Guard Them, and Him Within
chapter five
Over time, one gained a sense that the attacks had a kind of rhythm, stretches of relative peace and periods of intense hostile action. Ianto had not known that he'd arrived during one of the former, until one afternoon they finished lunch to the sound of sirens, and after that the sirens never stopped.
A week, two weeks, three. Many were the nights when everyone in the barracks seemed awake, too exhausted and anxious to sleep. Even Ianto felt a strange deep weariness settling into his bones, though he'd only been doing his regular duties.
The whispers would start. Words flowing from one bunk to the next. Stories, for the most part. If there was a new tale, or a known favorite, the entire room went silent, so that the furthest insomniac could hear the words; there seemed almost a kind of magic to it, though likely this was because the stillness was palpable, heavy presence in the room. The dead calm that came only after magnificent chaos. Ianto listened with his translator off, the half-recognizable words painting scenes in his mind.
The gasping lungful of first breath came seven minutes later. Ianto had long hypothesized that the time between death and... awakening largely depended on the manner of death and extent of physical damage, which made sense, but the correlation was not sufficient for precise prediction.
Also, death by plasma bolt was a new one for him. Bullets, he thought grimly, good, old-fashioned lead bullets, now those I can predict to the second.
The Captain coughed. "You don't look scared to death, or even a little surprised, so I guess you knew this was going to happen."
"If you mean the attack, I hope the fact that I nearly got shot disabuses you of the notion. If you mean you coming back, then yes, I was fully expecting to have to repair your coat yet again tonight."
"Then what in blazes are you still doing here?"
Ianto raised an eyebrow. "Waiting for you to come around?"
The Captain stared at him like he was dense. "What for?"
"It's not like I need to be with the squad." Ianto caught movement out of the corner of one eye, his hand holding the Webley automatically tracking it. "And I was hardly going to just leave you here."
He still wasn't sure why he'd been requested to come along when wasn't allowed to fire a blaster. But the casualty rate was beginning to tell, and it was a little depressing to see how heartened Squad 7 had been to have even a non-combatant among them to boost their numbers; this was their second time out within 24 hours. At least it was a rescue mission, rather than a full interception.
(A storm had marooned Squad Two on a cliff face on the other side of the mountain, and the Kriida they were supposed to be ambushing were picking them off.)
The Captain's expression clearly said that, yes, Ianto should have gone on with the men and left him there, and he thought Ianto an idiot for not doing so.
Ianto calmly gazed back, I know what you think, but you don't always know what is for your own good, and having brought me this far surely you do not expect me to start backing down now?
Exhaustion told on every face. There was an extra chord of tension, too, particularly among the veteran survivors. Ianto wanted to ask, but didn't know how. Plus, the general intent seemed to be to pretend that everything was fine. Finally Aberdeen, the ever-silent Abe, murmured to Ianto over their subdued dinner, "Time's like now, that's when things like to get bad."
That night, Ianto jolted awake from a bad dream. He didn't hear anything out of the ordinary, but he could tell that he hadn't been the only one. Yet nobody left their beds. There was only a feeling intense watchfulness, and a rising, unexplained dread.
Footsteps passed the door. Two or three gave up the pretence and sat up, leaning out of their bunks. The door opened, silently. A woman's voice, one Ianto didn't recognize, said, "It's Ika." Ianto remembered a short man, balding, two barracks-halls down.
It seemed like the entire room sighed. One man quickly jumped up and slipped out the door. Ianto meant to ask, since he could hear Roadrunner shuffling about in the upper bunk, but the easing of the tension in the room left him feeling acutely his body's weariness, and the next thing he knew the room was mostly empty again and the blue storm-lights were flashing.
He learned that, sometimes, it was illness that preceded the pyres. Nobody knew the cause, and Ivy, the only qualified medical officer on the base, always offered some meaningless explanations about the complexities of viral models that neither they nor she believed. Nobody had ever found out why certain individuals suddenly began to waste away, the equipment they had was decades old, and nobody on the outside cared. The middle-aged, willowy woman seemed to take every unexplained death as a personal affront, and had a reputation for not stepping out of the infirmary while the sickness was doing its rounds.
And instead of alarm and revulsion, the soldiers gathered around their comrades. Whole squads asked for leave, and the Captain, strict on everything else, would just nod and rearrange the shift schedule.
"It doesn't spread," explained Sera, when she saw his hesitation in approaching the bed of a sickly man, a friend of Oakland's. "There's no pattern to it, no season, and everybody seems to have as much a chance of becoming sick as anybody else."
Ianto's barracks-hall lost four. Somehow their squad escaped intact, but in such a closed environment, there were enough connections and acquaintances that everybody felt everybody else's sorrow.
The attacks continued through the epidemic. For the first time, Ianto chafed at being kept in the base, even though his own friends were admonishing him for doing the work of three men already, between the armory and the infirmary and keeping the base clean in the vain hope of it staving off the sickness.
And then came the day he understood the others' true horror about the Wake.
He was waiting in the deployment area when Oakland's squad stumbled in. It was clear how exhausted all of them were. The Captain was waiting as well, with stretchers, for there had been reports of an animal attack on top of the Kriida interception. Ianto listened to the debriefing as he helped the soldiers out of their kit.
They'd engaged the Kriida on perimeter five, the outermost line of defense except for the rings of sensors further out. The distance from base meant that they were also in danger from the few land animals of size that could survive in the hostile weather. A pack of drindo had attacked them. (Ianto's mind brought up images of them, like wolves but with saber teeth and thicker wire-like fur.) They'd barely got away, and likely only because the animals were more interested in the dead Kriida.
Ianto noticed that the last member of the squad was barely moving. He pressed the button for medical even before he approached the man; luckily, the infirmary was right next to deployment.
His questions were met with no answer, so he murmured soothing words while he quickly unbuckled the weapon straps and the harness. The utility belt was bloody and in shreds. Ianto saw the blood dripping down onto the floor, repeated, "It's all right, we'll get this off and Ivy will patch you right back up" as he struggled with the belt.
The fastening was caked with blood and sand. Finally, it gave, and Ianto was ready to yank it off when he noticed the curious way the body under the strap was moving. The cloth under the dark suit was already bloody, and more blood was seeping through, the skin distending without the pressure of the belt strap-
Ianto was aware of someone shouting, when the stench hit him. Blood he'd grown used to, but this was ranker, mortal, liquids intimate to the living body. He looked up - the face behind the visor was one he vaguely recognized, from the hallways or the mess hall. Glassy eyes stared at him, fixed in the look of terror before violent death.
A strange moment, then. Something was suspended within the visor, moving slightly as if there was wind within. Pale and miniscule, glittering. Dust.
Fingers gripped his arm, pulled him backwards. The belt, still in his clasp, was pulled off completely. Blood splashed on the smooth floor, the man's suit bulging and opening where claws had ripped right through it, spilling out-
Meat. Nothing but meat. They'd eat their harvest raw if they could stomach it, but rare was even better, lightly seared on the outside and full of juices still-
Jack's gun roared, cutting through past and present. Ivy released Ianto's arm, shouted something at the other soldiers. The dead man shook, stumbling from the impact of the bullets. The head looked about, as if confused by where it was. It stopped with the eyes directed straight at the Captain. It nodded. And then it... toppled over, hitting the ground with a damp sound.
Soldiers were running in through the doors. Sera appeared at Ianto's side, asked him if he was all right. Ianto made some affirmative noises, but most of his attention was on the Captain. There was an almost... fearful look on the older man's face, and the hand holding the Webley was trembling, hidden by the long sleeve of his coat. Ianto noted how everybody was giving the Captain a wide berth, though they swarmed over Ivy and Ianto and the remaining members of the squad.
The Captain put the gun away and headed for Ianto. People scampered out of his way, and Sera's nails dug into Ianto's arm. He looked at her questioningly. She frowned and let go, stepping away once the Captain was close.
"Are you all right?" asked the Captain gruffly, not quite meeting Ianto's eyes.
"Yes." What was going on?
"Good."
"What was," Ianto nodded towards the body. Ivy and other soldiers were already cleaning up the blood and... other matter. "Was that the Wake?"
The Captain's face was harder than Ianto had ever seen it. "Yes. That's why we burn the dead. I should have been suspicious - they were in the Worm Winds, it's always the squad that comes back with no fatalities, and a whole pack of drindo would have gone into pursuit, the Kriida don't make good eating for them."
"Well, we're all fine." Ianto wanted to touch him. Just a hand on the arm, something. But he remembered the time when he'd hated touch. Plus, the soldiers were watching. "Thank you, by the way."
The Captain's expression flashed surprise, but nodded and headed for the doors. With his back turned, Ianto saw more clearly the looks of fear and distrust directed at the Captain.
He'd wondered for a while, why none of the soldiers ever warmed towards their leader. The Captain was strict, and cold, but Ianto could see that he cared about his soldiers, and he was never deliberately cruel or unreasonable. Ianto had met worse. And yet, even the soldiers who professed respect for him tinged it with a strange wariness.
It was only many hours later, when he was staring at the ceiling of the commons, letting Rum-Tum and Dree's good-natured bickering wash over him, that the thought came: he can't die. If he'd been here years, there must have been at least one time when he couldn't hide his death. And how that must look, in a planet where the dead go walking.
He jerked up, startling his friends. He made some excuse about going to bed early, accepted their comforting hugs and pats. Halfway to the barracks, he slipped into a service corridor - he was getting to know the place as well as he'd known the Hub - and doubled back towards the command area.
"Is that why they're scared of you?" demanded Ianto. "They think, what, you died out there and something took you over? They think you can't die because of something the Wake, this planet, did to you?"
The Captain stared at empty surface of his desk. "Who is to say that wasn't what happened? Stranger things have come out of the desert, Knight." He sighed. "That's why we have that rule. Don't give people to the Wake. When they die, we burn them. No chance of... something... using their body. Or, if it's really them come back, we're sparing them from waking up with half their face torn off."
There was something here, beneath the surface; it must be bad, for the Captain to be working this hard to gloss over it. Ianto was tempted to play dense, but the seed of horror would only grow on uncertainty, and since Canary Wharf he'd always felt some kind of obligation to face head-on whatever the darkness of humanity threw at him.
"They tried, didn't they?" he asked, eyes not leaving the older man's face. "They burned you, while you were dead."
A muscle on the Captain's right hand twitched; all else was still, like stone. "I knew they were going to do it, beforehand. They had to try, before they would follow me again, and it's not as if it was permanent."
"Not where the eyes can see, no." The Captain looked up at the growl in Ianto's voice, eyes widening at the anger twisting under Ianto's skin. "Do you think it makes it any better, that you let them do it?" Ianto took a deep breath. "Who was it?"
At this, the new openness in the Captain's eyes shuttered, and confirming the suspicion that it must be somebody Ianto knew. "It doesn't matter. And it had to be done."
Ianto's fingers clenched, knuckles knocking against the smooth tabletop. Not even punching, though he wanted to, but the sound filled the room.
And the Captain- the Captain just looked confused, as if he didn't know what to make of Ianto's barely-contained fury. He stared at Ianto with a bewildered expression.
(And Ianto never once thought, Jack, because Jack had never been so blatantly confused by him before, and never not known better than to show it.)
Before he fully realized what he was doing, Ianto found himself on the other side of the table, lowering himself down to sit, the solid warmth of the Captain between his thighs and beneath, his hands cupping the Captain's jaw, then gripping, before he tilted his head and pressed their lips together.
Straddling the Captain, he could feel the initial tension in the man's body. He remembered his first impressions of this stranger, the wall, implacable and immovable as marble. But this stillness had the thrumming of life underneath it; he wondered if it was new, or merely something nobody had dared come close enough to feel. Not quite like a string stretched fully, there was nonetheless the sense that things could go either way.
But Ianto pressed on, pressed closer, heart hammering as he breathed in deep, because regardless of names, he knew himself, and he knew the man in front of him, and maybe they would always be like this for each other, exactly like this, the truth behind a thousand different stories.
A gasp, a silent shudder, and the Captain opened up beneath him, hot and wet and stumbling, strong fingers digging into the flesh of Ianto's hip and between his shoulder blades. The movements were ungraceful, slow, as if having to be dredged up from memory. It was almost... sweet, and that was fuel to the want twisting in Ianto's gut. Ianto's body remembered better; his tongue thrust in deep at the same time as his hips rocked forward and down, just barely restraining the feverish wildness that came from months of no contact.
He did not know if it was him or the Captain who brought them to the table, but the cold, smooth surface against his back both cooled him down and made him desperate for more of the Captain's heat, more skin.
"Knight," whispered the Captain, voice harsh but his tone asking permission. Asking permission.
"Touch me, Captain," Ianto ordered. "Please. Touch me."
His fingers practically tore into the fastenings of the Captain's uniform. Fabric gave way, skin met skin, and Ianto let out a sound between a sigh and a moan. He became aware that he was gasping other things, too. Captain, captain. Oh yes, God, more, fuck. Want you, captain. Embarrassment warred with desire.
But then the Captain was murmuring, Knight, Knight, Knight, and the note of disbelief in his voice made Ianto lock his legs around the older man and pull him in closer.
The uniform trousers were highly inconvenient; the Captain didn't even bother taking them off all the way, much to Ianto's approval. The first touch of a callused, mildly shaking hand to his cock had Ianto groaning loudly and jerking up; the slide of the Captain's cock against it, wet already at the tip, nearly made him come.
"In me. Now," he gasped.
The Captain made a strangled noise. A bit of fumbling, and a pause. "I don't- I don't have anything to- to make it easier."
Ianto grabbed a fistful of shirt; his own was already undone and hanging off him. He pulled it apart, pulled the Captain down closer, licking his parted lips slow and dirty. "Don't care. Use your spit. Don't care if it hurts, I want to feel you after." His hips made rocking motions into the Captain's hand, impatient. "Want you to look at me, and, fuck, know that every step burns a little, because of you."
A deep shudder, the Captain almost whimpering. (The part of Ianto's mind that had catalogued every expression and noise from Jack wondered, how long since he- ? but he stopped it, because Jack possessed so much of him already, and the Captain deserved at least this little piece of time for his own.)
The Captain's weight left him. Ianto had a moment of confusion, but then warm hands were spreading him wide, damp lips kissing the underside of his cock, trailing downwards. The touch of tongue, the tip of it pushing inside him, and Ianto shuddering. It had been so long, when once there'd hardly been a day when he didn't get some form of release, he was nearly breathless with the need.
The first finger was still too dry, though the Captain did his best, almost feeding spit into Ianto. But Ianto made an approving noise, relished the burn, the scrape, and spread his legs further, kicking off trousers and pants. Two fingers, three.
And then it was him, hard and beautiful and relentless. One long, smooth stroke, and at the end Ianto pushed back, driving in the last inch. He could feel his body shaking, and then the Captain was kissing him, soft and sweet. An experimental thrust, a slight adjustment. Another, another, then a burst of pleasure that left Ianto swearing and digging his nails into the Captain's shoulders. The Captain made an approving noise, licking between Ianto's lips, and went for it.
Ianto slid up the desk, hands wandering up and down the other man's broad back and curling into his hair. Soft. The pleasure spiraled, each spark pushing a breathless Captain out his lips. Too soon, it'd been too long, and then his entire body was tensing, arching up.
The Captain moaned, mouthed words into his skin. A few more thrusts, a muffled shout, liquid warmth inside Ianto, and he slumped forward, catching himself on his arms.
Ianto caught his breath, unlocked his legs. He was quite sure that he would have bruises in the following days, from the Captain's grip on his hips. "Captain?"
It was feeling awkward already. The Captain began moving away, pulling out his softening cock; Ianto caught him and held him in place, until he met Ianto's eyes. "Knight."
O Captain, my Captain, rang the verse in Ianto's mind. He rubbed a finger over the Captain's lips, swollen and abused. This was another thing the Captain could have, and nobody would ever know just from looking.
For lack of better words, Ianto kissed him.