Title: The Good Wife
Author: godsdaisiechain
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: R/ NC-17 (depending on how you feel about nursery rhymes)
Words: ~1500
Summary: Jack meets someone on the ship waiting to take him away.  AU universe and set between Series 3 and 4.
Notes: Yes, there is 'crack.' It's right after the angsty bits.  If you are offended by porny interpretations of nursery rhymes, then stop reading at "sins." Or definitely "weeks." No, seriously.

Jack

Jack had a ship waiting.  He didn’t bother to tell Gwen that John was on it.  She’d only screech and object and he really didn’t have the energy to deal with her without Ianto there ready to hand him a cup of coffee or a gun or a hankie.  All he knew was that he needed to leave the world for a while, now that the only place he belonged had been destroyed.

He hadn’t fully realized until that terrible, terrible moment that his place was at Ianto’s side, that Torchwood was only his home and his place because Ianto was there, making it for him.  Jack had no choice but to continue on, but he knew now, knew that he’d lost the one person he was meant to stay with.

His heart drew him toward the love John had for him, the deep caring that had sent him looking for Grey.  That had sent him back to Torchwood to save him.  That made him kiss Jack goodbye, even though Jack didn’t respond.  John.  John who had given him the absolution he craved.  John: the only one who understood immediately why not being able to die was a bad thing.  A terrible thing.  The worst possible thing.  Or the worst possible thing until he lost Ianto.

Too bad John was such a jerk in so many other ways.  Like that time he threw him off a building.    What an ass.

It wouldn’t last, but it would be something as long as it did.


*+*+*+*+*+

Jack had wept in Ianto’s arms that night, the last time he saw John, reeling from the loss of Tosh and Owen, but mostly from the realization that John Hart, of all people, was the only one who had had the power to free him from a lifetime of guilt.  Because John had been right, had been the only person who understood exactly what Jack had done and forgiven him.

“Jack,”  Ianto had murmured at intervals.  “I’m right here.”  And it had been just enough.  No one else had ever meant so much to Jack, not since Angelo, and Ianto would never, ever betray him.  Their affection was too deep for words, for promises. Ianto seemed to know, seemed to understand without being told, that Jack had seen, for a moment, the possibility of losing him and only just started to understand how he felt.  That those moments, getting away from Gwen and patting Ianto down thoroughly all over before looking for Tosh had been more for himself.  That Jack’s heart was in danger…inevitable danger…because of his feelings.  Because sooner or later, no matter what, Ianto would leave Jack behind.

“Are you all right?” Jack had whispered, tears still streaming down his face.  Ianto had stroked his hair and kissed his forehead.

“I’m right here, Jack.”

“Make love to me?” Jack asked.  Ianto paused—they had never called it that before.  Dabbling, boinking, shagging, playing, topping, yes.  Lovemaking. Absolutely not. “Please Ianto.”

Jack could feel Ianto pressing down the memories of Lisa, who had mocked people who used that kind of language.  “I’m right here,” Ianto had murmured, bending to kiss Jack’s forehead, and cheeks, wiping away the tears.  “I’m right here.” Carefully undressing Jack, and gently kissing him, all over, again and again.  “I’m right here,”  he said, just before they both came, and Ianto collapsed on top of Jack sound asleep, his naked weight a reassuring comfort against his chest.

Jack never knew where Ianto had learned to be the kind, gentle lover he was that night.  There was nothing in his background or experience to suggest it, yet there it was, exactly when Jack needed it.  Just as Ianto had, from the first instant of their meeting, been there with exactly what Jack needed. A stick.  Coffee. A pterodactyl.  Chocolate (preferably dark).  A new coat.  Except for those four weeks when Jack was too angry about Lisa to look at Ianto.  Too angry not because Ianto had tried to save a cyberman, but because Ianto, unlike Gwen, had picked someone else without his express permission.

Now nothing was right. He couldn’t even get a decent cup of coffee.  He had never wanted Ianto more than in the pain of losing him.

John
John hopped nervously from foot to foot, his boots clanging softly against the metal deck.  Jack had called.  Jack.  Had called him.  Or sent a message.  “Help me, Obiwan. You’re my only hope.”  Their secret message.  The one Jack forgot when it would have saved his team.  The one he finally remembered.

The twittering in John’s heart didn’t stop even when he saw Jack’s almost deathly despair.  Someone had blown up Torchwood… John assumed Jack called because they had to find Grey, who had been recovered from the destruction and made good his escape. John knew by all the threatening messages.

Jack strode off the deck.  John craned for a peek at Eye Candy. “Where’s….” he started to ask about Ianto, stopped when Jack’s eyes filled with tears. Had Eye Candy dumped him for a faithful lover?  Refused to travel after the murderous younger brother? Been kidnapped? “Come see where we’ll be sleeping.  Or I’ll be sleeping and you’ll be drawing on my face with indelible ink.”

Jack let John take his hand, followed without a word, and sat on the edge of the bunk.  John sat beside him, still clutching his hand.  Something was terribly wrong.  Had Grey killed Eye Candy? “Can you tell me what happened?”

Jack’s head bowed and he choked on a sob.  “That’s all right,” John said.  “I meant it when I told you I love you.”  He reached out, thought better of it and put his hand back down.  Jack had a way of toggling between upset and violence nearly as quickly as John himself. “I really do love you.”

“Even though there’s not a queue for hugs any more?” Jack choked.  John didn’t rise to the bait.  He heard what Jack was not saying.  Eye Candy was gone.

“There’s one in my heart.”  Jack went very still.  “There will always be one in my heart.  Tell me what happened.”  And then Jack knew.

“You already know?”  John nodded, tears streaming down his face. They would have to kill Grey.  Jack let his head fall against John’s shoulder.

Jack wept for hours before he quieted, wept so long that John fell asleep and was wakened by the silence.  “Why did you come to Cardiff that time?” he asked, his voice raw  “The canisters? That was bogus. You sent them.”

John sighed.  “I told you before I left.  I found Grey.  I needed to kill you before he got hold of you.  Make it quick.  And then kill myself.  You have no idea what he wanted to do to you.  To your little girl cop. Me.”  John shuddered.  “Death was the best thing I could do.”

“I hid him,” Jack said.  “After they blew everything up.”

“Not well enough, Jack.  He’s loose again.” John forced himself not to shudder, but Jack saw his face draw in, the way it had drawn in when he realized how horrible it must be to not be able to die.  The only person who ever reflexively understood the pain.

Jack’s heart contracted. John didn’t know what he’d done.  Steven.  Ianto.  “That isn’t what I meant.  I didn’t know.”  John gasped. “You can’t tell me this isn’t my fault.  All the things I’ve done.”

John’s eyes widened.  What else could possibly have happened? “Maybe I can’t,” said John.  “But I do still love you.”

“I’ll have to tell you what else I did,” Jack said. “And you may not love me after I do.”  John didn’t argue because they never, ever lied to each other about anything serious, except by omission or if one of them was wired to explode.

“I won’t leave you until you’re ready, Jack.  No matter what you tell me.” He gave Jack a squeeze.  “I owe you that much.”  And suddenly Jack felt better.

Jack grinned. “You’re right about being a good wife.”

“Told you that I’d last longer.”  Jack took a deep breath, but John interrupted.  “What say you we have a nice, long naked romp before you go ruining anything with your sins?”

“Wash your face,” said Jack.  “I don’t trust those lips.”

John put on his fake innocent face.  “But I thought you liked waking up all tied up and naked.”

“You drew a face around my penis in black ink. It was there for weeks.”

John laughed.  “Little Jack Horny?  That was fun.”

Jack laughed too.  “What the heck were we even taking?”

“Don’t remember. You named yourself after him, didn’t you? Jack?”

Jack closed a hand on John’s cheek.  “I’m sorry I made fun of your laugh lines.”  John nearly melted.  “But this time, I’m drawing.  Drop your pants.”

“Make me,” said John.  And he did.