Title: A Very Private War (6/7)
Author: Emma
Characters: John Hart, Torchwood Three team
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?
Spoilers: None. This takes place in my Homecoming AU
Summary: John Hart is pulled back in time to fight a war he does not remember
Part one is here; Part two is here; Part three is here; Part four is here; Part five is here
One of the Flat Holm nurses who had been shanghaied into the weapons factories was caught stealing food from the UNIT soldiers’ mess. Sentenced to be tortured to death by the Toclafane, she tried to exchange information about the facility for a quick death.
Owen heard the noise of the helicopters and gunboats in the distance, and realized that he wouldn’t have time to evacuate the patients. He tried to get the two remaining nurses to leave, but they wouldn’t, even after he told them what he and Ianto had planned as a last resort. Together, they brought all the patients to the small staff lounge and fed them an overdose of sedatives in bowls of ice cream they had been hoarding. Then the nurses calmly sat down to wait with a cup of tea and some biscuits.
“Good bye, Megan, Anne.”
“Don’t look so distressed, Owen.” Anne, a tall, emaciated woman who looked twenty years older than she was, poured a little more tea in her cup. “We have no family left. It’ll be a blessing to be with them.”
Owen kissed their hands, which made them giggle like schoolgirls, and then walked out to the front door. Soldiers were clambering up the path, guns at the ready. Toclafane hovered above. One of them descended until it was eye-level with him.
“Doctor Owen Harper,” The voice was that of the man who called himself the Master. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
“Yeah? Pleasure’s not mutual, pal.”
“Careful, Doctor Harper. You don’t want to make a bad impression, do you?” There was a burst of music reminiscent of a third-rate game show. “Did I forget to tell you? You are on global television!”
“Lucky me.” Owen cocked a sardonic eyebrow. “And to what do I owe the honor?”
“I’m going to give you a chance, Owen Harper!” Another burst of tinny music assaulted everyone’s ears, “Look at the screen.”
One of the soldiers opened a laptop. On the screen Owen could see the Master standing in front of a bank of old-fashioned television cameras. His wife stood to one side, dressed in a black evening gown; the style left her arms bare and showed off a fresh set of bruises. Armed soldiers lined the walls. But it was the man in the background that made Owen’s eyes fill with tears.
Jack Harkness had been crucified to a wooden x-frame. Nails had been driven through his wrists and ankles. Blood ran down his face from cuts and tears around his hairline. He was still alive; his eyes were aware and full of agony.
“Here’s the deal, Owen Harper. You have the chance to help your friend. If you tell me where the others are, I’ll release Captain Harkness, Come on, Owen!” The Master wheedled. “How can you call yourself a doctor and not take pity on his suffering? Where’s your loyalty? Where’s your humanity?”
“Jack,” Owen said, ignoring the Time Lord's antics. “You know I love you, don’t you?”
Jack’s eyes flickered and he gave a faint smile and a nod. That was all the blessing Owen needed. He thumbed the detonator he carried carefully hidden in his right hand.
Flat Holm blew up. On television it looked as if a volcano had erupted. Flames fountained up from the center of the building. The whole hillside slid into the ocean, raining destruction on the gun boats and their crews. Screens all over the world showed the Master’s capering rage for a few seconds before suddenly going black.
Back in the Hub, Ianto crumpled to his knees, dry-heaving, fists pounding the floor. Toshiko stood rigidly at attention, face drained of all color, her hands gripping Gwen’s, who seemed to have lost the ability to breathe except in shallow, hiccupping sobs.
“John,” Rhys said. “I need a hand.”
John forced himself to move. The two of them managed to wrestle Ianto up. The Welshman seemed to be edging close to a catatonic fugue. His skin had turned clammy and he didn’t seem to be able to control the spasms wracking his body.
“My fault, my fault, my fault…”
“Ianto. Ianto!” John shook him slightly. “Why is it your fault?”
“My idea. Borrowed it from Parker. Mine the place, don’t let them fall into Saxon’s hands. Oh God, my idea!” Ianto’s eyes started to flutter. “Oh God, Jack. Jack!”
“Gwen! Tosh!” Rhys broke the death grip the women had on each other. “You have to hold on to Ianto. Now!”
He pushed all three of them down on the sofa. After making sure they were wrapped around each other, he motioned for John to follow. In the training room, they pulled all the exercise mats together to make a bed and covered it in blankets and pillows. Maneuvering the others down to the room, they stripped everyone, including themselves, down to their underclothes.
“Right, then,” Rhys said briskly. “Ianto in the middle, Toshiko, Gwen, on either side. John, I hope you understand, but I’m keeping my wife to myself.”
John slid under the blankets behind Toshiko, who had turned to cuddle Ianto, one leg thrown over his, her hands reaching for Rhys on the other side of Gwen. He knew he should keep his distance, but she was shivering as if she were suffering from hypothermia. He pulled himself tightly against her back and felt more than saw Gwen reach for him and twine her fingers with his.
They lay like that for what seemed like a long time, until the shivers stopped and their bodies became warm. Suddenly, Toshiko started giggling.
“You know what Owen would say right about now?”
“Yeah.” Ianto snorted. “If you’re awake in bed, why aren’t you having sex?”
“Not to mention Jack, who would already be having sex somehow,” John whispered.
Everyone burst into laughter. So of course they ended up telling Owen and Jack stories for hours, until they fell asleep one by one. Sleepless, John watched over them. Ianto seemed to have nightmares once or twice, but a simple touch to the forehead or cheek calmed him down. Finally, exhaustion won and John closed his eyes.
He woke up the next day to find Toshiko sitting next to him, wearing her most beautiful kimono, sipping steaming-hot tea from her favorite mug. She smiled at him.
‘We decided to let you sleep in. After all, you watched over us last night.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. “Thank you.”
He pulled her down and did a much more thorough job. “You’re welcome.”
It became their own personal morning ritual, a shared cup of tea and a few kisses. The others, pleased that they had finally found each other, made a concerted effort to be somewhere else during that time. John and Toshiko found comfort in their oddly chaste physical closeness and both were content to take it no further.
Then Gwen and Rhys died while ferrying supplies to a refugee camp hidden up in the Brecons. The camp was spotted by a UNIT helicopter. It opened fire while they were still unloading their stolen truck. A few seconds later, another helicopter peppered the place with incendiaries and burned it to the ground. They were killed instantly.
The next day one of Andy’s contacts got the news to Ianto. He had managed to sneak out of the UNIT compound and had found their remains. With the help of some gypsies, he had buried them and what was left of their swords in a hilltop fort a few miles from the camp. As far as the government was concerned, the Cleddyfwyr were still at full strength.
That evening the three survivors slept in the training room much as they had done after Owen’s death. The next morning, Ianto tried to leave John and Toshiko alone as usual, but he was stopped by two hands, one masculine and one feminine.
“Don’t you dare,” Toshiko said fiercely. “You two are all I have left.”
She pulled them down onto the blankets. The three of them coiled together, stroking and petting whatever flesh they could reach, sharing fierce open-mouthed kisses until they were flushed and damp. The two men were content to follow Toshiko’s lead, and she seemed driven to push them until they broke. She coaxed and teased and captured them with her hands and her mouth until even the slightest touch was red-hot torture on sensitized skin.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, they wrested control from her. Laughing at her impatience, they played with her body until she was a maddened as they were, making soft mewling sounds that only drove them on. They fitted themselves to her and she took them in fiercely, mouth and sheath, and they rocked together to orgasm.