❪ event ❫ hour of ruin

[natha]

HOUR OF RUIN     Sometime after midnight, after preparations have been put aside in favor of drinks and rest, a thunderous beating of wings shatters the air — the High Dragon Ysverai, once again risen. The sound echoes high off Namarak Mountain, but travels easily to both Wyver and Olympia: scream after scream rends the still night, as though a creature were dying rather than being born again. Having only had days to plan their defense against the creature, Olympia and Wyver snatch up their arms. The Royal Guard and the Knightryders can be seen on their steeds hurrying through the cities, because Ysverai doesn't remain isolated at the mountain's peak for long. There are pictures of Ysverai in abundance throughout both cities, but the creature that circles in the sky looks nothing like the majestic creature spoken of in history books. Even from far below, wounds and lacerations can be seen marring what should be smooth scales, and blood falls with every beat of the dragon's wings. The damage becomes more clear when moonlight illuminates Ysverai, revealing the rotting dragon for all to see. The sight of flesh peeling away and thick blood where it oozes from his cracked, greyish hide is as frightening as the power he possesses. REASON'S TRANSCENDENCE     Mad from the anguish of his forced revival, Ysverai will show none of his renowned wisdom or compassion, mindless and seeking to inflict his pain onto whatever emerges in his path. His very presence creates chaos: animals (Olympia | Wyver) domesticated and wild, flee from the merest hint of his approach, panicked and stampeding in wild droves. The reason is obvious: organic matter exposed too long to his presence begins to rot and decay. A field he lands in rots and lies fallow. Buildings crack and crumble, their supports pitted and corroded as though they've been left in disrepair for years. Even the ground that Ysverai walks upon is tainted; a corrosive sludge bubbles up in his massive, clawed footsteps, the ground beneath him putrefied and toxic, oozing corruption. This sludge can be tar-like, poisonous and sucking people in like quicksand; panic, and you'll only sink faster. Prolonged exposure to Ysverai takes a mental toll on anyone in his proximity as well. Effects similar to those from being near his heart — selfish desires and lowered inhibitions — will begin to fester in those around him. Every time Ysverai roars, pain will run through all those that hear him — a pain not just physical, but of true, anguished heartbreak. Those who hear Ysverai will feel (to a degree of your choosing) a sharing of his pain, the agony of flesh rotting from their bodies, blood oozing from under their skin, and a terrible, incandescent fury — and beneath that, a gut-wrenching sadness. This effect is further enhanced by any exposure to Ysverai's blood, and being drenched in greater quantities will cause one to become more in sync with the dragon. Finally, Ysverai is aggressive, attacking anyone and anything that approaches. He starts by breathing out a smog, acidic and putrefying — characters caught directly by this attack will find that medicine and healing magic of any kind hurts them for hours after exposure. The dragon will ignite the smog to breathe fire, if sparingly. IN WYVER     Ysverai's shadow falls over the near reaches of Wyver first. Upon hearing Ysverai's cry, the dragons in Wyver become completely frenzied, turning against their partners among the Knightryders without the slightest resistance. Those familiar with dragons might deduce that they're in pain, though they don't show any sign of injury. The dragons knock their riders off their backs in midair and dive at citizens, jaws wide. Any attempts to soothe them will be long fought, achieved with great difficulty, and will see them retreat into a cowering state. It's not just the airborne Knightryders taking to the defense of the city however, and people on the ground are mobilizing as well. On rooftops across the city are cannons set to fire harpoons. And if the spearheads alone aren't enough to injure the beast, they're coated with a paralyzing poison as well. Unfortunately, the soldiers stationed on the rooftops are prime targets to the frenzied dragons populating Wyver's skies, leaving the cannons open for ordinary citizens to use should they choose. Left alone too long, and cannons may fall under the control of the few remaining radicals that had opted not to flee the cities to join up with their leader Raysc, choosing instead to wait for an opportune moment to unleash their anger on the people of Wyver. These radicals will need to be dealt with before they can turn the cannons upon Wyver's defenders. IN OLYMPIA     In Olympia, the gryphon partners of the Royal Guard react with immediate hostility to anyone showing signs of Ysverai's influence. Their keen senses allow them to pick up the smell of Ysverai's blood and they attack anyone with so much as a drop of tainted blood on them. Those who bear lingering effects of Ysverai's mental attack and who remain in sync with the dragon after hearing Ysverai's cry are also targeted and must face the gryphons' wrath without mercy or restraint. The gryphons must be disabled, for Olympia will not look upon any injury to their prized steeds lightly. However, the gryphons also show some resistance to Ysverai's cry, which is a great boon in battle against the dragon — gryphons that have lost their riders will be available for use, able to carry two passengers at a time. The people of Olympia aren't planning to restrict their offense to pure brute force, and the mages of the city can be seen across Olympia wielding enchanted chains, using telekinesis in the hopes of restraining Ysverai and assisting in the airborne troops. But like the decaying buildings and wildlife, Ysverai is warping the magic around him, the chains faltering as they approach him, whipping back toward the city instead to cage whoever happens to be closest. It's not just the enchanted chains either, but other magic might behave erratically in his presence, as if the very essence of the spells have been corrupted. VIRTUOUS VERSE     Both cities realize they need to seek survival rather than victory against Ysverai, switching gears to carry out diversion efforts and evacuation plans. It falls to refugees to continue the offensive while the Royal Guard and the Knightryders devote their attention to ensuring the safety of the citizens as they flee. With official forces stretched thin, civilians and refugees alike will also need to step up to help herd citizens toward safety among a maze of collapsing buildings. Others will need to see to gathering resources for the evacuation, and while gathering non perishables is easy enough, it's considerably harder to wrangle livestock into cooperating amidst such chaos. Those fighting may be asked to act as bait for Ysverai. Chatter through official troops speaks of a switch in strategy: the objective now is capture the dragon's attention and draw him away from the populous cities and towards the South Outpost. Whether or not it's possible to defeat the dragon remains uncertain, but there's no question that it will be easier to battle him without worrying about civilians. THE RAGE     Luckily, the dragon is indiscriminate in his rage, and easily lured so long as a suitably infuriating target is before him. It doesn't take long to draw him to the South Outpost, but the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake is vast. Once there, the combined forces are greeted not just by Ysverai, but also by the appearance of Ysverai's master. How bravely you've all come to meet your doom! Great heroes, one and all, ha! I welcome you, bring your best. Show me the power that's protected Olympia and Wyver, all that you have to offer me, whatever pitiful excuse for valor you seek to cling to when the fear has you cowering in your beds. All will be for naught in the face of Ysverai's might! Let history witness the day the glory of war is reignited — the day that Wyver remembers its fangs once more! Come, Ysverai, last and greatest of the High Dragons! Come, and restore Wyver to its rightful place! Come, fulfill the promise as our protector that you could not in life! Raysc lifts a gleaming device as he issues his command. Red lights blink and blood, the same oozing liquid that drips from Ysverai's many wounds, runs in clear tubes through the device. Ysverai rears back as Raysc makes adjustments to a control panel — and then lunges forward, mouth agape. With a single swallow, Raysc meets his end. Raysc's attempt to control the dragon has only enraged him further, spurring Ysverai on to new heights of fury. It's become more vital than ever to face the dragon and take him down here and now. A few effective strategies are learned from research efforts and observed while defending Olympia and Wyver: goading the dragon into breathing fire will hurt him, burning him from the inside out, and attacks to his joints, eyes, wings, and exposed bone are effective. Ice is a natural repellent to dragons and can be used defensively or to weaken the dragon's hide. Healing spells will also react unnaturally to Ysverai's flesh, hastening his decay. However, while concentrated efforts will lock him down, Ysverai cannot be permanently killed in this state — his flesh constantly rots and spawns anew. Attacking him here is to protect civilians, keeping him busy to avoid mass destruction elsewhere. Therefore, the battle is one of attrition, a matter of a race against time. You must destroy his flesh faster than it is able to regenerate to have any hope of victory. Finally, when Ysverai is weakening, little more than bones with a few last vestiges of rotten meat hanging from a skeleton, the pathetic remnants of the last High Dragon takes to the skies. His wings are barely intact enough to carry him, yet desperation lifts him, higher and higher, until he lets out one great, earth-shaking roar. A roar that carries across the battlefield, sending all who hear it to their knees. A roar that shatters the swords in soldiers' hands, that rends apart the very air itself — Ysverai's last act, a great curse upon El Nysa, to bring down the sky. AND THE WORLD STOOD STILL     The terror of Ysverai's destruction hangs overhead — a tear in the sky, darkness pouring through, tendrils reaching down towards El Nysa to swallow up the planet in the dragon's final act of revenge. And yet nothing moves. A halo of brilliant light surrounds the rift in the sky, holding the grasping, hungry tendrils in check. And on the planet, not a creature moves. Not a blade of grass stirs. You're not able to even draw a breath. No matter where you are, not even the heart in your chest is beating. Everything has stopped — time has come to a standstill. In a wash of light, an aurora of transport, you find yourself delivered to Thesa Station. Darma stands before you, her expression solemn, perhaps even grim, though that may just be a trick of the station's harsh lighting. She explains what has happened in short order: planetside, time has been completely frozen. We have seen the birth and end of worlds. The rise and fall of civilizations infinite times over. We have seen all threads of possibilities that could have lead to this very moment... Or should have. Perhaps you might doubt our sincerity when we say this comes as a surprise to us, as well... Special technology has been used to blind us. To this day, we only know of one region capable of creating and utilizing such technology... you will find this technology in a city known as Nadril. We understand that you have created a life down in Wyver and Olympia, but now we must ask that you put that life on pause. We ask you to travel to Nadril and find the original Refugee, and with him, answers. As you will discover, he does not wish to speak to us. It is no matter. By now it is too late to keep the Nysan public unaware of our existence. We commend the efforts of those who wish to protect their comrades on the battlefield below, but a creature like poor Ysverai, twisted and warped, given unnatural life with terrible magic and technology, does not simply go down with manpower. Please, leave Ysverai to us. Time on the planet will remain stopped while we determine how to deal with the dragon. For now, rest and recover your strength. We have returned, and soon, there will be new refugees awakening. Perhaps you might like to prepare yourselves to greet them? I'm sorry that I can't answer more questions, but for now, all our attention must turn to finding a way to stop what Ysverai has wrought. A bank of monitors behind Darma displays the battlefield below: Ysverai's frozen, looming figure and the breach in the sky, and the Natha's halo, holding the destruction back. Though time passes normally on Thesa Station, El Nysa remains frozen, and all Refugees are unable to return to the planet until Ysverai's menace is dealt with. Luckily, with the Natha's return, full functionality has also returned to the station. The lights and environmentals are back to full power, access to all areas has been restored, the cafeteria is serving its normal offerings, and there's no evidence of any glitching or malfunctions. Doubtless, the period of rest is much needed after the hard-fought battle. For now, with time on El Nysa at a standstill, there's little else to be done but enjoy the reprieve aboard Thesa Station. FINAL OOC NOTE     Characters that reach an AC length action thread in this event will receive 2 rep for all factions, including Natha. Note that while these are split up for ease of processing, players may submit for all three. OLYMPIA | WYVER | NATHA Players can expect this event to run three days ICly before everyone is teleported to Thesa Station! From thereon, all characters will be grounded at the Station until the Test Drive Meme later this month. QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs ● bestiary taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp ● quest bulletin calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

[impavid]

John thinks about that a long moment, begins slowly applying the cream to patches as he tries to formulate the answer he wants.

"Well," he says finally. "You know, it kinda comes with the territory. War-zones, danger. Impossible odds."

You do know what impossible means, don't you?

Yeah. Pretty sure I do.

This is who he is, this is what he does. Ianto shouldn't... He shouldn't expect better. John doesn't know if he can be better, it's too ingrained into who he is.

[torchwoodteaboy]

The choice of the word impossible doesn't escape Ianto. He's got a feeling that they're not just talking about John's job anymore either, but rather about John himself, from the way he phrases it. It comes with the territory. Throwing himself into danger. The possibility that he might not come out of it a real threat. The probability he'll need patching up pretty high regardless. In the past three months alone, John had gotten himself knocked around by a fight club (or two), stabbed by a bandit, and burnt to death by a dragon. In three months, he had done that.

Ianto's hands are steady and gentle as they make their way down the patches on John's back and he mulls the thought over. He joined the mission to Atlantis knowing that he might never be able to return. That in and of itself should have been a warning sign. Ianto really hadn't understood until that night with the dragon, though. Feeling helpless, running up against a brick wall named John Sheppard, and everything that had come after that. At least he's allowing him this much now, he supposes.

"I suppose I'd better be stocking up my first aid kit now, then, while there's a lull," Ianto replies, as lightly as he can. Like he hasn't begun to do something of the sort already. Like he hasn't spent three sleepless nights by the side of John's medical pod, wondering whether it was all a lie and he'd never wake up again after all.

[impavid]

"Can't hurt. First aid kits always come in handy."

He hesitates a long moment, rubbing the cream absently into a pale patch that wraps around his hip and vanishes under his sweatpants. Then John takes a deep breath and turns toward Ianto, eyes drifting somewhere around his shoulder instead of his face.

"Listen. You..."

Where is he even going with this, John has no idea. He presses his lips together, tries desperately to regroup.

"You know I didn't exactly know the Natha would... come back."

Come back and fish him off the surface, shove him in a tube and piece him back together.

[torchwoodteaboy]

John may not be able to meet Ianto's eyes, but Ianto studies John's face fairly readily in return. His hands drifting a little awkwardly to his sides, a small part of him conscious of the fact that he still hasn't gotten to every patch down the small of John's back yet. Missing the touch. Regretting that it might not finish, given the way this conversation could go.

He gives a little shake of his head. "Neither of us did. And I didn't know that they'd be able to save you if they were. Why do you think I tried so hard to hold you back? I knew what was going to happen. That you'd run off and get yourself killed and leave me to handle the rest. And then you did, and I..." It had been terrible. The sight of it. Ianto isn’t sure it’s something he’ll forget, not for a long time anyway. And he didn’t have the luxury of grieving in the moment, not with the dragon on its last legs, tearing the sky open and nearly bringing what seemed like the end of the world down on them again.

"Three days, John," Ianto says. "It’s been three days, and they kept saying you were going to wake up again but. It was an awfully long time to wait and the whole time I just kept thinking to myself. But ‘what if’..."

[impavid]

He deserves this, he knows. This guilt, this pain. He deserves it for hurting Ianto like this. All the same, it does dig in and twist something inside him. The thought of Ianto so unsure of what will happen, of him waiting and grieving without even knowing if he should be. Ianto shouldn't have to deal with this.

"I know," he manages finally, then lifts his eyes to Ianto. Squares himself up as if for a fight, all defiance. "But I'd do it again. I'd have done anything to stop it, whatever it took."

If that included his life, then so be it. If Ianto is going to live with him, to stay this close to him, then he needs to understand this. That John has always been like this, will always be like this. That he's going to put him through this pain again, and who knows if the Natha will fish him out next time?

[torchwoodteaboy]

"I know," Ianto echoes right back to him, his blue eyes sad but steady as he does. Because it's true. He'd known it then and he knows it now. He's come to know John in the past few months, the way that he thinks, the choices he makes. He might not know everything, but he knows enough to know that much. That he'd have done everything he could to see it through. And that there's a high probability he'll do it again.

"You don't know how brave you are," he says softly. "Facing up against that dragon like you did. Who am I to stand in your way? I've only known you for less than half a year now, I just." He presses his lips together, before stepping away as he feels his eyes begin to burn. He's already cried too much in front of John, he feels like an idiot for the thought that he might again.

[impavid]

Brave. Something cynical twitches in John's expression as Ianto steps away, and he takes another steadying breath.

"It's not brave," he protests. "Dying is easy. It's harder to live with consequences than it is to die and be free of them."

John would know, he's been living with a lot of consequences for a long time. Making the stupid suicidal call is always far easier than the fallout.

[torchwoodteaboy]

That isn't what Ianto had meant and John knows it. It makes him angry, to have his words twisted in such a self-deprecating way. It makes him angry that the other man seems so bent on self-destruction and so determined not to allow anyone to step in to this loop he's built for himself to try and stop it.

He turns back to the other man, his eyes bright with the sheen of the tears he's yet to allow himself to give into. "It's easier to try and convince me that you're bad news than it is to face up to the fact that I might actually care despite it all," Ianto points out, incredulously. "Is that what you want, then? To push me away? Just because I give a shit about what happens to you and whether you live or die or whether you get burned alive, Jesus Christ, John..." He puts a hand over his mouth and turns away again.

[impavid]

Right. He's... bad at this. Ianto is crying again and that's really just... proof, that he's an asshole, that he's just going to keep upsetting him. He feels awkward both over the display of emotion and the fact that he's... standing there, without his shirt on, smelling of medical cream.

"Because I don't want to keep hurting you," he says after a long pause. "I'm not good at... any of this."

He knows he's too secretive sometimes, that he bottles things up, that he lashes out, that he's petty, stubborn, he has a string of personality defects a mile long. Ianto doesn't deserve any of that.

[torchwoodteaboy]

"For god's sake," Ianto bites out. "Don't want to keep hurting me so you figure you'll what, just do it the once instead, is that how it is?" He would say that he's as bad as Jack, but Jack never even let him get this far. Jack would twist him so far around that he'd start to think he's wrong for thinking or feeling the way he did, until the next time they'd be apart and the thoughts would be back and the cycle would start again. John, though. John's trying so hard to convince himself this is for Ianto's own good.

"If you really don't want me around that much then just tell me," he says, his voice rough and low. He wishes he could wipe his eyes but he's got medical cream all over them and it would only be a bad idea. "Or if not then tell me otherwise. But don't make this about what's good for me. I sat by that damn tube for three days, three days and the whole time I couldn't. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't. Not knowing whether you'd actually wake up. And I'm still here, aren't I? And I'll still be here the next time you pull a damn stupid move like this and maybe some day you'll actually listen to me if only to spare me those three bloody endless days, John." And maybe all these breakdowns after the fact as well.

[impavid]

John hesitates, takes another steadying breath before casting about then stepping over to grab up a towel. He wipes off his hands, swipes up his t-shirt and pulls it back on.

"I'm gonna get... cream everywhere," he mumbles, and hesitates again before moving in front of Ianto and gently resting his hands on his upper arms. "Listen, I... Of course I want you around around. I mean, nobody else gets my Deadpool jokes for one thing..."

So, you know. He has to keep him. Wants to keep him. Doesn't even really want to let go, it's just -- he's bad for him. He knows he is. Ianto must know that too, on some level, but maybe it's just too late anyway. Maybe it's just... too late. He takes another steadying breath and tugs him forward into his arms properly, loosely holding on.

"This is a bad idea," he murmurs. "I mess everything up, Ianto. I told you, I'm bad at all this. It's why Nancy left me, I just --"

There's so much wrong with him, and he knows that. Then again, maybe Ianto already knows that too.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto's breathing on the other hand is far from steady, especially when John reaches out to tug him forward and hold him against his chest. He smells like the cream that they've been putting on his skin but Ianto doesn't mind it so much. John's body is warm against his own and covered in burn cream or not he's alive. He's alive and he may think he's awful at everything but Ianto doesn't care because he knows otherwise. He would never like him this much if there weren't a reason for it.

Ianto's arms come up around the other man to fasten in his shirt, a little awkwardly because he still has the bottle of cream in one of them, and cream all over the other. He tips his face forward to bury against the other man's shoulder, taking in a deep and shuddering breath.

"I don't care," he says roughly. "I didn't kiss you to get you to listen to me. I'm not just telling you this to try and convince you that you're a better person than you think." His arms tighten around the other man. "You are who you are, John. And I don't know who you think I am but I really am only just Ianto Jones. And maybe that's not as good a person as you think, and maybe I'll disappoint you in the end, but I've made my choice, mess and all. And unless you really want me gone stop trying to convince me out of this and just let it be."

[impavid]

"You missed a trick then. People usually kiss me to distract me, works pretty well."

He draws back and squeezes Ianto's shoulder in gentle reassurance, hesitates before gently divesting him of the bottle of cream and setting it aside on a cabinet.

"Why don't we lose this... and, the general. Cream situation for a moment. Why don't you just... sit down, okay?"

Since he seems a little wobbly again. He lets a hand rest on Ianto's arm, and John isn't about to give him direction but wherever he picks to go sit he'll follow and drop down beside him. He doesn't want to... pressure him, just. Stay close.

[torchwoodteaboy]

It had worked pretty well to distract him, Ianto thinks in retrospect, for a little while at least. John had even kissed him back. But he had still run off into the fray, towards danger. And Ianto had had to let him go.

He lets John take the bottle from him and nods in response to the idea that they might sit down. Moving to perch on the edge of the other man's bed before reaching a hand out towards John in turn. He figures he's bound to come sit with him anyway, especially if he makes a move to sit on his bed. He wonders whether John is going to try and pull out his guitar again, and thinks about making a joke about the fact that he's already done that technique, but he stops himself. He really had enjoyed John's singing and his guitar work and he doesn't want to cheapen the moment by suggesting otherwise.

"I don't want to be 'people'," Ianto says at last. "I want to be Ianto. I want when you think of me, I want..." He glances down to his lap, shaking his head, trying to hide the tears still threatening to fall. "I don't want it to be like this." Vulnerable. Delicate. Unsteady. He's supposed to be better than this -- he wants to be better than this.

[impavid]

John takes his hand and moves to sit next to him, swipes up his towel and offers it to Ianto. You know, for the... cream.

"Well," he begins, "I can assure you that you are definitely one hundred percent Ianto Jones. The only one I know, for that matter -- and... when I think of you, I think of... coffee, and wordplay, and suits. Lock-picking."

He flicks Ianto an uncertain smile, because John has no idea if anything he's saying is remotely the right thing to say.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto quietly takes the towel from the other man and starts to wipe his fingers off with it. He feels a little bad for the amount of it he's probably left on John's tshirt already, but John wearing the tshirt in and of itself will be getting some of the cream on it and anyway, it'll wash.

The only one he knows. Ianto listens as John talks and offers him a little smile in return. It might sound like just a list of words but they matter to him. They matter because it means that John's been paying enough attention to care. Like he means something. Like he matters. Maybe that's the most difficult part of all of this after all. How lonely the last few days have been. The thought that he hadn’t been enough, hadn’t done enough, hadn’t mattered enough to convince John out of it. He knows he shouldn’t think like that, that it’s not fair to weigh it up like that but. It isn’t fair. And he’d failed him, in the end.

“Your subconscious is kind to remember only the things I happen to be good at,” Ianto remarks, idly.

[impavid]

He shifts to lean both his hands on the edge of the mattress, turning over this thought.

"I could add terrible puns, or linen trousers at the beach. Poor stone-skipping technique. Excessive stubbornness..."

Not that John's one to talk, he's as stubborn as they come. Still, he shoots Ianto a sideways smile.

"I'm pretty sure you could formulate a lengthy list of things I'm bad at, too. We can't all be good at everything."

That's why they're a team, remember! It's team talk! You have to have a range of different skills so the team as a whole works!

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto finishes wiping his hands off enough so that he feels his hands are reasonably clean enough to wipe at his face now. No, we can't be good at everything, can we? And Ianto is starting to understand more of John's flaws now. Not that he hadn't known them before, but it's hard to ignore them when they're staring him straight in the face. It's just that they're not as simple as being terrible at skipping stones or not knowing how to swim. Their roots lay deeper and there's something sharp and painful hidden in their core.

"I had no idea you felt so strongly about my trousers," Ianto replies at last. Because he recognizes that John really is trying to get him back out of this funk here, and he appreciates the effort, even if he's not certain he'll manage it for another few days or so. He supposes that's another flaw to list. Excessive moodiness. (Though that's hardly being fair on himself, he knows he has more than enough reason.)

[impavid]

"Well, I didn't want to offend you or anything but..."

He nudges Ianto gently, offers him a faint smile.

"They were putting a damper on my hopes of seeing your calves."

Obviously he had to move on to the Wendy dress plan after that. Can't a man just enjoy some pale, welsh calves? He studies Ianto a long moment, then shifts his weight on his hands and leans slightly into his side.

"I'm sorry," he says, and it comes out a little awkward because he feels awkward about it. He keeps making a mess of things and he doesn't mean to or want to but there you are. He's just not good at handling any of this.

[torchwoodteaboy]

His calves again. Ianto offers the other man another smile again at the nudge and wonders whether he really means any of it. Whether he really is attracted to him -- his body, that is -- like he keeps playing around as he might be. He supposes there's no reason he wouldn't be, it's just. Difficult to tell, with John. Between all the lines and funny bits, where the truth really lies.

Ianto takes in a deep breath and lets it out shakily at the apology. At the press of the other man's weight against his side. Reaching sideways, he slides an arm around John's waist to hold him there, tipping his head sideways against his shoulder and just steadying himself against the other man for a moment. He can't decide whether he's finished being emotional or not, stuck on the awkward threshold of feeling mostly calm until the steady warmth of John's body against him sets him off again.

He raises a hand to wipe across his eyes, shaking his head. He's not sure what John's apologizing for, but it's not his fault. Not all of it, anyway. "You kept your promise, didn't you?" he says, after a long breath. "In the end. Maybe just. The next time something dangerous crops up, if you could. Not run off to certain death quite so soon, that would be..." He lets out a sound that is half a laugh and probably half a stifled sob. "I would appreciate the reprise."

[impavid]

John can feel the slow, quiet grip of internal panic beginning to crawl its way through his system as Ianto runs an arm around him. As he leans into his side and rests a head on his shoulder. He slips an arm around the other man's shoulders in turn, tries to ignore the way his heart has picked up. The way he feels a prickling awareness of what Ianto wants from him, and how easy and yet difficult that is.

"How's a twenty minute delay sound?"

Jokes are easy, John can do jokes all night. Feelings are so much harder.

[torchwoodteaboy]

A twenty minute delay. Another joke, only the quiet reluctance in this one hurts a little because there's something to it that speaks of more. Of the fact that John couldn't just promise him just this once that come what may he might let the chips fall where they may and leave someone else to pick up the pieces or save the day, for him. Because Ianto Jones had asked him to, and he supposes he should have known better.

"It sounds like the answer is no is how it sounds," Ianto answers tiredly. Slumping further against him and breathing in the smell of burn cream through his tshirt. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and takes a few deep breaths to keep himself steady. "Then make me a promise that you can keep," he requests at last. "No twenty second delays. I just. I just need you to give me something I can hold on to, here. Because I'm..." He swallows thickly and blows out a slow breath. "I'm no good at swimming on my own. You know that."

[impavid]

A promise he can keep.

John thinks about that for a long moment, tries to think what promises he could make that... Ianto would want to hear. That would make him feel better. That would help instead of hinder.

"I promise I don't want to go anywhere. I don't want to abandon you, I'm not... trying to."

If he does, it's not because he wants to. That's got to be worth something, right? He can't promise not to bolt into danger, not to recklessly do something that risks his life. Yet all the same, John can promise this much -- that he's not actively trying to leave Ianto. Not trying to end his life on purpose, not... hoping to leave him behind in some way.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto sits still by the other man's side, leaning against his shoulder and just listens. To the other man's breathing. To the sound his voice makes as he speaks. To the promises he makes.

It takes him a few moments to process just what exactly the other man is saying. Because it's subtle. Everything about every emotional statement John gives is subtle, Ianto is learning. Careful. It's taken so much just to drag so little out of him. But Ianto trusts his words to be true. He trusts John to uphold a promise he makes, because he also trusts John not to make a promise he cannot.

And it means something. To hear even so much as this, it means something. Which is rather startling, in its realization. It's so simple to be told that John isn't trying to go anywhere, that he shouldn't want to. But there it is, and it strikes him hard and fast and there come the tears again. He turns his head into the other man's shoulder and takes in a deep and shuddering breath, tightening his arm around his waist as his breath hitches again.

[impavid]

He supposes he should have expected this response, but John tiredly wishes he could say something at this point that doesn't result in more tears.

"Ianto," he protests weakly, but then he toes off his shoes again and sit back on the bed, draws the other man a little better into his arms. "I'm really... not good at this. I mean I've been aiming to make this better but I'm pretty sure I'm making you cry more, so unless you want me to resort to playing Ghost Riders in the Sky again I'm going to... need some direction here."

Is he even doing anything right at all? Is he making this worse? Should he just give up and get them both some beer to try and cope with this? John has no idea. This is far more crying within a 24 hour period than he's even experienced at a funeral. All Sheppard family funerals involve silent resentment and stoic misery.