and every color illuminates (Part III) ~ Complete
The days are different now. Ianto has nothing to do but sleep, the drug subduing every sense until he feels wrapped in cotton. Only the quintessence remains unchanged, bright and hectic in the air as it spins in streamers and sparks like some mad kind of firefly. Sleep comes easily where it never has before and the dreams surge quick and vivid whenever he closes his eyes.
The dreams are also different now. Rather than Jack, or these bright planets, Ianto sees Gwen cradling an infant close, her face glowing as she looks down at her daughter. Rhys stands beside her, one arm around her shoulders, and his smile is bright enough to be blinding. Ianto looks at them and feels an ache in his chest that before he usually associated with Lisa’s death. Loss, he thinks, and it’s a surprise, because he’s always been fairly ambivalent about Gwen, if only for the amount of grief she’s given Jack since she found Torchwood.
But this…this is an acknowledgement that she’s important, that she is-in her own way-precious to him. Ianto isn’t used to having people like that. He’s always kept himself at a distance from everyone, only letting people in when they broke through his walls by force, as Lisa and Jack had eventually done. While Gwen had been a teammate, a friend, someone to rely on, she hadn’t been like Jack, or even Tosh. He would have hesitated before doing something like head-butting a cannibal for her, and while he might have done it anyway in the end, the hesitation would have said it all.
There would be no hesitation now, though, if he were given the chance.
The dream shifts, Gwen and Rhys fading away to be replaced by someone who is most definitely not precious to Ianto. John Hart is sprawled out in a bed approximately the size of Luxembourg, tangled together with limbs and bodies and what look rather like fluorescent orange tentacles. He’s fast asleep, as are his companions, which Ianto can only count as some heaven-sent respite.
It’s been a long time since Ianto last saw Hart, and his feeling are most certainly mixed. Resentment, gratitude, anger, and jealousy are all twisted together into a snarled knot of confusion, but one emotion in particular is struggling to the surface. Ianto takes a breath, steps forward, and manages to find Hart’s shoulder in the mess of bodies. He rests his hand there, and somehow it's no surprise at all when Hart’s eyes flutter open.
Predictably, the first reaction Ianto gets is a lascivious grin. Hart rolls over, hands already reaching as a murmur of, “Ready for another round already, sweetheart?” drips from his swollen lips. Whatever his next words might be, though, they die unspoken as his gaze settles on Ianto. His eyes open wide, and he jerks upright with a sharp breath. “Eye Candy?” he demands.
“Captain,” Ianto returns, stepping back and out of range-of what he isn’t certain, but with John Hart it’s best to be prepared. “You're looking…well.”
“Bloody hell,” Hart mutters, sliding over to the edge of the mattress. He drops his head, scrubs his hands over his face. “Bloody hell, Eye Candy, where the hell have you been? Jack's just about gone ‘round the bend because of you.”
That, in a nutshell, is why Ianto can never truly hate John Hart, regardless of what he’s done. His feelings for Jack are real, strong, and always at the fore-much like Ianto’s own.
He manages a small smile for the former Time Agent. “I've been…indisposed,” he allows.
Hart knows very well what he’s implying. His eyes narrow and he surveys Ianto for a long moment before flicking a glance at the red coat and sheathed Korean sword lying close at hand. Ianto can all but see the internal debate raging.
“It’s all right,” he says at length, when Hart still hasn't spoken. “Things could be much, much worse, I'm sure. And they can't exactly kill me anymore.”
That brings Hart’s sharp gaze back to him, eyebrows rising. He puts his feet flat on the floor and leans back, starting to grin. “You're like Jack now, Eye Candy? That…opens up a lot of possibilities.”
Ianto snorts at him, even as he feels the dream beginning to dissolve around him. There's a voice far away, not quite a growl but more than a purr, and it’s calling him back. “Sorry, Captain,” he offers dryly. “Although I appreciate the offer, of course, I think I’ll have to pass.”
“Shame.” Hart grins openly at him, blue-grey eyes bright with devilish mischief. He raises his arm, fingers tapping over his wristband in a motion Ianto has seen Jack do a thousand times, and adds, “So you know, that’s an open offer, Eye Candy. You can take me up on it whenever you’d like.”
Then the room is gone, the captain is gone, and all Ianto can see is an ivory ceiling dimmed by a haze of sedatives, Sekheme murmuring desperately at his side.
*.~.*.~.*
The Doctor tries once more before resorting to underhanded tactics.
“So, Jack, this Ianto-”
“Doctor-”
“All right, all right! But you're looking stressed-how about a vacation?”
“Doctor…”
“I know this great little pair of planets with the most amazing views. You’ll love it! What do you say?”
*.~.*.~.*
Ianto can still open Gates, because the quintessence is just about all he knows now. They're good Gates, strong and steady, and they never waver like those of some Gatekeepers kept sedated. All he has to do is close his eyes, lock his knees, and feel and the quintessence bursts to life around him, stronger than ever and barely kept in check as he cuts open the boundaries of space and links two disparate places together with a single, simple thought.
The people still come and go, awed and never looking straight at him, and the guards-three of them now, rather than two-stand firm and foreboding at his back. Each day is exactly the same as the one before, differing only in his dreams of times and places and people far from here. He's never seen Jack or Gwen again, nor any of the old Torchwood. In fact, it's rare that he sees Earth at all, and while it’s a bit sad-because Earth is his home, always has been and doubtless always will be-it’s also a relief. The ache of loss is ever-present, but at least like this he can turn his face from it, push it to the back of his mind.
Like this, nothing will ever, ever change.
And then a figure in the red jacket of a Napoleonic hussar strides through the Gate, one hand on the hilt of his snakeskin sword, the other hooked into his gun belt. He glances left, glances right, and when his gaze alights on Ianto, he winks cheerfully and offers up a wicked smile.
The guard behind Ianto tenses and takes a half step forward, but Captain John Hart is already moving away. His leather boots clack sharply against the bricks as he disappears into the surrounding streets, whistling a jaunty tune.
Even through the haze of apathy and bone-deep weariness that the drug brings, Ianto watches him go and feels his heart lightening for the first time since he woke up in this world.
*.~.*.~.*
There are people laughing in the distance and the city smells of incense and sunlight and infectious joy. Jack and the Doctor stand just outside the TARDIS and breathe it in, wide-eyed at the smiles they receive from the people passing by. No one approaches, but no one seems to care, either.
Since the last time they landed in the middle of a city they got chased out by an angry mob with honest-to-goodness torches, this is a vast improvement-if a bit unsettling.
“Well, Jack!” The Doctor rubs his hands together cheerfully. “How about some sightseeing?” He casts his gaze around, spinning in a circle until his eyes land on a tall structure, gleaming white and gold in the twilight, which rises above the surrounding buildings with a stately air. “Aha! There! Let’s go!” Before Jack has the opportunity to protest, the Doctor dives headlong into the crowd, pushing his way through the throng.
Jack stares after him for a moment, mystified that he’s actually picked a target, rather than simply gone wandering. But then something breaks, a person shouts, and Jack rolls his eyes and wades in after him.
The Doctor can find trouble by spinning in a circle and pointing at random, but that's never been enough for him. No, he has to throw himself right in and chase it.
My life never used to be this hard, Jack thinks wearily, and then remembers with a flutter of bittersweet longing just what mischief his Torchwood team got into.
For a second, he can almost see Ianto standing behind him, shaking his head in exasperated fondness as he watches Jack go. It’s…maybe not quite as painful as it used to be, and that makes all the difference in the world, as far as Jack's concerned.
He even manages to laugh when he finds that the Doctor’s gotten himself hung up in someone’s clothesline.
*.~.*.~.*
Hart’s plan, such as it is, goes very much like Ianto’s was supposed to-except for the fact that, in Hart’s case, it actually works.
Ianto is entirely unsurprised when the ex-Time Agent bursts out of the darkness between two houses, taking all three guards unawares. Two shots, muffled by a silencer, and a single sword-stroke put the trio down permanently, and then Hart seizes Ianto’s arm and drags him back into the shadows.
“You do get yourself into the most interesting trouble, Eye Candy,” he mutters, throwing open a concealed door and clattering down a flight of steps. Ianto staggers alongside, grateful that Hart is more dragging than escorting him, as he’s all but unable to walk by himself. The sedative is starting to wear off, thankfully-especially with the current double-time beat of his heart-but there's still enough left that anything more than breathing and blinking taxes him.
“The Steward,” he manages to get out as Hart guides him down onto a rickety cot in a sandstone basement. “This is his city. He’ll-”
“That piece of work?” Hart asks, wrinkling his nose. “I’ve heard of him and what he can do. Quite a few smugglers on these planets, actually-this is one of their bases, and they've rigged up something to keep him out. Now sit there and just look pretty while I get the field up, Eye Candy, or we’ll be in for an unpleasant surprise.”
The drugs might be fading from his blood, but they're still clearly present and the adrenaline rush of escape is fading. Ianto lets his eyes fall closed, drifting as he tries to piece things together. Hart is here. Hart’s rescued him from the guards and the Steward and he seems to be doing it for no profit that Ianto can see. Out of all the Gates in the city, he came through Ianto’s, as though the ex-Time Agent knew exactly where to find him, and Hart also seems to know this planet’s smugglers well enough to-
A tingling rush spreads over Ianto’s skin and the streamers of quintessence are suddenly gone from the room, breaking into dull dust mites and swirling away. Ianto jerks upright, all drowsiness instantly gone, only to have Hart push him right back down.
“Easy!” Hart chides, frowning at him. “It’ll be a laugh for you to crack your skull moving too fast after I've gone to all this trouble to rescue you. I had to recalibrate my Vortex Manipulator three times before I could lock in on your signature.”
“Why do it, then?” Ianto demands, though he lets Hart reposition him on the cot.
Hart snorts at him as though he’s asked a particularly stupid question, but answers, “Because Jack's a wreck right now, nothing like he was even when he was on Earth. I've seen him be a lot of people, Eye Candy, and I don't like this one at all.” Then his sharp, wicked grim makes a reappearance, and he adds cockily, “Besides, the odds are in my favor with this one, aren’t they? If things get too hot, I just toss you back to the guards and teleport out of here before they can pin it on me. And if I do rescue you, Jack’ll owe me for the next century. Low risk and high payoff, gorgeous-it’s my favorite kind of play.”
It actually reassures Ianto, at least a bit, to know that Hart has ulterior motives for this. In everything, even when Jack's involved, Hart’s first priority has always been his own skin, and that's as reliable as John Hart will ever be.
In this case, Ianto thinks, it’s enough.
It’s more than enough.
He offers Hart a tired smile, and murmurs, “Much obliged, then, Captain.”
*.~.*.~.*
“Oh, look, the door’s locked. Let’s come back later,” Jack whispers a little desperately. He’s crouched with the Doctor behind a clump of worryingly leafless bushes, off to one side of the huge steel doors secured with equally worryingly large padlocks. Whatever’s behind there, they obviously don't want it-or them-getting out.
“Nonsense!” the Doctor cries-albeit quietly. He’s got at least a bit of sense, despite all appearances to the contrary. “One must seize chances as they come! This will be the perfect opportunity to look around. You've become dull in your old age, Jack! Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Dead with Ianto, Jack wants to say, remembering his headlong, fearless rush straight into Thames House-and straight to Ianto’s death. And that still aches, most definitely. It aches like his heart torn out and left to bleed upon the ground. It will never not, Jack suspects, in a thousand years or a million. At least he’ll be able to keep that promise to Ianto, if he couldn't do anything else to ease those final, agonizing moments.
But the Doctor is still looking at him expectantly, a child’s love of mischief and adventure incarnated in the body of an ancient alien, so Jack just rolls his eyes, manages a quick grin-because he does love this kind of thing, even now-and nods.
The Doctor pulls out his sonic screwdriver, grinning like a madman, and Jack braces himself for a wild night.
*.~.*.~.*
The halls inside the palace are just as white and perfect as the exterior, gilded with gold and edged with silver, light and airy in a way that only manages to emphasize the air of heavy, resigned sorrow that hangs over them.
All of the doors along the corridors are tightly locked.
“Names,” the Doctor murmurs, running his fingers over a plaque on one door. “These are bedrooms, maybe?”
“Not this one,” Jack offers, pausing before an unmarked door. He reaches out to try the handle, only to freeze in place as a quick snatch of song drifts up.
It’s not a song that anyone here should know. It’s not a language that anyone here should know.
Before he can even think of it, Jack has the door open and is inside the room, eyes darting and searching for-for what? What does he think is going to be in here, on this planet a thousand years and countless miles from Earth? But somehow, even though Jack can't logically expect anything, it still feels like that first loss all over again when there is no tall, slender Welshman seated by the wide window.
Instead, an alien woman with a cat’s eyes, silver skin, and a long seal-brown braid raises her head to regard him narrowly, crimson gaze wary but not panicked. She hesitates for a long moment, then says evenly, “You're…not guards.”
“No,” the Doctor agrees cheerfully, leaning over Jack's shoulder. “I’d have to say we’re not. Who might you be?”
She straightens in her seat, folding her hands in her lap and nodding once in greeting. “Sekheme, former chieftain of the planet Dale. Who are you?”
“A tourist.” The Doctor smiles at her. “Can you-”
“How do you know that song?” Jack cuts in, because there's no reason that she should. He knows Dale, knows it's so far distant from Earth that even in his time there was little to no contact between the worlds. For her to be singing in Welsh right now, centuries too early-there has to be some explanation other than the one his heart immediately leaps to.
“Llwyn Onn?” she asks in clear surprise, and it’s a bit annoying that she can pronounce it better than Jack was able to, even after so many years in Wales. “One of the other Gatekeepers taught it to me. The language is very much like my own.”
Jack isn’t familiar with the Gatekeepers-even with all his time traveling, he’s never heard of them. To think that Ianto is one-it’s pure foolishness, and it stabs into him like a knife. Letting out a long, slow breath, he slumps back against the wall and rubs his hands over his face. “Sorry,” he manages when the Doctor looks at him worriedly. “Ianto always used to sing that, when he was cleaning the Hub. I just…”
“Oh, you know Ianto? Did you come to find him?”
Jack's heart freezes mid-beat in his chest, shocked to stillness as he slowly lifts his head to stare at the woman. She offers him a confused smile, and adds, “You might be too late. He escaped the guards earlier, and no one’s seen him since. Even the Steward can't find him.”
But Jack isn’t listening, because every bit of his broken world has just glued itself haphazardly together once more, and it’s staggering.
*.~.*.~.*
Hart leaves Eye Candy-Ianto, his name’s Ianto-asleep in the base and heads out into the streets as the sun comes up. He’s restless, wary of small noises, even though he’s done this kind of thing a thousand times before. Admittedly, the stakes have never been quite this high, but that just makes it a challenge.
Ever since the collapse of the Time Agency, there's been a distinct lack of those in Hart’s life.
A woman on the corner smiles at John as she ties a rainbow scarf over her long hair, and he nods back, tipping his head and giving her a lazy salute. Her partner, another woman dressed in red and blue, slides out of the building behind her and heads back the way Hart’s just come, humming softly to herself. John lets himself relax a bit; they're smugglers, and damn good ones, so Eye Candy will be safe for now.
Which means that he’s got free rein to check out this place and get the lay of the land. John sets a hand on his sword, rubbing the hilt thoughtfully. Whoever’s in charge will likely be looking for Ianto; he’s a valuable resource, and the Steward’s already put time and effort into pulling him out of death and dropping him here.
If something’s happening or a search party is going out, someone in the palace will likely know. Servants tend to know everything, even-or perhaps especially-the things they're not supposed to. John rocks back on his heels, trying to contain his grin at the thought of some of the maids he met yesterday.
This could be good. Very good, if he’s lucky.
Of course, John's never been overly lucky-or lucky at all, some would say-and he’s a hundred meters from the pretentiously marble palace when something inside of it explodes.
John pauses, frowning.
The servants’ door he was heading for suddenly flies open, releasing a billow of thick, greasy smoke, and three figures come tumbling out. One is tall and skinny, with a shock of dark hair and a bowtie, and the other is a Dalen woman with silver skin, dressed in the same white robes Eye Candy was wearing before. The third is-
“John?” Jack manages, stunned.
“Well, that's one way of doing it,” John mutters to himself, then turns on his heel and darts back into the maze of streets.
Behind him, Jack gives chase with a cry, the others following him, and John allows himself a grin as he slows just enough to stay in Jack's line of sight without risking capture.
Jack's always been somewhat easily led, but this time it works to John's advantage.
*.~.*.~.*
The Doctor has no idea why they're chasing this man, except that Jack knows him and he’s running away-which, admittedly, is usually reason enough to chase someone.
Running away is never a good sign.
Sekheme grabs his elbow as they sprint after Jack, jerking her head to the right. “I saw a Dalen ship land in the spaceport,” she says. “Thank you for getting me out, Doctor, but I’ll take my leave now.”
“My pleasure,” the Doctor returns, watching as she rounds a corner and then darts down another street, moving like a big cat.
When he turns back, Jack and the other man are nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, come on,” the Doctor mutters, dropping to a halt in the road. “That's entirely unfair, Jack.”
*.~.*.~.*
Ianto opens his eyes slowly, expecting marble ceilings and gilt, only to find dark corners, cobwebs, and sandstone instead.
He’s fairly certain that he’s never seen a more beautiful sight in all his days.
His head is entirely clear for the first time in weeks, and the world is steady around him. There's no quintessence, which is an itch of oddness between his shoulder blades, but no quintessence means nothing for the Steward to use to find him, and it’s a sacrifice Ianto is more than willing to make.
Footsteps on the stairs make him sit up, and it’s a wonder that he can after so long entirely reliant on other others for his balance. He’s just sliding out from under several thick quilts when a young woman in red and blue-a native, judging by her long golden hair and her height-clatters into the basement room and stumbles to a halt, offering him a brilliant smile.
“Gatekeeper,” she acknowledges, bowing her head to him, but there's no awe in her eyes, none of the worship he would normally see. He returns the greeting, a little startled, but she just smiles again and heads for the computer terminal in the corner. A red light is blinking, and she surveys it with clear satisfaction.
“The field is holding,” she informs Ianto. “It takes a certain frequency to keep the Steward out, but I think we’ve got it with this one.”
Ianto thinks about the humming rush that filled the room a moment before the quintessence faded, and nods. “You do,” he agrees. “No Gatekeeper will ever find you here.”
Her glance at him is sly and pleased, but before she can respond, the rapid thud of hurried feet on the stairs makes them both look up.
John Hart bursts into the room at a flat run. He hooks a hand through the native woman’s arm, hauls her to her feet, and says, “Darling, I think you promised me a romp with you and your pretty partner. Let’s take advantage of this break, what do you say?” In less than a second, he’s dragged her through a small door in the wall, and someone else is pounding down the stairs.
Ianto forces himself to his feet as the noise approaches. Even if Hart has abandoned him-though somehow that doesn't feel like the right assumption, and Ianto’s learned to trust his gut-Ianto isn’t going to let anyone take him anywhere without a fight. Especially not back to-
But the man who shoots into the basement is not a guard dressed all in black. Nor is he the Steward in his pale grey robes. This man wears a RAF greatcoat and WWII clodhoppers, and his windblown hair is sandy brown. He staggers to s stop in the middle of the room, blue eyes going wide, and Ianto reaches back to brace himself against the wall.
For an endless, infinite moment, neither one of them speaks.
Then…
“Jack,” Ianto whispers, and it breaks the spell.
Jack is across the room in an instant, arms around Ianto in a grip so tight it’s like he’s trying to meld them into one body, but Ianto doesn't care, can't care, because Jack is warm against him and his hands are big and careful. His breath is hot against Ianto’s cheek and when their lips finally meet, the kiss is a thousand shades of desperation and longing bound up with threads of grief and joy. Ianto is whispering Jack's name whenever he has the breath, and Jack is chanting something, low and frantic, that Ianto has wanted to hear since their first encounter with Abaddon.
“I love you, Ianto,” Jack breathes again. “I'm sorry, I love you,” and Ianto kisses him silent and tumbles them both back onto the bed.
They've got forever to say it now, and that will be nearly long enough.
*.~.*.~.*
From the other side of the door in the wall, Hart grins at both of them, murmurs, “I’ll collect on that debt later, Jackie,” and loops an arm around the smuggler woman. “Shall we go?” he asks gallantly, and she laughs at him for it, but leads him away regardless.
There's definitely a threesome in his future.
*.~.*.~.*
“Find him,” the Steward orders, eyeing the captain of the guard narrowly. “He’s one drugged Gatekeeper, I'm sure it won't be that difficult for your officers. I need my second, Captain, and Ianto Jones is the only one who will do.”
There's a sharp clang off to the side and a man in a rumpled suit stumbles into the Way, bowtie askew. “Ah. Yes. Blimey. Sorry! Oh! It’s you,” he says after a moment, and the Steward entirely misses the faint narrowing of his eyes. “I’d say it’s good to meet the person in charge, but authority figures always seem to have a problem with me for some reason. Have I mentioned that now might be a fantastic time to start investing in space travel and interplanetary ferries, or maybe setting up a guild?”
*.~.*.~.*
(Jack and Ianto, of course, are entirely unaware of any of this.
Perhaps it’s better that way.)
FIN
The dreams are also different now. Rather than Jack, or these bright planets, Ianto sees Gwen cradling an infant close, her face glowing as she looks down at her daughter. Rhys stands beside her, one arm around her shoulders, and his smile is bright enough to be blinding. Ianto looks at them and feels an ache in his chest that before he usually associated with Lisa’s death. Loss, he thinks, and it’s a surprise, because he’s always been fairly ambivalent about Gwen, if only for the amount of grief she’s given Jack since she found Torchwood.
But this…this is an acknowledgement that she’s important, that she is-in her own way-precious to him. Ianto isn’t used to having people like that. He’s always kept himself at a distance from everyone, only letting people in when they broke through his walls by force, as Lisa and Jack had eventually done. While Gwen had been a teammate, a friend, someone to rely on, she hadn’t been like Jack, or even Tosh. He would have hesitated before doing something like head-butting a cannibal for her, and while he might have done it anyway in the end, the hesitation would have said it all.
There would be no hesitation now, though, if he were given the chance.
The dream shifts, Gwen and Rhys fading away to be replaced by someone who is most definitely not precious to Ianto. John Hart is sprawled out in a bed approximately the size of Luxembourg, tangled together with limbs and bodies and what look rather like fluorescent orange tentacles. He’s fast asleep, as are his companions, which Ianto can only count as some heaven-sent respite.
It’s been a long time since Ianto last saw Hart, and his feeling are most certainly mixed. Resentment, gratitude, anger, and jealousy are all twisted together into a snarled knot of confusion, but one emotion in particular is struggling to the surface. Ianto takes a breath, steps forward, and manages to find Hart’s shoulder in the mess of bodies. He rests his hand there, and somehow it's no surprise at all when Hart’s eyes flutter open.
Predictably, the first reaction Ianto gets is a lascivious grin. Hart rolls over, hands already reaching as a murmur of, “Ready for another round already, sweetheart?” drips from his swollen lips. Whatever his next words might be, though, they die unspoken as his gaze settles on Ianto. His eyes open wide, and he jerks upright with a sharp breath. “Eye Candy?” he demands.
“Captain,” Ianto returns, stepping back and out of range-of what he isn’t certain, but with John Hart it’s best to be prepared. “You're looking…well.”
“Bloody hell,” Hart mutters, sliding over to the edge of the mattress. He drops his head, scrubs his hands over his face. “Bloody hell, Eye Candy, where the hell have you been? Jack's just about gone ‘round the bend because of you.”
That, in a nutshell, is why Ianto can never truly hate John Hart, regardless of what he’s done. His feelings for Jack are real, strong, and always at the fore-much like Ianto’s own.
He manages a small smile for the former Time Agent. “I've been…indisposed,” he allows.
Hart knows very well what he’s implying. His eyes narrow and he surveys Ianto for a long moment before flicking a glance at the red coat and sheathed Korean sword lying close at hand. Ianto can all but see the internal debate raging.
“It’s all right,” he says at length, when Hart still hasn't spoken. “Things could be much, much worse, I'm sure. And they can't exactly kill me anymore.”
That brings Hart’s sharp gaze back to him, eyebrows rising. He puts his feet flat on the floor and leans back, starting to grin. “You're like Jack now, Eye Candy? That…opens up a lot of possibilities.”
Ianto snorts at him, even as he feels the dream beginning to dissolve around him. There's a voice far away, not quite a growl but more than a purr, and it’s calling him back. “Sorry, Captain,” he offers dryly. “Although I appreciate the offer, of course, I think I’ll have to pass.”
“Shame.” Hart grins openly at him, blue-grey eyes bright with devilish mischief. He raises his arm, fingers tapping over his wristband in a motion Ianto has seen Jack do a thousand times, and adds, “So you know, that’s an open offer, Eye Candy. You can take me up on it whenever you’d like.”
Then the room is gone, the captain is gone, and all Ianto can see is an ivory ceiling dimmed by a haze of sedatives, Sekheme murmuring desperately at his side.
*.~.*.~.*
The Doctor tries once more before resorting to underhanded tactics.
“So, Jack, this Ianto-”
“Doctor-”
“All right, all right! But you're looking stressed-how about a vacation?”
“Doctor…”
“I know this great little pair of planets with the most amazing views. You’ll love it! What do you say?”
*.~.*.~.*
Ianto can still open Gates, because the quintessence is just about all he knows now. They're good Gates, strong and steady, and they never waver like those of some Gatekeepers kept sedated. All he has to do is close his eyes, lock his knees, and feel and the quintessence bursts to life around him, stronger than ever and barely kept in check as he cuts open the boundaries of space and links two disparate places together with a single, simple thought.
The people still come and go, awed and never looking straight at him, and the guards-three of them now, rather than two-stand firm and foreboding at his back. Each day is exactly the same as the one before, differing only in his dreams of times and places and people far from here. He's never seen Jack or Gwen again, nor any of the old Torchwood. In fact, it's rare that he sees Earth at all, and while it’s a bit sad-because Earth is his home, always has been and doubtless always will be-it’s also a relief. The ache of loss is ever-present, but at least like this he can turn his face from it, push it to the back of his mind.
Like this, nothing will ever, ever change.
And then a figure in the red jacket of a Napoleonic hussar strides through the Gate, one hand on the hilt of his snakeskin sword, the other hooked into his gun belt. He glances left, glances right, and when his gaze alights on Ianto, he winks cheerfully and offers up a wicked smile.
The guard behind Ianto tenses and takes a half step forward, but Captain John Hart is already moving away. His leather boots clack sharply against the bricks as he disappears into the surrounding streets, whistling a jaunty tune.
Even through the haze of apathy and bone-deep weariness that the drug brings, Ianto watches him go and feels his heart lightening for the first time since he woke up in this world.
*.~.*.~.*
There are people laughing in the distance and the city smells of incense and sunlight and infectious joy. Jack and the Doctor stand just outside the TARDIS and breathe it in, wide-eyed at the smiles they receive from the people passing by. No one approaches, but no one seems to care, either.
Since the last time they landed in the middle of a city they got chased out by an angry mob with honest-to-goodness torches, this is a vast improvement-if a bit unsettling.
“Well, Jack!” The Doctor rubs his hands together cheerfully. “How about some sightseeing?” He casts his gaze around, spinning in a circle until his eyes land on a tall structure, gleaming white and gold in the twilight, which rises above the surrounding buildings with a stately air. “Aha! There! Let’s go!” Before Jack has the opportunity to protest, the Doctor dives headlong into the crowd, pushing his way through the throng.
Jack stares after him for a moment, mystified that he’s actually picked a target, rather than simply gone wandering. But then something breaks, a person shouts, and Jack rolls his eyes and wades in after him.
The Doctor can find trouble by spinning in a circle and pointing at random, but that's never been enough for him. No, he has to throw himself right in and chase it.
My life never used to be this hard, Jack thinks wearily, and then remembers with a flutter of bittersweet longing just what mischief his Torchwood team got into.
For a second, he can almost see Ianto standing behind him, shaking his head in exasperated fondness as he watches Jack go. It’s…maybe not quite as painful as it used to be, and that makes all the difference in the world, as far as Jack's concerned.
He even manages to laugh when he finds that the Doctor’s gotten himself hung up in someone’s clothesline.
*.~.*.~.*
Hart’s plan, such as it is, goes very much like Ianto’s was supposed to-except for the fact that, in Hart’s case, it actually works.
Ianto is entirely unsurprised when the ex-Time Agent bursts out of the darkness between two houses, taking all three guards unawares. Two shots, muffled by a silencer, and a single sword-stroke put the trio down permanently, and then Hart seizes Ianto’s arm and drags him back into the shadows.
“You do get yourself into the most interesting trouble, Eye Candy,” he mutters, throwing open a concealed door and clattering down a flight of steps. Ianto staggers alongside, grateful that Hart is more dragging than escorting him, as he’s all but unable to walk by himself. The sedative is starting to wear off, thankfully-especially with the current double-time beat of his heart-but there's still enough left that anything more than breathing and blinking taxes him.
“The Steward,” he manages to get out as Hart guides him down onto a rickety cot in a sandstone basement. “This is his city. He’ll-”
“That piece of work?” Hart asks, wrinkling his nose. “I’ve heard of him and what he can do. Quite a few smugglers on these planets, actually-this is one of their bases, and they've rigged up something to keep him out. Now sit there and just look pretty while I get the field up, Eye Candy, or we’ll be in for an unpleasant surprise.”
The drugs might be fading from his blood, but they're still clearly present and the adrenaline rush of escape is fading. Ianto lets his eyes fall closed, drifting as he tries to piece things together. Hart is here. Hart’s rescued him from the guards and the Steward and he seems to be doing it for no profit that Ianto can see. Out of all the Gates in the city, he came through Ianto’s, as though the ex-Time Agent knew exactly where to find him, and Hart also seems to know this planet’s smugglers well enough to-
A tingling rush spreads over Ianto’s skin and the streamers of quintessence are suddenly gone from the room, breaking into dull dust mites and swirling away. Ianto jerks upright, all drowsiness instantly gone, only to have Hart push him right back down.
“Easy!” Hart chides, frowning at him. “It’ll be a laugh for you to crack your skull moving too fast after I've gone to all this trouble to rescue you. I had to recalibrate my Vortex Manipulator three times before I could lock in on your signature.”
“Why do it, then?” Ianto demands, though he lets Hart reposition him on the cot.
Hart snorts at him as though he’s asked a particularly stupid question, but answers, “Because Jack's a wreck right now, nothing like he was even when he was on Earth. I've seen him be a lot of people, Eye Candy, and I don't like this one at all.” Then his sharp, wicked grim makes a reappearance, and he adds cockily, “Besides, the odds are in my favor with this one, aren’t they? If things get too hot, I just toss you back to the guards and teleport out of here before they can pin it on me. And if I do rescue you, Jack’ll owe me for the next century. Low risk and high payoff, gorgeous-it’s my favorite kind of play.”
It actually reassures Ianto, at least a bit, to know that Hart has ulterior motives for this. In everything, even when Jack's involved, Hart’s first priority has always been his own skin, and that's as reliable as John Hart will ever be.
In this case, Ianto thinks, it’s enough.
It’s more than enough.
He offers Hart a tired smile, and murmurs, “Much obliged, then, Captain.”
*.~.*.~.*
“Oh, look, the door’s locked. Let’s come back later,” Jack whispers a little desperately. He’s crouched with the Doctor behind a clump of worryingly leafless bushes, off to one side of the huge steel doors secured with equally worryingly large padlocks. Whatever’s behind there, they obviously don't want it-or them-getting out.
“Nonsense!” the Doctor cries-albeit quietly. He’s got at least a bit of sense, despite all appearances to the contrary. “One must seize chances as they come! This will be the perfect opportunity to look around. You've become dull in your old age, Jack! Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Dead with Ianto, Jack wants to say, remembering his headlong, fearless rush straight into Thames House-and straight to Ianto’s death. And that still aches, most definitely. It aches like his heart torn out and left to bleed upon the ground. It will never not, Jack suspects, in a thousand years or a million. At least he’ll be able to keep that promise to Ianto, if he couldn't do anything else to ease those final, agonizing moments.
But the Doctor is still looking at him expectantly, a child’s love of mischief and adventure incarnated in the body of an ancient alien, so Jack just rolls his eyes, manages a quick grin-because he does love this kind of thing, even now-and nods.
The Doctor pulls out his sonic screwdriver, grinning like a madman, and Jack braces himself for a wild night.
*.~.*.~.*
The halls inside the palace are just as white and perfect as the exterior, gilded with gold and edged with silver, light and airy in a way that only manages to emphasize the air of heavy, resigned sorrow that hangs over them.
All of the doors along the corridors are tightly locked.
“Names,” the Doctor murmurs, running his fingers over a plaque on one door. “These are bedrooms, maybe?”
“Not this one,” Jack offers, pausing before an unmarked door. He reaches out to try the handle, only to freeze in place as a quick snatch of song drifts up.
It’s not a song that anyone here should know. It’s not a language that anyone here should know.
Before he can even think of it, Jack has the door open and is inside the room, eyes darting and searching for-for what? What does he think is going to be in here, on this planet a thousand years and countless miles from Earth? But somehow, even though Jack can't logically expect anything, it still feels like that first loss all over again when there is no tall, slender Welshman seated by the wide window.
Instead, an alien woman with a cat’s eyes, silver skin, and a long seal-brown braid raises her head to regard him narrowly, crimson gaze wary but not panicked. She hesitates for a long moment, then says evenly, “You're…not guards.”
“No,” the Doctor agrees cheerfully, leaning over Jack's shoulder. “I’d have to say we’re not. Who might you be?”
She straightens in her seat, folding her hands in her lap and nodding once in greeting. “Sekheme, former chieftain of the planet Dale. Who are you?”
“A tourist.” The Doctor smiles at her. “Can you-”
“How do you know that song?” Jack cuts in, because there's no reason that she should. He knows Dale, knows it's so far distant from Earth that even in his time there was little to no contact between the worlds. For her to be singing in Welsh right now, centuries too early-there has to be some explanation other than the one his heart immediately leaps to.
“Llwyn Onn?” she asks in clear surprise, and it’s a bit annoying that she can pronounce it better than Jack was able to, even after so many years in Wales. “One of the other Gatekeepers taught it to me. The language is very much like my own.”
Jack isn’t familiar with the Gatekeepers-even with all his time traveling, he’s never heard of them. To think that Ianto is one-it’s pure foolishness, and it stabs into him like a knife. Letting out a long, slow breath, he slumps back against the wall and rubs his hands over his face. “Sorry,” he manages when the Doctor looks at him worriedly. “Ianto always used to sing that, when he was cleaning the Hub. I just…”
“Oh, you know Ianto? Did you come to find him?”
Jack's heart freezes mid-beat in his chest, shocked to stillness as he slowly lifts his head to stare at the woman. She offers him a confused smile, and adds, “You might be too late. He escaped the guards earlier, and no one’s seen him since. Even the Steward can't find him.”
But Jack isn’t listening, because every bit of his broken world has just glued itself haphazardly together once more, and it’s staggering.
*.~.*.~.*
Hart leaves Eye Candy-Ianto, his name’s Ianto-asleep in the base and heads out into the streets as the sun comes up. He’s restless, wary of small noises, even though he’s done this kind of thing a thousand times before. Admittedly, the stakes have never been quite this high, but that just makes it a challenge.
Ever since the collapse of the Time Agency, there's been a distinct lack of those in Hart’s life.
A woman on the corner smiles at John as she ties a rainbow scarf over her long hair, and he nods back, tipping his head and giving her a lazy salute. Her partner, another woman dressed in red and blue, slides out of the building behind her and heads back the way Hart’s just come, humming softly to herself. John lets himself relax a bit; they're smugglers, and damn good ones, so Eye Candy will be safe for now.
Which means that he’s got free rein to check out this place and get the lay of the land. John sets a hand on his sword, rubbing the hilt thoughtfully. Whoever’s in charge will likely be looking for Ianto; he’s a valuable resource, and the Steward’s already put time and effort into pulling him out of death and dropping him here.
If something’s happening or a search party is going out, someone in the palace will likely know. Servants tend to know everything, even-or perhaps especially-the things they're not supposed to. John rocks back on his heels, trying to contain his grin at the thought of some of the maids he met yesterday.
This could be good. Very good, if he’s lucky.
Of course, John's never been overly lucky-or lucky at all, some would say-and he’s a hundred meters from the pretentiously marble palace when something inside of it explodes.
John pauses, frowning.
The servants’ door he was heading for suddenly flies open, releasing a billow of thick, greasy smoke, and three figures come tumbling out. One is tall and skinny, with a shock of dark hair and a bowtie, and the other is a Dalen woman with silver skin, dressed in the same white robes Eye Candy was wearing before. The third is-
“John?” Jack manages, stunned.
“Well, that's one way of doing it,” John mutters to himself, then turns on his heel and darts back into the maze of streets.
Behind him, Jack gives chase with a cry, the others following him, and John allows himself a grin as he slows just enough to stay in Jack's line of sight without risking capture.
Jack's always been somewhat easily led, but this time it works to John's advantage.
*.~.*.~.*
The Doctor has no idea why they're chasing this man, except that Jack knows him and he’s running away-which, admittedly, is usually reason enough to chase someone.
Running away is never a good sign.
Sekheme grabs his elbow as they sprint after Jack, jerking her head to the right. “I saw a Dalen ship land in the spaceport,” she says. “Thank you for getting me out, Doctor, but I’ll take my leave now.”
“My pleasure,” the Doctor returns, watching as she rounds a corner and then darts down another street, moving like a big cat.
When he turns back, Jack and the other man are nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, come on,” the Doctor mutters, dropping to a halt in the road. “That's entirely unfair, Jack.”
*.~.*.~.*
Ianto opens his eyes slowly, expecting marble ceilings and gilt, only to find dark corners, cobwebs, and sandstone instead.
He’s fairly certain that he’s never seen a more beautiful sight in all his days.
His head is entirely clear for the first time in weeks, and the world is steady around him. There's no quintessence, which is an itch of oddness between his shoulder blades, but no quintessence means nothing for the Steward to use to find him, and it’s a sacrifice Ianto is more than willing to make.
Footsteps on the stairs make him sit up, and it’s a wonder that he can after so long entirely reliant on other others for his balance. He’s just sliding out from under several thick quilts when a young woman in red and blue-a native, judging by her long golden hair and her height-clatters into the basement room and stumbles to a halt, offering him a brilliant smile.
“Gatekeeper,” she acknowledges, bowing her head to him, but there's no awe in her eyes, none of the worship he would normally see. He returns the greeting, a little startled, but she just smiles again and heads for the computer terminal in the corner. A red light is blinking, and she surveys it with clear satisfaction.
“The field is holding,” she informs Ianto. “It takes a certain frequency to keep the Steward out, but I think we’ve got it with this one.”
Ianto thinks about the humming rush that filled the room a moment before the quintessence faded, and nods. “You do,” he agrees. “No Gatekeeper will ever find you here.”
Her glance at him is sly and pleased, but before she can respond, the rapid thud of hurried feet on the stairs makes them both look up.
John Hart bursts into the room at a flat run. He hooks a hand through the native woman’s arm, hauls her to her feet, and says, “Darling, I think you promised me a romp with you and your pretty partner. Let’s take advantage of this break, what do you say?” In less than a second, he’s dragged her through a small door in the wall, and someone else is pounding down the stairs.
Ianto forces himself to his feet as the noise approaches. Even if Hart has abandoned him-though somehow that doesn't feel like the right assumption, and Ianto’s learned to trust his gut-Ianto isn’t going to let anyone take him anywhere without a fight. Especially not back to-
But the man who shoots into the basement is not a guard dressed all in black. Nor is he the Steward in his pale grey robes. This man wears a RAF greatcoat and WWII clodhoppers, and his windblown hair is sandy brown. He staggers to s stop in the middle of the room, blue eyes going wide, and Ianto reaches back to brace himself against the wall.
For an endless, infinite moment, neither one of them speaks.
Then…
“Jack,” Ianto whispers, and it breaks the spell.
Jack is across the room in an instant, arms around Ianto in a grip so tight it’s like he’s trying to meld them into one body, but Ianto doesn't care, can't care, because Jack is warm against him and his hands are big and careful. His breath is hot against Ianto’s cheek and when their lips finally meet, the kiss is a thousand shades of desperation and longing bound up with threads of grief and joy. Ianto is whispering Jack's name whenever he has the breath, and Jack is chanting something, low and frantic, that Ianto has wanted to hear since their first encounter with Abaddon.
“I love you, Ianto,” Jack breathes again. “I'm sorry, I love you,” and Ianto kisses him silent and tumbles them both back onto the bed.
They've got forever to say it now, and that will be nearly long enough.
*.~.*.~.*
From the other side of the door in the wall, Hart grins at both of them, murmurs, “I’ll collect on that debt later, Jackie,” and loops an arm around the smuggler woman. “Shall we go?” he asks gallantly, and she laughs at him for it, but leads him away regardless.
There's definitely a threesome in his future.
*.~.*.~.*
“Find him,” the Steward orders, eyeing the captain of the guard narrowly. “He’s one drugged Gatekeeper, I'm sure it won't be that difficult for your officers. I need my second, Captain, and Ianto Jones is the only one who will do.”
There's a sharp clang off to the side and a man in a rumpled suit stumbles into the Way, bowtie askew. “Ah. Yes. Blimey. Sorry! Oh! It’s you,” he says after a moment, and the Steward entirely misses the faint narrowing of his eyes. “I’d say it’s good to meet the person in charge, but authority figures always seem to have a problem with me for some reason. Have I mentioned that now might be a fantastic time to start investing in space travel and interplanetary ferries, or maybe setting up a guild?”
*.~.*.~.*
(Jack and Ianto, of course, are entirely unaware of any of this.
Perhaps it’s better that way.)
FIN