the bubble
Feb. 13th, 2024 10:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jupiter2932Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Rhiannon, vaguely Johnny
Rating: T? ish?
Word Count: 468
Notes: Written for Febuwhump 2024, Day 12, Semi-Conscious; this part does not contain any graphic scenes, but deals with ongoing aftermath/recovery from sexual assault
Directly follows after here a mist, and there a mist; series starts with our share of night
Summary: Ianto lies on the Davies' pull-out bed, drifting somewhere that isn't exactly waking and isn't exactly sleep, and lets Rhiannon brush his hair back from his face.
It's Rhiannon who wakes him, accidentally; she's drawing her hand across his hair, brushing stray tufts away from his face, smoothing her thumb down the edge of his hairline, like she used to when he was very very little and couldn't sleep, when the scratchy edge of one of the settings on her wedding ring snags in the fold at the tip of his ear.
It jolts him, nearly enough; he floats back to the very edge of consciousness like a bubble in a fizzy drink, kept just barely under by the surface tension, neither fully asleep nor fully awake, vaguely conscious of the world around him as embodied by the low, soft murmur of Rhiannon's voice and the warmth of her fingers running through his hair.
"—think she died," she's saying. "Was something bad happened to her, either way, not that he'd ever tell us. And now he—I don't think he meant to tell me, tonight. He wasn't—"
There's another voice. Lower, a few feet away. Ianto doesn't have it in him to try to follow it.
"He was, he got hurt," Rhiannon says, and she's the one that sounds hurt, and Ianto—Ianto doesn't let the people he cares about get hurt, he doesn't—
"Hush, bach," she murmurs, like she used to snap at him when he was being a little shit, but with no heat now. Her hand drops down, settles between his shoulders and rubs a slow, warm circle on his back, and the tension that was gathering up to burst and snap him out of this muzzy cocoon dissipates to nothing again, and the worry bleeds out of him.
"There were two guys," she says after a long while. "They raped him. Drugged him, I think, I don't—he wasn't clear, I don't know if he was at a club or fucking—I don't know, because he never tells me anything, and so I don't know what to do, I don't know how to help him, I can't—"
Johnny—it's Johnny, somewhere up in the waking world—says, "You're helping him now, love," and, "He wouldn't have come to you if you didn't," and the thin, beaten-up mattress of the pull-out shakes and dips and settles, and the metal frame squeaks, and the weight of Rhiannon's hand lifts from Ianto's back but her fingers very lightly grab onto the hem of his sleeve, and her weight shifts on the mattress towards Johnny's, and just before she starts crying Ianto's bubble of awareness sinks, and sinks, and he's deep enough under he barely feels it, later, when she kisses his forehead and tells him good night.
He wakes up an hour later, though, damp with sweat and scared and with images of a dingy office backroom running through his mind like a technicolor earworm.
Characters: Ianto, Rhiannon, vaguely Johnny
Rating: T? ish?
Word Count: 468
Notes: Written for Febuwhump 2024, Day 12, Semi-Conscious; this part does not contain any graphic scenes, but deals with ongoing aftermath/recovery from sexual assault
Directly follows after here a mist, and there a mist; series starts with our share of night
Summary: Ianto lies on the Davies' pull-out bed, drifting somewhere that isn't exactly waking and isn't exactly sleep, and lets Rhiannon brush his hair back from his face.
It's Rhiannon who wakes him, accidentally; she's drawing her hand across his hair, brushing stray tufts away from his face, smoothing her thumb down the edge of his hairline, like she used to when he was very very little and couldn't sleep, when the scratchy edge of one of the settings on her wedding ring snags in the fold at the tip of his ear.
It jolts him, nearly enough; he floats back to the very edge of consciousness like a bubble in a fizzy drink, kept just barely under by the surface tension, neither fully asleep nor fully awake, vaguely conscious of the world around him as embodied by the low, soft murmur of Rhiannon's voice and the warmth of her fingers running through his hair.
"—think she died," she's saying. "Was something bad happened to her, either way, not that he'd ever tell us. And now he—I don't think he meant to tell me, tonight. He wasn't—"
There's another voice. Lower, a few feet away. Ianto doesn't have it in him to try to follow it.
"He was, he got hurt," Rhiannon says, and she's the one that sounds hurt, and Ianto—Ianto doesn't let the people he cares about get hurt, he doesn't—
"Hush, bach," she murmurs, like she used to snap at him when he was being a little shit, but with no heat now. Her hand drops down, settles between his shoulders and rubs a slow, warm circle on his back, and the tension that was gathering up to burst and snap him out of this muzzy cocoon dissipates to nothing again, and the worry bleeds out of him.
"There were two guys," she says after a long while. "They raped him. Drugged him, I think, I don't—he wasn't clear, I don't know if he was at a club or fucking—I don't know, because he never tells me anything, and so I don't know what to do, I don't know how to help him, I can't—"
Johnny—it's Johnny, somewhere up in the waking world—says, "You're helping him now, love," and, "He wouldn't have come to you if you didn't," and the thin, beaten-up mattress of the pull-out shakes and dips and settles, and the metal frame squeaks, and the weight of Rhiannon's hand lifts from Ianto's back but her fingers very lightly grab onto the hem of his sleeve, and her weight shifts on the mattress towards Johnny's, and just before she starts crying Ianto's bubble of awareness sinks, and sinks, and he's deep enough under he barely feels it, later, when she kisses his forehead and tells him good night.
He wakes up an hour later, though, damp with sweat and scared and with images of a dingy office backroom running through his mind like a technicolor earworm.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-14 09:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-15 01:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-15 12:13 pm (UTC)I think you did a good job with Rhi and Johnny =)
no subject
Date: 2024-02-16 12:25 am (UTC)Yeah, I'm probably going to rewatch a couple of scenes from it, but I don't see myself rewatching CoE (or Exit Wounds, haha) again any time soon.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-16 11:30 am (UTC)