Born This Way - Chapter 13
Jul. 30th, 2012 08:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madbottomsTitle: Born This Way 13
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, John, Gray, Owen, Toshiko/Tommy, Suzie, OCs
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Contains: Supernatural themes, character death, drug references, dub-con.
Summary: Sequel to Choices - Ianto Jones was born and raised in Hell, but he isn’t feeling as demonic as usual lately—thanks to Jack Harkness. But you can’t desert Hell without consequences and suddenly Ianto’s and Jack’s happily ever after may not be so happy.
13
*~*
What the Hell?
*~*A
Jack
Ianto is moving books at the library tonight, so he made me promise to stay home. The Blues are losing so badly that the game’s becoming painful to watch, and Dad’s comments are getting more colourful than usual. He pushes down the leg rest of his recliner and leans forward, elbows on knees. He focuses on the TV as if he thinks he can make his team win through sheer force of will. I pull myself off the floor and head for the stairs.
“You giving up on the boys?” he says.
“Me? Never!” I reply in mock outrage.
He smiles, but then his face becomes serious. “It’s nice to have you home in the evening for a change.”
Mum looks up from her crossword. “You should spend more time at home, sweetheart. This is it. In another few months, we won’t have you anymore.”
I lean against the wall at the base of the stairs, my arms folded over my chest. “So, does this mean you’re ready to stop treating Ianto like some—”
Mum drops the newspaper in her lap. “We’ve never treated him with anything but respect.”
“Be serious, Mum. You don’t treat him like Charlie. He can never come up to my room.”
“Well…he…I’m…”
“What she’s trying to say,” Dad interjects, looking at Mum with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile, “is that, so far, he has demonstrated he’s a responsible young man, and we’re willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
I mentally pick myself up off the floor. “Really. So he can hang out in my room?”
Mum glares at Dad. “With the door open.”
I feel the ridiculous grin pull at my lips, and it’s useless to try to stop it. “Yeah, okay.” I start to turn from the family room when something occurs to me. I wait for the pang in my heart to pass before I turn back. “How come I never had to keep the door open when John was here?”
They look at each other and then at me. “Well…John’s just an angel,” Mum says.
I jump a little. I’ve got no comeback for that. He is an angel. My angel. And Ianto quite definitely isn’t. As I turn for the stairs, I feel the empty ache in my heart—the one I’ve been able to stave off only by keeping my mind on things other than John and how much I miss him. I force myself to think of something else—anything else. I start to tick off my work schedule in my head as I climb the stairs, but I’m only up to Saturday when I reach the top and bump into Grace coming out of the bathroom.
She pulls the towel off her head, letting her wet hair fall around her shoulders and drip down her back. “You’re home.”
I glare at her. “Not by choice. Ianto’s at the library.”
She just looks at me in her creepy, Grace-like way, like those pale blue eyes can see through me somehow. But as I start to brush past her, she says, “He’s different.”
I spin back to her, irritated. “Who?”
“Ianto. He’s changed.”
I stare at her for a minute, not sure what to say, and suddenly I wonder just how much Grace really does see.
I nod. “He has.”
I turn and head up the hall, but just before I reach my room, she says, “How? Did you—? She trails off, her voice tentative.
When I turn back to her, her eyes are intense. There’s no way she could know exactly how much Ianto has changed, and there’s no way she could know that I did it. But there’s something in her gaze that makes me wonder. “Guess he’s not as evil as you thought.”
As I push through my door, I hear her say, “But he was,” more to herself than to me.
I pick up my old copy of Dean Koontz ‘Lightning’ off my desk and lie on my bed, trying to get engrossed with it. But I can’t stop wondering about Grace. How much does she know? I shake the conversation out of my head, pick up my phone, and text Owen <come w/me 2 the zone 2nite>.
A minute later, my phone buzzes <not up 4 the zone> his message reads.
Whaaat? Owen’s always up for the Zone. It gets kinda touristy, but the arcade is the night time hangout for the guys from school when there’s no party at the Williams’. He ogles the hotties while I break my own record on the racetrack simulator. <y not?> I text back.
I wait.
And wait.
Just when I’m about to hit my speed dial to call him, my phone buzzes. <going out w/elle> reads the text on my screen.
The jealous burn surprises me. This is what I wanted— Elle to make friends. I hit the Call button on my phone, and Owen picks up on the first ring.
“Okay, I’ll do that instead. Where are we going?”
“Sorry,” he says, and I feel myself getting really irritated. “We’re going to a party Russell invited me to. Don’t think it’s your thing, Jack.”
I love parties. “Since when isn’t a party my thing?”
“Listen, Jack…it’s just that, for some unknown reason, you’ve become this stud magnet. I didn’t miss Russell checking you out at the Williams’ the other night, and I really don’t want the competition tonight.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Um…no.”
“You can’t be serious. You think I’m gonna steal guys from you?”
“Not on purpose, I guess, but…yeah.”
“Fine,” I say, and slam down the phone before disconnecting. “Well, that was mature,” I say to myself. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
But I know what’s wrong with me. I don’t really have any close friends, by design. Owen’s the safest person I could find to be friends with. He never asks me to give too much, and in return, I never take too much. So where all this needy clinging is coming from, I don’t know. But it hurts a little that Elle is taking away what we’ve had for nine years. And it also scares me a little that I didn’t realise till just now how much I was fooling myself that I didn’t “need” anyone.
*~*
Gray
I hear her on the stairs as I wait in the hall, and my head starts to spin. I look down at my human form as I lean against the wall and try to look all casual. I should be doing something, not just standing here, looking like a stalker. She reaches the top of the stairs and I panic for a second, trying to figure out what that something should be. I slide down the wall and sit with my back against it. An old copy of Tolstoy’s War and Peace materialises in my hand, and black-rimmed glasses materialise on my face. Going for the intellectual look. Can’t hurt for her to think I’m smart.
I know John would be all over me for not staying with Jack, but he’s at the house behind Dad’s field. He’s safe there. No demon can get past that field.
So I’m here. I can’t help it. I need to know her.
Elle rounds the corner from the stairwell, thumbing through her junk mail, and doesn’t see me until she trips over my legs. She swears as she catches herself by reaching out to the wall and looks down to see what she’s tripped over. When she sees me, she backs away a few steps, eyes wide.
I pull myself to my feet. “Oh, I’m really sorry,” I say, shrugging and holding up my book.
Her eyes narrow as she sidles past me, keeping to the far wall. She backs a few steps toward her door. “What are you doing sitting in the hall?”
“Just waiting for Ianto.” I gesture toward his door. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you…or try to kill you,” I add with a smile.
That smile seems to do it, because she lowers her shoulders, and her defensive stance softens. “So you’re waiting for Ianto?”
“Yeah. I knocked, but no one answered.”
Her brows press together. “He said something about working late, I think.”
“Oh. Thanks. I guess I’ll wait a bit longer then.”
She turns back to her door without responding, but I swear I see the smallest of smiles curl her lips before she slides the key into the lock. My mood sinks when she pushes the door open and disappears through it. I hear a series of latches and deadbolts click into place as I stare after her.
I wait, hoping she’ll re-emerge, and I’m just about to phase back to the house when I hear the deadbolts and latches being undone again. The door cracks open and her head pokes through.
“So…you can wait in here if you want.”
“Thanks.”
I walk over and she just stares at me for a long, awkward minute. I’m not sure what I should say. But then she pulls the door wider. “You want a beer or something?”
My feet start through her door, and for just a second, the thought, What are you doing? shoots through my head. But I block it out as a giddy tingle courses through me. “Sure.”
She closes the door and I look around. The place is a mess. It looks just like Ianto’s, except there are dirty dishes and…junk, I guess, stacked everywhere. I spy the mail that was in her hand a minute ago strewn over a bigger pile of mail on the counter.
“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” she says, stating the obvious. She picks a small stack of dishes up off the couch and dumps them onto a bigger stack in the sink. “Sit.”
I do.
She heads to the fridge and ducks into it, coming out with two beers. She comes over and sits on the couch next to me, close but not touching, and hands me one. The beer helps my dry mouth, and for a long time we make idle chitchat. My mind is racing, and I’m barely able to keep track of the conversation, but I’m glad that she doesn’t ask anything that I can’t answer.
“Another beer?” she asks, shaking her empty bottle and rising from the couch. Without her next to me, even though we weren’t touching, it suddenly feels cold.
“I’m good.”
“So, I’m going to a party tonight,” she says, ducking her head into the fridge. She turns back to me. “I could ask my friend if he’d mind if you came.” She looks down and picks at the label on her bottle. “If you want.”
An electric buzz works through me. I know what I want to say, but…
“I already have…I can’t. Sorry.” How lame. It’s times like this that I wish I could lie.
“No problem,” she says, twisting the cap off her beer, but she still doesn’t look at me.
“I really want to.” The gusto with which I say it brings heat to my face and I’m suddenly afraid I’m blushing. I didn’t know that was possible with no blood.
She looks up at me then. “But you have a girlfriend.”
“No!” Just shoot me.
“So why can’t you come?”
“I’m supposed to be doing…something.”
“Blow it off.”
“Wish I could.”
Her gaze drops to her lap, but she smiles. “Story of my life. The good ones always have something better to do.”
She thinks I’m a “good one.” I feel all achy inside. Can angels have heart attacks? “Okay. I’ll go.”
Her wide eyes snap to mine. “Really?”
“Sure.”
What am I doing?
Breaking the rules.
There’s some strange feeling building in my core—like I’m imploding and exploding all at the same time. I shudder with the sensation and feel the smile break across my face. “Sure,” I say again.
I feel all jittery inside, wild, out of control. And I like it. This is what it feels like to make my own decisions. To do what I want. It feels amazing—like maybe I can actually have a life.
I wait in the hall while Elle changes, and when she emerges from the apartment, all rational thought leaves me. She’s traded her baggy grey clothes for jeans and a loose black top. Her hair is pulled back into a makeshift bun, and she’s beautiful. “Wow.”
Sweet Heaven above, why can’t I keep my mouth shut?
But when she cracks a smile and blushes, I decide maybe I didn’t screw up too bad. I can’t take my eyes off her as we head for her car and drive to pick up Owen. When we pull into his driveway, it’s a little weird pretending I’ve never been here before, after all the time I’ve spent on this front porch while Jack was hanging out here. Owen comes bopping out and pulls open the passenger door of the truck. When he sees me, his eyes widen for a moment before a lascivious smile spreads across his face.
“Ooh…good girl, Elle.”
“I’m Gray,” I say, holding out my hand.
He takes it and uses it to pull himself into the car. I slide into the middle of the bench seat and he slides in so our legs are touching. “Owen,” he says as his eyes eat me alive.
Elle leans forward and looks around me at Owen. “Hope it’s okay.”
“Boys are always okay, Elle. Especially boys this yummy,” he says, pressing his shoulder into mine and grinning.
We drive to the north edge of town, into a neighbourhood of desolate old buildings. Every so often, there are groups of people hovering on the paths—some teenagers, some homeless. Everything looks grey: the buildings, the cars, the people. The whole place has the feel of desperation and hopelessness.
“Here,” Owen says, pointing to a free parking spot between a sea of motorbikes and an old black hearse.
Elle pulls into the spot as Owen turns off his GPS and slides it into his bag. “How’d you hear about this party?” Elle asks, eyeing the hearse and looking a little unsure.
Owen’s eyes gleam. “This totally hot guy. He plays in a band.”
Elle still doesn’t look sure, but she opens the door and steps slowly out into the road. I slide out behind her and walk with her around the truck to meet Owen, where he stands on the other side.
We walk toward a building on the corner, from which a very loud “Purple Haze” emanates.
The door is open and we walk in. Instantly, the sweet smell of pot wafts down the short, dark hallway into our faces. We follow the music and smoke up the hall to a nearly dark room crammed with undulating bodies. In here, the smoke mingles with the rawer scents of sweat and musk, flooding my mind with visions of primal needs being fulfilled. I feel my own desires stir, and pull a deep breath.
I glance at Elle, who looks mesmerised by the scene. A fascinated smile curls her lips as she surveys the leather-clad crowd through the dim light.
Owen’s mouth dangles open and his gaze is locked on the band, set up in the corner of the room on a low platform. He steps into the room and shoulders his way to the stage through the writhing and gyrating bodies.
My sixth sense buzzes—loudly. There are demons here. Lots of them. But they’re so intermingled in the mass of humanity, I’m having trouble getting a fix on exactly who they are.
Elle tugs my shirt and points to the corner, where a keg sits in a bucket of ice. She starts working her way in that direction and I follow. She picks a red plastic cup off the top of the stack and hands it to me, then pulls one for herself. I grab the tap and fill the cups.
Someone bumps me from behind, sending the beer in my hand sloshing over the rim. I turn slowly and a tall, skinny guy, maybe twentyish, stares me down, his solid black eyes telling me without a word that he knows exactly what I am.
And I know what he is too. “Who invited you?”
Before I can answer, his eyes slide past me to Elle, who steps up next to me. “Was it you, my lady?” He holds his hand out to her. She takes his hand and he brings it to his mouth, kissing the backs of her fingers. A lopsided smile blooms on his dark face. “Because, if that’s true, I’ll forgive the indiscretion.”
“I did.” I can barely hear Elle’s reply over the music.
“I’m Balan. It’s my very great pleasure to meet you.”
“Elle,” she replies.
I step in front of Elle and pull her hand out of his. “And I’m Gray.” The urge to carry her out of here is overwhelming.
“We were just leaving,” I say, trying not to glare.
His eyes don’t leave Elle, but his voice turns to ice. “I wasn’t talking to you.” He turns and looks behind him, where a shorter guy with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail and the same cold, black eyes is just walking out of the kitchen. Balan sticks his arm in the air. “Hey! Pharin!”
His buddy smiles and starts heading toward us. Bodies seem to part, like the
Balan’s smile pulls into a leer as he drapes his arm over his friend’s shoulder. “Pharin, I’d like you to meet Elle,” he says, giving Pharin a nudge.
Elle steps closer to me and I wrap my arm around her waist. With her in my grasp, my power surges and I feel suddenly invincible.
Balan’s grin turns to pure evil. “Oh, and her friend, Gray,” he adds with a wave of his hand.
Just then the band stops, and even with the chatter, shouts, and calls of the crowd, it seems too quiet.
“Hi,” Elle says, tugging at her shirt. She looks hard at Pharin, and he nods thoughtfully.
His tongue presses into the ring through his bottom lip. “And may I ask how you heard about our little gathering?”
Elle’s eyes flick to Owen, where he’s taking a hit off a joint that a tall, built guy with shaggy black hair just handed him. He’s dressed in torn jeans and a ripped black T-shirt, and a black bass guitar hangs on his back.
“I think that guy invited us…or our friend, anyway,” Elle says.
Pharin elbows Balan. “Russell’s found a new toy.” He looks back at Elle with a predatory grin.
I’ve seriously got to get Owen and Elle out of here.
My grip on her waist tightens. “So, Elle…you ready to go?”
Balan’s smile widens and his eyes flare in the dim lighting, never leaving Elle. “You’re not leaving yet. The party’s just starting.” He grasps Elle’s hand, tugging her out of my grip, and leads her to a couch in the back of the room, where a spot magically appears. He settles into it and taps his thigh for Elle.
Jealous rage courses through me as I follow them, and the urge to smite him is almost irresistible. I can picture summoning my power and blasting him into oblivion—or at least back to Hell.
“Um…I don’t think so,” she says. Good girl.
She looks at me, and just for a second, it feels like she’s seeing the real me. Her eyes lock on mine, and her mouth tilts up with the hint of a smile. She reaches for my hand and laces her fingers in mine, and my insides explode in a burst of ecstasy.
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on 2012-07-30 11:15 am (UTC)no subject
on 2012-07-30 11:19 am (UTC)Cheers.
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on 2012-07-30 02:26 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2012-07-30 09:22 pm (UTC)no subject
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on 2012-07-31 08:44 pm (UTC)Gray is definitely in way over his head. He may not be able to lie per se, but that doesn't seem to keep him from being able to get into trouble. How very awkward to be caught in the middle of a party full of demons without even realizing that's what he was walking into. He better get his head in the game, before he loses it. Thank God Owen told jack he couldn't come. That would be a very bad thing. The demons don't seem to be identifying with Elle as a demon, so what the hell is her story?
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on 2012-07-31 09:22 pm (UTC)Cheers