Work Text:
“Jack - get in the back with Ianto.”
Jack pauses with his hand on the passenger door handle and looks over the roof of the car at Gwen with a frown. He assumed he wouldn’t be driving, but Jack Harkness never takes a back seat. Gwen softens her features a little, seeing past Jack’s bravado; remembers what’s happened to him over the last twenty-four hours.
“He’s got bolt cutters,” she explains gently.
“Right.”
Jack switches places with Rhys, who skirts carefully around him, keeping his eyes studiously directed upwards, and climbs into the back seat. Gwen pulls away in a squeal of tire spin and cloud of dust, and bumps the old Vauxhall over the rutted track, up out of the quarry. Jack sneaks a glance across at Ianto, who is trying to smother a joyous smile by chewing his lip. He looks faintly ridiculous in his workman’s jacket and boots over a once-pristine suit, but - for some reason - the way his hair has been flattened by the hard hat makes Jack want to kiss the unstyled curls at his temple.
Ianto rummages around in the foot well and produces a pair of bolt cutters. “Hands out,” he instructs, and Jack obeys, proffering his cuffed hands, stretching the chain taut between them.
Ianto focuses intently on the cuffs as he slides the jaws of the bolt cutters around the metal and doesn’t even so much as glance up at Jack’s face. Jack’s watching Ianto closely, hearing the ping and feeling the release as the handcuffs spring apart. He’s left with two ugly metal bracelets. Ianto manoeuvres the cutters between the first and Jack’s skin. It pinches against his wrist.
“Which way?” Gwen asks from the driver’s seat. They’ve arrived at the quarry entrance. The road is empty in both directions. They haven’t tracked them down yet.
“Left,” Ianto replies, and she roars away before he can finish speaking. “You’ll come to a roundabout in about a mile. Take the second exit.”
“Second. Right. Got it.” Gwen nods determinedly, but her knuckles are white around the steering wheel.
They’ve clearly already discussed their plan and Jack feels out of the loop. He has no idea how long he’s been dead, or who’s trying to kill them, or how Gwen and Ianto managed to survive the explosion that ripped him apart. He should be feeling something, but instead, he feels numb. The mere absence of pain is in itself an anaesthetic.
Ianto emits a quiet grunt as he forces the bolt cutters to bite through the thicker metal around Jack’s wrist. Jack says nothing but holds his wrist steady, bracing against the force of the metal giving way. Ianto rests the bolt cutters across his knees as he slides his fingers in under the metal and prises it open, widening the gap just enough to pull it off, one end of the jagged metal leaving a pink scrape across the underside of Jack’s wrist. It’ll be gone within the hour.
Ianto tosses the cuff aside and sets to work on the other. He still hasn’t looked up at Jack. Jack studies the top of Ianto’s head as he diligently works, noticing fondly that he has the faintest beginnings of a bald patch, right on his crown, and something compels him to bend down and kiss it.
Ianto squirms. “Keep still.”
“Sorry.”
He is wrenching open the second cuff now and throwing it down to join its companion. Jack rubs his bare wrists uncomfortably. Gwen takes the second exit at the roundabout and they join a dual carriageway.
Ianto retrieves a plastic bag from the parcel shelf behind them. “Got you some clothes,” he explains. Jack just wishes Ianto would look at him. “Didn’t think yours would survive.” He slides underwear, socks, grey jogging bottoms, blue t-shirt and a hideous woollen jumper out of the bag. “Not great, but the best I could do on the run.” He hands the pile to Jack. “They should fit.”
“Knowing you they will.” Jack smiles but now Ianto’s looking out of the window at the road.
Jack grabs the boxer shorts and wriggles around in his seat to get his feet into the leg holes. Sneaking a look down at his groin, he’s glad to find everything down there intact. It always has grown back along with the rest of him, but he can’t help worrying. He wriggles about as he dresses, grimacing when he feels the chafing of concrete remnants snagging his skin in awkward places.
“Where now?” Gwen asks as they approach another roundabout. She’s kept the needle on sixty the whole way, throwing the car into bends like a racing driver.
Ianto peers at the road sign looming up beside the car. “Right,” he says.
Gwen flicks on the indicator and moves over into the right-hand lane. As Jack contorts himself into the jogging bottoms, he twists his head to check out of the window. Gwen is zipping down a slip lane to join a motorway, signposted M1 North. He tugs the t-shirt over his head, decides he’d rather be cold than risk the monstrosity of a jumper, and turns to Ianto with a puzzled frown.
“Where are we going?”
Ianto finally meets his eye and shrugs. “London.”
*
Jack is stripped naked in front of the sinks when Ianto enters the men’s toilets. He figures it’s ok at this time of night since there’s no one around. They’re at a service station on the M6, just south of Manchester. This is Ianto’s grand plan, to get to London via Manchester. It’s excessive and wasting an awful lot of time, but Jack can see the sense in it. Jack spins on the taps and pumps soap from the dispenser into his palm.
“I’m going to be shitting concrete for days,” he jokes as he begins to soap himself up.
Ianto cracks the smallest of smiles as he shrugs off his suit jacket. He’s abandoned the high-vis coat and changed back into his own shoes now. “Rhi gave me some money, so Rhys is buying whatever food he can get at this time of night,” he tells Jack as he loosens his tie.
“I’m sorry you had to bring your family into this,” Jack says softly.
Ianto shrugs and stifles a yawn. “She doesn’t know where we are. And she’s smart.” He gives Jack a sideways smile. “She is related to me after all.”
“True.”
Jack works a frothy lather up his shins, round the back of his knees and up his thighs. The concrete dust is clinging uncomfortably to his leg hair. Beside him, Ianto removes his shirt and lathers up his armpits, and they fall into a silence punctuated only by the scraping and scratching of soapy fingers on skin and hair. Ianto cups his hands under the tap and splashes water onto his face. He scrubs furiously at his eyes and yawns again.
“I’m shattered.”
Jack glances sideways at him as he reaches round to wash – ever so carefully - between his legs. “Get any sleep last night?”
Ianto shakes his head and stuffs a hand into his mouth around another yawn. “Spent most of it under a bridge.”
Jack smiles at him. “Classy.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ianto turns and leans heavily on the sink. Jack is attempting to crane his head round to wash his lower back. “Need a hand?” Ianto offers.
“Thanks.”
Ianto soaps up his own hands and slides them over Jack’s shoulders. “Your hair’s a bit dusty,” he says. “Lean forward.” Jack obeys and Ianto splashes water over his head, working it in until his hair is wet through. He massages soap into Jack’s scalp and Jack closes his eyes, letting out a contented murmur. Ianto works methodically, teasing out the matted strands of hair and picking out the little lumps of concrete, rubbing them patiently between his fingers. As he scoops up the water and rinses out the soap, there are a few obstinate lumps left behind.
“You’ll have to use vinegar to get it out,” Ianto suggests. “When this is all over.”
“Mm,” Jack agrees.
Ianto spies the familiar grey dust in the hollow of Jack’s ear and carefully works a finger into it, rubbing the tops of his ears between finger and thumb until they come clean. Then he starts to concentrate on Jack’s back, smoothing his palms over his shoulders, down over his shoulder blades, supple hands running over warm skin as though he wants to reassure himself that this really is Jack’s body, alive and in one piece.
“You didn’t hug me at the quarry,” Jack murmurs.
Ianto’s hands pause for a fleeting moment and then resume. For a while, he says nothing, and Jack wonders if he is going to reply. He didn’t exactly ask a question. He’s become used to Ianto comforting him after he dies and it’s nice because he can’t really remember anyone caring like that before. Not about him dying; only about them dying and him living on.
“I didn’t think it was appropriate,” Ianto answers eventually as his thumbs swipe lower still. “With Gwen and Rhys there.” He stops soaping and reaches for a paper towel. “And we needed to get away.”
“A hug is always appropriate,” Jack assures him as Ianto soaks the paper towel and begins to wipe down Jack’s back. “You seemed so pleased to see me, I wondered…”
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence. Ianto knows exactly what he means. “I was pleased to see you,” Ianto says, keeping the rhythm of his makeshift sponging steady. Jack feels cold soapy water run off his back, over his buttocks and down his thighs. “I wanted to hug you when I saw you.” He grabs more paper towels from the dispenser and starts to dry Jack’s back. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
“Favourably.” Jack shakes his wet hair from side to side, spraying water across the room.
“Sorry.” Ianto continues to dry him off.
Jack huffs out a laugh. “That was your cue to hug me now,” he clarifies.
He wonders how Ianto will react – stiff and formal, or affectionate – but he doesn’t have to wonder for long, because Ianto tosses the paper towels to one side, spins him round and grabs him into an embrace. And this one isn’t awkward and back-clapping. This one lasts. Jack can feel Ianto’s damp chest hair against his body as he wraps his arms around him and holds him close.
“I was so scared,” Ianto whispers in his ear. “I was so scared you wouldn’t come back.”
Jack pulls him closer. The hug is so tight they can hardly breathe but they don’t care. “I always come back,” he insists. “Always.”
They don’t look up when the toilet door opens. They’re past caring about anyone but each other; about anything other than the beating hearts in their chests reminding them that they are both very much alive.
“Not in here guys, come on.” They turn and see a cleaner watching them. “There’s a Travelodge next door for that, ok?” His tone speaks of a man who has seen this far more often than he would like, only this time he’s missed the mark by a long way.
Jack wants to tell him to get over himself; that he and Ianto are a couple, and they’re just hugging, and they’re about to go and save the world. But they’re not supposed to be attracting attention, so he stays silent. He kisses Ianto, firm but tender, and pulls away. The cleaner waits and watches sceptically as they put their clothes back on and leave.
Out in the dark of the car park, Gwen has the car parked up under the trees in the far corner. The driver’s door is open and she’s sitting on the edge of the seat, looking queasy, whilst Rhys tucks heartily into a sausage roll. They both look up with nervous, flighty eyes as Jack and Ianto approach.
“This is all they had,” Rhys sprays, gesturing to the offerings he has spread out on the bonnet. Two sausage rolls, a Scotch egg, a BLT sandwich - just out of date - four Yorkie bars and a bottle of coke.
Jack looks at Ianto and shrugs. They both grab what they can, suddenly realising how hungry they are. Gwen can’t stomach anything at the moment. Ianto is fairly certain she ought to be eating more, because that’s what he’s heard, but Rhys and Jack don’t seem unduly concerned, so he says nothing.
“I used the cash to fill the car up,” Gwen tells them. “Only got fifteen quid left now. Should get us to London though.”
“Great.” Jack polishes off his sausage roll and Ianto’s proffered half of the sandwich. “I’ll take first turn driving,” he announces, heading for the driver’s door. “You lot get some sleep. I’ll wake Ianto up in a couple of hours to take a shift.”
It’s generally agreed to be a good a plan and they take their places in the car: Ianto and Rhys in the back and Gwen up front with Jack. Rhys is asleep almost as soon as they’re back on the motorway, head sunk forward onto his chest and snoring lightly. Jack catches Ianto’s eye in the rear-view mirror and smiles. Ianto smiles back - a sleepy smile; the one he smiles at Jack when they accidentally wake each other in the middle of the night. The next time Jack checks, Ianto is asleep too, leaning against the window. Gwen fights sleep the longest, but eventually she nods off as well, and Jack is left alone with his thoughts, the flickering lights of passing traffic and his sleeping passengers. He doesn’t intend to wake any of them before they get to London.