m-findlow.livejournal.com

Title: Colour of your life
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,200 words
Content notes: none
Author notes:  Written for Challenge 156 - Rose
Summary: The veil is finally lifted from Jack's view of the world

When Jack woke up, he lay there, unmoving. That wasn't like him at all normally, however the events of the night before had left him inert and immobile, the usual spring in his step gone. He felt deflated and without energy. Usually he could barely stay still, and sleeping in was practically unheard-of. He couldn't wait to bounce out of bed and start the day afresh, wondering what adventures might be just around the corner.

Not today. Today he felt as if he could stay there forever and never get up again. He couldn't bring himself to get up yet and face what today had already ostensibly delivered to him. Somewhere above his cramped bunker, lay the thing he was dreading, or rather the person he was dreading. The young man would be up there, sleeping peacefully on the sofa, thanks to Owen's clear thinking last night, having dosed him with a cocktail of sedatives. It was the calm before the storm, before both of them would have to wake and face the consequences of their actions.

Jack gingerly touched fingers to his swollen and split upper lip, remembering the irate fist that had delivered it. He was a fool. He'd let himself be played right into Ianto's hands, all the while, completely unaware of the man's ulterior motives. He was selfish and egocentric, and Ianto had used those qualities against him. He adored the attention, and Ianto had toyed with his need to be the centre of all things, knowing that Jack loved the challenge of having to win someone over. And when it came to Ianto, the man had been the perfect fit, seamlessly weaving his way into the organisation and becoming indispensable overnight. Jack cursed himself for his own foolishness. Since the first day they'd met, Ianto had pulled the wool over his eyes, yet made it seem like was Jack who had called all the shots. Ever since, Ianto could do no wrong. Jack's world became viewed from behind rose coloured glasses, in which he had finally settled on the perfect team, and on the plus side, had found one of those team members had the potential to be something more.

There was no argument that Jack had initiated the flirtations, and he now regretted it, knowing how easy it must have made things for the Welshman to distract him with the least amount of effort. A quick smile, a witty comment, and Jack would be putty in his hands, even if it was all for show. How it must have tortured him to played the dual role of faithful lover and fledgling love interest. Jack felt even more despondent at the mess he found himself in. He was himself a masterful con artist and hustler, and very few had ever managed to out swindle him. Few came to mind, and only one lover had ever accomplished it, being his former Time Agency partner, in which case he didn't half wonder if he had let himself be taken in on that occasion. Then again, perhaps not. Serving four months detention on a Shadow Proclamation vessel was something he wouldn't do for a lover ever again, and certainly not for John Hart.

It made what had happened all the more irksome. He'd thought that perhaps things with Ianto could have been different, and that they were different. Ianto was the complete opposite of him, quiet and collected, to Jack's brash and outgoing, patient and obedient to Jack's restlessness and disregard for rules. Yet in their unseasoned relationship, if it could be called that, they'd both demonstrated a tenderness to offset the often harried and frantic physical interludes. Jack was never one to pass up the opportunity for sexual relations with a handsome young man, but perhaps there was a chance it could develop into something more. Few people would ever know or understand what Torchwood did, yet Ianto could relate to him on so many levels because of it.

Those first hesitant touches, the unspoken desires, finally culminating in the kiss that had been altogether unexpected late one night down in the archives. What he'd taken for passion, he now saw was perhaps merely subterfuge, yet he couldn't deny that in moment, and all the ones  that followed it, Ianto would have had to have been one hell of an actor to pull it off. Surely he too found something more in what they were doing than mere sexual gratification. In those moments, the world to Jack had seemed just that little bit brighter, a sunshine yellow glow where before there had been none.

Not now though. Not after last night. Ianto had shown his true colours, and the rose tinted image that Jack had held so tightly to, had shattered around him. He'd spent so long keeping one eye open against Torchwood One and UNIT that he hadn't contemplated for even a single second that he might be the one to open the door let the biggest threat in himself. He should have stuck to his guns and kept all ties with London well and truly severed instead of letting his libido do the thinking for him.

He wanted to pull the pillow over his head and stay in bed. God, what a mess he'd made of things, being so stupidly blinded by that pert arse and seductive timbre. Ianto had played the game perfectly, doing his research and enticing Jack at his weakest point. Even when it had all started going south, Jack could still remember holding the unconscious man in his arms and kissing him back to the waking world, praying that he could somehow salvage something from the disaster that had befallen them.

How close Ianto might have come to truly succeeding, had he not underestimated the power of the cybermen. Jack had lain there, long into the night, taking to heart all of the abrasive comments made about his lack of care and understanding, said in the moments of bitterness between them. It was the wake up call he should have taken heed of when they'd lost Suzie. Instead, he'd let his ego bring them to ruin once again, failing to see what was right under his nose.

Jack had been angry last night, and it was Owen that had taken charge, but his anger had dissipated in the cold harsh light of the morning, leaving him with only the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he would have to get up soon and go and face the man that had ripped apart Jack's world, knowing that in Ianto's eyes, it was Jack who had ripped apart his. He didn't want to confront the lie, and he wanted to show that fact that he was hurting, even less. The dissolution of the connection they'd begun to share was more than he could stomach. He feared what would he see when he looked into those blue eyes. At this point he could imagine only two scenarios, one of bitter hatred and loathing, and one of broken hearted agony. Neither one eased his own heart.

If the world before had been rose coloured, it now seemed totally grey and without hope.