, and I think that someone hurt you. Badly.” Ianto stated. It was not a question, and Jack did not reply, but he visibly tensed. “I’m not going to ask about it,” Ianto added. “I told you I wouldn’t, and it’s not like you’d answer anyway. But there’s something I want to know. The man you were looking for, the… the ‘right kind of doctor’ – did you find him?”

Jack sighed. “Yeah, I did.”

“Is he… he didn’t do that to you, did he?” Ianto hesitated, and then asked plainly, “Is he the one who hurt you?”

Jack shook his head and said “no.” His tone was clipped.

Ianto released a breath he had barely known he was holding. “Good. But… he knows what happened to you, right?”

Jack sighed again. “Yeah.”

“Can he help?” Ianto blurted before he had time to think the question through. “Help you,” he added when Jack looked like he was not going to answer. “I think you have PTSD, Jack,” he said softly. “And I don’t know if there’s anything I can do for you, but I thought that maybe him… if you think he might be trustworthy… I’ve been looking through Torchwood’s old files recently, you know?” Shortly after the assassination of the American president, Ianto had been feeling odd urges to dig into some specific sections of the archives. He wasn’t sure why. “There are lots of stuff about the Doctor, and I noticed you’re the one who ensured he’d stopped being classified as an enemy. I’ve tried to find things from UNIT, too – there are several references in their files to a ‘Doctor’ who sounds like he’d be special enough to have someone like you waiting for him. So… is he? Special, I mean? And more importantly, can he help you?”

Jack shrugged, but his expression belied any pretence of indifference. “I don’t know,” he answered, a stony look on his face. “I don’t think so. I don’t think he wants to.”

“Did you ask him?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then ask. If not for you, then for me. I know I’m not… I know it’s not like you’d ever call me your boyfriend or anything,” Ianto muttered, and on a better day, Jack would probably have reacted to the self-deprecating undertone in his voice, but he seemed to be frozen in place. “I know I haven’t always been trustworthy, but I… that doesn’t mean I don’t care, okay?” the young man added, hating how desperate he sounded. “Your doctor, if he knows what happened to you, and if you believe he can be trusted – talk to him. Ask for his help.”

Jack shook his head again. “There’s nothing he could do.”

“Where’s the harm in asking? Just to be sure? Promise me you’ll do it, Jack. Or if not him, someone else who knows what you’ve been through. Promise me you’ll find someone to talk to.”

“Ianto, stop. You don’t know what any of this is about.”

“Maybe I don’t, but there are people who know, right? And I want to be sure that you’ll speak with them.”

“Listen, it’s sweet of you to care, but–”

“No, you listen,” Ianto interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically forceful. “Something bad happened to you, that much is obvious. And I don’t think you’d let me help, me or anyone from Torchwood, really, but you still need someone. So yeah, I care. And I can’t make you care for yourself, but you’d better believe that I can pester you until you at least accept to admit that there’s something wrong.”

Jack was doing his best to look exasperated, but there was another emotion flickering in his eyes. “It’s not that simple,” he murmured.

“Never said it was simple. But when did Captain Jack Harkness ever back away from a challenge, eh?” the Welshman asked, trying for a lighter tone.

Jack didn’t react with the fake grin and half-hearted joke Ianto had been expecting. Instead, his shoulders hunched, and he whispered, “Not sure I’m that kind of man anymore, Yan.”

“That’s rubbish and you know it!” Ianto answered angrily. “I don’t blame you for feeling bad, but I won’t let you get away with self-deprecating nonsense, do you hear me?”

“Sorry,” Jack replied. “You’re right, of course you’re right. I’ll talk to the Doctor and things will get better.”

“Promise.” Ianto said unwaveringly. “Promise me you’ll do it.”

“Yan…”

“You were just saying yes to get me to leave you alone, weren’t you? I’m serious, Jack. I need you to swear that you’ll talk to someone who knows what happened. And that you’ll ask for help.”

Jack stayed silent for a long time then before finally saying, his voice very low, “Okay. I promise. I’ll try to ask for help.”