TW: Ghost Story (PG-13) 15/18
Title: Ghost Story 15/18
Author:
mad_maudlin
Rating: PG-13
Pairing and Characters: Jack/Ianto, The Doctor, Torchwood, the other Torchwood, OCs, A THOUSAND ELEPHANTS, et cetera.
Length: 70,000
Spoilers: Oh, let's say the whole Rusty era of DW+TW, just to be safe.
Ghost Story
by Mad Maudlin
15. all the dreaded cards foretell
"Torchwood lockdown commencing..."
The Hub had been built to contain explosions as well as to withstand them, to protect the city from its own protectors if need be. Ianto watched a screen with one eye as dozens of blast doors all over the base sealed themselves, locking down archives and cells and storage areas with layers of exotic alloys and old-fashioned steel and lead. But the important thing was to find the frequency that the bomb communicated on, isolate it and maybe disarm it, and if he concentrated on that he didn't have to think about--
"Ianto, you're gonna get locked inside," Jack half-sobbed, and Ianto didn't want to hear that, didn't want to know that Jack was terrified, too. When Jack was scared there was always a very, very good reason. The blast doors to the main entrance began to roll shut. "Ianto, that means now!"
Ianto just need needed to concentrate, but Jack grabbed him, wrenching his arms back and away from the keyboard. His fingers clawed at the empty air. "There must be a way to override the mechanism--"
"For God's sake, get out!" Jack growled, half-dragging Ianto backwards.
"There'll be nothing left of you!" The words burst out, and now he couldn't stop seeing it, a blast big enough to level city blocks tearing Jack to pieces, and that wasn't anything like a gunshot or a stabbing or even being devoured by Abaddon; it was more like burning a witch, because how could Jack come back if there wasn't any Jack left?
"I can survive anything," was all Jack said, and that had to be true, it couldn't be empty bravado, not right now. Ianto nearly stumbled as he was pushed onto the lift, one arm twisting briefly in Jack's grasp. Of course-only way out now, the only exit not deadlocked. Just like when Lisa--
Jack's grip relaxed and Ianto didn't plan on doing it, but he spun around and reached out desperately, one last moment, just in case. Jack was right there with him, pulling him in, kissing like even he didn't really believe-like this might be the last time-and Ianto's thoughts were everywhere, the taste of Jack and his hot hands and the alarms and the blast doors and the knowledge that he was inches away from an armed explosive.
A matter of seconds, and then Jack pushed back, and he wasn't smiling or reassuring. It could be the last time. I love you, don't leave me, I'm sorry, I wish I could save you-Ianto never had the words, and now he didn't have time. Jack activated the lift with his wrist strap and Ianto watched him, couldn't stop watching him, like he could hold him together with his eyes. Just like when they fled from what Lisa had become, when he'd had to listen to her screaming as the lift rose up--.
"Torchwood lockdown...Torchwood lockdown..."
Jack said something inaudible, and between the darkness and the distance Ianto couldn't even read his lips: last words, perhaps, but lost forever. The hatch opened above him, and Ianto tore his eyes away from Jack, looked up into the cool evening air. The lift had been built in 2006, the only part of the Hub not reinforced and armored from within and without; the hatch only had to withstand the weight of pedestrians and maybe a large vehicle, it wasn't engineered to contain an explosion.
The bomb was going to explode and Ianto would be standing right on top of the weakest point in the structure.
He reached for the watch in his waistcoat, the one he still thought of as Jack's. Make some better memories for it, Jack had said, and Ianto meant for Jack to be in them. "I'll be back for you," he murmured, a promise and a prayer, and then he was vaulting out onto the plaza before the lift came to a complete stop. He took off running, not even sure where he was running to, only that he had to get as far away from the Hub as he could if he wanted to survive. And he would survive, because Jack would survive, and they were going to find each other again--
--and suddenly the stones of the Plass were leaping up under his feet, and everything was noise and light and motion--
-\-\-\-\-\-
It was slow work to slip into Ianto's mind, seeping into the cracks like varnish, learning the shape of his thoughts. Becoming part of his thoughts, as much a part of his as Jack's, though Jack was still there, background noise. We were still, fundamentally, us. A thread stretched out between them, spanning an immeasurable gulf, neither here nor there, but reaching-and perhaps it wasn't actually possible, perhaps madness and darkness were inevitable, perhaps this had all been folly-wasn't strong enough, not anymore, not for this--
And then Jack died.
And somehow, I...we remained.
-\-\-\-\-\-
Rhiannon had slipped some cash under the screen of the laptop, and Ianto wished now he'd thanked her properly, wished there'd been time. Most of it would have to go toward petrol, but he had enough for a sandwich and coffee at a roadside diner that also advertised free Wi-Fi. He hated to waste the time, but he also knew that if he fell asleep at the wheel and drove into a ditch, he'd be no use to anyone.
He had never felt more love for software than he felt for Google Earth at that moment; the Ashton Down facility was a black rectangle, of course, but he could see the terrain around it, open fields and forest. A natural buffer between the public and their tax dollars at work. That was where the van carrying Jack's remains was registered, and that was what Ianto had to break into. Somehow. Then he'd just have to find Jack's remains...or better yet, Jack, though if it took him three days to recover from Abaddon Ianto didn't want to speculate on what exploding would do to him.
But Jack had seemed certain he'd come back. And even if he hadn't...well, either way, Ianto couldn't just leave him.
He sipped the coffee, which had a burnt, chemical aftertaste to it, but more importantly, caffeine. So all he had to do was single-handedly break into a high-security military compound staffed by the people who'd just blown up Torchwood, without a gun, without so much as a penknife to his name. Just sneak in and find their most high-profile prisoner, the one they obviously knew not to underestimate, and escape without getting either of them killed (again). He'd have to cross the fields and forest, but of course he was such a keen woodsman...and he'd be facing highly trained soldiers, unarmed, and if he had to kill one of them...or more than one...
No, stop it. He could do this. It was no harder than getting Lisa to Cardiff had been, and he'd done that under the noses of Torchwood and UNIT and half the government, too. Of course, he hadn't been wanted for terrorism at the time...but, his inner Jack pointed out, he'd have the element of surprise. They thought him on the run without resources. (Because he was on the run without resources.) Who would be looking for him on their very front door?
All right, so not so much "the element of surprise" as "suicidal insanity," but it was the only advantage he had, so he'd best make the most of it.
He zoomed out the map and studied it. There was a lot of open land, but he could see the pale scars of the roads, and a jumble of dirt and shadows that might be some kind of cliffs. A quarry? Yes, there was a road leading directly there from the black rectangle...perhaps the facility had started life in the private sector, offices for a strip mine or something. The pit was far enough away that he could hide the car inside it and still be within walking distance, depending on how deep it was. From there he could try to get closer to the buildings, find out what that ominous rectangle was hiding...
The laptop squealed at him, and a window popped up telling him to switch immediately to outlet power. He quickly closed the screen and left money on the table for his food. (Exact change, too; he knew it was obnoxious but he couldn't afford to tip.) Outside, he searched the car thoroughly, shifting aside the debris of normalcy-McDonald's toys and hairy, half-melted sweets and the cigarettes that Johnny always swore he was quitting-in search of anything he could use, anything at all.
He found a road map and nearly two pounds in loose change. He found Johnny's lighter hidden under the driver's seat, a pair of binoculars probably left behind after a recent football match and a bag of M&Ms that did not appear to be a health hazard. The boot was more helpful-he found a crowbar (Why? He wasn't sure he dared ask) and a gym bag with sports clothes that smelled only gently used. The kitty litter and antifreeze were somewhat less useful, unless of course he was caught in a freak snow storm, but there was a nice big flashlight and a fleece blanket that smelled like a dead dog. Anything practical, at this point.
A small first-aid kit turned up in the glove box, and while all the plasters were adorned with various Pokemon, there were also generic acetaminophen tablets in individual paper packets. Ianto took four, swallowing dry, so he'd feel a bit less like he'd just survived a massive explosion and assassination attempt. The last place to search was himself, and he turned out all his pockets, coming up with keys and pens and an old receipt with all the ink worn off, and Jack's watch. Not exactly the Torchwood armory. But it would have to do.
After all, loyalty bordering on insanity was why Jack kept him around, wasn't it?
Ianto started the car and took off for Ashton Down.
-\-\-\-\-\-
It hurt, losing Jack, an unexpected sharpness; the thread pulled taut and then snapped, like Fate's scissors, loose ends. There was...and then there wasn't, total absence, numbness rather than pain. Something was lost, something necessary, something that had gone unnoticed for all those long years, taken for granted, background noise. Not just the body; more like the soul, if there even is such a thing. Jack had been there too long, Jack was who we were, and to be without him...it was lonely.
We were...I was....but I wasn't, couldn't be....wasn't strong enough, wasn't whole. There was a piece missing long before Jack tore away. Too many years of the pounding vortex, too many deaths, too much silence. The watch contained energy, but entropy was a law of the universe, and it was becoming clear that the center had not held. Alone and weak and damaged, there was nothing to hold onto, nowhere else to go--
Nowhere but Ianto. He remained. And he was enough.
-\-\-\-\-\-
Ianto woke up suddenly, acutely aware that the car had stopped. The last thing he remembered they'd been arguing about whether to stop for food-Jack was gung-ho to get to London right away, and their cash reserves were low. Last thing he remembered, he'd been sitting upright, leaning against the window with his knees wedged into the back of Rhys's seat.
Now he was slumped the other direction, against Jack's bare chest, still gritty with cement dust. Jack had put his back to the door and folded one leg awkwardly under Ianto's side, his arms-and the manacles-looped over Ianto's shoulder. For a moment he thought the sun was rising-or somehow setting again-but then realized they were simply parked next to a light fixture glowing sodium orange. It was not quite the strangest position he'd ever woken in. "What time's it?" he asked.
"Late," Jack said quietly, with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. "We did stop for burgers, but nobody had the heart to wake you."
"Thanks." And Ianto didn't even know if he was being sarcastic, either. He tried to straighten up, but between the chain and his cramped and bruised muscles he didn't get very far. "Ow," he informed Jack.
Jack smiled slightly and made no move to let Ianto free. "Sorry about the position," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I was cold."
"That's why Rhys gave you the coat." He realized the front seats were both empty. "Where did they--?"
"Renting a room." Jack tossed his head in the general direction of a squat brick building; it looked like some kind of motel. "Charges by the hour. Not that we can afford the lost time, but Rhys keeps going on about accident rates from fatigued driving and I for one could use a shower."
"There's a change of clothes in the boot," Ianto said. "If we can get these things off you."
"Find me a bobby pin and that problem's solved."
Ianto did manage to roll over a bit, so they were laying back-to-front; he felt his spine pop into a different, though not necessarily better, alignment. Jack started playing with the buttons on his jacket, the chain puddling in Ianto's lap. "So we're going to sleep for a few hours, and then...?"
"London," Jack said. "Frobisher owes us some answers, if we can just figure out a way to get to him without getting arrested."
"I know a place we can hide," he offered. "Not exactly luxury, but it'll do for a few days, and I doubt we'll need more than that."
"You do know everything," Jack said quietly, sounding amused.
Ianto checked his watch, realizing just how late it was. "Don't suppose you saved me any food...?"
Jack huffed. "Do you think we're that rude? It's in the front seat. Hepatiti-licious."
He wasn't really interested in moving, though, even with his feet jammed up against the opposite door and the coat bunched up uncomfortably underneath him. He hadn't slept in something like thirty-six hours before they left Ashton Down; he needed all the rest he could get. He supposed in a minute Gwen or Rhys would come get them, and they'd have to sneak into some seedy motel room and there would be showering and maps and discussions and a few more hours of sleep on some well-used bed...but for now, there was Jack, safe and sound, under and around him.
Jack seemed to feel the same way, or perhaps it was the manacles. Either way, he kept his arms snug around Ianto's chest and pressed his nose into Ianto's hair. After a few minutes of stillness, he said, "I didn't say thank you for the rescue yet."
"Don't mention it," Ianto said, halfway back to falling asleep.
Jack seemed ready to say something else, but evidently re-thought that idea, because he just exhaled, long and warm, and hugged Ianto tighter.
-\-\-\-\-\-
Ianto was still there, steady and reliable, loyal to the last. Ianto, to slip inside, to cling to, to become. Ianto, who missed Jack, too, though not on the same order of magnitude; who needed Jack, too, though not quite the same way. Ianto who seemed only half-aware that anyone needed him, not for what he could do but for who he was: dry and sarcastic and idealistic and strange and serious and beautiful. Ianto was there, and Ianto was us, holding up and holding together, filling in holes that had been centuries in the making. So young, so fallible, but strong enough, at least for this.
We were alone...but not so alone. We remained. We'd survived.
Which meant that after nearly two thousand years, there was only one more step to the plan.
-\-\-\-\-\-
None of them slept much that night, but Jack barely made a pretense of it; Ianto found him on the upper level of the warehouse, staring out the filthy windows. Probably the closest he could get to a rooftop without being seen. Ianto waited a few long moments, watching Jack's silhouette in the hazy glow of morning. He was so still he might as well have been a statue. Chiaroscuro: the contrast of darkness and light.
Jack had to know he was there, after a while, but he didn't make any gesture of invitation or rebuff. Eventually, Ianto realized he was going to have to speak first. "This must've been eating away at you," he said quietly, coming closer. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've...helped."
Jack was shaking his head before Ianto even finished speaking. "No, you couldn't." Just like that: without question, and even though Ianto knew it was a lame offer, the rebuff stung.
"I tell you everything," Ianto protested, and if it wasn't the same thing-not nearly the same-it was close. Jack may not have known every single, thing, but he certainly knew the important things, the ones that really mattered, what made Ianto who he was. Ianto had thought, had hoped, the disclosure might occasionally run both ways.
Jack finally looked at him, with one of those blank, contained expressions that hid emotions felt too deeply. "Yeah? So tell me, what should I have done?"
"Stood up to them," Ianto said, though he knew how naïve it sounded. Jack looked away again. "The Jack I know would've stood up to them." He studied that familiar profile, the thousand-yard stare. A face he knew so well, had spent so much time trying to anticipate, but Jack wasn't saying anything, wasn't calling Ianto out with blistering sarcasm or gently correcting him or even denying the charge.
Jack just stared into the middle distance, and his silence was confession. But his thoughts still seemed a million miles-or forty-five years-away.
"I've only just scraped the surface, haven't I?" Ianto asked, but it wasn't a question, and it wasn't just about the 456.
Jack swallowed and looked at him again with wounded eyes. "Ianto, that's all there is."
"No," Ianto corrected. "You pretend that's all there is." Nobody needed that much surface area unless there was something enormous underneath. Ianto had seen him break character before. Was seeing it now.
"I've lived a long time," Jack said, suddenly almost angry. "I have...done a lot of things." And for a moment it seemed like he might regurgitate all of them, fling his crimes in Ianto's face and defy him to pass judgment. But then he pulled the blow, averting his eyes. "I've gotta go. I won't be long."
"You're doing it again," Ianto said, trying to hold in the urge to snap as he turned to follow Jack's exit. Jack stopped, putting his hands on his hips. "Speak to me, Jack. Where are you going?"
Jack spun, and his back straightened incrementally, as if from the strain of holding everything in. "To call Frobisher. I can't make the call from here 'cause they'll be able to trace it. Is that okay?"
His chin was up, his hackles raised. Ianto realized he'd handled this one badly; Tthat this sin might not be forgivable. "You're the boss," he said, and bit down on anything else that might've tried to escape and made things worse.
"And just so you know," Jack said, just as relentlessly, "I have a daughter called Alice and a grandson called Steven, and Frobisher took them hostage yesterday." The words ended almost in a sob, and he stared at Ianto for a moment, looked him right in the eye, almost a dare.
Ianto was never much with words, though, and at the moment none came to him. Jack turned crisply, one of those strangely military gestures that made the coats and braces so appropriate, and walked away. Left Ianto behind. And Ianto let him go.
-\-\-\-\-\-
The watch was locked. Thousands of years ago, thousands of years from now, two anxious parents had sealed it up to protect their baby boy, to prevent exactly what we were trying to do. They wanted to make sure no one opened the watch before Jack was ready.
And we were ready now, but the question was....could Jack open it?
Isomorphic locks are ridiculously easy, but there wasn't any proof that the watch actually had one; it could have been truly sealed, or locked with a key that was lost along with Gallifrey. It could've been damaged a hundred times over, in a dozen ways, irreparably. It could simply be stuck.
And even if he could open the watch...would he?
Centuries had passed, and he'd never tried. Ever. It was Ianto's now, because Jack no longer wanted it. No longer wanted himself, it seemed, so disgusted with his past, so dragged down by guilt. There was still a thread, a connection, but it was faint and blurry, useless except at the closest range. And Jack had been able to ignore it before, repress it, close himself off. On the Game Station, when we were still young and whole, he'd ignored it entirely. How could he possibly hear now?
If the watch never opened, there was still Ianto. Comfortable, beloved. We could live a long time, even by Torchwood standards, be reasonably happy, be close to Jack. Die a human death. Would that be so bad?
Would that be so little, compared to the alternative?
Did it matter either way, if Jack wouldn't even try?
-\-\-\-\-\-
"It's all my fault."
Breathe in; breathe out. The air was growing thinner...or perhaps that was just him. "No, it's not," he managed, though for a moment he wasn't sure Jack heard him.
"Don't speak, save your breath," Jack said quickly, like that was going to help. A few more seconds? If that? What were seconds against two thousand years?
What was Ianto but a blip in time?
"I love you." The worst slipped out with the next exhale, and he let them because they were true. There was no more time for regrets, not while static built up on the edges of his vision and numbness stole up his arms and legs. The world had narrowed to the cold floor, Jack's hand, and the length of his next inhalation. Nothing more.
Jack looked down at Ianto with sadness that could not be measured. "Don't."
Bastard, Ianto thought, letting his eyes slip shut. You just offered to trade the kids for me. He wanted to ask if he was really worth so much, but it was so hard to breathe...
"Ianto? Ianto...Ianto, stay with me...Ianto, stay with me, please. Stay with me, stay with me, please..."
Jack was crying. How many times had he seen Jack weep? For Tosh, for Owen...Jack had lost so many people, and still he mourned. "Hey," Ianto said, and had the deluded feeling that Jack needed more comfort than he did. "It was good, yeah?"
"Yeah," Jack said firmly. His fingers ran up and down Ianto's face, just shy of the cut that still stung. Ianto could feel it. He could still feel that much.
He tried for another breath as the static came closer, until all he could see was Jack. "Don't forget me."
Was that Jack's smile, the character, even now? "Never could."
"In a thousand years' time..." Time immemorial, a number Ianto couldn't even get his head around, couldn't convert into wheezing breaths. "You won't remember me."
"Yes, I will." Jack's eyes bored into him, earnest, all he could see. True. "I promise, I will."
He couldn't feel the hand on his face anymore...was it still there? Was any part of him still there, or had he drifted away, flying apart like Jack had, into nothing? He let his eyes shut again and reached for a breath that wouldn't come, for last words that his lips and tongue would not shape, for I love you and I believe you and I'm sorry.
"Ianto?"
Jack clutched him closer. One hand, almost on its own volition, slid down the front of Ianto's waistcoat. It closed loosely around something in the pocket, a heavy lump that was warm to the touch.
"Ianto, don't go...don't leave me, please...please, don't..."
"HE WILL DIE," intoned the 456, "AND TOMORROW YOUR PEOPLE WILL DELIVER THE CHILDREN."
Jack glared, but there was no defiance left, no pride. He bent his head for one last kiss, as his body finally began to shut down on its own. His thumb caught on something in Ianto's front pocket, the worn catch of an old fob watch, hardly noticeable as the shadows closed around him.
There was a faint golden glimmer in the darkened room before Jack, too, slumped over. In Thames House, all was still.
Chapter One
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Sixteen
Author:
mad_maudlin
Rating: PG-13
Pairing and Characters: Jack/Ianto, The Doctor, Torchwood, the other Torchwood, OCs, A THOUSAND ELEPHANTS, et cetera.
Length: 70,000
Spoilers: Oh, let's say the whole Rusty era of DW+TW, just to be safe.
Ghost Story
by Mad Maudlin
15. all the dreaded cards foretell
"Torchwood lockdown commencing..."
The Hub had been built to contain explosions as well as to withstand them, to protect the city from its own protectors if need be. Ianto watched a screen with one eye as dozens of blast doors all over the base sealed themselves, locking down archives and cells and storage areas with layers of exotic alloys and old-fashioned steel and lead. But the important thing was to find the frequency that the bomb communicated on, isolate it and maybe disarm it, and if he concentrated on that he didn't have to think about--
"Ianto, you're gonna get locked inside," Jack half-sobbed, and Ianto didn't want to hear that, didn't want to know that Jack was terrified, too. When Jack was scared there was always a very, very good reason. The blast doors to the main entrance began to roll shut. "Ianto, that means now!"
Ianto just need needed to concentrate, but Jack grabbed him, wrenching his arms back and away from the keyboard. His fingers clawed at the empty air. "There must be a way to override the mechanism--"
"For God's sake, get out!" Jack growled, half-dragging Ianto backwards.
"There'll be nothing left of you!" The words burst out, and now he couldn't stop seeing it, a blast big enough to level city blocks tearing Jack to pieces, and that wasn't anything like a gunshot or a stabbing or even being devoured by Abaddon; it was more like burning a witch, because how could Jack come back if there wasn't any Jack left?
"I can survive anything," was all Jack said, and that had to be true, it couldn't be empty bravado, not right now. Ianto nearly stumbled as he was pushed onto the lift, one arm twisting briefly in Jack's grasp. Of course-only way out now, the only exit not deadlocked. Just like when Lisa--
Jack's grip relaxed and Ianto didn't plan on doing it, but he spun around and reached out desperately, one last moment, just in case. Jack was right there with him, pulling him in, kissing like even he didn't really believe-like this might be the last time-and Ianto's thoughts were everywhere, the taste of Jack and his hot hands and the alarms and the blast doors and the knowledge that he was inches away from an armed explosive.
A matter of seconds, and then Jack pushed back, and he wasn't smiling or reassuring. It could be the last time. I love you, don't leave me, I'm sorry, I wish I could save you-Ianto never had the words, and now he didn't have time. Jack activated the lift with his wrist strap and Ianto watched him, couldn't stop watching him, like he could hold him together with his eyes. Just like when they fled from what Lisa had become, when he'd had to listen to her screaming as the lift rose up--.
"Torchwood lockdown...Torchwood lockdown..."
Jack said something inaudible, and between the darkness and the distance Ianto couldn't even read his lips: last words, perhaps, but lost forever. The hatch opened above him, and Ianto tore his eyes away from Jack, looked up into the cool evening air. The lift had been built in 2006, the only part of the Hub not reinforced and armored from within and without; the hatch only had to withstand the weight of pedestrians and maybe a large vehicle, it wasn't engineered to contain an explosion.
The bomb was going to explode and Ianto would be standing right on top of the weakest point in the structure.
He reached for the watch in his waistcoat, the one he still thought of as Jack's. Make some better memories for it, Jack had said, and Ianto meant for Jack to be in them. "I'll be back for you," he murmured, a promise and a prayer, and then he was vaulting out onto the plaza before the lift came to a complete stop. He took off running, not even sure where he was running to, only that he had to get as far away from the Hub as he could if he wanted to survive. And he would survive, because Jack would survive, and they were going to find each other again--
--and suddenly the stones of the Plass were leaping up under his feet, and everything was noise and light and motion--
-\-\-\-\-\-
It was slow work to slip into Ianto's mind, seeping into the cracks like varnish, learning the shape of his thoughts. Becoming part of his thoughts, as much a part of his as Jack's, though Jack was still there, background noise. We were still, fundamentally, us. A thread stretched out between them, spanning an immeasurable gulf, neither here nor there, but reaching-and perhaps it wasn't actually possible, perhaps madness and darkness were inevitable, perhaps this had all been folly-wasn't strong enough, not anymore, not for this--
And then Jack died.
And somehow, I...we remained.
-\-\-\-\-\-
Rhiannon had slipped some cash under the screen of the laptop, and Ianto wished now he'd thanked her properly, wished there'd been time. Most of it would have to go toward petrol, but he had enough for a sandwich and coffee at a roadside diner that also advertised free Wi-Fi. He hated to waste the time, but he also knew that if he fell asleep at the wheel and drove into a ditch, he'd be no use to anyone.
He had never felt more love for software than he felt for Google Earth at that moment; the Ashton Down facility was a black rectangle, of course, but he could see the terrain around it, open fields and forest. A natural buffer between the public and their tax dollars at work. That was where the van carrying Jack's remains was registered, and that was what Ianto had to break into. Somehow. Then he'd just have to find Jack's remains...or better yet, Jack, though if it took him three days to recover from Abaddon Ianto didn't want to speculate on what exploding would do to him.
But Jack had seemed certain he'd come back. And even if he hadn't...well, either way, Ianto couldn't just leave him.
He sipped the coffee, which had a burnt, chemical aftertaste to it, but more importantly, caffeine. So all he had to do was single-handedly break into a high-security military compound staffed by the people who'd just blown up Torchwood, without a gun, without so much as a penknife to his name. Just sneak in and find their most high-profile prisoner, the one they obviously knew not to underestimate, and escape without getting either of them killed (again). He'd have to cross the fields and forest, but of course he was such a keen woodsman...and he'd be facing highly trained soldiers, unarmed, and if he had to kill one of them...or more than one...
No, stop it. He could do this. It was no harder than getting Lisa to Cardiff had been, and he'd done that under the noses of Torchwood and UNIT and half the government, too. Of course, he hadn't been wanted for terrorism at the time...but, his inner Jack pointed out, he'd have the element of surprise. They thought him on the run without resources. (Because he was on the run without resources.) Who would be looking for him on their very front door?
All right, so not so much "the element of surprise" as "suicidal insanity," but it was the only advantage he had, so he'd best make the most of it.
He zoomed out the map and studied it. There was a lot of open land, but he could see the pale scars of the roads, and a jumble of dirt and shadows that might be some kind of cliffs. A quarry? Yes, there was a road leading directly there from the black rectangle...perhaps the facility had started life in the private sector, offices for a strip mine or something. The pit was far enough away that he could hide the car inside it and still be within walking distance, depending on how deep it was. From there he could try to get closer to the buildings, find out what that ominous rectangle was hiding...
The laptop squealed at him, and a window popped up telling him to switch immediately to outlet power. He quickly closed the screen and left money on the table for his food. (Exact change, too; he knew it was obnoxious but he couldn't afford to tip.) Outside, he searched the car thoroughly, shifting aside the debris of normalcy-McDonald's toys and hairy, half-melted sweets and the cigarettes that Johnny always swore he was quitting-in search of anything he could use, anything at all.
He found a road map and nearly two pounds in loose change. He found Johnny's lighter hidden under the driver's seat, a pair of binoculars probably left behind after a recent football match and a bag of M&Ms that did not appear to be a health hazard. The boot was more helpful-he found a crowbar (Why? He wasn't sure he dared ask) and a gym bag with sports clothes that smelled only gently used. The kitty litter and antifreeze were somewhat less useful, unless of course he was caught in a freak snow storm, but there was a nice big flashlight and a fleece blanket that smelled like a dead dog. Anything practical, at this point.
A small first-aid kit turned up in the glove box, and while all the plasters were adorned with various Pokemon, there were also generic acetaminophen tablets in individual paper packets. Ianto took four, swallowing dry, so he'd feel a bit less like he'd just survived a massive explosion and assassination attempt. The last place to search was himself, and he turned out all his pockets, coming up with keys and pens and an old receipt with all the ink worn off, and Jack's watch. Not exactly the Torchwood armory. But it would have to do.
After all, loyalty bordering on insanity was why Jack kept him around, wasn't it?
Ianto started the car and took off for Ashton Down.
-\-\-\-\-\-
It hurt, losing Jack, an unexpected sharpness; the thread pulled taut and then snapped, like Fate's scissors, loose ends. There was...and then there wasn't, total absence, numbness rather than pain. Something was lost, something necessary, something that had gone unnoticed for all those long years, taken for granted, background noise. Not just the body; more like the soul, if there even is such a thing. Jack had been there too long, Jack was who we were, and to be without him...it was lonely.
We were...I was....but I wasn't, couldn't be....wasn't strong enough, wasn't whole. There was a piece missing long before Jack tore away. Too many years of the pounding vortex, too many deaths, too much silence. The watch contained energy, but entropy was a law of the universe, and it was becoming clear that the center had not held. Alone and weak and damaged, there was nothing to hold onto, nowhere else to go--
Nowhere but Ianto. He remained. And he was enough.
-\-\-\-\-\-
Ianto woke up suddenly, acutely aware that the car had stopped. The last thing he remembered they'd been arguing about whether to stop for food-Jack was gung-ho to get to London right away, and their cash reserves were low. Last thing he remembered, he'd been sitting upright, leaning against the window with his knees wedged into the back of Rhys's seat.
Now he was slumped the other direction, against Jack's bare chest, still gritty with cement dust. Jack had put his back to the door and folded one leg awkwardly under Ianto's side, his arms-and the manacles-looped over Ianto's shoulder. For a moment he thought the sun was rising-or somehow setting again-but then realized they were simply parked next to a light fixture glowing sodium orange. It was not quite the strangest position he'd ever woken in. "What time's it?" he asked.
"Late," Jack said quietly, with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. "We did stop for burgers, but nobody had the heart to wake you."
"Thanks." And Ianto didn't even know if he was being sarcastic, either. He tried to straighten up, but between the chain and his cramped and bruised muscles he didn't get very far. "Ow," he informed Jack.
Jack smiled slightly and made no move to let Ianto free. "Sorry about the position," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I was cold."
"That's why Rhys gave you the coat." He realized the front seats were both empty. "Where did they--?"
"Renting a room." Jack tossed his head in the general direction of a squat brick building; it looked like some kind of motel. "Charges by the hour. Not that we can afford the lost time, but Rhys keeps going on about accident rates from fatigued driving and I for one could use a shower."
"There's a change of clothes in the boot," Ianto said. "If we can get these things off you."
"Find me a bobby pin and that problem's solved."
Ianto did manage to roll over a bit, so they were laying back-to-front; he felt his spine pop into a different, though not necessarily better, alignment. Jack started playing with the buttons on his jacket, the chain puddling in Ianto's lap. "So we're going to sleep for a few hours, and then...?"
"London," Jack said. "Frobisher owes us some answers, if we can just figure out a way to get to him without getting arrested."
"I know a place we can hide," he offered. "Not exactly luxury, but it'll do for a few days, and I doubt we'll need more than that."
"You do know everything," Jack said quietly, sounding amused.
Ianto checked his watch, realizing just how late it was. "Don't suppose you saved me any food...?"
Jack huffed. "Do you think we're that rude? It's in the front seat. Hepatiti-licious."
He wasn't really interested in moving, though, even with his feet jammed up against the opposite door and the coat bunched up uncomfortably underneath him. He hadn't slept in something like thirty-six hours before they left Ashton Down; he needed all the rest he could get. He supposed in a minute Gwen or Rhys would come get them, and they'd have to sneak into some seedy motel room and there would be showering and maps and discussions and a few more hours of sleep on some well-used bed...but for now, there was Jack, safe and sound, under and around him.
Jack seemed to feel the same way, or perhaps it was the manacles. Either way, he kept his arms snug around Ianto's chest and pressed his nose into Ianto's hair. After a few minutes of stillness, he said, "I didn't say thank you for the rescue yet."
"Don't mention it," Ianto said, halfway back to falling asleep.
Jack seemed ready to say something else, but evidently re-thought that idea, because he just exhaled, long and warm, and hugged Ianto tighter.
-\-\-\-\-\-
Ianto was still there, steady and reliable, loyal to the last. Ianto, to slip inside, to cling to, to become. Ianto, who missed Jack, too, though not on the same order of magnitude; who needed Jack, too, though not quite the same way. Ianto who seemed only half-aware that anyone needed him, not for what he could do but for who he was: dry and sarcastic and idealistic and strange and serious and beautiful. Ianto was there, and Ianto was us, holding up and holding together, filling in holes that had been centuries in the making. So young, so fallible, but strong enough, at least for this.
We were alone...but not so alone. We remained. We'd survived.
Which meant that after nearly two thousand years, there was only one more step to the plan.
-\-\-\-\-\-
None of them slept much that night, but Jack barely made a pretense of it; Ianto found him on the upper level of the warehouse, staring out the filthy windows. Probably the closest he could get to a rooftop without being seen. Ianto waited a few long moments, watching Jack's silhouette in the hazy glow of morning. He was so still he might as well have been a statue. Chiaroscuro: the contrast of darkness and light.
Jack had to know he was there, after a while, but he didn't make any gesture of invitation or rebuff. Eventually, Ianto realized he was going to have to speak first. "This must've been eating away at you," he said quietly, coming closer. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've...helped."
Jack was shaking his head before Ianto even finished speaking. "No, you couldn't." Just like that: without question, and even though Ianto knew it was a lame offer, the rebuff stung.
"I tell you everything," Ianto protested, and if it wasn't the same thing-not nearly the same-it was close. Jack may not have known every single, thing, but he certainly knew the important things, the ones that really mattered, what made Ianto who he was. Ianto had thought, had hoped, the disclosure might occasionally run both ways.
Jack finally looked at him, with one of those blank, contained expressions that hid emotions felt too deeply. "Yeah? So tell me, what should I have done?"
"Stood up to them," Ianto said, though he knew how naïve it sounded. Jack looked away again. "The Jack I know would've stood up to them." He studied that familiar profile, the thousand-yard stare. A face he knew so well, had spent so much time trying to anticipate, but Jack wasn't saying anything, wasn't calling Ianto out with blistering sarcasm or gently correcting him or even denying the charge.
Jack just stared into the middle distance, and his silence was confession. But his thoughts still seemed a million miles-or forty-five years-away.
"I've only just scraped the surface, haven't I?" Ianto asked, but it wasn't a question, and it wasn't just about the 456.
Jack swallowed and looked at him again with wounded eyes. "Ianto, that's all there is."
"No," Ianto corrected. "You pretend that's all there is." Nobody needed that much surface area unless there was something enormous underneath. Ianto had seen him break character before. Was seeing it now.
"I've lived a long time," Jack said, suddenly almost angry. "I have...done a lot of things." And for a moment it seemed like he might regurgitate all of them, fling his crimes in Ianto's face and defy him to pass judgment. But then he pulled the blow, averting his eyes. "I've gotta go. I won't be long."
"You're doing it again," Ianto said, trying to hold in the urge to snap as he turned to follow Jack's exit. Jack stopped, putting his hands on his hips. "Speak to me, Jack. Where are you going?"
Jack spun, and his back straightened incrementally, as if from the strain of holding everything in. "To call Frobisher. I can't make the call from here 'cause they'll be able to trace it. Is that okay?"
His chin was up, his hackles raised. Ianto realized he'd handled this one badly; Tthat this sin might not be forgivable. "You're the boss," he said, and bit down on anything else that might've tried to escape and made things worse.
"And just so you know," Jack said, just as relentlessly, "I have a daughter called Alice and a grandson called Steven, and Frobisher took them hostage yesterday." The words ended almost in a sob, and he stared at Ianto for a moment, looked him right in the eye, almost a dare.
Ianto was never much with words, though, and at the moment none came to him. Jack turned crisply, one of those strangely military gestures that made the coats and braces so appropriate, and walked away. Left Ianto behind. And Ianto let him go.
-\-\-\-\-\-
The watch was locked. Thousands of years ago, thousands of years from now, two anxious parents had sealed it up to protect their baby boy, to prevent exactly what we were trying to do. They wanted to make sure no one opened the watch before Jack was ready.
And we were ready now, but the question was....could Jack open it?
Isomorphic locks are ridiculously easy, but there wasn't any proof that the watch actually had one; it could have been truly sealed, or locked with a key that was lost along with Gallifrey. It could've been damaged a hundred times over, in a dozen ways, irreparably. It could simply be stuck.
And even if he could open the watch...would he?
Centuries had passed, and he'd never tried. Ever. It was Ianto's now, because Jack no longer wanted it. No longer wanted himself, it seemed, so disgusted with his past, so dragged down by guilt. There was still a thread, a connection, but it was faint and blurry, useless except at the closest range. And Jack had been able to ignore it before, repress it, close himself off. On the Game Station, when we were still young and whole, he'd ignored it entirely. How could he possibly hear now?
If the watch never opened, there was still Ianto. Comfortable, beloved. We could live a long time, even by Torchwood standards, be reasonably happy, be close to Jack. Die a human death. Would that be so bad?
Would that be so little, compared to the alternative?
Did it matter either way, if Jack wouldn't even try?
-\-\-\-\-\-
"It's all my fault."
Breathe in; breathe out. The air was growing thinner...or perhaps that was just him. "No, it's not," he managed, though for a moment he wasn't sure Jack heard him.
"Don't speak, save your breath," Jack said quickly, like that was going to help. A few more seconds? If that? What were seconds against two thousand years?
What was Ianto but a blip in time?
"I love you." The worst slipped out with the next exhale, and he let them because they were true. There was no more time for regrets, not while static built up on the edges of his vision and numbness stole up his arms and legs. The world had narrowed to the cold floor, Jack's hand, and the length of his next inhalation. Nothing more.
Jack looked down at Ianto with sadness that could not be measured. "Don't."
Bastard, Ianto thought, letting his eyes slip shut. You just offered to trade the kids for me. He wanted to ask if he was really worth so much, but it was so hard to breathe...
"Ianto? Ianto...Ianto, stay with me...Ianto, stay with me, please. Stay with me, stay with me, please..."
Jack was crying. How many times had he seen Jack weep? For Tosh, for Owen...Jack had lost so many people, and still he mourned. "Hey," Ianto said, and had the deluded feeling that Jack needed more comfort than he did. "It was good, yeah?"
"Yeah," Jack said firmly. His fingers ran up and down Ianto's face, just shy of the cut that still stung. Ianto could feel it. He could still feel that much.
He tried for another breath as the static came closer, until all he could see was Jack. "Don't forget me."
Was that Jack's smile, the character, even now? "Never could."
"In a thousand years' time..." Time immemorial, a number Ianto couldn't even get his head around, couldn't convert into wheezing breaths. "You won't remember me."
"Yes, I will." Jack's eyes bored into him, earnest, all he could see. True. "I promise, I will."
He couldn't feel the hand on his face anymore...was it still there? Was any part of him still there, or had he drifted away, flying apart like Jack had, into nothing? He let his eyes shut again and reached for a breath that wouldn't come, for last words that his lips and tongue would not shape, for I love you and I believe you and I'm sorry.
"Ianto?"
Jack clutched him closer. One hand, almost on its own volition, slid down the front of Ianto's waistcoat. It closed loosely around something in the pocket, a heavy lump that was warm to the touch.
"Ianto, don't go...don't leave me, please...please, don't..."
"HE WILL DIE," intoned the 456, "AND TOMORROW YOUR PEOPLE WILL DELIVER THE CHILDREN."
Jack glared, but there was no defiance left, no pride. He bent his head for one last kiss, as his body finally began to shut down on its own. His thumb caught on something in Ianto's front pocket, the worn catch of an old fob watch, hardly noticeable as the shadows closed around him.
There was a faint golden glimmer in the darkened room before Jack, too, slumped over. In Thames House, all was still.
Chapter One
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Sixteen