Leslie Mackenzie raised a glass of whisky to her lips and took a sip, one eye squinting closed as the subtle burn of the alcohol slid down her throat. Setting the glass aside, she never removed her attention from the aubergine-coloured, multi-legged corpse draped over the autopsy table. Its major organs—many of them undefinable—had been removed and catalogued to the best of her ability, and now it was only a matter of writing up her notes and disposing of the body. The latter was something she preferred to do herself unless she was physically unable, even though Ianto often scolded her for doing his job. She didn't enjoy it, but some odd twist in her sense of propriety demanded that she see her subjects through to the very end, even if that subject had done its very damn best to kill her only hours before.
Slowly walking around the table, she wondered if she'd she just completed an autopsy or necropsy or some other word that hadn't been invented yet. Most days she was never sure, and this was one of them. Her medical training, though eclectic by normal standards, had never prepared her for creatures from other worlds, let alone ones that shot poison darts from their many appendages and smelt of boiled prunes.
Voices floated down to her from the centre of the Hub, Ianto's light baritone punctuated by Gwen's soft giggle. They were all in fine spirits, their sense of euphoria at surviving another life-threatening situation settling into a feeling of satisfaction at a job well done. In her mind's eye, she could picture Ianto and Gwen sitting on the decrepit couch in the makeshift lounge, Ianto with his coffee and Gwen with her tea, her free hand tucked beneath the curve of her swollen belly. She was eight months along now, many weeks out of field work but still a vital part of Torchwood. Mac pictured Jarvil lurking about somewhere, probably at his work station IMing with his girlfriend. He often felt the need to connect with her after a close call but would soon join Ianto and Gwen, a bottle of lager dwarfed by his large hands, his booming laugh unsettling Myfanwy from her perch.
As for Jack, Mac knew that he'd be in his office, keeping himself apart from his staff. There were calls to be made, apologies for the inadvertent destruction of city property and arrangements to have a newly formed pothole filled in at Torchwood's expense. Then there was the little matter of the conversation that she and Jack had been having before the Rift's alarms had rung out, the conversation concerning Mac's future with Torchwood. Jack had promised her that they'd resume that discussion at the earliest available moment, and with the most recent threat now eviscerated and ready for cremation, Mac was only waiting for her summons.
The first part of the interview had not gone well. The beginning of Mac's relationship with Jack—such at it was, given the circumstances of pending global annihilation at the time—had been undermined by Mac's unsavoury suspicions regarding Jack and his treatment of Ianto. She hadn't learned that those suspicions were completely without merit until after Jack had been taken up by the 456 and by the time he'd returned, she'd come to respect and admire, if not exactly like, the man who'd given himself over so selflessly to the faceless monsters that still haunted her dreams.
Now Jack had been back for weeks, and while Mac would freely admit to anyone who'd listen that she had been wrong about him, she still wasn't sure if she actually liked him. She'd yet to grasp his management style—it was something of a cross between circus master and Jedi knight, with a dash of porn star thrown in. Granted, he had to make most of his decisions in the midst of desperate circumstances, but she'd never met someone who seemed to make up everything as he went along. She was often frustrated by his apparent lack of discipline, but she couldn't argue with his results. Those blue eyes and white teeth may have hidden a sharp intellect that didn't seem to be wired the same as everyone else's, but it also made him the undisputed leader of his team.
Yet for all her own personal confusion regarding Jack Harkness, there was no doubting the devotion that flowed between him and Ianto and Gwen. It was a palpable presence in the Hub, a bond forged in the tragedies they'd shared and nurtured by the love they'd managed to wrest out of the insanity. Mac knew that this hadn't always been the way of things. She'd spent many long nights perusing the logs and journals of her predecessors and the last one, Owen Harper, had more than a few choice words about his co-workers. But hidden amongst his personal diatribes and snarky comments were horrific tales of loss and sacrifice, heroism and miracles, stories so far outside the norm that Mac couldn't help but marvel that anyone had survived at all, let alone gone on to lead almost normal lives.
As she began gathering her tools in advance of sterilising them, Mac realised that she'd simply been trying too hard during that first interview. There were no qualifying credentials for something like this, no bullet-proof CV that would impress Jack Harkness. She should've concentrated on everything that she'd learned since stepping in whilst he'd been missing instead of telling stories now years in her past. She needed to make a case for her future, to explain how she could contribute to Torchwood and its mission, and most importantly, not let him see how desperate she was to stay.
Her head lowered over one of her trays, she heard the thud of Jack's boots on the stairs that curled around the autopsy arena before she saw him.
"Mac? All finished?"
Mac looked up to see Jack leaning over the balustrade, hands linked together, one boot resting on a lower rung. He looked relaxed, comfortable, a man fully in charge of his life and his surroundings. That's how he'd seemed when he'd asked her to join him in his office earlier that day, explaining that while she'd been a part of Torchwood for months, she'd never been properly hired. Given that Jack had never been removed from the roster as Torchwood's leader, he felt it was his duty to interview her and give her a chance to make her case for staying on as part of his crew. Mac had been unprepared and she later realised that had probably been his intent all along.
"Almost," she replied. "Still have to haul this beastie down to the incinerator—"
"I've got it." Ianto appeared at the top of the steps, giving Mac a reassuring smile. "You go on with Jack."
Mac hesitated, then nodded. May as well get it over with. By the end of this day, she'd either be a fully fledged member of Torchwood or she'd be sitting at home wondering where she'd been and what she'd been doing for the last six months.
Five minutes later she was seated across from Jack at his desk, a steaming cup of tea provided by Ianto sitting on a coaster within easy reach. Picking it up, she cradled it between her palms and waited for Jack to speak.
"So," Jack said with a quick smile, "where were we?"
May as well lead with my strengths. "You were telling me that I was over-qualified for this job."
"Ah." Jack leaned forward and gathered up a file, opening it to reveal a sheaf of papers. "Not exactly what I recall, but okay, let's go with that. You know I've had you investigated."
"Right."
"And you do have pretty impressive credentials, I'll give you that." He picked out one piece of paper and held it up. "After a mildly distinguished military career, you and your husband Cameron spent thirteen years with MSF. Let's talk about that. What was that like?"
"About as you'd imagine. Cam and I were posted to some of the deepest hell-holes on the planet. Srebrenica, Sierra Leone, El Salvador—we went wherever we were needed, it didn't matter."
"You lost your husband in Sierra Leone."
"Yes, in 1999. He was gunned down in the street in Koidu Town."
Jack lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Thank you. I stayed there for another year, then moved back permanently to Aberdeen."
Jack set aside the folder. "Where you worked in emergency medicine until you relocated to Cardiff."
"All true."
Jack picked up his own mug and took a sip before continuing. "You've had three lovers since your husband died, including a doctor at the clinic you worked at here in Cardiff before you took over A&E at St. Helen's. You've also had four dogs, two cats, and, at one time, your nephew David lived with you while he attended uni."
"Not that it's any of your fucking business, but yeah, that's all true as well."
"Here's the thing." Jack put his mug down and leaned forward, clasped hands resting on his desk. "This isn't like applying for a job with the NHS. You'll have no privacy here. You never will. Sure, you can hide things—believe me, some of the secrets we've had around here would blow your mind—but the job will always come first. Because if we screw up, the entire planet could pay the price."
"I under—"
"So you can have a life outside of this particular hell-hole but it'll always be secondary to the work. What I'm trying to say is that this isn't a place for lonely, middle-aged women to find romance and excitement. We don't need a maid and we don't need a house mother. It's hard, debilitating work, often depressing and some days you'll feel absolutely hopeless. I need to know that you can keep up, not just physically, but emotionally."
Mac tilted her head, lips pursed as she gazed back at Jack. "Well, I just spent three hours on my feet, dissecting an alien that at any moment could ooze acid or spit poison despite being most sincerely dead. That was after chasing that thing through the middle of Cardiff, and whilst you and the rest sat on your arses after all the excitement was over, I was working on my autopsy. And I imagine I'll still be working after all of you leave for the night, so if you don't think I can keep up, Captain Harkness, you are more than welcome to spend a day or two in my fucking shoes doing my fucking job. Sir."
Jack grinned at her. "How long have you been wanting to say that?"
Arching her shoulder to relieve some of the strain in her back muscles, Mac replied, "Oh, since about an hour ago, when my bunion started hurting. Anyway, do I have the job or not? Because if not, give me one of those wee white pills and let me go. I've got a nice Malbec at home that'll go down a treat with retcon."
"Even if I wanted to let you go," Jack said, "which I don't, by the way, I'd have a mutiny if kicked you out. Ianto thinks you're the greatest thing since the French press, not to mention that Gwen and Janet are half in love with you. I think Jarvil is just plain scared of you."
"Jealous?"
"Damn straight I'm jealous. Janet's picky, she doesn't bat those eyelashes for just anyone, you know."
"Huh, well of the four of them, she's one the I'd have the best chance with. But she's not my type. Am I in?"
"Just answer one more question."
"All right."
"Why are you here?"
Mac knew that her future depended on her answer, so she took a moment before replying. "It's not a death wish, even though Ianto was very thorough in explaining that the mortality rate amongst Torchwood personnel is exceedingly high. Laddie has a morbid streak a mile wide, did you ever notice that? And while I'll admit I'm a little fond of all of you—yes, even you, you smug bastard, you can quit smirking—I'm not here just because I need someone to mother and you're all lost souls. No, if it comes down to one answer, it's the science."
"The science?"
Mac jerked her thumb toward the autopsy bay. "That thing back there? The purple one with the spiny dorsal fin? I could work on him for years, just on the make-up of his endocrine system alone. At least I think it's his endocrine system. Anyway, I've seen just about everything medically the human body has to offer. I'm fifty-two-years old, healthier than I've any right to be given my fondness for Dalwhinnie and chocolate chip cookies, and you've got the best toys in the biggest sandbox I'll ever see—and I want in. Before I kick off, I want to find something in all that muck out there that will do some good."
"So, your motives are completely altruistic."
"Absolutely."
"And you're just a little fond of us, but not too much, is that it?"
"You don't believe me?"
"Not for a minute. But what the hell—yeah, you're in. The paperwork is already in motion but I had to keep it quiet until you and I had our official chat. I especially didn't want Ianto to know that there was still some doubt, just in case."
"Just in case what?"
"Just in case I had to ask him to strip your memory and ship you back to Aberdeen."
Mac blinked in surprise. Of all the outcomes she'd imagined, involving Ianto directly in her banishment wasn't one of them. Despite all her assertions that she was "just fond" of them, Ianto was special to her—and Jack knew it. Looking into those enigmatic blue eyes, Mac understood Jack's point, but she was still unsettled. "That—you'd make him do that?"
"We do a lot of things around here we don't like to do. You'll either get used to it or you won't." Jack stood up and extended his hand. "Welcome to Torchwood."
She remembered the first night she met them, having no idea at that time that these two men from Torchwood would so profoundly affect her life in the near future. Even though weeks had passed since the so-called terrorist assaults on Cardiff and the destruction of the nuclear power plant, there were still plenty of injuries showing up at the clinic where she'd first worked in Cardiff. Everyone was overworked, but when she'd seen the intake chart with just one word scrawled on it—Torchwood—she'd practically wrestled it away from the nurse who'd been assigned to the case.
Everyone knew about Torchwood, they just didn't know what they knew. Rumours were rampant, the media only stating that Torchwood had been integral in the investigation into the attacks Cardiff had recently suffered. There'd even been a suggestion or two that aliens were somehow involved, but Mac had dismissed those out of hand. She believed in aliens—why the hell not?—but she was also well acquainted with the damage mankind managed to inflict on itself without any outside help. Whatever it was these Torchwood people did, she wanted to see one for herself, if only to gossip about it later with her mates. But she wouldn't let her curiosity overwhelm her professionalism, so when she entered the examination room, she did it with her usual energy, ready to be a doctor first and snoop second.
The younger one, the injured one, she categorised him right away as a local. In his black T-shirt and jeans, he looked like any of a thousand young men in the city, not a member of a secret government agency. She'd seen him first as she'd come bustling through the door, sitting on the examination table with his head bowed, another man standing beside him. He looked rough, no doubt about it, but she felt vaguely disappointed. This wasn't some latex-clad superhero, there was nothing mysterious about him at all. He was just a disconsolate-looking lad in need of medical aid and a maybe a friendly shoulder to lean on.
The man with him, he was something different altogether. Handsome, startlingly handsome, with dark hair and fine eyes and dimples, one of Mac's particular weaknesses. He was wearing a coat many decades out of season but somehow it worked for him even when, by today's standards, it should've made him look silly. And there was something else about him that caught Mac's attention, but even now, months after that first meeting, she couldn't define it. She suspected it had something to do with his "immortality," though she'd yet to come around to fully believing that he really was immortal, having never seen him actually die. Oh, she knew he'd been taken up by the 456, but the tale of him being blown to bits and reassembled somewhere across the galaxy still sounded like a load of shite to her, despite what she'd seen since joining Torchwood. Yet there was no denying that Jack Harkness was imbued with an energy that was more a part of him than that coat, so strong it was almost visible if Mac squinted just right.
But that night at the clinic, his attention was focussed on his companion, so much so that Mac knew that she was going to have to kick him out in order to perform her examination. He didn't quite hover, but Mac got a strong protective vibe from him, and that automatically pinged her radar as possible trouble.
"Right," she said, "I've got a blank chart here and no time to play games." Glancing at the young man slumped on the table, she'd taken in his pale, bruised face and red-rimmed eyes and determined that she needed to speak to him alone."You," she continued, pointing at the other man, "leave."
"Now, wait a minute," he said, but before he could continue, the injured man had spoken up in a firm, low tone that instantly changed Mac's perception of the balance in their relationship.
"Jack, it's fine. Go call Gwen and tell her to come in late tomorrow."
Half entreaty, half command, it instantly caught this Jack person's attention. He'd glowered at Mac before walking around the exam table to face the younger man. "Why does she get to come in late tomorrow?" he asked, his brusque attitude replaced with gentle playfulness. Mac was now thoroughly bewildered, her normally reliable ability to read relationships completely offline.
The man on the table shifted, wincing slightly. "It's only fair if we're going to be late, too."
There was something significant in that statement, based on the gleam that had come into Jack's eyes. "Oh," he said, "I'll get right on that."
He turned to leave, but just as Mac was positioning herself to begin her examination, Jack had stopped and returned to the table, elbowing her out of the way. She opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out as she found herself witness to the most profound kiss she'd eve seen between two people. Thinking about it later, she'd wonder why this kiss—it was just a kiss, God damn it—had affected her so deeply.
It was something about the two of them, like something out of a fucking fairy tale, a strange alchemy that swept her up in the wake of its magic. She'd seen passionate kisses before and shared more than a few herself, but this was witnessing something so intimate that she couldn't turn away. It didn't last long, wasn't lewd or even provocative, and yet before it ended, Mac was short of breath and, more shockingly, perilously close to tears. She didn't possess a romantic bone in her body, yet she could sense a deep level of tender communication in the touch of their hands and the cant of their bodies as they leaned toward each other. Not a kiss of farewell, not a kiss for bravery, this was reconnection that went beyond mere comfort or affection. Mac knew that for these two men she no longer existed, and she regretted it when her own involuntary sigh of approval broke the spell. The lovers parted and shared a smile before Jack strode out of the room, and by the time the door had shut behind him, Mac had regained her composure and was ready to face her patient.
"Good, now, let's get some information. Name?"
The young man hesitated. "Ianto Jones."
"Age?"
"Twenty-six."
They worked their way through her list of basic information, Ianto answering her questions politely but tersely. After she'd taken his blood pressure and pulse, she'd wrapped her stethoscope around her neck and crossed her arms over her chest.
"So, tell me what happened."
"I fell and re-injured my shoulder."
"I see. Re-injured, is it? What was the primary cause?"
Again, Ianto hesitated. "I was caught up in the bombings a few weeks ago. My shoulder was dislocated and never properly seen to."
Mac frowned. "How did it get reset if you didn't see a doctor at the time?"
Ianto fixed his gaze on an anti-drug poster taped to the wall. "It was treated in the field, but there was no time after that for follow-up. Please, doctor," he looked directly at Mac for the first time, "I'm only here because my boss insisted. I'm sure it's healing properly. If you'll just give me—"
Mac held up her hand. "Hold on, Mr. Jones. First off, those cuts and bruises are maybe twenty-four hours old, so we'll have a bit more of an explanation about how you re-injured your shoulder. Then after I've had a look, we'll discuss whether or not you'll need to see an orthopaedic surgeon. At the very least, we'll get an MRI and fit you for a sling to ease the pressure. What've you been taking for the pain?"
The examination continued in fits and starts, with Mac trying to gather as much information as possible and Ianto doing a fine job of dancing around most of her questions. He'd been stoic when she'd palpated the injured area after cleaning the cuts and abrasions on his face and neck, and by the time she'd finished and issued him a prescription, she was certain that he'd not listened to a thing she'd said about rest and follow-up appointments.
She never quite forgot about the strange young man from that night, nor his companion, but her own life became complicated soon afterwards. The affair she'd been conducting with another doctor at the clinic fizzled out and she'd moved on to the A&E department at St. Helen's, where she'd been offered the directorship. Then Jack and Ianto had showed up a few months later to extract an overgrown slug from the chest cavity of recently deceased citizen, and Mac's life took a turn she could've never anticipated.
She didn't regret a thing.
Despite her statement to Jack that she'd be up all night going over her autopsy findings, Mac had actually gone home at a reasonable hour, albeit after the others had quit for the day. A good dinner, a glass of wine, and a long chat on the phone with her sister in Dundee while watching Doc Martin DVDs had been a prosaic but welcome end to another day of chasing aliens, and she'd enjoyed a restful night's sleep, knowing she was now officially a member of Torchwood.
Arriving at the Hub the next morning, Mac sat down at her work station, coffee and toast within easy reach as she brought up her reports from the previous day. She worked steadily for an hour or so, tossing up chunks of jam-smeared crusts to Myfanwy as she glided by in an early morning stretch of leathery wings. When Mac glanced at her watch, she was surprised to see it was almost ten. After the previous day's excitement, Jack had told them all to take the day off, so being alone wasn't a surprise, but she'd wanted to get down some thoughts before heading to the DIY for some tomato plants. Satisfied with her work, she decided to make a run down into the archives for a quick fact-check of something that had caught her eye in her own findings.
Fifteen minutes later, she concluded that her errand had been useless and it was time to get on with her day. She made her way back up the stairs and into the autopsy bay, her head bowed over her clipboard as she made a list of items she wanted to pick up at Sainsburys after she got her plants. She was just adding ice cream to a boringly virtuous list that included spinach and yoghurt when a noise above her caught her attention. She paused on the curved steps, head cocked, unperturbed since the Hub was notoriously rackety any time of the day.
But the noise she heard was immediately followed by the sound of a low voice that Mac recognized as Jack's. She was just about to call out a greeting when the tone of Jack's voice changed, freezing her in her tracks. Looking up, she could just see Jack and Ianto standing in the midst of the Hub, Jack in a cream coloured shirt and braces, Ianto in jeans and a thin grey jumper.
"I just don't think it's a good idea." Jack's voice carried clearly, reverberating through the hollow spaces of the Hub.
Ianto stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he rocked back on his heels. "Why not?"
"You know why not. It's too soon."
Thinking at first she'd stumbled into one of those "Jack and Ianto alone in the Hub incidents" that Gwen had warned her about, Mac opened her mouth to say something and make herself known before things got too interesting, even though the atmosphere between the two men was more along the lines of a domestic tiff than a prelude to a romantic liaison.
Before she could say anything, Ianto spoke up. "Eight months, Jack. That baby isn't going to get any smaller."
Jack scowled at him. "Yeah, thanks, I know how it works. I just don't want to rush into this. We've done more with less."
"Only because we've had to, when we've had no warning. We don't have that excuse now."
"You mean I don't have that excuse."
Ianto shrugged. "Hiring is your responsibility."
"And yet half my current staff are people I haven't chosen."
Mac raised a hand to her mouth, heart sinking. She thought Jack was okay with her signing on as the resident doctor, but maybe she'd been mistaken.
"Don't get me wrong," Jack was saying, "Mac is great, and Jarvil is coming along, but I feel like there's something missing."
Ianto bit his lip. "Maybe it's not something that's missing, maybe it's something that's getting in the way."
"Such as?"
"Such as your ego."
Mac's eyebrows rose. Ianto's tone wasn't accusatory, but she didn't know Jack well enough to predict how he'd react to such a declaration.
"My what?"
Ianto took a step toward Jack, a frown between his eyes. "No offence, but simply because you didn't have a hand in bringing them on board doesn't mean they're any less capable than anyone you've hired before. I think I may be the perfect case in point. You never had any intention of hiring me, not at first."
"It's not the same," Jack snapped. "I had my reasons. For all of you, I had my reasons."
"That's the problem, Jack. They're your reasons. How many times have you left Torchwood, by choice or circumstance?" Ianto lowered his eyes. "And what happens if you have to leave again? Who makes the decisions then?"
There was a small silence and Mac knew she should've used that time to interrupt what was becoming a deeply personal conversation. Instead, she watched transfixed as Jack lifted his hand to stroke his thumb over Ianto's cheek, the atmosphere between the two men shifting once more.
"You have to believe me," Jack sighed, "I don't want to leave you. Not ever, not by choice."
Ianto reached up, capturing Jack's hand and drawing it down between them. "I believe you. But I believed you six months ago and you still left us."
"I had to—"
"I know, but Torchwood went on without you, just like it did when we still had Tosh and Owen and you left to follow your Doctor. Gwen and I had no choice this time, the two of us couldn't run Torchwood by ourselves."
Jack moved closer to Ianto, their hands still clasped. "I know. And I hear you, I do. But hiring someone to replace Gwen is admitting that we're losing her, and I'm not ready to let her go."
"You have to, Jack. If not for your sake, then for hers. Haven't you noticed how worried she is about leaving? She needs to know that we'll be fine whilst she's gone, and the only way that's going to happen is if we have enough staff."
"Okay," Jack said. He slid his free hand around Ianto's waist, pulling him close. "You're right. I know you're right. But can we face reality tomorrow? I've been looking forward to this all week."
Mac watched as Ianto smiled into Jack's eyes. "I suppose we can put off reality for one more day."
"Good." Jack tilted his head to press his mouth to Ianto's and Mac averted her eyes. Now she was stuck, her only hope that they'd leave before discovering her presence. Maybe if she quietly retreated backwards, then made a loud noise and a big show about coming up from the archives...
But then she couldn't stop herself from sneaking a peek. Feeling like a naughty school girl, she raised her gaze to the two men, sliding her foot a little to the right and shifting her weight to get a better view. She'd admitted some time ago that there was something irresistible about the two of them, especially when they were like this, two lovers sharing an intimate moment. Their displays of affection, their teasing and private jokes and shared smiles—it was a little bit of magic in an otherwise rough and tragic world.
She often recalled that kiss she'd witnessed on the night she'd first me Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones at the clinic, the first time she'd felt brushed by that same magic. But that tender moment had been surpassed by the shattering goodbye they'd shared at Trefil the night Jack had disappeared. Mac's role in the events of that evening had been relegated to observer once she'd accompanied Ianto to the hanger, standing back from the main action but close enough to watch Jack say his farewells before leaving with the aliens who'd threatened the planet's children. She'd thought after losing Cam that there was nothing of her heart left to be ripped out, but after hearing their ragged farewells, after seeing the devastation on their faces as Jack had turned toward his fate within the deadly purple light, she realised she'd been wrong.
Canting her head a bit more, she watched as one of Ianto's hands came to rest low on Jack's hip, the other cradling the base of Jack's neck to keep him close. Jack's palms framed Ianto's face, his fingers threaded into the hair on Ianto's temples. He was murmuring something too low for Mac to hear, his lips touching the faint scar that crested Ianto's cheekbone.
When Ianto's hand disappeared between their bodies, Mac bit her lip and forced herself to look at her toes. This was getting out of hand and now she really had to find a graceful way to exit before she was witness to more than a few sweet kisses and a grope or two. With a quick glance behind her, she lifted her foot and aimed for the riser beneath her, intending to back down the stair until she could make a proper entrance.
"It's okay, Mac, you can come out now."
Caught with her foot in mid air, Mac groaned and dropped her head into her hands, the blood rushing to her cheeks but counting her blessings that Ianto sounded amused, not irritated. Dragging herself like a martyr to the scaffold, she ascended the stairs to the main floor of the hub, reluctantly raising her eyes to see Jack and Ianto standing side by side, holding hands and watching her with knowing grins on their faces.
"Get an eyeful, did you?" Jack asked.
"Not nearly as much as I'd been lead to believe," Mac replied. "Frankly, I'm disappointed."
"Really? We can fix that." Jack threw an expectant glance at Ianto, who checked his watch before shaking his head. Turning back to Mac, Jack shrugged. "Maybe not. You'll just have to wait until next time. Tuesday nights are usually good for us, that's Kinky Bingo night."
"Kinky Bingo?"
"A slight variation on the traditional game," Ianto explained. "We don't use cards."
"No cards? Then how do you score—"
"Edible ink, a flat surface, that's all we really need."
"Edible—oh." Mac felt her face turn pink again. She shook her head, amused at her own reaction. "You and your toys. Whatever happened to a parked car and a moonlit night?"
"Oh, we have those, too," Jack said, "but we'll keep those to ourselves, thank you very much. Three's a crowd in the back seat of the SUV."
Mac scowled at them, charmed by their nonsense and more than a little envious. "Aye, well," she pointed out, "you weren't supposed to be here now, you know. Supposed to be your day off."
"We could say the same for you. What're you doing here?"
"Just wrapping up some details from yesterday before I get back to my garden. How'd you know I was in the house?"
"It wasn't hard to figure out." Ianto gestured toward the workstation where she's spent the morning. "You left behind evidence. A plate with toast crumbs and the remains of a grande vanilla latte, your usual breakfast. You never leave your dishes unwashed, so that meant you were still here. Oh, and by the way, you have jam in your hair."
Mac lifted her hand to the strands of hair that had escaped her untidy bun, grunting when her fingers encountered stickiness. "Huh, I've had certainly worse things stuck up there and I doubt the lads at the DIY will notice. I'll just gather my rubbish and get out of here. What are you two up to today?"
"Don't worry, I've got it." Ianto waved her off. "After we leave here, Jack and I are going up the coast, there's an abandoned mine that has shown slight Rift activity over the years." He moved toward the small kitchen, Mac's plate in his hand, leaving Mac and Jack alone.
Mac turned a disapproving eye on Jack. "A beautiful day and you two are working? Give it a rest, Jack, at least take your boyfriend out for a romantic lunch or something."
Jack wiggled his eyebrows, leaning closer to Mac with an air of conspiracy. "Let's just say that this abandoned mine is a great excuse for an overnight business trip and leave it at that."
"Ah," Mac said, "that's okay, then. You know," she continued more seriously, "I did overhear a bit of your conversation, sorry about that."
Jack sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, it's okay. You probably agree with Ianto."
"I do. Gwen is worrying herself sick over this place in general and the two of you in particular. Stress is the last thing an expectant mother needs and knowing Torchwood is going forward without her will be hard enough."
"Sounds like I can't win, no matter what I do," Jack said with a wry smile. "She's pissed at me if I replace her and the two of you are pissed at me if I don't. But you're right. Guess it's time I put on my big girl knickers and dealt with it."
"Aye, I'd pay good money to see that." Mac gave Jack a nudge with her elbow as she passed him on the way to snagging her purse strap from the back of her chair. "Nothing wrong with a little cross-dressing amongst friends."
"Wait, who's cross-dressing?" Ianto appeared from the kitchen, unrolling the sleeves of his jumper.
"You are. It is your turn, isn't it?" was Jack's answer. Mac grinned as she let herself out, Ianto's indignant reply lost in the clank and fuss of the massive cog door.
They returned from their day off feeling both refreshed and relieved that the Rift had stayed dormant in their absence. Mac noticed that Ianto in particular was looking quite pleased with himself, whereas Jack spent the morning laughing at nothing and grinning at everything. She no longer doubted that they were a devoted couple, but the nature of their relationship continued to intrigue her. Jack was definitely in control of Torchwood but months of observation had confirmed Mac's belief that his command ended at the threshold of the little house the two of them shared.
She'd been there only once, dropping off some information not long after Jack had returned, and had been surprised at how domestic it'd seemed. Not at all what she'd expected, although she'd couldn't have articulated what those expectations may have been. A posh flat, maybe, to go with that flash Porsche Jack was so fond of. Or a hideaway somewhere, with an underground carpark and a glass lift to a shiny fibreglass house perched on a cliff. Certainly not a poky little place in a dodgy part of town, complete with a nosy neighbour hanging over the fence with a toddler on her hip. Mac's stay there had been brief—she hadn't even gone inside, since Jack had been chatting with the neighbour and had taken the envelope from her at the kerb—but she'd decided to try and coax an invitation to return as soon as possible.
They spent the morning updating files and attending to mundane housekeeping tasks, interrupted only by Gwen's late arrival and subsequent updates on newly purchased baby things that they all—save Jack—felt obliged to admire. This close to her due date, Mac was keeping an eye on Gwen but aside from some water retention—loudly lamented by Gwen as she pointed with dismay to her thickening ankles—she was doing brilliantly. Mac was anticipating a problem-free delivery and a healthy baby and mum.
All too soon, the calm of the morning was disrupted when the Rift alarms went off. After looking at the incoming data, Jack decided that he and Ianto could handle what appeared to be a small swarm of zyphoids that had come through a ripple in the Rift's energy field, taking up residence in an abandoned warehouse that suited their need for dark, damp spaces.
They'd gone off with a canister of carbon dioxide and promises of returning with Italian for lunch, leaving Gwen to guide them on comms and Jarvil monitoring the city for any other outbreaks. Mac, buried amongst her own research in the autopsy bay, listened with half an ear as Gwen lead Jack and Ianto to where the zyphoids had gathered, not noticing the urgent change to Gwen's tone until Jarvil rushed past her on the way to Gwen's workstation. By the time Mac joined him behind Gwen's chair, Gwen had turned on the overhead speaker so they could all hear the trouble that the lads had encountered in the warehouse.
From Jack's tense description, these zyphoids were a different breed than the harmless ones currently inhabiting Torchwood's secondary backup facility. The new arrivals were much more aggressive and thus more likely to attack neighbouring homes in search of small animals for food. On Jack's instructions, Mac and Jarvil set off to join them with a back-up canister of carbon dioxide, as they'd already depleted the canister they'd brought.
The drive to the warehouse was uneventful, as Mac and Jarvil listened in on comms to Jack's attempts at herding the zyphoids into a corner so they could be destroyed. It was quite amusing, listening to Gwen try and steer the two men, using Torchwood sensors to pick up the creatures' higher heat signatures. There was the usual exchange of half flirty, half grumpy remarks between Jack and Gwen, whilst it sounded as though Ianto seemed more irritated that he'd gotten a smear of something objectionable on his suit trousers than concerned about the job at hand. It was all very normal, just another day on the job, and Mac was looking forward to sorting out this zyphoid situation and moving on to a plate full of pasta and a glass of good claret.
"How is he?"
Mac grunted and slapped at a coil of hair that had fallen into her eyes. It should've been Jack Harkness answering that question, not a tired and shaken Jarvil. But then who was she to judge—she hadn't died a nasty death less than four hours ago and something like that might make a man yearn for a bit of privacy.
"He'll be fine. All the stingers came out cleanly and there don't seem to be any toxins in his blood, but I'll keep him under observation whilst I run more tests. You all right?"
Jarvil nodded, shoulders slumping. He was a big, graceful man, easily six inches taller than Jack, with wide shoulders and thick arms that tested the seams of the black cotton shirts he favoured. Formerly one of UNIT's finest, he was a professional soldier with sharply honed fighting skills and a deft touch with anything electronic that made its way into his huge, capable hands. Yet he looked diminished now, as if the events of the last few hours had worn parts of him away. He'd changed out of his bloodstained clothes and into yet another black shirt, but hadn't bothered to button the cuffs or tuck the tails into his black trousers.
"That's all right, then." Mac gave his arm a pat. "You can go on home, nothing more to do here tonight."
"Yeah, okay. I'll just check in with Jack—"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Mac glanced over her shoulder at the door to Jack's office. "I doubt he'd notice if the whole damn place fell down around his ears right now."
"Pretty upset, is he?"
"Upset?" Mac shrugged. "If you want to call it that. Pissed off would be more accurate."
"Pissed off? At what?"
"Not what." Gwen walked out of the small room where Torchwood's only hospital bed was located, one hand pressed against her lower back. "Whom." She gave Mac a wan smile. "He's asleep."
"Good." Balancing herself by placing a hand on the nearest desk, Mac toed off her shoes, arching her sock-covered feet in relief. "Best thing for him. You two go on, I'll be here for the night to keep an eye on him." On both of them, she added silently. Bloody stupid boys.
"You sure you won't need help?" Gwen tilted her head toward Jack's office. "I've been through this before."
Mac shook her head—even without the greyish smudges beneath Gwen's eyes and the tired rasp in Jarvil's deep voice, she knew they'd reached their limits after what had turned out to be a very bad day. She wasn't that far from exhaustion herself, but this wouldn't be the first night she'd slept on a cot to be near a patient, and as soon as she changed her clothes, found something to eat, and had some tea, she knew things wouldn't seem nearly so dire.
"I promise to ring if anything changes."
"All right." Gwen trudged toward the cog door, pausing to turn back to Mac. "There's a tuna fish sandwich in the fridge and some sea salt crisps in my desk drawer. Help yourself."
"Ah, bless you," Mac sighed. She watched as Gwen and Jarvil exited the Hub, Gwen's hand tucked into the crook of Jarvil' elbow, then turned toward the little room off the autopsy bay that served as the infirmary, intent on checking her patient before retrieving a fresh set of scrubs from her locker.
She found Ianto as Gwen had described him, adrift in an uneasy sleep. In the low light she could see that the bandages swathing his shoulder had yet to be stained through with fresh blood. That's where he'd taken most of the stingers, fragile, glass-like skewers that broke off once they were embedded in flesh. After detaching the stingers from their bodies, the zyphoids had fallen to the ground and died—Mac and Jarvil had stepped around dozens of them to get close enough for Jarvil to hose down the remaining zyphoids with carbon dioxide.
She rested the back of her hand on his forehead, finding it damp with perspiration but not overly warm. Only then did she look at the monitor to confirm her opinion that his temperature was well within the normal range. She continued with a visual inspection of Ianto's wounds that weren't bandaged—a few cuts on his forehead, a slice through his upper arm that had been too shallow to bother with, multiple wounds on his fingers and palms. They were inflamed but not any more than common cuts, the edges pink and seemingly free of infection. The zyphoid's stingers had been hollow and thin, causing clean punctures and cuts, more painful than dangerous, at least until the bloodwork was complete and Mac could be satisfied that there weren't going to be any side effects.
Ianto didn't stir during her examination and Mac attributed that to the mild sedative she'd added to his IV. His breathing was even and deep, and his complexion, though still pale, had regained some of its colour. All in all, everything pointed to a normal and not terribly protracted recovery, aided considerably by youth and strength.
Aye, Mac mused, save any surprises in the test results, his body would heal. His spirit—that was another matter.
Satisfied with her results, Mac took a shower and after washing and re-bundling her wet hair into its typical mop on the top of her head, got dressed and went in search of the tuna sandwich Gwen had offered. It wasn't the ravioli she'd been dreaming of earlier, but then her appetite wasn't what it had been, either. She was eating to maintain her blood sugar levels, knowing she had a long night ahead.
Putting the kettle on, she found the sandwich and set it on a plate, prying apart the slices of bread to scrape off a layer of wilted sprouts. She had the sandwich reassembled just as the kettle went off, so she unplugged it and sloshed some water into a cup where a tea bag was already waiting. When everything was arranged on a tray, she picked it up, planning to partake of her makeshift meal at her workstation while she analysed Ianto's test results and waited for Jack to appear from his self-imposed exile.
It was at that moment that reaction set it. Hands trembling, she dropped the tray on the counter, watching with disinterest as tea washed over the edges of her cup to stain the paper towel she'd placed beneath it. Grasping the edges of the counter, she lowered her head and closed her eyes, trying to will away the images that had suddenly flooded her brain.
Yes, Ianto had been injured. There'd been lots of bleeding on his part and a lot of yelling on hers, but it hadn't been any worse than anything she'd seen before. But what came back to her now was the scene she and Jarvil had walked in on—that was where the horror had been found, and that was what had her clenching her fists to stop them shaking now.
In the time it took Mac and Jarvil to leave their vehicle and approach the warehouse, the carbon dioxide canister strapped to Jarvil's back, the situation had gone from annoying to disastrous. They could hear Jack on comms, ordering at Ianto to get out and save himself, but the high-pitched buzz of the zyphoids' wings drowned out Ianto's reply. Then Jack and Ianto's comms had gone offline, leaving only Gwen's shaking voice urging Mac and Jarvil to hurry.
Jarvil burst through a side door, the hose of the carbon dioxide canister aimed and ready. Mac followed right behind, squinting into the murky darkness for any sign of their comrades. It wasn't hard to find them—the warehouse was empty except for rubbish, broken crates, and dead zyphoids. Trapped in a far corner, a dozen or so zyphoids hovering above them, were Jack and Ianto, their empty canister tossed aside. Jack was on the ground and Ianto was standing over him, swinging at the attacking zyphoids with a broken board. Even as she watched, Ianto connected with one of the insects, sending it flying across the warehouse to smash into a wall.
"What do you see?" Gwen asked.
Jarvil had taken off at a fast trot, Mac following behind with her medical bag slung over her shoulder.
"Looks like they swarmed," she panted. "Jack's down."
Mac waited only long enough for Jarvil to drive the zyphoids back before sprinting the last few metres to Jack's side. By the time she reached him, he was on his hands and knees, large drops of blood spattering the ground beneath him. Mac could see stingers protruding from his back and shoulders, but when he fell forward and then onto his side, she choked off a surprised cry. He'd taken two stingers directly to his heart, and she could see that he was going to bleed out in minutes. Ianto had dropped the board and was kneeling beside him, his upper chest near his left shoulder pierced and bleeding but doing more damage to his hands as he pulled at the razor-sharp stingers that laced Jack's body. He'd stripped off his suit jacket and had wrapped it around his fingers, but the stingers were so sharp that they shredded the material on contact, leaving Ianto's fingers and palms slick with blood.
"Damn it, Ianto!" Jack hissed, face contorted with pain, "I told you that you were sacked! Now get the hell out of here!"
Ianto didn't replied, his mouth set in a grim line as he pulled a stinger out of Jack's thigh.
Mac grabbed Ianto's arm as the wound welled with blood. "Stop! Ianto, stop it! That won't help him! I've got to control—"
"They have to come out." Ianto spoke through clenched teeth as he reached for another stinger embedded in Jack's calf.
"Mac! Get him out of here," Jack pleaded. He fell back against concrete floor, writhing away from Ianto as Ianto slid the stinger out of his flesh. "He no longer works for Torchwood! He doesn't belong here!"
Mac ignored him as she gave Ianto's arm a shake. "You're making it worse, Ianto! Damn it, keep doing that and he'll die!"
Ianto shook off her hand and twisted toward her, his pale face streaked with dust and sweat. "No!" He scraped his forearm over his face, smearing blood across his brow. "No," he repeated more quietly, "you don't understand. He's already dead." He bowed his head, and took in a great gulp of air. "I know what it looks like."
Mac opened her mouth to argue, but one look at the pool of blood beneath Jack and the waxen, blue tinge to his pallor and she couldn't deny the truth. She also knew what imminent death looked like, and even as she opened her medical kit, she could hear the breath rattle in Jack's chest, blood bubbling from his mouth to run across his jaw. She reached toward him, training and instinct taking over, but Jack died before she could even begin to evaluate his wounds or begin life-saving measures.
For a few seconds, Mac stared at Jack's body, unable to comprehend that this vital, seemingly unconquerable man was gone. Swallowing against the thick lump in her throat, Mac reached out and closed the sightless eyes, blinking back tears from her own. She'd known all along this immortality thing was a gimmick, a trick, some kind of heartless illusion—Jack Harkness was dead, and nothing on this earth was going to bring him back.
She turned to Ianto, who was removing the fatal splinters from the centre of Jack's chest
"Ianto," she murmured, "it's over. You don't have to—"
"You don't understand." Ianto winced as his fingers encountered a sharp edge protruding from Jack's shoulder. "They have to come out before he revives, otherwise—"
"Sweetheart, he's not coming—"
"Mac, Ianto's right." It was Gwen's voice in her ear, coming over the comm. "Let him see to Jack."
Mac rubbed at her wet eyes. "Gwen, Jack's gone—"
"He won't be for long. I know, it's hard to believe—"
"It's not hard, damn it!" Mac snapped. She glanced at Ianto, whose pale face and shaking hands were of more concern to her now. "It's fuckin' impossible! Men don't rise from the dead!"
Gwen's voice was gentle. "This one does, you just haven't had to witness it yet. What's the situation?"
Beyond Ianto, Mac could see that all of the zyphoids were out of the air, their carcasses littering the warehouse floor. Jarvil was kicking at the bodies, making sure they were dead, but when he looked over at Mac, she could see the concern on his face. He shook his head, clearly as uncomfortable as she was with Gwen and Ianto's adamant belief that Jack was coming back.
"The zyphoids are destroyed," Jarvil reported. "I'm still checking for stragglers."
Mac pressed her comm deeper into her ear. "Ianto's been stung," she told Gwen, "I've got to get him back to the Hub."
"I'm fine," Ianto said. He swayed on his knees, then keeled sideways, supporting himself on one hand as his eyes fluttered shut.
"Like hell." Mac forced herself to ignore Jack's body and moved closer to Ianto, motioning Jarvil to join them. "We need to get those stingers out of you and no arguments. Jarvil can see to things here."
Ianto's eyes flew open. "I'm not leaving," he said. "I have to stay with Jack, he'll need me."
Seeing the mulish set to Ianto's jaw, Mac tried a different approach. "Jesus, Gwen, help me out here. Jarvil can transport Jack's body back in the SUV, but Ianto needs medical attention now."
"Right." Gwen's tone turned brisk. "Ianto, love, come back with Mac. Jarvil will stay with Jack until he comes around and then bring him back."
Mac exchanged another exasperated look with Jarvil, wondering how long they were expected to go along with this charade. Between them, they got Ianto to his feet, overriding his weakening protests as his wounds began to take their toll. After taking one last look at Jack to impart a silent goodbye, Mac started to offer some words of solace to Ianto, but he interrupted her, raising his hand to capture a tear that had escaped to run down her cheek.
"Don't," he murmured. "it really is all right. He will be back." He looked past her to Jack's corpse, his eyes betraying his heartache. "He always comes back."
"Fine," Mac replied. She dashed away the moisture from her face and straightened her shoulders. "Then Jarvil will bring him home. Right now, you and I are leaving."
It looked as though Ianto was still going to baulk, but Mac could tell that the pain in his shoulder was beginning to make it hard for him to concentrate. "See that all the stingers are out," he told Jarvil, "and you'll find his coat and a spare shirt in the back of the SUV. He's usually cold when he comes back and he—and he—"
Ianto began to sag and Jarvil caught him, taking care to avoid the stingers. Between the two of them, Mac and Jarvil got Ianto to the back of the sedan they'd arrived in, making him as comfortable as possible. As Mac shut the door, he twisted in his seat to look out the back window toward the warehouse, as if expecting Jack to appear.
"I'll see you back home," Mac said to Jarvil as she opened the driver's door. "Let me know when you're in the garage and I'll help you with Jack's—with Jack. And gather up those spent stingers, I want a good look at them."
"Got it." Jarvil sighed and took Mac's hand in his, giving it a squeeze. "So you think all this about Jack coming back is some kind of hysteria?"
"I don't know." Mac gave Jarvil's hand a pat and climbed into the sedan. "We've both seen a lot of strange things since we signed on with Torchwood, but a man rising from the dead? That goes against every law of nature I know."
But Jack did come back. Staring at her spilled tea, Mac recalled hearing the disbelieving tone in Jarvil's voice as he narrated Jack's resurrection. She'd just got Ianto settled on the exam table when Jarvil's normally low voice erupted over the Hub's loudspeakers in a register she didn't expect he possessed. Frozen in her tracks as she listened, Mac spared a glance for her patient, who was sitting quietly on the table with his eyes closed and small smile on his mouth.
"Christ almighty, how?" she whispered. "I don't understand."
Eyes still closed, Ianto shook his head. "No one does. Something happened to him, changed him. He won't say exactly."
Mac scratched her neck. The hours she'd spent reading Owen Harper's journals had mentioned Jack's immortality, had even drawn up scientific theories, yet she'd assumed that's all it was, theories based on an assumption that couldn't be proven. She had a harder time dismissing Jack's constant presence in records going back fifty years or more, but assumed there was a prosaic explanation that didn't include any nonsense about immortality.
"But he died, Ianto, I swear he died. He is—I mean, he's human, isn't he?"
"No one knows, except Jack." Ianto winced as Mac clipped away his bloodstained shirt to began applying a topical anaesthetic to his shoulder wounds. "And at times I don't think he knows, either."
There hadn't been time for conversation after that. Mac had removed the stingers and attended to the punctures before turning her attention to the cuts on Ianto's hands, all the while listening to Jack and Jarvil as they mopped up at the warehouse. It was surreal for Mac to be listening to a man whom she'd declared dead not an hour ago snap out orders and arrange for the destruction of the zyphoid carcasses, yet it was unmistakeably Jack, albeit a Jack that sounded far angrier than she'd ever heard him.
As she helped a bare-chested and bandaged Ianto onto the bed in the small infirmary, he spoke up in a voice cracking with exhaustion.
"He sacked me, you know."
"Easy now, lay back, there's a good lad. Going to feel a bit of a pinch now, just an IV to keep you hydrated." Once she had the IV taped to the top of Ianto's hand, she pulled the blanket up around his abdomen and hit the control to elevate the head of the bed so that Ianto was nearly upright. "Now, I want you to relax and forget all about overgrown bugs and being sacked and dead boyfriends and try to get some rest."
"Jack didn't mean it," Ianto muttered. His hand strayed to the bandage crossing his chest, picking at the edges until Mac nudged it away.
"Course he didn't."
"He was just angry."
"Aye, could see that." Mac hitched her hip onto the corner of the bed. "Still is, from the tone of his voice. What has him so pissed off?"
Ianto leaned back against the pillows, his troubled gaze straying to the doorway. "I refused to obey a direct order."
Mac frowned. Ianto's loyalty to Torchwood—and to Jack—was unquestioned. "Sorry? That doesn't sound like you at all."
Ianto blinked, then looked at Mac. To her surprise, he smiled, a wistful turn of his mouth that brought an empty feeling to her stomach. "It's not the first time," he said, "nor the second, for that matter. But this time..."
His voice dwindled away and he looked down at his bandaged hands.
"Yes?" Mac prompted.
"He ordered me to leave him to die." Ianto raised his eyes to Mac's, and in them she saw the shadow of remembered fear but even worse, the haunting pain of watching a loved one suffer. And now that she knew that Jack was indeed immortal, that meant that Ianto had most likely seen the most important person in his life die over and over again.
"Why didn't you?" she whispered, fascinated in spite of the heartbreak inherent in the situation.
"I couldn't."
"But if you knew that he'd—"
"Doesn't matter. It never did. I can't take for granted that Jack is immortal, he wasn't born that way—if something made him that way, what if it could be taken away just as easily? He'll never know if the next time he dies is the last, the permanent one." His voice dropped to a whisper. "It almost happened once, you know. We thought he'd—that he wasn't coming back. We even put him in the vaults."
"Oh, sweetheart, that must've be rough."
"I gave up on him then." Ianto's mouth tightened. "Only Gwen believed that he'd make it. She waited day and night for him to come back, whilst I—well, I won't give up on him again. And if that means allowing him every chance to avoid death, then that's what I'll do."
Mac sighed, now understanding Jack's anger. "At the risk of your own life? He could've lost you today."
Ianto brushed the back of his bandaged hand against Mac's wrist. "Mac, believe me, I've no desire to be a martyr. But I couldn't walk away and leave him to die alone." He shook his head. "Sacked or not, that will never happen."
Mac tossed out the remains of the tepid tea and set aside the cup. Tea had its place, but a day like today called for something a bit stronger. Taking a small glass from the shelf, she placed it on the tray, planning on breaking into the liquor cabinet on the way to her workstation. She was just reaching for a napkin when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Looking up, she saw Jack standing a few feet away from her, hands in his pockets and head bowed.
"Jack? All right?" When Jack didn't react, she continued. "Ianto's going to be fine."
Jack nodded, eyes still on the concrete floor. "I know."
"How do you know? You haven't said a word to either of us since you—"
Jack lifted his head. "I've been paying attention," he said, his voice soft slicing the air between them like a knife.
Mac had it on the tip of her tongue to give him a piece of her mind, her primary instinct to point out that a useful boyfriend would've been at Ianto's side by now. But then she took a closer look at Jack and thought twice.
If she had to choose between them, she'd have to say that Jack looked far worse for the day's adventure, despite the fact that he was physically in better shape than Ianto. Upon returning to the Hub, Jack had cleaned up and changed his clothes, and to Mac's clinical eye, was suffering no lasting effects from his death. Yet he was paler than she'd ever seen him, with deep grooves bracketing his mouth. The skin around his eyes looked pinched and sore, and there was an uncharacteristic droop to his shoulders.
Rocking back on her heels, Mac crossed her arms. "Watching on CCTV isn't quite the same as being there, but I reckon you ken that."
Mouth set in a grim line, Jack glared at her, but Mac glared right back, though her heart wasn't in it. Every fear that Ianto had about Jack dying was playing out a hundred-fold in Jack's expression, and any anger she'd felt at Jack's perceived neglect of Ianto shrivelled and died beneath the torment that shone out of Jack's tired blue eyes.
Mac reached up and pulled out a loose pin, feeling strands of still-damp hair drift onto her neck and forehead. "How long are you going to let him believe he's been sacked?"
Jack's mouth twisted. "It was a stupid thing to say and I assume he knows that."
"Maybe he does, but it doesn't make it any easier to hear."
"He'll understand."
"That's a load of shite." Mac gave up and yanked the remaining pins out of her bun, letting thick wads of greying red hair fall to her shoulders. Though her anger at Jack had abated, she was still frustrated that he had yet to see her point. "You've got to understand—besides Torchwood, you're the most important thing in his life, it's instinctive to protect you, just like it's your instinct to protect him. It's fuckin' natural, in case you hadn't noticed."
"But I don't need protecting! I can't die!"
"What the fuck does that have to do with anything? D'you think it comes naturally to him that someone he loves is immortal? That he can just flip a switch and say, oh, well, Jack'll come back soon enough, may as well go off and have a pint. Jesus, Jack, you know the man better than I do—is what he did today out of character?"
"No, but—he has to adapt, damn it!"
"Adapt to what? You're asking him to accept something he's not wired to accept, no matter how many times he's seen you die."
Jack pointed a finger at Mac. "I thought I made it clear that we didn't need a house mother, so maybe you should just stick to medicine and leave—"
"Jack."
Mac and Jack turned to see Ianto standing at the top of the autopsy bay stairs, his hand cupped over the small wound where the IV had been attached.
"Who said you could get out of bed?" Mac snapped.
Ianto ignored her, his gaze fixed on Jack. "If leaving you to die is the default reaction to situations like the one we encountered today, or if you consider it to be a component of my Torchwood duties, tell me now."
Mac glanced at Jack. He'd gone utterly still, his hands clenched into fists at his side. "And if it is?"
"Then I imagine that my time here is over."
Hissing through her teeth, Mac took a step toward Ianto. "Wait, that's not—"
"Mac, that's enough." Jack swept passed her to stand in front of Ianto. "You know that's not what I want."
Ianto shrugged, then winced as his bandages pulled at his bare skin. "In this case, what you want is the least of my concerns. What you expect, that's what I want to know." He faltered, then straightened his shoulders. "Take it or leave it, I can't promise that the next time we're in that position, I won't do exactly what I did today."
"What if your choice puts one of your teammates at risk? Would it be worth it then?"
"You'll have to trust me to make the right decision at the time."
"Oh, so you'll only put yourself at risk. Yeah, forgive me if that doesn't make me feel a hell of a lot better."
Ianto took a step toward Jack. "I'm not trying to force you into a corner on this. But I can't guarantee that I'll do anything differently next time. The decision is yours, of course."
There was a brief moment of silence as the two men watched each other, Mac looking on as an unwilling witness. Though the circumstances of this conflict were highly unusual—arguing the merits of protecting an immortal lover—the heart of it remained the same. Love and sacrifice, stalemate and compromise—Mac found herself holding her breath, wondering what path Jack would take to resolve the crisis.
The tense stand-off broke when Jack sighed, lifting his hands to cup Ianto's cheeks. "Just promise me two things."
Ianto's eyes lit up, lines of distress easing from his face. "I'll give it my best effort."
"Will you at least pretend once in a while that I'm in charge here?"
"That is always my intent, today's evidence to the contrary. What else?"
"Yeah, so do me a favour, next time wait until I'm dead before yanking out anything that's stuck in me, okay? That hurt like hell, you know."
Ianto ducked his head, hiding a smile. "Sorry about that. I was just trying to save time."
"Your efficiency will be the death of me yet, Ianto Jones."
"Oh, Lord," Mac moaned, "let's not start with the death thing again. You," she continued, scowling at Ianto, "back to bed. And I'll be putting that IV back in as well, once you're settled."
"Yes, ma'am." Ianto's tone was meek, but he managed a wink in her direction as Jack took his arm to lead him back to the infirmary.
Hours later, Mac stood up from her workstation, rubbing at her eyes with the palms of her hands as she fought off a yawn. Based on the data from the stingers, and the evidence of Ianto himself, she was convinced that he'd suffer no ill effects from his battle with the zyphoids. In addition, she had quite a collection of the stingers to play with and she'd already written three pages of notes regarding their possible uses.
All in all, a good day's work, if a little dramatic. Sure, they'd lost a man, but then they'd gained him back, something she expected she'd best get used to. Another had been injured but was recuperating nicely, and an alien threat had been exterminated. Plus something had been settled between Jack and Ianto, even though she wasn't sure what that was. They certainly had a different set of obstacles than any normal couple faced, yet they seemed determined to make what they had work, despite those obstacles.
She decided she'd take a look at Ianto before she retired to the sofa for the remainder of the night. Descending the stairs in her stocking feet, she came to the infirmary doorway and paused there, propping her shoulder against the door, simultaneously amused and annoyed at what she saw in the dim light of a bedside lamp.
Any other time, she would've scolded Ianto for still being awake and Jack for keeping him that way, but she knew there was no need. She could see from the expressions on their faces that there was healing of another sort taking place, the kind of healing that had little to do with the physical yet everything to do with the continual well-being of both men. It was evident in the intimate cant of Jack's head as they spoke quietly to one another, in the casual stroke of his knuckles against Ianto's wrist. Ianto's fingers were playing with a fold of Jack's trousers, Jack having made himself comfortable by sitting on the bed in the narrow space beside Ianto's hip. They were engrossed in each other, happily lost in a world of their own, oblivious to their surroundings—and Mac had no wish to interfere. She turned and left, determined to extricate herself before disturbing them. Given her recent record of being around too many intimate conversations, she was content to leave them be for now, since she was certain that there'd be plenty of opportunities later to nag them about patients being kept up too late by thoughtless boyfriends who should know better.
Curling up on the couch, she unfolded a blanket and wrapped it around her legs before attempting to punch one of the cushions into some kind of acceptable form for her aching head. As she closed her eyes, she had the fervent hope that this dying thing of Jack's wasn't something she had to deal with too often. On the other hand, maybe he wouldn't object to a few wee tests, for the sake of science, of course.
God, she loved this job.
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