The Worst Hurt of All

It had taken a while. But finally Jack had told Ianto everything – almost everything – that had happened while he was held captive on the Valiant. It had come out in dribs and drabs, not in one cathartic session, which might have been better. The conversations typically started with something simple like "do you want mushrooms on your pizza?" or "let's go for a stroll by the bay" or "how can we have run out of toothpaste again, you must eat the damned stuff!" and ended with unimaginable horrors, spoken of quietly in every day settings – in a pizza parlour, leaning on the railings at the sea front, by the toiletries counter at the supermarket. Neither man forced it, but when it happened, neither changed the subject. They both sensed it was good for them to talk.

Jack'd left out some of the finer details. He didn't tell of all the places the Master had put the tip of the knife and then sliced at his flesh. He'd left out the Master's roar of sadistic enthusiasm which was often matched a second later by Jack's own roar of pain and anguish. He spared Ianto that. He did tell him, though, that as time passed, his different deaths had bled into one long memory, with no beginning and no end. Just the constant pain of dying and of coming back; of having absolutely no choice but to go on.

Jack had tried to suffer in silence, to control the only thing left within his power. He'd desperately wanted to hide his pain, and sometimes his humiliation, from the Master, but he found he couldn't. In the end, he didn't have the energy to care anymore. He might be immortal, but he sorely felt the ragged edge of every death. And every time his body dragged him reluctantly back to life, that had hurt too. In the end, the coming back was worse than the dying.

He was sitting at his desk. He'd been trying to do some paperwork when Ianto brought in coffee for them both, hoping to encourage Jack to take a break. Jack picked up the cup and cradled it in both hands, relishing the warmth. He was still cold, after shuddering back into life three hours earlier, following an encounter with an alien that had fallen through the rift with a complement of weaponry that could probably have taken out an entire battalion. But, as there was no battalion, only Jack, it shot Jack straight through the stomach with all it had to offer. Jack had loosed a dying shot that took the alien down, putting a hole where its head used to be.

The rest of the Torchwood team had arrived shortly afterwards to clean up, scooping Jack into the back seat of the SUV and the alien into the boot. Ianto felt a little guilty when he caught himself thinking that luckily Jack had bled out and wasn't making a mess on the upholstery this time.

They'd followed the usual routine. Ianto and Owen had carried Jack to the autopsy bay. Ianto waited; waited for the gulping, gasping convulsions that accompanied his return to life. Despite having witnessed it a number of times, none of the team ever got used to it, so Owen didn't mind getting the alien out of the SUV and going down to store its corpse until he could reclaim his autopsy room. Tosh didn't mind checking the residual rift activity for the area, and Gwen didn't mind writing up the report. They found it too upsetting to see Jack dragged painfully back to life. So did Ianto. But he waited at his Captain's side anyway.

"You OK, Jack?"

Jack realized that he hadn't heard a word Ianto had been saying. He took a sip of the coffee then put the cup on the table. He rubbed his right hand across his forehead, pressing his temples hard before digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I really dislike resurrection headaches," he said, matter of factly, the pain showing clearly in his pale blue eyes. He held out a hand to Ianto, palm uppermost, and said quietly "Please?"

Ianto steeled himself, hardening his heart. "Sorry, Jack. You can't have anymore yet. Soon, but not quite yet." His tone was practiced and authoritative. It wasn't the first time they'd been through this.

"I know," said Jack sighing, acknowledging defeat. "But they just don't last. They numb the headache for an hour but then it comes back. Oh boy, does it come back!" He folded his arms on the desk and slowly pillowed his head on them. He looked young and vulnerable. Ianto had to struggle with himself not to give in and let Jack have more of the strong pain killers. Owen had placed a strict limit on them - six in four hours. For anyone else, that would have been four in eight hours. But Owen was adamant about the dosage. They had all learned the hard way the time he accidentally killed Jack with an overdose. It had made Jack even more miserably irritable and had given him his worst ever resurrection headache into the bargain. None of them wanted that to happen again.

"Come on." Ianto encouraged Jack gently, nudging his elbow affectionately. "Let's go downstairs. Lie down for a while, eh? You can close your eyes. Try to sleep. Maybe it'll ease a bit."

"That means moving." Jack stood reluctantly, knowing he wouldn't be able to rest. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind took him back to the Valiant. However, spending some quiet time in an all-enveloping, comforting, darkness with Ianto sounded good to him right now. As he stood, the room swam before his eyes. He steadied himself against the desk. He began to cough violently.

Ianto moved to his side. "Are you going to throw up?"

"Almost inevitably."

They lay together, naked under the sheet, flesh touching flesh for comfort. They hadn't made love, but each found security in the closeness of the other. Owen had dosed Jack with a powerful anti-emetic and prescribed rest. Business as usual after resurrection.

"What was the worst thing about that year?" Ianto finally asked the question that Jack had been expecting for quite some time. He hadn't been sure how he would answer it. But tonight, after the day's events, the question caught him off guard.

He answered honestly. "The headaches. Every time I came back. The headaches. A year of this misery. And none of Owen's pills to help."

If Ianto had been hoping that Jack would say that missing him had been the worst thing, he didn't show his disappointment. He nodded with infinite understanding, kissed Jack gently on the forehead, and offered him two more precious white tablets, perhaps slightly earlier than Owen would have condoned.

End