Title: Broken Wings
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Jack Harkness
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: R
Prompt: rounds_of_kink challenge -- Ianto/Jack, forced slavery/rape recovery
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own Ianto Jones or Jack Harkness. Please do not sue.

***

Jack sighed, looking out of his car window and then down at his watch for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. Four days. Four days of sitting here, his heart leaden in his chest, his hands itching to grab a gun and go running into the innocuous-looking building.

Tonight. They'd raid the place tonight, if he had to force the orders through himself.

They'd had the operation under surveillance for days, Jack growing more and more frantic as each one passed. On the fourth day, he'd finally snapped, threatening to run roughshod over the police department if they didn't stage a raid. Now. Now, dammit!

They didn't seem to understand his reasons for wanting to get into that .... that .... whatever they wanted to call it. Jack didn't have a word that quite fit his disgust. People being bought and sold had never been his bag, and he wasn't about to condone it here, in this time, any more than he would have done in any other.

Ianto was in there. And because of some fucking sting that the police department was trying to put on the ringleaders of this operation, Jack hadn't been able to charge in like the all-conquering hero and rescue him. No, he'd had to sit and wait, his heart clenching in his chest at the thought of what could be happening to Ianto at any given moment.

Didn't they know what Ianto meant to him? They should. He'd long ago given up the pretense that Ianto was only a teammate, someone he valued for a "contribution to Torchwood." What was the use of hiding how he really felt?

Four days. Four days of feeling like his heart was somewhere in that building, wherever Ianto was. Four days of praying that the young Welshman might have been kidnapped and kept there for reasons other than what the place was suspected to deal in. Maybe they were wrong, Jack thought, an uncharacteristic hope stirring in him. It was possible ....

But not probable. Even as he thought it, the sudden hope crumbled. No. They'd heard too much about what went on here for him to hope that Ianto hadn't been abducted for one purpose.

He hadn't believed that sex slaves could still be bought and sold, not in the age they lived in. That kind of thing had disappeared long ago, hadn't it? But apparently not -- not from the reports they'd heard coming in of what went on in that building that looked so innocent.

The things he'd heard had made Jack's flesh creep. The things they did to the young men who were unfortunate enough to end up there .... He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to push what he'd heard out of his mind and forget that things like that could exist in this time.

But he couldn't. And Ianto was there, right in the middle of it. Even as he sat here, only a few hundred feet away outside the building, Ianto could be forced into any number of sexual acts -- with men who wouldn't think of being gentle, or even care if they were hurting the young man they'd paid for.

His hands trembled as his thoughts flew in directions he didn't want them to go in. It was one thing to experiment with bondage and pain thresholds when Ianto was safe in his own bed, with Jack beside him. It was quite another to think of some .... some ape touching that slender body that Jack had grown to love over the past months.

Jack's hand tightened on the gun he held, a sudden constriction of his throat making him swallow hard. If they stormed in there and found that Ianto had been hurt in any way -- then somebody was going to pay for it. Many times over.

He nodded towards the police chief, indicating that the time had come. Only a few seconds now -- a few seconds until he'd be able to get into that damned place, find Ianto, and get him the hell out. A few seconds that felt like an eternity.

Now. Jack could feel the adrenaline flowing through him, pushing him along on an unstoppable tide. He entered the building with the police, aiming his gun and barking orders at several startled-looking people inside, not caring who got in his way as he pushed past them, practically running up the stairs.

He had to be here. He had to be. Jack's heart was in his throat again, the tension making it hard to swallow. What if they'd somehow known about the raid? What if they'd taken Ianto somewhere else? What if all this was in vain?

The end of the hallway. The last two doors, and he still hadn't found Ianto. Jack could feel his heart shriveling, the urge to fall to his knees and scream almost overcoming him.

Reaching out a trembling hand, almost fearful of what he'd find, he turned the knob on the last door along the hallway, letting it swing wide.

Ianto.

Wide blue-grey eyes met his; startled, frightened eyes, the abject fear in them piercing Jack's heart. He literally threw himself across the room to where Ianto lay stretched on the bed in the corner, an involuntary cry torn from his throat. He was alive, Jack's mind repeated over and over, like a mantra. He was alive. Ianto was alive.

The Welsh boy had been stripped naked, his hands bound to the iron bedstead above his head, his legs spread and his ankles bound to the bedposts. He stared at Jack, eyes huge and terrified over the gag covering his mouth, almost as though he couldn't believe the immortal was here, in this room, close enough to touch.

He couldn't stop staring at what he saw -- the dried blood smeared on Ianto's thighs, the bruises covering his body, the look of desperation in those eyes. Jack had to look away for a few seconds, swallowing hard. If he kept his eyes on Ianto, he would do one of two things. Either scream, or fall to the floor in a dead faint.

He did neither of those things. He kept calm, turning to close the door of the room and trying not to let it tear at his heart when Ianto made an involuntary noise behind the gag. Maybe he thought that Jack was going to make him suffer more of what he'd been through in the past four days.

Jack wanted to rip away the gag, claw at the ropes that bound Ianto, pull the slender body into his arms and rock him back and forth. He wanted to wrap Ianto in his arms, murmur soothing words, hold him until that horrified, deer-in-the-headlights look left his eyes and was replaced with the calm, steady gaze of the Ianto Jones he knew.

But he didn't. Instead, he sat down on the bed and reached to remove the gag from Ianto's swollen mouth, his eyes focused on those wide, terrified grey ones. Eye contact, he told himself, trying to move slowly and carefully, not wanting to frighten Ianto. There's no telling what those bastards have done to him. Maintain eye contact, soothe him if you can.

"It's all right," he whispered, smoothing a few errant strands of damp, dark hair back from Ianto's face. "I'm here now, Ianto. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

"J-Jack?" The voice was low, almost strangled, husky from disuse. Jack nodded, laying his palm on Ianto's cheek, praying that the contact wasn't too unnerving for the young man.

"It's me," he murmured, his other hand busy with the ropes that bound Ianto's wrists. With an inward curse, he gave up trying to loosen them with his fingers; they were cruelly tight, rubbing the tender flesh of Ianto's wrists raw. He reached for his Swiss army knife, hidden in the front pocket of his pants, startled when Ianto flinched and squeezed his eyes shut.

Jack didn't want to think about what that reaction signified; he didn't want to look at the bruises on Ianto's slender body, the dried blood on his thighs. He didn't want to see the look of fear in his eyes, view the aftermath of what had been done to him. It would be so much easier to turn his face away and deny the obvious.

He couldn't. This was his fault. He was responsible for this. He'd sent Ianto out the night he'd gone missing, sent him to that very neighborhood with the idea that none of the others could be spared. Routine, he'd thought, just routine. Ianto would be back within the hour. But he wasn't. And too late, Jack had realized how very wrong he was.

Ianto was the one who couldn't be spared. Ianto was the one Torchwood member who'd taken up permanent residence in his life. Ianto had somehow, when Jack wasn't looking, managed to become the center of his life in a way that nothing -- and nobody -- else could ever be.

Jack firmly pushed those thoughts away, locking them down in the back of his mind. Thinking like that wasn't going to help Ianto, wasn't going to change what had happened. What he had to concentrate on now was getting Ianto out of here, getting him to a hospital and making sure he would be all right.

Well .... as all right as he could be, after what he'd been through.

Ianto had turned his face to the side, as if he didn't want to see the small, sharp knife in Jack's hand. His eyes were squeezed shut, his breathing harsh and ragged; Jack couldn't help but wonder just what had scared him so much. Was this making him flash back to those hours he'd been held captive by the cannibals, a situation they'd only just managed to squeak out of? Or was it a whole fresh new set of fears to plague him?

Did it really matter? He sighed inwardly, wishing he could turn back the clock. Too bad the Doctor wasn't around -- not that he would interfere in this. He'd only shake his head sadly, say that Jack had made his bed and now he'd have to face the consequences. Or something along those lines, anyway.

The knife went back into Jack's pocket after he'd cut through the ropes, hidden from Ianto's sight. Jack turned the young man's face to his, his fingertips gentle as they stroked across silken skin. He almost winced as his fingers brushed across a bruise on Ianto's jaw, bringing forth a soft, choked whimper.

"Shhhh, it's all right. You're safe now," Jack murmured, his eyes moving around the room, searching for a blanket, a sheet, anything that he could wrap around Ianto's exposed body. He didn't want to carry the Welsh boy out of here naked -- that was something only he had the privilege of seeing, he told himself, frowning inwardly at the idea of anybody else ogling Ianto, especially in the state that he was in at the moment.

He finally settled on the blanket that was rumpled at the foot of the bed -- it seemed clean, at least. Jack picked it up, sliding one arm under Ianto's body and lifting him slightly off the bed. His teeth dug into his lower lip savagely when Ianto whimpered again, shrinking away from Jack's touch as though it burned.

He didn't know how it happened. One moment he was trying to get the blanket wrapped around Ianto -- the next, the Welsh boy was clasped in his arms, pulled onto his lap, held tightly against the warmth of his own body. Ianto was sobbing into his shoulder, arms wrapped just as tightly around him, that slender body trembling in his grasp. That gorgeous body he knew so well, knew every inch of in ways that no one else ever would.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into Ianto's hair, using the phrase he'd heard the Doctor utter so often. "I'm so sorry. So sorry, Ianto. I'm so, so sorry."

Ianto didn't answer; Jack held him closer, rubbing circles on his back as he cried, trying to comfort him in some way. Was he trying to comfort himself just as much as Ianto? At this point, he had no earthly idea.

"Please take m-me home, Jack," Ianto sobbed into his shoulder, arms tightening around him. "I j-just want to go home. I w-want to f-forget this. Please g-g-get me out of here."

"Shhhh, baby," he soothed the young man in his arms, swallowing hard against the tears that were gathering, trying to force their way to the surface. He never cried. Jack Harkness never cried. Not even when someone he loved (loved? Where had that word come from?) was sobbing in his arms.

He pulled the blanket around Ianto's body, shifting the young man on his lap, using the corner of the blanket to wipe away Ianto's tears. Without thinking, he leaned forward to kiss away the few tears still streaking down the Welsh boy's cheeks, pulling him close again seconds later to hide his own blush, his look of confusion.

"What did you do that for?" Ianto's voice was barely audible, his own confusion evident in his tone. He was clinging to Jack again, desperately, his fingers clutching at the fabric of the immortal's shirt.

"Because I wanted to," Jack whispered, his control undone by the frightened timbre of Ianto's words. "Because I wanted to convince myself that you're here, that you're real, that I'm holding you and that I won't come close to losing you again."

Ianto only shook his head, burying his face against Jack's shoulder, his fingers digging into the other man's back. Jack closed his eyes, conflicting feelings of relief, guilt and desire washing over him. How could he be thinking of how much he wanted Ianto at a time like this? Maybe he really was as sex-obsessed as he'd been accused of being in the past.

That was something to think about later, when Ianto was at the hospital and he could spend time alone. He had some hard questions to ask himself, and he wasn't sure that he'd like hearing the answers he had to give to any of them.

This wasn't the time to think about it, he remonstrated with himself, pushing those feelings down ruthlessly. He curled one arm around Ianto's back, the other hooking under his legs, standing up slowly and shifting Ianto's body in his arms to carry him more comfortably. Heading for the door, he went quietly out into the hallway, Ianto still clinging to him as he started down the steps, hiding his face against the side of Jack's neck.

Out to the car. Bundling Ianto inside, then going around to the driver's side. Getting in, giving curt answers to the police chief and others crowding around the window. No, he didn't have time now. He had to get Ianto to the hospital.

Only when they were out of the parking lot and on their way did he realize just how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. So tightly that his knuckles were white, his entire body tense and rigid.

He reached over to cup Ianto's cheek when they stopped at a light, not liking the way that the younger man was staring out of the window, blindly, as if he wasn't seeing anything. Shock, maybe. It's all happened too quickly. Too much for him to assimilate.

Ianto's eyes met his, and Jack was relieved to see that there was no rancor, no resentment in those blue-grey depths. His hand slid down to twine his fingers through Ianto's, reluctant to let go of him now that they'd made contact. Truth be told, he didn't ever want to let go of Ianto again. He wanted to wrap the Welsh boy in his arms and keep him safe forever.

Which was impossible, of course. But still .... it was a nice dream.

"You're going to be okay," he whispered, pressing his foot on the gas pedal when the light turned green. Was he trying to convince Ianto of the truth of his words -- or himself? Jack couldn't have rightfully said which one of them he wanted to believe those words more.

Beside him, Ianto only nodded, turning to look out of the window again as they approached the hospital.

Minutes later, Jack was carrying him inside, letting orderlies take the young Welshman away to take care of him. He sank into a chair in the lobby, resting his forehead against the cool windowpane, looking out into the gathering dusk and seeing nothing.

It was going to be a long night.

***