Cursed

“Everything alright?” Jack asked, bringing a goblet of wine over to Ianto.  Like coffee, alcohol had been all but forbidden, but the occasional glass was allowed.  Ianto accepted the goblet gratefully and took an appreciative sip of the rich wine.

“Rhys was having a bit of a wobble,” Ianto replied.  “Though I might have misjudged how severe.”

“He doesn’t strike me as the suicidal type.”

“And I do?” Ianto frowned before remembering that in fairness, he had tried to top himself in Jack’s office just eleven weeks before.

“No!” Jack almost shouted.  “No, that’s not what I meant.  It’s just, he doesn’t have all of the other stuff going on that you did – like you mentioned, the PTSD, the survivor’s guilt, the fact that you remember and chew over every last detail, extracting anything you possibly can, to torment yourself with.”

“Hey,” Ianto protested, though it was weak, at best.  He couldn’t deny any of it.

“You’re a deep thinker and an even deeper feeler.  It’s in your nature.  So things are going to wound you more deeply than most.  It’s why I watched you so closely, after, though I hate it that I never asked you what was in that tin you seemed to always have in your hands, whenever you showed up on that bench.”

“I would have just lied to you,” Ianto sighed.  “I’m not proud of that, but I wouldn’t have told you about the only thing I had that could have provided some relief.  Just having it was a comfort.”

“But you didn’t think you deserved relief,” Jack said, and Ianto supposed there were some secrets that could not remain hidden, now they’d got to know one another so much better.

Jack pulled Ianto into his arms and held him close.  “I’m glad you found a way to cope, but I wish like hell that it hadn’t been at your own expense, like that.”

“Jack, I’ve made peace with all of that.  I don’t want you to think that helping Rhys is tormenting me, in some way.”

“I’m glad,” Jack smiled, and Ianto felt the older man’s relief through their bond.  He kissed Ianto and took his hand, leading him over to the table by the window.  “Now Mitzy and her friends have worked wonders.  A Sunday roast, just for us.  And plenty of it, in case our hypothesis about the dragon blood at the new moon affecting your appetite turns out to be true.”

Jack sat Ianto down and piled up his plate and filled his tankard with water.  He let Ianto keep the goblet of wine, but he did not refill it when Ianto finished its contents.  “I know your preference has been to be silent today,” Jack said, ignoring Ianto’s look of surprise.  “And I know that call with Rhys probably took a lot out of you.  So I’m giving you permission to go non-verbal this evening, if you’d like.”

Ianto got up and moved to sit in Jack’s lap, kissing him softly and allowing love and gratitude to pour along their bond.  Every word had taken an extraordinary amount of effort that day, and he was relieved to be let off the conversational hook for the remainder of the evening.  He knew he didn’t need Jack’s permission, but he was not yet adept enough at articulating his needs, so Jack’s ‘permission’ was merely the acknowledgment of that need.

It was beautiful, and Ianto felt his eyes burn with emotion as he kissed his brilliant lover, trying to convey his love and appreciation.  Once he felt he’d got his point across, and Jack was smiling dazedly at his plate, Ianto reached over and grabbed his own plate, and they ate like that, with Ianto perched on Jack’s left leg.

Once they finished their meal, they retired to bed, where Ianto curled around Jack as the older man read aloud to him.  When he got to the end of the chapter, he closed the book and put it on the bedside table.  Ianto looked up at him with that beautiful smile, and unable to resist, Jack kissed his lover for a while before letting him curl back up next to him.  Jack grabbed his own book and read while Ianto pondered the mysteries of Jack knew not what.

But he didn’t need to know.  Just as the unicorn’s blood turned Ianto restless at the full moon, Jack’s supposition was that the dragon’s blood turned the wizard introspective at the new moon.  But the introspection was accompanied by a healthy appetite and a contentment that Jack had not seen in his lover, before now. 

Ianto had been happy today.  And yes, it had terrified him when he’d realized it, but that wasn’t as important as the fact that he’d been happy.  Jack wasn’t sure Ianto had experienced very much happiness in his life, so it made sense that every scrap would be held close and cherished, and the prospect of losing it would be that much more terrifying.  It explained so much about how hard Ianto had fought for Lisa, and Jack’s heart ached at the realization.

“My brave, beautiful Kitty,” Jack murmured, kissing the top of Ianto’s head.  Ianto let out a purring sigh and snuffled Jack’s skin, causing the older man to smile, reveling in his own taste of happiness.

***

The next morning had everyone chatting excitedly as Jack and Ianto joined them for breakfast.  For the most part, any schedule of training or activities had not been shared with Ianto ahead of time so they could take a fresh approach without giving Ianto the chance to sneak into the library, which Hermione had caught him doing one day, early on.

Ianto had allowed her to think he’d been boning up on the following day’s topic rather than to admit he’d been doing some research on what were called ‘hygiene’ spells, for cleaning up after sex.  He was fairly certain there was also a spell for conjuring lubricant, but some things one needed to figure out on one’s own.  He certainly wasn’t going to ask Hermione (or anyone else, for that matter) for help with that.  Not after the embarrassment he’d endured over the muffliato spell.

Jack was watching fondly as, in his normal ‘Ianto is not a morning person’ fugue, Ianto was chewing on those thoughts, along with a bit of bacon and egg, when he finally tuned in to the chatter around him.

“Wait.  What did you just say?” he asked Harry, suddenly fully alert.

“The weather is perfect for today’s lesson!” Harry enthused.  “Just enough clouds that we’re not staring into the sun.”

“Ianto?” Jack reached out, feeling a tremor along the bond and noting how the younger man had turned pale.

Ianto looked to Professor McGonagall.  “You don’t actually want me to fly, do you?”

Jack remembered how it had felt along the bond when Ianto described the Sorting hat being set alight upon his head.  Reverberations of Ianto’s resulting fear of fire had left Jack feeling uneasy.  Now, dread was blooming deep in his belly, and it was far more profound than that uneasiness around flames.  Jack realized that Ianto’s fear of heights was asserting itself.

Professor McGonagall, recognizing Ianto’s discomfort, replied, “Mr. Jones, a broom acts as a focus in much the same way a wand does.  A short flight can give you valuable insight into how your focus and control manifest.  The more ways you recognize that potential, the easier they will be to tap into.”

“But I can’t,” Ianto protested.  He’d never gone near a broom again, after that first, disastrous attempt during his first year at Hogwarts.  “My potential is negative on a broom!”

“Mr. Jones, remember that very few things have remained… as they were,” she tried to reassure.  But Ianto was having none of it.

“Professor, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” he tried.

“Don’t worry, Smoke,” Ginny spoke up.  “Harry, Ron, and I will all be there to help keep you safe.”

Ianto shook his head, frustrated that they weren’t listening.  “This is a really bad idea,” he declared.

“Why?” Jack asked, hoping that Ianto could talk himself through this and perhaps overcome whatever fear was immobilizing him, at the moment.  When Ianto just shook his head, unable to express himself, Jack rubbed a hand down Ianto’s spine.  “It’s okay, Love.  Look how well you’ve done, with everything else.  You’re going to be brilliant!”

Jack could now feel nothing but chaos along their bond, and it was disconcerting.  He had been trying to ease some of Ianto’s fear, but he knew with a sinking certainty that he had just said the wrong thing, entirely. 

Ianto just sort of closed himself off as everyone else finished their breakfast.  The remainder of his own sat untouched.  Jack tried to speak to him, but his replies were quiet and monosyllabic as he tried to pull himself together and pluck up his nerve.

Blue skies and huge, fluffy white clouds that obscured the sun’s glare met them when they got out onto the grounds.  A light breeze completed the scene of a perfect summer’s day.  The others were laughing and chatting happily as Madam Hooch brought out a variety of brooms. 

Ianto looked as though he was ascending the gallows.

The chaos along their bond kept Jack from discerning what it was he was sensing.  “Ianto?” Jack grasped his lover’s arm and turned him so they were facing one another.  “Talk to me, Love,” he entreated, his voice quiet as the others helped Madame Hooch. 

“’m just being stupid,” Ianto muttered.

“I very much doubt that,” Jack rejoined.  “I take it you don’t like flying?”

“I only tried the one time,” Ianto replied.  “I pushed off too soon.  Went really high.  Too high, couldn’t control it.  Fell and broke my wrist.”

Jack reached out and grasped Ianto by his upper arms and took a good look at him.  He’d begun shuffling from one foot to the other, speaking in sentence fragments, staring at his feet.  He’d gone a sickly shade of grey, and Jack finally realized that his lover was fucking terrified.

“Oh, Kitty,” he murmured, pulling Ianto into his arms.  “It’s alright.  You’re going to be fine.  Your friends are here with you.  You’re safe.”

“I’m not brave like you are, Jack,” Ianto pulled away, almost angry, but Jack recognized that the anger was pointed inward.  “I…  I’d rather face a Cyberman than do this!” he blurted.

“Hey,” Jack pulled Ianto back into his arms, shocked at that declaration and feeling some of the chaos begin to coalesce into dread.  “You’re alright.  I’m right here.  And yeah, I love to fly.  On my own terms, when I’m at the controls of a bird I know and trust.  But a broom?  Not on your life!”

Ianto laughed despite himself, then drew in a shuddering breath as they separated.  “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

“Not really,” Jack answered, trying to send reassurance along the bond.  “You’ve had a lot of things happen that haven’t exactly cultivated a love of heights.  But they think this might help, right?”

“Don’t see how,” Ianto grumbled, but he sounded a bit more like himself.  He turned to the others, who were still talking excitedly amongst themselves.

“Alright, Jones,” Madam Hooch beckoned him over.  “Good to see you, my dear,” she smiled at him fondly as she shook his hand.

“And you, ma’am,” he replied.

“Now, as I recall, you didn’t have the best experience the last time you tried this, so we’re going to take our time and go Very Slowly.  Do not do anything until I give you the go-ahead.  Right?”

“Ma’am,” Ianto nodded, feeling a bit less shaky in the face of her confident instruction.

“Alright.  The four of you, step to the left side of your brooms.”  She nodded once they were in place.  “Now, Up!”

Harry, Ginny, and Ron uttered, “Up,” and their brooms jumped into their hands.  Ianto hesitated, trying to calm himself.  He gave the instruction, and the broom launched itself from the ground as though it had insulted the earth and she had vehemently ejected it from her surface.  Ianto caught it with his right hand, but it continued to rise forcefully enough that he had to steady it with his left hand.

“Take a breath, Mr. Jones,” Madam Hooch advised.

“What the hell?!” Ianto griped.

***