badly_knitted (badly_knitted) wrote,
badly_knitted
badly_knitted

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Ficlet: Trapped In The Dark

Title: Trapped In The Dark

Author: badly_knitted

Characters: Jack, Ianto

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Flashback to Exit Wounds.

Summary: Jack is trapped in the dark and panic rears its ugly head.

Warnings: Graphic description of a panic attack.

Word Count: 564

Written For: My own prompt ‘Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, The scent of a Ianto,’ at [community profile] fic_promptly.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.






Wherever he is, it’s pitch black, completely lightless, and just like that, Jack is right back there, buried alive beneath Cardiff. The feelings of terror well up, unbidden; his heart is pounding, his palms start to sweat, and he’s choking, suffocating, unable to draw breath. The tiny, logical part of his brain not swamped by blind panic says he’s being ridiculous, of course he can breathe, the only thing touching him is the cold, hard surface he’s lying on, but the rest of his body is ignoring that faint glimmer of sanity.



The darkness is like as physical thing, thick and cloying, blinding him so that he can’t see at all, and he’s struggling, fighting against it, ears deaf to anything other than his own laboured, rasping breaths and the thunder of his pulse in his ears. The odour of damp and mould fills his nostrils, but suddenly it’s eclipsed by another smell; warm, inviting, comforting, a unique aroma made up of coffee, vanilla body wash, apple shampoo, and underneath it all, the musky scent of a man. Jack knows that smell intimately, and it’s so out of place that it cuts through his panic like a knife.



“Ianto?”



“Jack! Are you okay?”



“No, not really. Better for smelling you though. What happened?”



“We were knocked out, I think. We seem to be locked in the cellar, judging by the darkness, the stone floor, and the mould. My suit’s going to be ruined.”



Jack lets out a shaky laugh; that’s so Ianto, to get taken prisoner yet be more concerned about the state of his attire. “What now?”



“We break out of course. There has to be a door or a trapdoor so we just have to find it. Where are you?”



“Over here.”



There are rustling sounds, something brushes Jack’s ankle and then a hand gropes its way up his leg.



“Aha! Found you!”



“So you have, and very enjoyable it is too.”



A snort of amusement reaches Jack’s ears. “Daft sod.”



Hands grope further up, find his shoulders, then his face, and after a couple of false starts and bumping noses, lips meet lips in a brief but reassuring kiss. “Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here before you know it, the rest of the team’s bound to be looking for us.”



“I’m not worried.” It’s the truth, he isn’t, not anymore. Ianto is here and everything will be alright.



“Good. Now, let’s find the nearest wall and see if there’s a door.”



Together they feel their way across the floor until it meets a wall, then they stand up.



“You go left,” says Ianto, “I’ll go right. If we don’t find a door we’ll know to look for a trapdoor.”



Thankfully there’s no need, Jack finds the door halfway along his second wall and calls Ianto to him. It’s locked, of course, and it’s solid wood, but rot has set in at the bottom. They kick at it until there’s a gap big enough to wriggle through and they’re free, still in a cellar, but it’s less dark. They grin at each other in the faint light, just barely able to see each other’s faces.



“Told you we’d get out.”



“You did. Thank you.” Jack leans in for another kiss and the warm, familiar smell of his lover surrounds him. The scent of a Ianto; it’s his favourite scent of all.



The End





Tags: fic, fic: one-shot, fic: pg-13, fic_promptly, ficlet, ianto jones, jack harkness, jack/ianto, torchwood fic
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