Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on.

Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.

Author's Notes: Note that "the Year That Never Was" was suggested that it wasn't fun. I took it as a challenge to somehow still find a way to instill comfort in it. If it didn't work, I'm sorry. I suck. LOL.

Warning For This Chapter: strong language, dark, angsty, VIOLENCE, torture (mostly implied, all a matter of reader interpretation), miscarriage, domestic abuse

Notes For This Chapter: Note there are events here that was referenced in DW's "The Sound of Drums" and TW's CJH.


Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30, Ch 31, Ch 32, Ch 33, Ch 34, Ch 35, Ch 36 Ch 37, Ch 38, Ch 39 1/7, Ch 39 2/7, Ch 39 3/7

Master Fic List: here


Extra Warning: This is yet another long boring act setting up everything, gang. Sorry.

Chapter 39 "The Year That Never Was 2.0"
Act IV
Valiant
Month Six Ver. 1

"Tell me about the alien mimes."

The question slipped into his consciousness like an icy dagger sliding in-between his ribs. No wait. That actually happened. Lucy Saxon was getting creative with that blade of hers. God, those two were perfect for each other.

His right eye wouldn't close properly or stop tearing; the blood vessel inside was still trying to heal and ease off his optic nerve.

"Jack…"

Don't tell them anything, Jack thought, his mind strangely blurry and spinning. Gestapo tended to get bored easily and just kill their prisoners if they couldn't get anything more than the routine name, rank, and serial number. He groaned a little, but he was unable to recite out the rhetorical information—the twentieth century's civilized way of telling a Nazi to fuck off. Jack swallowed hard and tried again, but it sounded more German than what the guy was spouting, pacing in front of him. He sounded oddly…Welsh?

Jack blinked. Blood and tears made it a mess trying to see through. But after a few stinging tears, the utility room he thought he was in melted away into metal, steam, and concrete.

"Hello." Ianto, for some reason, looked ready to cry. Did he just visit Lisa? No, wait, Lisa was buried in…in…he couldn't remember.

"'ello," Jack croaked. He licked his lips, trying to get some moisture into his mouth.

Ianto looked watery in his tearing vision in his denim jeans and worn jacket. Underneath was the simple striped shirt Ianto wore with the collar loose, his neck bared, the odd neckwear settled under his Adam's apple.

"A'ways 'iked t-that ou'fit," Jack slurred.

"Again, your imagination is quite a sharp dresser," Ianto replied. He tucked his hands into his jeans. "And I applaud your restraint from dressing me in more elaborate attire."

"When you s-say elab—" Jack coughed. "El-laborate you m-mean as in no c-c'othes?"

It was amusing how Ianto could still pull off an indignant look even in such casual dress. Even naked, Ianto was able to pull off the "We are not amused" expression even without a crown.

"Really?" Ianto huffed. "A crown? Naked?" Ianto folded his arms across his chest. "Your mind is a very terrifying place, Jack Harkness."

Jack grinned unapologetically. "Then 'top rea'ing it," Jack rasped. It was easier to breathe when he didn't have to think about feeling his ribs straightening out, his torso sealing off the cuts Lucy Saxon etched across him.

"If I'm your hallucination, I can't help but read your mind," Ianto retorted. "If you have issue, take up a grievance with Freud."

Jack huffed out a laugh. "F-freud? Please. All he ever did wa' complain a'out hi' mother. K-killjoy."

Ianto stared at him, his mouth agape. "You dated Sigmund Freud?"

Rolling his eyes would have hurt so Jack opted to scoff instead. "N-no. I wa' s-sent in to inve'tigate him. H-he wanted to ps-sychoanalyze me."

A puff of steam whistled through Ianto's torso, reminding Jack once again of the illusion. Ianto never noticed.

"Let me guess," Ianto drawled. "It had something to do with sex."

The chuckle that came out sounded like a sneeze. "It wa' always about s-sex with 'im."

"I never know when you're joking," Ianto complained but he was smiling. "How can I possibly compete with Freud?"

Jack tried to straighten and keep his head up. Minutes later though, Jack's shoulders dropped. His back spasm, his legs quivered, trying to hold him up. His boots skidded on the tarp vandalized with the messes of his misery. There was a moment when Jack couldn't tell if he was living or dying. Before he could stop himself, a sob broke out.

"Sh…" Ianto's hand hovered by his cheek. Then, remembering, Ianto pulled his hand away, his throat working.

"W-worst hospitality," Jack ground out. "E-ever."

"Think about something else," Ianto advised. He cleared his throat. "Maybe…tell me about the alien mimes perhaps?"

"S'shouldn't you know?" Jack managed. He squinted blearily at Ianto. He grit his teeth as something burned from his tailbone and wormed into his gut. How can healing hurt this much?

"I would rather you tell me."

"You're f-from my 'ead. Just read it."

"That would be cheating."

Jack coughed in response. He breathed through his mouth. Jack's head dropped.

"Tell you w'at," Jack panted. "Y-you wear a p-pink…shirt next 'ime and I'll tell you a'out the mi'es."

"I wore one last time," Ianto pointed out.

"Not as a h-hallu'ination. I mean f-for real."

"No. Absolutely not." It was funny how Ianto could manage indignant and panic at the same time.

Jack raised his head. He stared at Ianto and the pouting mouth. God, if he could kiss that mouth.

"Dying m-man's wish?" Jack joked weakly.

Even translucent, Ianto still radiated disapproval.

"That is not funny," Ianto declared. He folded his arms across his chest. "In any reality."

"Sorry," Jack wheezed. He grimaced as he felt his insides churning against bone, internal injuries mending like sandpaper scrapping across an open wound.

"S-son of a b-bitch," Jack groaned. He locked his knees and struggled to stand. He failed and the drop sent agony up his arms. He cried out.

"Jack…listen to me," Ianto whispered, his voice liquid and soft, calm and a balm that coated him with a cotton-head feeling of numbness. "Concentrate on my voice only. Think about something else. Tell me about them. The alien mimes."

There was an odd giggle that Jack couldn't swallow back and it rippled pain in his chest.

"No way," Jack gasped out, "am I telling you…no m-matter 'ow much they torture me."

Ianto's responding chuckle was weary and airless. "You are most obdurate, Jack Harkness."

No fair using big words, Jack thought fuzzily, when he couldn't remember how to speak for the moment.

"Sorry." Ianto's murmur was like a caress. Jack couldn't help but lean towards the imagined touch.

"I'm sorry," Ianto repeated. His voice quavered. "I should be here."

"Don't…don't you start," Jack gasped. His shoulders pulled back into their sockets. Argh, torture was a bitch.

"Just a little bit longer, Jack," Ianto encouraged. He stood close enough to Jack that he could almost pretend he could feel Ianto's exhale on his cheek.

"Nearly there." Ianto's eyes seemed to solidify and darken. "Bear with it for a little longer. The Doctor has a plan. Remember."

"He has a plan," Jack groaned quietly in case anyone besides them was listening.

"He has a plan," Ianto murmured in agreement. His fingers coasted the planes of Jack's face. "Hush. Rest for now. They won't be back for days."

Jack obeyed with a weary nod because it was too exhausting to argue. He closed his eyes and sagged a little in his chains.

"Jack?" Ianto's voice was a purr by his ear.

"Hm?" If Jack concentrated very hard, he could almost feel Ianto's fingers carding his hair.

"The alien mimes?"

Jack half-smirked as he sank further into an exhausted sleep. "Pink shirt," he slurred.

"Spoilsport."



Torchwood Three, Cardiff

Something twilled in his ear and Ianto jerked back. Ianto stared blankly at the exposed guts of the rift manipulator. He blinked; the cramping on his lower back informed him it's been minutes since he sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the exposed rift manipulator. He could feel the imprint of its frame on his cheek where he rested his head against for what he thought was just for a moment. Damn, did he drift off again?

"You know, you would sleep better in a bed," Owen drawled just behind him. The kerosene lamp he was holding up wobbled.

"That wasn't an offer, was it?" Ianto shot back as he squinted into the chamber he was working on.

The narrow glow bobbled as Owen snorted. "It's only the end of the world, Jonesy. I'm not that desperate."

"Hold that light still," Ianto grumbled. "I can't see." He tapped the positive flow cables but all he received was a tiny spark.

"Great, you need glasses too, now? From your shoulder and your stupid chest cold, now myopia? Christ, you're getting to be high maintenance."

Ianto sighed. He gestured towards the rift converter chamber with the wrench Gwen was able to salvage.

"Either give me more light or instead of that extra power you want, you might just want to make a running start before I blow Cardiff off the map."

"I'm checking for Weevils," Owen grumbled. The light swung left then right.

"I told you," Ianto muttered as he opened the residual power value further, "they've all escaped into the sewers when everything happened. Torchwood's vaults were set to open if their alarms weren't reset after ten days. I doubt they would remain here."

The orange vapors that were dissipated from the rift flowed serenely into his makeshift pipe that led to the generator in Jack's office.

"I thought I heard growling, is all," Owen said as he checked to his right again.

A zap made Ianto yelp and Owen's lamp swing sharply back his way.

"Keep it still," Ianto snapped as he fanned his hand madly in the air.

Another light floated over. Joined with Owen's, Ianto's surroundings lightened to a grey gleam and the cables in the tight and cramped rift chamber sharpened in focus.

Gwen's face, smudged from her patrol of the vaults, gleamed with a lamp-created halo.

"Better, love?" Gwen smiled as she set her lamp on a tall stool Ianto recognized came from Owen's old Autopsy room.

Ianto grinned up gratefully. He stared pointedly at the fuzzy blur that was Owen. The medic grumbled and set his lamp down on the stool as well.

"Need a flashlight?" Owen asked as Gwen stretched out her arms to make her way towards Jack's office to monitor the power.

"Fourteen steps to his office," Gwen answered. "Battery's low anyway so no thank you. Rather save it for tonight when we meet the others about those rockets. Tosh's laptop will be bright enough."

"See if there's anything from Martha too," Ianto instructed. "She should be in Texas, near the army base by now. If there's any survivors, she would try to find any form of communications system."

"Be lot easier if our mobiles still worked," Owen grumbled.

"And a lot easier to find us," Gwen reminded him. Ianto could hear her stumble again Tosh's workstation.

"Watch it, Cooper."

Gwen only snorted.

"The Morse code lines are fine," Ianto sighed, but secretly, he agreed with Owen. Mobiles would have been easier if there was still a satellite system out of Saxon's reach. Hoping Martha could uncover old wires buried under decades of military technology was frustrating. They often went weeks without a word from her.

"I think there's a pharm around there as well," Owen mused.

"If it hasn't been dismantled yet." Ianto rotated his neck. His right shoulder stiffened and pulled at his neck until it felt like the muscles was pulling his head back. "She might be able to get what she needs in there," Ianto added. If she could get in touch with them so Owen could tell her. If the building was still there. If there were still chemicals in it. His stomach knotted and the protein bar he shared with Gwen threatened to reappear. A lot of ifs.

"Mm, Martha was positive she would find some way," Gwen said, a little distracted as she made her way blindly towards the office. Gwen hissed when her knee bumped into the door.

"Just don't break your neck there," Owen griped. "I already have my hands full with our picture of health here."

"Hands full of what?" Ianto quipped. He coughed quietly into a fist. Damn cough. It never left him since the Himalayas.

Owen groaned. "Great, that's something I would expect from Jack, not from…" Owen fell silent.

Ianto gulped, his own smile dying and he turned back towards the rift manipulator.

Feet shifted from side to side behind Ianto, but he didn't turn around. Ianto tapped his wrench on one cable. He pulled at it harder than necessary and jumped when sparks danced off his fingers.

"Nearly there," Ianto rasped. His neck hurt, but he kept his head low. He could still feel Jack's breath against his face, feel his chest seized when Jack moaned. Short, tantalizing glimpses in a dream. Seconds, just seconds within a dream to see Jack.

Ianto's eyes welled. God, he ached seeing Jack. He ached when he no longer could see Jack. He was cursed either way.

"Sorry," Owen muttered.

"It's all right," Ianto said, harsher than he meant to. He scrubbed his sleeve under his dripping nose. "Dust everywhere," Ianto muttered.

"Sorry," Owen repeated. He now crouched down by Ianto.

"And I said it was all right," Ianto forced himself to not shout. There were too many times lately when all he wanted to do was shout.

"Not about that," Owen puffed. He balanced himself on the balls of his feet. He settled his arms on his knees and his head drooped to stare at his dangling hands. "I meant for before."

Ianto glanced over, off his left shoulder at Owen who was still staring at his hands.

"Before?"

"When I said…when I thought you were…you know…with Jack…" Owen took a deep breath and he looked squarely at Ianto.

"I didn't know it was for real." Owen's face looked distorted and uncomfortably sincere. "Sorry, Ianto."

Ianto stared at Owen because he really didn't know what to say. He turned back his head towards the rift manipulator. He sniffed wetly.

"Thank you," Ianto croaked. He stared hard at the billows pumping sluggishly below the rift capacitator. It hissed and groaned and reminded him of the engine room.

"He can't die," Owen said quietly.

"I didn't forget," Ianto hissed. His face screwed up as he considered the cables all jumbled up in front of him. "It doesn't make it any less what he's going through up there. Saxon, he—" Ianto clamped his mouth shut.

"I know," Owen said evenly. "I'm a doctor. I'm not stupid."

Ianto's mouth quirked in apology. "There's some debate on that," he joked weakly.

Owen slapped him lightly on the thigh. "Oi." He rocked back on his heels. Owen sobered immediately.

"I'm not saying that his not dying makes this better," Owen hesitated, "but at least he'll survive."

Ianto's stomach clenched, but he didn't contradict Owen. He nodded numbly.

Owen gave his good shoulder a hesitant pat as if he wasn't sure if he was doing it correctly.

The gesture seemed to unleash some of the wetness brimming around his eyes. Ianto sniffed again.

"Christ, don't get all weepy on me, Jonesy," Owen groaned. He paused. "You…you don't need a hug, do you?"

A laugh choked out and Ianto scrubbed his face with a swipe of his palm.

"It's only the end of the world, Harper. I'm not that desperate."

"Piss off," Owen chuckled tiredly and gave Ianto a nudge on the shoulder that nearly knocked him off his spot.



Valiant
Five days later…

It was infuriating how flat her stomach still was, like an accusation of her failure.

Lucy stared down at herself, at her hand curled over her belly. She should have been rounded, her stomach in a soft swell by now, not weak and barren, sitting and waiting for Harry as he abandoned her once more for the filthy creature in the bowels of the ship.

The maids scurried by her, cleaning, sorting, not looking at her. As if they knew how hard she tried since, as if they saw her sitting with the corpse of her child in a tiny box, too young to have a gender determined, all day in her chamber until Harry had someone drug her food and take her baby away. Everyone avoided her eyes as if they held opinion on her failings.

She should kill them all.

"It would have killed you."

Lucy turned in her seat and glared at the pathetic tent huddled against the stairs that led to the bridge's upper deck. She could see the eyes glittering dark as coals inside the darkness.

"He speaks," Lucy murmured. She faced the tent completely, crossed her legs and studied the opening of the tent that revealed nothing.

It wasn't clear what was the look bestowed on her: pity, disgust, curiosity? It was certainly not fear. And it infuriated her as she knew irritated Harry, yet he did nothing more than taunt and gloat in return. A hand never rose to strike him and the one time Lucy tried, Harry's backhand sent her across the bridge.

"What wisdom do you wish to impart on me now, Doctor?" Lucy asked the gaze tracking her with deceptively soft sympathy.

"I am sorry for your loss."

Lucy's face twisted.

"But it would have brought you only death."

No, Lucy thought bitterly. It would have returned Harry to her. She clutched the armrests with a white-knuckled grip.

"The child would not have resolved anything."

Lucy's upper lip curled back. "And what would you suggest?" She leaned forward and glared into the darkness. The Doctor met her gaze with equal intensity. They matched stares for a long time, heedless of the maids, the navigators calling out satellite coordinate corrections and new positions, guards pacing around the bridge as if she was ever in danger from an ancient Time Lord.

In the long, silent battle of wills, Lucy caught the tiny flinch. The Doctor's eyes dull briefly before an eye blink later, they cleared.

"You can see what is happening to him right now," Lucy breathed. Her mouth curved.

"You see it all, don't you? How? The ship?" Lucy smirked when she caught the corner of his right eye crinkle in a barely detectable wince. "It's bound inside the paradox machine, cannibalized. It's blind, deaf, silent."

The Doctor studied her with unreadable eyes.

Lucy's eyes widened. "The time ship still talks to you somehow."

There was an odd thrill coiling deep inside her belly. It pushed away the cold lump she bore at the thought of Harry's absence. It rivaled what she felt and the idea of someone else burdened with something more acute than the gnawing in her bones made her head spin from the blood rushing to her head. She wanted to drag the Time Lord out of his tent to see what echoed on his face, what the TARDIS shows him. Oh, the torment the Doctor must feel.

"You can see it, can't you, Time Lord?" Lucy clasped her hands together. Her heart hammered and her smile grew. "It shows you, doesn't it? Everything Harry does to the Companion."

"His name is Jack."

Lucy fought back the urge to cringe at the thread-thin hiss that reminded her of her Master.

"It won't be for long," Lucy whispered. The singing in her blood quieted.

"And you think that will be good?" The Doctor leaned forward and his wrinkled face emerged out of the darkness.

"What about you?" the Doctor murmured. "If the Master succeeds in all, where does that leave you?"

Lucy shrank back deep into her chair. Her hands twisted at the hem of her gown now.

"Not if; when. It will be good for Harry, that's what's important," Lucy whispered.

"You're not a very good liar, Lucy Saxon."

"This is all I ever wanted for him," Lucy insisted. "Harry knows everything I do, everything I've done is for him."

The Doctor said nothing. He retreated deeper into his tent.

"This is what I want for Harry," Lucy repeated. Her hands clawed her own upper thighs until her fingers drew blood. "Nothing else matters."

But when Harry returned hours later, his eyes still pale and colorless, his body still vibrating from the vortex, Lucy never told him about what she'd discovered about the Doctor. And she could feel the Time Lord watching her as Harry waltzed with her on the bridge under 'Moonlight Sonata'.


Act V