Title: Coming Apart (Part 2)
Fandom: Torchwood/BBC Robin Hood Crossover
Word Count: 5500
Summary: In which Jack's disappearance is explained, and Guy's loyalties are questioned.
Notes/Warnings: Follows on from "Coming Apart Part 1"
This one is plot, mostly. Some things are rather less fraught without Jack around...
Ianto watched Jack stride across the plaza in front of the Hub, an upright figure in the streetlights The camera footage said 22:14.
Jack stood by the railings, looking out to the Bay. Ianto desperately wanted more than the camera could should him. What had the man been thinking? Had he still been furiously angry? Upset?
Something came...up. Out of the Bay. Blackness enveloped the figure and when it was gone, so was he.
“Fuck!” Ianto was on his feet, yelling for Gwen. Tracked the video back, so that when she was by his side, elbowing Guy out of the way, he was ready to show her. They watched it, frame by frame, over and over. Just a shapeless blackness, breaking up out of the water a few feet away from the shore, moving forwards, covering Jack, moving back and under the Bay again. The water swirled violently at its passage, gradually smoothed.
Gwen looked at him, the shock of Jack's abrupt disappearance putting unexpected lines on her face. “God, Ianto. What was that?” she murmured, not expecting a reply. Then she sank into the seat next to him and they went to work.
Other cameras. There must be other views of the Bay at that time. There were. A couple had caught a glimpse of the blackness, but the extra viewpoints told them nothing. On satellite it was no more than a smudge.
Nothing had similarly disturbed the water beforehand; they went back a day, two, more. The weather had been foul three days ago; the waves high, rain beating down on the water. There might have been something, a blackness, slipping under the water somewhere near where Jack's com was signalling from. They watched the footage over, couldn't decide if it was any more than the effect of the storm. Gwen talked to UNIT, part of her protocols, but they had detected nothing, had nothing similar on record. She persuaded them to leave the matter with Torchwood for the moment; UNIT's priorities wouldn't be to get Jack back. Still, they were looking over Torchwood's shoulders now. Ianto's skin prickled.
Guy brought poorly made coffee and some food. They got him to watch footage from all round the edge of the Bay, looking for anything abnormal. It could take hours; he settled to the screen without comment. Watching that dark face, that still seemed so out of place among the computers, Ianto wondered what he was thinking. Nothing of the others' distress, certainly. Jack had given the man no reason to want him back. Ianto wondered if he ought to mention that to Gwen, decided against it. Jack had said he'd treat Guy as Torchwood; who were they to do less?
Gwen was talking to Andy again when Guy looked up from the screen. “Ianto. Here.”
Footage taken at dusk, yesterday evening, hard to make out, but yes, there was another black surge from the sea, over the edge of the docks, half the Bay away. When it withdrew into the dark water there were three men there.
“They were the men who followed us,” Guy was definite. Ianto felt a twinge of guilt for his doubts. The men walked out of line of sight and were lost in the docks, with no CCTVs to follow them. The camera had caught only the shadow of faces, nothing for the face recognition to go on. Ianto pulled up footage from around the alley where Guy had kissed him, and he and Guy scanned the screen.
“There.” Guy pointed. “And the other two behind.” If they'd done this last night, Jack would have been warned. They had faces now, put them in the recognition program. No identities; Ianto wasn't surprised. But it picked up the men as they walked through Cardiff to the plaza outside the Hub, waited in the shadows, followed Ianto and Guy to the alley. The men faded back into the crowd as Jack ran up, then followed them back to the Hub, at a distance. Made their way back to the docks, stood at the edge of the water. A few minutes later the blackness came up again, and they were gone.
The men had been good. Very good. Ianto hadn't spotted them; Jack hadn't on the walk back. Ianto said as much to Guy. Guy had raised an eyebrow sardonically, but Ianto though he had been pleased at the compliment. So easy to treat him as a child, because there was so little he understood of the world, because he behaved sometimes like an adolescent, but what he did he did well. He'd been a leader of men, a soldier once, had political ambitions. If he tolerated being the office boy it was for his own reasons, and, Ianto suspected, it would be well not to take his goodwill for granted.
The divers would be available in an hour. Gwen was having second thoughts. “If there is something alien down there, should we really be sending men down there unprepared?”
“What else can we do? You can't dive, I can't, Guy certainly can't.”
“We could get UNIT in.” Gwen looked at him, shook her head. “No, we'd better try this first. Warn the men as much as we can, pull them out at any sign of trouble.”
Ninety minutes later the police boat was taking them all out onto the Bay. Ianto's laptop was connected to some pretty futuristic scanning equipment they'd retrieved from the archives. The divers were on standby but no-one was going down there until the scans were complete.
The scans were good. They could see everything larger than a very small rock on the silty seafloor. Ianto directed the skipper towards the location of the still functioning wrist com, and the scan pictures changed.
The floor of the Bay had become perfectly smooth, perfectly flat, though silt still lay on top. They tracked up and down for a while, measuring. Oval, roughly twenty by fifteen metres across. The material was impenetrable with the equipment they had. Nothing sat on top of it except the mud. The small animals that scurried across the bay floor stayed well clear.
“Try dropping something on it.” Ianto suggested. Gwen nodded. A metal weight, on a chain, lowered slowly. It came to rest on the smooth floor, under the silt. Nothing happened.
Jack's com was signalling from somewhere underneath the material, but no-one was answering calls. Gwen frowned. “We could try some sort of speaker? Talk to it?” They tried that. No response.
In the end she agreed to let the divers go down. They were all tense, waiting, ready to pull the men up and get out of there at the slightest sign of anything. The divers walked across the oval, edge to edge. They ran gloved hands across the edge of the anomaly, fused perfectly into the rock. They hammered on the plasticky surface. Absolutely nothing.
Rain blew up, and it started to get dark. They were out of ideas, and the divers were out of divetime. Reluctantly, Gwen signalled that they should go back to shore. They'd have the boat again from dawn, warned the crew and divers against discussing what they'd seen, headed back to the Hub.
Gwen settled to the computer again. From what Ianto could see she had little idea of what to do next. He had less. Except, there were men, or not men, with designs against Torchwood staff. He spoke to Guy. “Come downstairs.”
Against Jack's express orders, but Jack had been taken by something and Ianto wasn't going to leave Guy defenceless. He unlocked the weapons cabinet, took out a pistol, some ammunition. “I'm going to teach you to shoot.” Guy's eyes gleamed.
Guy didn't take much teaching. Ianto remembered his own fumbled first attempts. Guy knew weapons, knew crossbows, was totally unconcerned at the fact that this was designed to kill. Once he'd mastered the simple mechanics, felt the way that his muscles should move, he simply aimed and fired. Smiling.
He seemed tireless, putting bullet after bullet into the targets, improving with every round. Ianto wasn't. Jack was gone, at least partly his fault, and his heart ached. He tried telling himself that nothing could hurt Jack, knew it to be a lie. Nothing could stop the man from coming back to life. Not the same thing at all. He stood to one side, hugging his arms around himself, watching Guy's delight in becoming a fully functional murderous bastard again.
“That will do.” Gwen was upstairs; he should be helping her. He nodded to the pistol. “Keep it.” Dug out a holster and box of ammo. He wasn't giving Guy access to the weapons cabinet. At least with the pistol he could only kill one of them at a time. Jack would be impressed with Ianto's forethought. He snorted. Jack would most likely throw them both out permanently with a hefty dose of retcon. Jack didn't like his orders ignored. Ianto would gladly face his anger, if Jack would only come back.
Guy still had the pistol in his hand. “Ianto.”
“One night, nothing more. An hour would do, if it must. To finish what we started in that alley.” The gun had given him something; Ianto hoped it was only the confidence to ask outright.
Ianto had daydreamed, sometimes, in the last couple of years. This man, looking at him with just this expression. Desire, frustration, the hint of anger. Ianto hadn't imagined then that he would resist it. But Jack was missing. Jack who had wanted Guy, had kept his distance, because Ianto had asked him to. How would he look his captain in the eye again?
Besides, this wasn't the figure from his occasional fantasy. Guy was human, flesh and bone, breath and emotions and a real person in there, capable of, as far as they knew, all too human feelings. Not to be played with, for no reason better than physical desire. Not to be used.
Ianto shook his head. “No. I'll not do that to him.”
“And if he doesn't return?”
“He always returns.”
Medieval obscenities were, on the whole, more creative than modern ones. Guy seemed to know a lot of them. Ianto was acutely aware of the man's hand wrapped around the pistol grip, near level with the uneven bulge in the black jeans. The gun was, at the moment, pointing towards the floor.
Guy finished cursing, slid the pistol into its holster, a movement adapted from handling something far longer. He grinned at Ianto, seeming amused at his own intemperate reaction.
“On your TV thing, no-one fucks.”
“No. It was made for children to see.”
A swift frown. “Still, if it wasn't there, how did your alien know, to give me memories? Desires?”
Ianto shrugged, started moving towards the stairs. “It knew, I guess, that everyone does it.”
“Everyone.” Guy was close behind him; too close. “Except for you. For me. For him.”
“It's only been three weeks. It's not the end of the world.”
“Do you know what lies my memories tell? They tell me that I seldom slept alone. That most nights I'd fuck whoever was in my bed twice over and again in the morning, and like as not I'd find a few minutes to drag Allan into a quiet doorway or up against a tree during the day. Not a usual appetite, among the men I knew. So why do you think I was made that way? Not to fit into this world of yours; that much is clear.”
Ianto had reached the door at the top of the stairs. He swung it open, eager to get out into the main Hub, away from this conversation. “Guy...this is not the time for this.”
“There will be a time to talk about this. Soon.” Guy dropped silent as they walked across to Gwen. She shook her head at Ianto, exhausted. “Nothing new.”
“Go home,” Ianto suggested, gently. “The answer is under the Bay and there's nothing we can do there until the morning.”
“UNIT. They want to come, with some sort of drilling equipment. I've put them off, but if we get nowhere tomorrow...” She shrugged.
“Worry about that if we get nowhere. Go home, Gwen. I'll stay here, call you if anything at all happens.” He didn't want to stay in the Hub tonight, but someone had to be here, someone able to take calls, make decisions. Not the recently acquired medieval office boy.
When Gwen had left, Ianto looked at Guy.
“I am going to sleep on the couch. I need sleep. I don't need hassle. Go away. Wake me if anyone calls. Otherwise I'll see you in the morning.” He expected some form of argument, but Guy just walked away.
Ianto was woken from sleep by Gwen. “ It's nearly dawn. Guy's made coffee.”
The coffee, for a wonder, wasn't bad. Ianto pushed a hand through his hair, put his shoes back on, and they were off to meet the boat. Guy walked differently, with a weapon, took up a position at point, watching the occasional passer by suspiciously in the early light. Ianto hadn't even registered how the man had trailed in their wake the previous day.
The boat was moored half a mile away, in a quiet inlet. They had only walked part of the way there when Guy pulled the pistol out and backed up, narrowly missing Gwen. The black cloud was streaming over the edge of the land, twenty yards in front of them.
Ianto thought immediately of Jack. “Don't shoot,” he called out to Guy. A second thought. “Unless it attacks.” His own gun was in his hand; next to him Gwen was muttering something.
The cloud pulled back and the water churned as it disappeared. Two men, this time, familiar faces. Casually dressed, their hands displayed and empty, expressions calm. All of which might have meant something, had they been human. Ianto was pretty sure that they weren't even close.
“Where is Jack Harkness?” Gwen's accent was stronger than usual, the only sign of her stress.
The man in front had close cropped hair and a smile that went to his eyes. He looked to be in his late thirties.
“Jack Harkness.” He raised his eyebrows. “Now there's a man. More or less. Something of a surprise, in a quiet little place like South Wales. Do you know what he is?”
The man had a pleasant voice, accent indistinguishable from those Ianto heard around him every day.
“We know what Jack is. What have you done with him?”
“You do, do you?” The man seemed amused. “You know about the neat resurrection trick, and that he comes from a long way from here. But twenty minute with Google will tell anyone that. What a Time Agent's doing in Cardiff; now that's intriguing. Not to say unsettling. And probably unfortunate, for Cardiff at least. Not a hint of the answer on any database on Earth, including Torchwood's, which means he's told nobody. You don't know really know what Jack Harkness is, not at all.”
Gwen snarled at the man, “Is this what this is about? The Time Agency?”
The man shook his head. “No. We had no idea, when we took him. It is interesting, but it's not why we're here. We give them a very wide berth, normally, like everybody else.”
“So what do you want with Jack?”
The man blinked, slightly surprised. “Jack? Nothing. We made...” his eyes flickered away, embarrassed, or playing at it,”... a mistake. Torchwood's systems were unusually well protected. We were impatient, and the opportunity to take the man we thought we were after was too good to pass up; we thought we'd got enough data to identify him without waiting to access your files. We hadn't considered the possibility that the Torchwood Institute would have two non-humans on its books, not one.”
He smiled at Gwen, warmly. “Fortunately your culture has an answer to such problems. A trade. We will return your misplaced alien in exchange for ours.”
Ianto fought the impulse to look over at Guy. If they hadn't yet identified him...
A shot, and the second man crumpled backwards. The first dropped to his knees, crouched over the injured man, looked up at Guy with every appearance of shock. Blood from the man's shoulder was staining his jacket.
“That was barbaric.”
Guy grinned, unremorseful. “I didn't kill him.” He walked forwards to look down at the pair of them. “Looking at that, I'd say a bullet will probably kill you, at least while you pretend to be human. Useful to know. I am going nowhere with you.”
The man looked past Guy to Gwen. “My colleague needs urgent treatment. As your trigger happy friend suggests, we are physically no less vulnerable than you. If you permit it, I'll send him back to the ship, then come with you. I need to explain what we want, and why. Then we can discuss possible solutions.”
Gwen's voice was harsh. “We don't trade people away. You will return Jack, no conditions. But you can get your colleague the help he needs.”
The water bubbled; the black cloud swirled around the men on the ground, disappeared back under the water, leaving only the one man getting to his feet.
Gwen nodded at Ianto. “Frisk him.”
Ianto walked forward to the man. “Hands up, please.” The body felt entirely human, but then so did Guy's. No weapons; the man was carrying nothing at all, not even a wallet. Nothing strapped under his clothes. How did clothes work, anyway? Guy's leather jacket, his boots were all cleaned and stored away; were they as inanimate as they seemed?
Ianto stepped back. “Thank you.” It seemed natural to be polite to this soft spoken man, until he remembered Jack, trapped somewhere under the expanse of water in front of them.
“Have you hurt him?”
The man looked serious enough, now. “We did something; if he had been what we thought, it would have been beneficial. Because he wasn't, he died. Then we knew that we'd made a mistake and something of what he was. Since then we have treated him as a guest, and since we accessed Torchwood's files, found out about the Time Agency, we have been very courteous to him indeed.”
He sighed. “He does not, so he tells us, bear any grudge for our inadvertent harm. But he objects vehemently to his imprisonment, despite our best efforts to make it tolerable. Given who he is, we are very unhappy about this. We desperately want the situation resolved as soon as possible.”
That sounded like Jack. Ianto found that reassuring. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know what it was they'd done that had killed Jack, something that they presumably now wanted to do to Guy. Unless the whole thing was a pack of lies.
He looked over at Gwen, who had been on her mobile to the boat crew. She looked furious; he realised with a start that her anger was aimed not at the stranger but at him. She spoke to the man.
“Do you have a name that we can use?'
“Yes, sorry. Mark Owen. Mark is fine.”
“Mark. Right. Well, Mark, I don't intend to take you anywhere where our security can be compromised.”
Mark smiled. Rattled off a series of letters and numbers. Ianto recognised a couple of Hub access codes; Gwen, by her expression, recognised more.
“I've seen everything in Torchwood's files, including the ones that Jack thinks that only he has access to. The Hub holds no secrets at all for me, I'm afraid. But if you'd rather go to Starbuck's that's fine. Although I was looking forward to Ianto's coffee.”
Not brash, just matter of fact. Gwen sighed. “The Hub then. I presume you know the way.”
As they walked, Gwen pulled Ianto back a little. “This,” she snapped, “is your doing.”
Ianto winced. “I know. If I'd talked to Jack...”
“Not that.” She gestured at Guy, walking close behind Mark, hand on his holster. “Him. You gave him a bloody gun, Ianto! What happens when he decides that the best way to make sure these aliens can't take him away is to kill the ones he can reach? And to hell with Jack, or us.”
It was painfully plausible. Guy hadn't so much as glanced at either of them before shooting Mark's colleague. Ianto couldn't convince himself that Guy would follow orders with his own existence at stake.
“God help me, Ianto, I'd shoot him myself if I thought it would keep Jack safe. But he's something to these people; enough to bring them here, risk themselves to recover him. Anything happens to him, I don't know what the repercussions might be. He's a wild card and, thanks to you, armed.”
She looked away from him. “Get the gun back, Ianto. It's the best thing that we can do for Jack right now. Any way you can, short of killing him- just get it.” And she strode past him to catch up the two in front.
Ianto blinked. That order was pretty explicit, and the case for it compelling. Still.
At the Hub Gwen followed Mark into the small interview room. “Ianto, make drinks, will you please? Guy- monitor in Jack's office.”
Why there, Ianto wondered, as he let the routine with the coffee machine soothe him. Why not at their usual posts? Gwen was unforthcoming when he took the drinks in; she merely told him to join Guy, keep alert.
Guy was sitting on Jack's desk, watching the screen. He glanced over as Ianto walked in with the coffee. “Listen to this shit.”
“Not in any very immediately useful sense, I'm afraid.” Mark was depreciating. “It's an ability to pick up background, only. I can't tell what you're thinking or feeling but I know what it feels like to be human, in Cardiff, today.”
Guy shook his head. “As if he's going to tell her everything that he can do. She'd be wise not to believe a word of it. The only thing he's said so far that rings true is that they're scared shitless of Jack. What's a time agent?”
Ianto shrugged. “He's never told us. Something he did, a long time ago. He left, I think.” He sank down into Jack's chair. Talking about him, here, was too much. This office; he could breathe the man all around him, but Jack was gone.
Guy frowned down at him. “He'll be safe enough. They fear him; they won't want to upset him.”
“Just like you don't?” Ianto watched the screen.
A pause, then Guy's voice was cold. “You think we're the same, him and I? How convenient. Send me back where I belong, get your lover back. File your precious report. Over my fucking dead body, Ianto.”
Ianto looked up at him. “No. I don't think you're the same. And we are not going to sell you out.”
“Why not?” Guy was off the desk, standing over him. “Why the hell wouldn't you? I'm nothing to any of you except a curiosity, something the Rift dumped on your threshold. To be fucked and threatened and housetrained and returned when its owner turns up to claim it.”
“No.” Ianto pushed himself out of the chair, screen forgotten. “No, Guy.” His hands were on the other man's shoulders, urgent with something of guilt at the truth of the accusations. Blue eyes glared at him, unbending. “No.” His hand curled behind the man's head, pulled it forward, his mouth on Guy's. Arms around his chest crushed him as Guy kissed him back, hands slid down to his arse, pulling his body against the growing hardness in Guy's jeans.
Guy pulled back to look into Ianto's face. “You started this. Don't even think about stopping now,” Ianto wasn't. His hand went towards Guy's groin, brushed over the man's pistol and fingers closed on his wrist.
Guy stepped back, releasing his grip. “If your clothes aren't on the floor in the next ten fucking heartbeats there is going to be nothing of them left.” He was pulling off his own t-shirt as he spoke, unbuckling his belt. Ianto cast a quick look at the screen where Gwen was leaning forward, explaining something, while he shrugged off his jacket, started unbuttoning his shirt.
Guy jerked his jeans down over his hips and his cock sprang free. His gun in its holster hung off his belt, around his thighs. He leaned forward, ripped Ianto's shirt apart, its remaining buttons scattering, then wrenched it back and off Ianto's arms. “Too fucking slow, Ianto. I want to be ten inches deep in your arse by now.”
“Just wait a second.” Ianto liked this pair of trousers. Guy's fingers had clamped around his nipples, the man's mouth wet over his bare shoulder. Ianto fumbled with his belt awkwardly around Guy's cock pushing into his stomach, and Guy bit him in the neck, painfully hard. “I meant it. Move.”
Nothing of the office boy now. Ianto's plan to negotiate over the gun sometime around now had just gone out of the window, replaced by the intention to do exactly what Guy told him and try not to whimper too much out loud in the process.
Impatient hands dragged his underpants down. Guy's hand was squeezing his cock. Ianto took a difficult breath. “We need to watch the monitor, Guy. Gwen's on her own in there.”
“We'll watch it.” Guy shoved a mess of papers off the desk, pushed Ianto back to sit on it. Knelt down, wrenching Ianto's shoes off, then his trousers, baring his legs. “Fuck, you look good.” His face was level with Ianto's groin. “Watch the sodding screen.” And one hand was under Ianto's balls, the other smoothing his thighs while Guy's mouth closed round his cock.
Deprivation, stress, desperate arousal and Guy's undoubted expertise; Ianto watched the seconds tick by on the clock on the monitor and knew he wasn't going to last the minute. “Damn,” he panted. “Fuck.”
Guy lifted his head, fingers closing around the base of Ianto's cock. “Since you ask nicely...” He stood up and Ianto saw that the gun holster had slid around to his back; his jeans still round his thighs. A hand on Ianto's shoulder dragged him to his feet and around the desk. “We'll both watch from here.” The hand shoved between his shoulderblades and Ianto obediently started to bend over the desk, then pulled himself upright. “Just let me get something.”
The unlocked drawer in Jack's desk held all sorts of useful and useless junk, and a half used tube of lubricant. This was not the first close encounter Ianto had had with this particular hard surface. Guy had long since mastered screw tops; he pushed Ianto back over the table. A hand reached around Ianto's hip, slick with grease, smoothed down from the tip to the base of his cock and Ianto gasped. “Watch the fucking screen,” Guy reminded him.
Watching the screen was becoming more difficult all the time. When Guy finally pushed his forceful way inside and Ianto swallowed against the sheer, fucking, bloody incredible discomfort of the size of him, he found that his eyes had somehow become tightly closed. He pulled them open again. Nothing untoward seemed to have happened in the interview room. Guy was motionless, apart from the hand that ran slowly up and down Ianto's cock and Ianto resisted the urge to beg the man to just move. Please.
“Are you watching?” Guy's voice was almost steady but Ianto could hear the control the man was exercising. Half denimed thighs against his own quivered, were still.
“Good. We're going to talk.”
Bent over a desk with another man's oversize cock jammed up his arse was really not Ianto's idea of a good position for a conversation. Besides, he was about thirty seconds off a climax and simultaneously trying to ensure his colleague wasn't in danger from an alien of unknown power and hostility. He doubted that his brain was going to come up with anything more sophisticated than 'ugh' in response to whatever it was that Guy wanted to talk about. Unfortunately he was equally incoherent when it came to explaining this to Guy.
“Why are you doing this?”
Not a question he really wanted. “Because,” he pushed embarrassment away. Not the place for it. “Because I've wanted you. Since last time. God, Guy, I'm desperate here. It hurts.”
“You've wanted that for weeks, Ianto. You wanted it yesterday, and you refused me. Now Jack's a captive and you should be in there, trying everything possible to get your lover out. Instead you're about to come all over his desk in his absence and you haven't heard a word of what's been said in that room for the last half hour. I can see you're desperate to be fucked. You're not feigning that. I want to know, why now. Until I get an answer that satisfies me, I'm not moving.”
Ianto couldn't think of a lie that made any sense. He tried some of the truth.
“To show you that we're on your side. That we won't let them take you.”
“Very thoughtful. Except this isn't just to make me feel loved, Ianto. Try again.”
“It's true, Guy. It's not just for you, though. We need to get Jack back, and if you don't trust us, you could do something to endanger him.”
Guy's hand closed harder around his cock. Onscreen Mark was talking, sitting back, seeming relaxed.
“It's always about bloody Jack. You're a faithful little dog, doing all this, to keep him safe. Do you think he'll be grateful? Or do you think he'll believe it was just a convenient excuse?”
He started moving and Ianto groaned.
“Right now I am going to fuck you so hard that you won't let Harkness near your pretty bloody arse for weeks. Quite why you should think this is going to make me trust you, I don't know, but I'm not going to argue. Watch the screen.”
It was hard, and it was painful. Somewhere fairly early on Ianto came, but it didn't matter to Guy, and it didn't much matter to Ianto either. The world had contracted to two figures with a desk between them and the repeated, exquisitely brutal pounding of bruised flesh. He didn't want it to stop, needed it to, started to believe that it never would.
It stopped. Behind him Guy was gasping for a breath, then another. On the screen Mark looked up towards the camera, into his eyes, grinning. Said something to Gwen. Ianto strained to hear the words that had been no more than background noise for ages.
“Yes, that's fine.” Gwen looked up at the camera too, apparently straight at the two naked and sweating men. “Ianto, can you get us some more coffee? Send Guy out for some sandwiches?”
Ianto's wrist com was the only thing he was still wearing. He pushed a button, tried to make his voice normal. “Yes”, flicked it off again before Guy could say anything. His thighs were still pressed against the desk; Guy's cock was still twitching inside his battered arse. “Guy. They want sandwiches.” It sounded banal, was probably better than anything else he could say.
“That,” Guy said, quietly, “was bloody good.” A hand ran over Ianto's shoulders, up onto his scalp. “You are one sweet fucking lay. But,” and his fingers tightened in Ianto's hair. “I don't believe you'd not sell me out to have your Jack back, if you thought there was no other way. And I'm damn sure that Harkness would do it just to be rid of me. Which is why I'll be keeping the gun. Nice try, though. Feel free to have another go at it, in a couple of hours or so.”
He stepped back, pulled his jeans up, walked round the desk to pick up the black t-shirt. “Sandwiches. I'll be back in ten minutes.”
Ianto sighed, stood up, wincing. Tried to get his head clear. He moved to the keyboard, set the computer to print out a transcript of the conversation in the interview room. He could skim through that while he was making the coffee, much faster than reviewing the tapes. Clothes, next. No- he looked down on the shine of lubricant everywhere- a shower. Two minutes. No- first he'd wipe Jack's desk down- sorting the papers on the floor would have to wait. Then run to the coffee machine, still naked, start it running, then the shower, then clothes, buttoning his jacket over ripped shirt, then back to the coffee.
By the time Guy returned he had recovered a semblance of calm, there were four mugs of coffee on a tray and he'd established that Gwen and Mark had talked a lot about Mark's home planet and the structure of their society but not at all about Guy or Jack. Almost, he thought, as if Gwen had been putting off the real interrogation, and Mark had been politely co-operating.
End of part 2"Coming Apart Part 3"