It didn't happen, though, not normally, and Ianto's grace at waving off the terrible thing that Jigano had done only squeezed lemon juice into the wound where his pride had been. Even that was nothing compared to the physical injuries he had given the helpful fox. Injuries he had only the haziest memory of causing, though the blood in his mouth was ample clue enough that he had been at fault.
He remained still, afraid that if he moved it would break the momentary spell of lucidity that had befallen him like an enchantment. He wanted to run from Ianto, from the bloody proof of his loss of control and failure to protect and guard, but every moment that his thoughts were clear and his own was precious and the other Attuned's presence made it feel more real. It was a mix of guilt and desperate hope that pricked him far more deeply than the Rose's thorn.
How? he asked, hope and fear in equal measure in his mental voice. How would they put things to rights? How could he hold on? It sounded so simple the way Ianto said it, but Jigano felt like he might shake himself to pieces from the sick tension of not knowing when the blight would reassert himself and he would lose himself to the black once more.
He remained still, afraid that if he moved it would break the momentary spell of lucidity that had befallen him like an enchantment. He wanted to run from Ianto, from the bloody proof of his loss of control and failure to protect and guard, but every moment that his thoughts were clear and his own was precious and the other Attuned's presence made it feel more real. It was a mix of guilt and desperate hope that pricked him far more deeply than the Rose's thorn.
How? he asked, hope and fear in equal measure in his mental voice. How would they put things to rights? How could he hold on? It sounded so simple the way Ianto said it, but Jigano felt like he might shake himself to pieces from the sick tension of not knowing when the blight would reassert himself and he would lose himself to the black once more.
