Title: Time Heals All Wounds (1/3)

Summary: Does time really heal all wounds? Depends on what you do to time.

Rating: M for adult content and drug/alcohol use

Characters: Jack

Warnings: Prostitution, drugs, alcohol and sex

Spoilers/Timeline: Four years post-CoE. MD has no place here.

Beta: czarina_kitty. Thank you for all your help. Your insight helped tie everything together in a nice little bow

Word Count: 2567

Notes: This was written for the prostitution prompt in hc_bingo. Also a big thank you to darkwingduckie7 who gave me the original idea for this story way back when.

Time Heals All Wounds

Jack stared blearily at the date on his watch: 19 August 2013. Ever since leaving the godforsaken planet Earth, three and a half years ago, he kept track of Earth time just to remind him how he failed everyone that meant the most to him. Jack got through most days by pushing his feelings deep inside, ignoring the emptiness that was always ready to pounce the moment he let his guard down. This time of year was always the hardest, the weeks between Ianto's birthday and death. "Happy Thirtieth Birthday, my heart," Jack whispered as he raised his glass of hypervodka and downed it in one gulp. "Only the good die young," he added, nodding toward to the barkeep to refill his glass.

"Humans normally don't have that high of tolerance for hypervodka," the hot pink-scaled lizard humanoid barkeep spoke as he poured Jack his third drink of the night. The creature's tongue slithered about as its eyes fell upon the wrist strap. "Time Agent. Don't get too many of your kind around here."

"Ex-Time Agent," Jack corrected. "Besides this thing doesn't work." There was no life left in the immortal's voice.

"I know someone who can fix it," the creature offered. "See who ever it is that has you drinking one last time. That is, if you want to see them."

The idea appealed to Jack for only the briefest of moments. If he were to see Ianto one last time, Jack doubted he would be able to let go. Never mess with time lines. He would give anything to have one last moment with the unforgettable Welshman, to apologize for being the worst sort of arse in the days leading to his death. To tell him that he loved him more than he had loved any one being and how his death has left him a shell of a person even four years later. "No thank you," his words said no, but his voice said yes. Just imagining the Welsh vowels rolling off Ianto's tongue was enough to send shivers down Jack's spine.

The lizard tongue of the barkeep slithered and made a low hissing sound. "You don't sound convinced. Ursateddysaurbulba, a Time Agent needs your help fixing his wrist thing."

"No!" Jack asserted, knowing he would not be able to trust himself with the ability to time travel.

"Don't be a silly, Kilovic. Those are rare commodities no matter what time you are from. If you don't need it, I know of people who would play plenty for that." The lizard's face started to glow a neon colour, a trait in their species that was a tell-tale sign they were excited.

Jack clamped his hand over his wrist. "No," he shouted. There were plenty of personal things on his manipulator that he would never give up. Pictures. Videos. Voice recordings. It had been a long time since he looked or heard any of them. It was too painful. Once he took the trip down memory lane, Jack doubted he would want to return.

"Suit yourself," the barkeep shook his head in disappointment. "You are a strange one. I know you Time Agents are not supposed to change time, but isn't there someone or something you'd like to see one last time." The lizard creature saw the flash in his patron's eyes. "So there is... Ursa, here now. Fix this now. His words say no, but his eyes say yes."

Jack could only glare. Deep down, he realized that he needed this and somehow he could find closure. Five words could give the much-needed closure: I love you, Ianto Jones.

Once his vortex manipulator was fixed, Jack just stared at it for a good hour. He pondered where and when he could go. The longer he thought on it, maybe this was the time and place he should stay.

"You are staying here after we fixed it for you? What is keeping you?" the slimy barkeep asked.

"Memories," Jack answered without emotion.

"Then I have what you are looking for." The barkeep reached under the bar and pulled out a box with an assortment of pills. "If memories are giving you a problem, then these are exactly what you need."

Jack eyed the drugs before him and did not take much time before he downed four pills with another hypervodka. The effects were almost immediate and all the tension melted away. Recreational drug use was not something to be taken lightly and was something he had not done in a long time.

"Wish me luck," Jack offered a fake smile as his fingers made the decision of where to visit. A place he ran little to no risk of crossing anyone in his time line.

London, late summer 2001. The twenty-first century was when it was all supposed to change. It was easy get lost in the hustle. Easy to blend in. Well, blend in as easy as a man wearing a long greatcoat in the middle of a heat wave and reeking of fifty-first century sexual pheromones could.

With the hypervodkas and opiates numbing all pain, Jack was ready to have fun and delve into the dark underbelly of the city. Stave Hills' dirty little late night secret; an excellent spot to pick up whatever your sexual deviation. This was a safe time and place to be, no risk of crossing his timeline. There was something about the drugs flowing through Jack that made him hornier than he could remember. Jerking off did not have the desired effect. This would be the first time since Ianto that he sought out sexual relief not by his own hand. He was going to hate himself in the morning, but the path to destruction had already been paved.

As Jack walked down the dimly lit alley, he noticed how young they all looked. Some were probably not of legal age. He knew he was definitely going down a dangerous path but the consequences were the furthest thing from his mind. He passed several men who seemed too eager to offer their services and normally that would have been what Jack went for, but he was not in the mood. Several meteres from where most were standing, there was a lone figure; looking shy and almost nervous. There was something about his stance that was familiar and Jack was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

"How much?" Jack asked in a gruff tone. He was unable to make out what the other man looked like because of the faint lighting and the drugs altering his perception .

"I...I," the voice stuttered, with an obvious fake London accent. Something drew him to the intoxicating stranger. "Nice aftershave," the nervousness started to diminish and the boy ran his hand along the stranger's chest, fingers curling around the braces.

"Not wearing any," Jack replied cheekily.

"You smell like that naturally?"

Jack took a shaky breath, the conversation a little too familiar for comfort. "How much?" he lowered his voice, not wanting to talk more than needed.

"Seventy quid." The uncertainty was back, as if the rent boy was new to this. His hands were shaking. "Is that too much?" a hint of his real accent surfaced. He mentally cursed himself for letting that slip when the boy saw Jack flinch at the change in his voice.

"You're Welsh, aren't you?" the immortal asked. Having spent as much time as he did in Wales, Jack would know the accent anywhere.

"No!" the rent boy covered, using the London accent again.

"Whatever you say," Jack replied. He knew he should not have struck up a conversation with the prostitute he was about to hire. Although there was something about the mystery person that Jack could not put his finger on. Something almost magnetic.

"Where do we go?" the hint of Welsh was back. "Cachu. I'm sorry, sir. Some of the other boys said most patrons wouldn't go for me if they knew I was Welsh." He stuttered in a mixed London-Welsh accent and shifted from foot to foot, hopeful the man could not see his face clearly and the nervousness that was written all over it.

Jack grinned, "I'm not most people, or so I've been told. I lived in Cardiff for a long time." There was a fond, but sad tone to the comment. "This is your first time doing this, isn't it?"

"F...ffffffirst time anyone approached me." The rent boy stuttered slightly.

"Shhh," Jack hushed, putting cupping the boy's face between his hands, still unable to see the face clearly. "It's okay," he whispered, taking money from his pocket and handing it over. "Come with me." Jack offered his hand. The spark was almost immediate, the older man jumped, and his body began to tremble.

"Are you okay?" It was the rent boy's turn to ask questions. "Now you are acting like it's your first time."

Jack froze, every muscle tightening up. "Not exactly. But it has been a while." There was a distinct uncertainty to his voice. I can't do this to him. I can't do this to Ianto's memory.

The young man obviously sensed something was off and he stopped, as if deciding if he should run or not. He started to think that the stranger could be dangerous. "You are having second thoughts because I'm Welsh aren't you?"

"Not at all." Jack sighed and scuffed his boots around the ground. "A few years ago I lost someone who means the world to me. Someone I loved...still love to this day. Today is his thirtieth birthday and he was Welsh, by the way. Sexiest voice I've ever heard."

The rent boy nodded, realizing he was a substitute for this person's lost lover. "He's dead?" Small talk seemed to pass the time as they walked toward a nearby hotel.

"Yes," Jack said quietly, not wanting to talk about it anymore. He cursed his mind that it kept defaulting to Ianto. "Almost four years," his voice was shaky and Jack swallowed hard to make sure he did not start crying.

The young man took that as a cue not to question any further and remained silent until the door closed in the paid for room. Whomever his client was grieving for, he still loved completely to be this messed up over four years later. The rent boy thought it would be nice to have someone love him that much that his death had such a profound and lasting effect.

Jack quickly discarded his clothes, leaving everything in a messy pile on the floor.

"Come here," a naked Jack beckoned from the bed. "What are you doing?" he asked, watching the boy neatly fold his clothes. He only knew one other person that was OCD enough to fold his clothes before sex.

"I just can't throw my clothes to the ground. What is so funny?" the young man asked when he heard laughter. His face paled for when he realized that the man on the bed looked quite drunk and/or high. It was not obvious before and now the rent boy was scared at what he had gotten himself into, but he sensed a kindness that made him feel everything was going to be okay.

Jack watched as the beautiful creature got undressed, his arousal growing as each piece of clothing was removed. The soft pale skin cried out to be touched, to be cherished. He started to stroke himself, his hand moving rhythmically with his breaths. Soon his hand was covered by another.

"Let me take care of that." The fake accent had been dropped to Jack's delight and he leaned his head back, moaning as the skillful hands worked him over and the voice drowned out all other noise. It was as if Jack was transported back to a time before all the pain started. "I'm sorry. So...so sorry," his voice cracked as tears started to fall.

"There is nothing to be sorry for," the rent boy reached up and brushed away Jack's tears.

"He's gone and there is nothing I can do that will bring him back. I'd do anything to have him back, to let him know that I loved him too." There was something freeing about offloading your inner demons to a stranger and the drugs and alcohol helped too.

"Shhh," the young man hushed his upset client. "I'll make your pain go away." He pressed lips against Jack's. Soon the kiss melted into an intense hungry melding of lips, tongue and teeth.

Jack took control of the situation, flipping and pinning the young man under him. For a moment he stared at the beauty under him, seeing the face he wanted to see. The face he missed every day for the last four years.

Jack started with lips to the neck, slowly moving to nibble on an ear. "It's all my fault. You trusted me. You always trusted me no matter what." Jack moved to the chest, nipping as he made his way down lower. He paused as an all too familiar scent invaded his senses.

"I should never have let you come to Thames House with me. I was careless. They used a virus before. Should have known they'd use one again." Jack flicked his tongue over the smooth hipbones as his hands ran through the fine chest hair.

Tears splashed against the pale skin of the rent boy. Jack nipped at the smooth inner thighs. Everything about the young man reminded Jack of what he had lost. The feel of his skin, his scent and every other little thing made him think of his Ianto.

"I love you." His tongue flicked at the tip of the rent boy's pre-cum slicked penis. "I love you Ianto Jones so..." Jack felt a sudden and excruciating pain grip his chest. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the confused expression of the other man in bed.

"What am I going to do?" the hysterical man moved and cradled a limp Jack in his arms. He felt for a pulse and everything started to spin when there was none to be found. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to do it. Great going, you kill your first client. I'm in so much trouble. How do you know my name? I never told you my name." The tears flowed and with each passing second, the rent boy got more hysterical and did not notice what happened next. He did not think it could get any worse, leaving home six months ago after his father died. Shoplifting only provided minimal aid to survive on the streets. If he wanted a life off the streets, he felt selling his body was his only option to better himself. There was not much of a market for a scrawny, awkward looking boy who just turned eighteen but could pass for fourteen. Some of the other boys tried to use that to their advantage, but his scathing wit and surprising physical strength kept him from being messed with.

Jack gasped back to life, feeling a bit disoriented but he was comforted by the familiar and comforting embrace. "Ianto, what happened?" He clung to his lover's arm.

"How do you know my name?" An eighteen year old Ianto Jones was very scared and disturbed at this moment.

To be continued...Chapter 2 up tomorrow.