Behind Blue Eyes - chapter 9 / 9
Title Behind Blue Eyes
Topic Torchwood
Characters Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper, Rhys Williams, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Suzie Costello, Tenth Doctor, John Hart, Andy Davidson, Mickey Smith, mentions Rose Tyler, Martha Jones, other small-characters
Pairings Jack/Ianto, Jack/John, Doctor/Rose, Gwen/Rhys
Genre AU, thriller, horror, romance, angst
Rating T
Beta jooles34
Summary Ianto Jones lives a very meticulous life. He has a schedule for everything he does - breakfast, work, personal time, love life, and his murder of the month. But when something goes wrong and one of his victims becomes the Cardiff police's latest case, will he be able to keep his personal life a secret? Not if Jack Harkness, consultant to the police and boyfriend of Ianto Jones, has anything to say about it.
Spoilers None
Author's Note This is it. The End. Wow - never ever thought it would end so soon! Oh my, this means that I move into my dorm in two days. Well - I absolutely had a huge blast writing this, and I really hope that all of you loved reading it just as much. There will be a oneshot that I am working on, set before both installations of this series which follows Jack and dives more into his relationship with John, and how me came to meet Mr. Ianto Jones. Before you ask if I'm going to be doing a sequel, I shall answer. I don't know. It rests upon whether or not I am going to have enough time during the school year to write it. Unlike last year, I am actually going to have to work to maintain my grades - and work hard, if talking to alumni has been accurate, which I believe it is. I am going to try very hard, however, to make time for my writing. ^_^ Special thanks once again to laisy for my amazing banner, and jooles34 as my wonderful beta. And now, I present to you the final chapter. Enjoy!
Master List
Previous Chapter
She pulled the cop car onto the mud in front of the warehouse and jumped out, the key still in the ignition and the engine still running - she didn’t care. The others were following her close behind, but not close enough. They weren’t on her heels - a few feet back. Following her, but not joining her. She felt like she was all alone in these few seconds, everything oh so very loud and distracting. The way her hair whipped angrily in her face as she ran. The sound of her boots as they squelched in the mud, then cracked on the gravel and small rocks underfoot. The rustling of clothes as the too few police officers advanced behind her. The loudest sound of them all was her heart, pounding in her chest.
She saw the two cars out of the corner of her eye as she ran. She recognized them both instantly - John Hart’s beat-up old car, the red paint peeling, the shiniest piece of metal being the GPS tracker hidden under the car. Then there was Ianto’s, dark blue paint without a chip in sight, sparkling with perfection under the moonlight. The sight brought a shot of fear, and with it adrenaline. But it wasn’t fear for herself that drove her.
Gwen’s hand was already on the butt of her gun as she approached the door, drawing the deadly piece of metal as she burst through the door. Her arms outstretched, her finger gently ghosting over the trigger, ready to shoot.
Then everything fell quiet.
The noises that had assaulted her were suddenly silenced - not because they stopped, but because the sight in front of her was enough to block everything from her mind. Time seemed to slow down around her. Her breaths became long and shallow, her eyelids felt heavy as she blinked, her legs like lead. Only her trigger finger remained light and agile.
John Hart stood in front of her, only a few yards away. His gun was trailed on someone who was sitting in a metal chair. Gwen’s heart skipped a beat - it was Ianto. Her mind didn’t see the blood dripping from John’s chin, or the almost smug look that showed on Ianto’s face. All her eyes were able to focus on was John’s trigger finger, as it slowly started to squeeze.
A shot rang out.
The loud bang of her weapon brought back all her senses, sounds filled the air and time rushed forward, hitting her like a brick wall. She stumbled back half a step as the rest of the police offers rushed past her, their guns out even though the target had been neutralized.
John Hart had been dead before he hit the ground.
Gwen stood still, unable to look away, unable to move. Her breath shaky as she stared at what she had done - the man she had killed. He lay there, on the cold concrete floor of this forsaken warehouse. Even from her distance, Gwen could see that his eyes were still open, glazed over. Blood was gushing from his temple where she had shot him. The bullet hole was on the side of his head, right behind his eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to imagine what the other side of his head looked like. The blood was pooling onto the floor, soaking John’s hair and skin, seeping into his clothing; the remainder of his life - a whisper of what he had been - draining onto the floor, warm and sticky. Leaking, not gushing. Gushing would have meant his heart was still beating.
Gwen felt sick. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. The scene in front of her was too familiar. For a moment she blinked, and it wasn’t John Hart lying on the floor anymore. It was Jack. Her Jack; his entire right side covered with his own blood, his screams echoing throughout the hollow room as his life slowly left him, seeping from the numerous shotgun pellet wounds that marred him. She had been frozen then too, unable to do anything but hold her partner in her red, sticky arms and rock him; holding him way too tight, whispering that everything was going to be ok, knowing that it wasn’t. It had been the only time that Gwen had ever frozen. Ever felt so helpless.
Until now.
She blinked, and John was once more the one lying on the floor, dead. She breathed, and this time when she blinked, her eyes turned hard. Gwen couldn’t fall apart now - she couldn’t fold inward. So she distanced her mind - forced herself to move, to walk, to talk. There was a radio in her hand. She didn’t remember reaching for it, but she knew she had. She brought it up to her numb lips, and called for an ambulance and a body bag. Her voice sounded strange, surreal, even though she knew it was her who was talking.
And then she was moving, past John’s cooling body. Past the police officers who were cordoning off the scene and protecting the corpse. One talked to her, his words slow and incomprehensible. She brushed him off and kept walking. Then she was standing next to Ianto, her hand reaching out to him. He flinched and she pulled back. Her voice was soothing as she spoke, coaxing him, trying to find out if he was hurt. Telling him it would be ok. She felt like she wasn’t inside her body anymore - like she was an invisible bystander who was watching a woman who looked like her and talked like her do her job. But Gwen couldn’t stop and think about that for too long, because it wasn’t her time to be weak. It was her time to get the job done.
The ambulance got there - Gwen didn’t know what had happened to the ten minutes between her calling it in and the crew arriving. She stood back and let the paramedics do their job, easing Ianto onto a stretcher and looking him over for injuries. Something was wrong with his knee - there were imprints of fingers around his throat. Gwen’s mind made the connection, but she stuffed it into the recesses of her brain. She couldn’t face that. Not yet.
She watched as Ianto acted as distant as she felt. She turned away and was assaulted by the sight of John’s body being carefully packed into a body bag, picked up and carried outside. She followed, rattling off instructions the whole time. Talking. Moving. Doing her job.
Ianto was sitting in the back of the ambulance now, the paramedics continuing their job of looking him over thoroughly, preventing him from going into shock. They spoke to him, their tones low and soothing.
John’s body was lowered onto the stretcher that Ianto had been on before. Gwen watched with detachment as the large black back was sat there. Nothing moved underneath. She wanted more than anything to find out that she was sleeping; her brain simply conjuring up her worst nightmare. She wanted to wake up and go into work and see Jack’s smile and hear Ianto’s quite conversations and feel pissed at John. Living, breathing, non-homicidal John. But Gwen knew. She knew she was never going to wake up.
Another car was pulling onto the warehouse property now. It was a large, black SUV that Gwen immediately recognized. She watched with despair as Jack climbed out, his eyes wide in the night. He half ran, half stumbled over to her, and Gwen found that she was reaching out, grabbing onto him. Stopping him. She was yelling at him to calm down. ‘Ianto’s all right’ she said, knowing that he needed to be in control when he approached him. She caught Ianto in the corner of her eye and turned her head slightly to get a better look. He was staring at Jack with a haunted look in his eyes, and she let her best friend go. He ran to Ianto, and they embraced. She watched as Ianto’s eyes closed, his hands gripping his partner’s coat pulling him closer. They stayed like that until the paramedics asked Jack to leave - to back away, to let go. They weren’t finished. The man wasn’t going to listen.
Gwen walked over, still not inside herself, still watching from the outside. She watched as her hand grasped Jack’s arm and tugged him away. She was prepared for a fight, but he didn’t give one. He released Ianto’s hand slowly, not wanting to let go. Not wanting to break the connection.
Then Jack looked at her, asking her a question. ‘John.’ he said. ‘Where’s John?’
Inside, Gwen screamed. She screamed and cried and cursed and bellowed. Outside though, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t say what had happened. Instead, her eyes flickered quickly to the black body bag. The lump of flesh that was lying so still, so frozen, on the stretcher.
Gwen Cooper watched as something inside Jack Harkness shattered.
He didn’t run to the body like he had with Ianto. Instead, he walked slowly, reluctantly. Like he didn’t want to face the truth of what was inside the black bag. He reached the stretcher and slowly - so painfully slowly - he reached out, and with shaking hands he pulled back the zipper, revealing what was inside.
Jack did something horrible then. Something that would have caused anyone else to have been immediately swarmed by police, restrained and most probably dragged into the back of a police car. But no-one advanced on him, no-one threatened him, no-one stopped him. Not even Gwen.
She watched as his hands disappeared into the bag as he wound his arms around the cold, dead flesh of his ex-lover. Jack pulled John’s body towards him, and buried his face in John’s hair, getting blood all over his clothes and skin. A sob wracked his frame, and Gwen watched as Jack’s legs gave way from under him.
In a surreal, almost slow-motion move, Jack sunk to the ground, pulling the body of Detective John Hart with him. He hit the ground and cradled John’s body, pulling it as close to him as he could, then trying to get closer. Jack’s warm lips brushed John’s cold dead ones and he started to rock back and forth, outwardly sobbing and crying. His face once again buried itself into John’s hair. The sound that Jack was making was so full of pain and despair and hurt that it was instantly imprinted into Gwen’s mind. It was a sound that she knew she would be having nightmares about for months.
Gwen glanced over at Ianto, and saw that he was staring intently at Jack, pain in his eyes that had nothing to do with his injuries. She watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek, disappearing as it followed the curve of his throat.
She found herself walking forward, sinking to the ground, wrapping her arms around Jack, holding tight. She felt her skin came in contact with John’s, and a shiver coursed through her body. She didn’t pull away though.
She sat there, holding Jack, muttering into his ear. ”It’s going to be ok,” she said, over and over and over again. And just like before, she knew that every word she spoke was a lie.
--xXx--
He was numb.
Jack sat in the police station, in the chair where the family always sat. The constables and detectives always talked about that chair - it was something of a hot topic. A new person always meant a new case, a new victim - always meant that there was someone in the interrogation room being questioned. The chair sat there for family members, loved ones. The person who drew the short straw and had to wait for whover was being questioned by the police. Anyone who sat in the chair wasn’t calm, or collected. They were always pale, distraught, worried. Sometimes they were even broken.
Jack Harkness was broken.
He sat in that chair now, leaning forward, a cup of cold and forgotten coffee balanced dangerously between his two hands, which cradled the Styrofoam like an egg. His head was down, blue eyes staring into the murky brown liquid like it held the answers that he wanted.
Police officers walked by him, the night shift giving way to those luckier officers who drew the morning hours. They whispered about him, thinking he didn’t hear them, but he did. He heard every single word that they spoke, their hushed tones no match for his ears. It had only been a few hours, but the news had already circulated. The news about the hired detective, John Hart, and how he was dead. Caught in the act, they all said as they walked by, warm coffee in their hands and gossip on their lips. He’s the serial killer that had been terrorizing them for the past month. He was working his own case. They went on and on about how clever it was, and how only a twisted son-of-a-bitch like that could ever think of such a thing. They never spoke about how they had drinks with John one night, or traded words with him several days earlier at the front desk. Then they would see Jack sitting in The Chair, and the whispers would dip lower, to where he couldn’t hear. But he knew what they were saying. He knew they would be talking about the criminal psychologist who had a breakdown at the crime scene, contaminating the body by getting his grimy hands all over it.
They never noticed the blood that stained his clothes, or the vacant look in his eyes.
When Jack had arrived, he had gone straight to the bathroom, where he had thrown up until his stomach was empty, and he was left just spitting up bile. Then he’d washed his hands and face, getting rid of as much of John’s life blood as he could. Scrubbing away the man as much as he could at that moment. He needed a shower - needed to take soap and wash until his skin turned raw, and then wash some more.
He needed Ianto.
But his Welshman was being debriefed at the moment. Taken care of. So Jack waited.
His mind went to places that he didn’t want to go. Every time he closed his eyes he saw John’s face loom in front of him, a smirk dancing on his lips, or the laughter lines that surrounded his eyes. Every time he breathed Jack tasted John, felt him. Wanted him. But he couldn’t have him anymore. John was dead.
The thought sent shivers through Jack, and he curled up tighter. He had enough wits about him to set his coffee cup down before drawing his thick coat around him like a cocoon to block out everything else. His leg and side and arm hurt like hell, and every time he moved it felt like his mangled flesh was on fire. It burned like the day he got shot. The psychologist in Jack knew that it was mental pain - that his skin had long ago healed. But the rest of him felt the pain, and acknowledged it as real. As real as the loss he was feeling now.
Ianto was the love of Jack’s life. That much he knew for certain. Was and always would be, until he died. Maybe even after that. Jack didn’t know if he would have been able to go on if it had been Ianto in the body bag and John in the ambulance. Jack didn’t think he had it in him to continue breathing - living, if Ianto was gone. He was his life, his breath, his everything.
But John, John had been something else entirely. John had been the only thing in Jack’s life that was constant. A rock that would never move, never change. Just continue to exist. Jack would have nightmares, sometimes, of Ianto dying - Gwen, even. Something would go horribly wrong, and suddenly they wouldn’t be there anymore. Those dreams caused him to worry, to care even more than he already did. Because life was so damn short, even shorter when you were trying to share it with someone. But he never dreamt of John dying. He never thought about what would happen when the man was no longer there. Because in Jack’s mind, John had always been there. Always been there and always would. He didn’t have to worry about rushing into things, or trying to say certain words because it might one day be too late. With John, things were simple. No matter how many times they fought or walked away from each other, John would always be there, waiting for him. Jack never fought for John. Never worried about loosing him, about saying the wrong thing. Because he didn’t have to.
And now he was gone.
The worst part about the whole thing, was that it took the man dying for Jack to realize exactly how much of an impact he’d had on his life.
Jack took an unsteady breath, and leaned back, running his hand through his hair, ignoring the blood on his sleeves. It was a little past six in the morning, but felt like The middle of the night.
The door to his right opened, and Detective Cooper walked out.
Jack stumbled to his feet, all thoughts of John instantly overridden by his worry for Ianto. “Is he ok? Is Ianto alright?”
Gwen, her mouth in a firm line, waited until Jack was finished to speak. “Physically, he’s lucky. Dislocated kneecap, bruising around the neck, along with a few more bruises on his stomach. He fought back pretty hard. As for mentally, I don’t know.”
She paused then, to run her hand through her hair and gather her thoughts. Jack took a good look at her in that moment of silence, and realized that she probably looked as bad as he did, if not just slightly better. There were bags under her eyes and a haunted look in her brown orbs. She was suffering. They all were.
“Ianto’s coping mechanism is something normally seen in children and young adults that have experienced severe beatings - they just retreat into themselves. Ianto’s basically done the same thing. He answers my questions with short, precise answers. The only time he said anything unrelated to a question or that wasn’t simple fact, was to ask where you were - if you were ok.” Gwen said, stuffing her hands into her jacket.
“What about…” Jack asked, drifting off, unable to finish the sentence. He didn’t need to, Gwen knew exactly what he was trying to ask.
“We sent police to John’s apartment - what we found, paired with what Ianto told us…” It was her turn to stop mid-sentence.
Jack screwed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, shaking his head. “No.” he whispered. “No - I won’t believe it - I can’t! He…John…no.” Jack shook, his voice unsteady and full with emotion. He would have cried, but he didn’t have enough tears left in his body anymore.
“I’m sorry Jack.” Gwen said, stepping forward, trying to hug him. He pulled away.
“Ianto?” he asked, his voice suddenly turning cold. He wouldn’t believe it - he couldn’t. And yet, somewhere, deep down, Jack knew that what Gwen had said was true. He thought back on the past month, and little things started to align. John not telling anyone where he had been the night that Huw had been murdered. How arrogant he had been at the crime scene. His last actions. Hell, why he took the case to begin with. It all made perfect sense.
“He’s free to go.” Gwen said softly. “The paramedics wanted him to spend the night in the hospital after being debriefed, but I talked them into letting him go home. He needs you now, Jack.”
He wanted to argue. He wanted to scream and throw a fit and yell. He wanted to deny everything and curl up into a ball and cry until he couldn’t breathe anymore. But he couldn’t. Jack couldn’t loose control like that, because it wasn’t all about him. Ianto needed him, and he needed Ianto. So instead, Jack just nodded. “Just - I need to talk to Chief first.”
Gwen gave a tight smile, fighting back a yawn. “He just arrived - should be in his office.”
Jack gave a nod of thanks and then limped off. His foot felt like it was on fire the whole way down, every step filled with agonizing pain. But he didn’t give up. He continued to walk.
He entered the Chief’s office without knocking, barely even glancing at the man. The Chief looked up at Jack, an expression of genuine worry on his face. Jack didn’t bother to register it. He was tired of the looks of pity and worry he had been getting that night. Tired of the ‘poor boy’ attitudes that the other police officers had so obviously been sending his way. He was tired of it all.
“I just wanted to come and tell you that I won’t be available as a consult for the police anymore.” Jack said, his hands deep in his pockets, pressed tight against his sides to stop them from shaking.
The Chief just sat his pen down on his desk and looked at Jack with a gaze that demanded to be met. Tiredly, Jack raised his eyes. “No.”
Surprised, Jack just stared at the Chief.
“I know that you are hurting right now Jack. And that you feel broken and cheated. But I am not letting my best consultant just walk away because a case went south.”
“Went south?!” Jack yelled, his emotions and grief spilling out of him in the form of anger. “My ex turned out to be a fucking serial killer, who tried to kill the love of my life! An ex who blindsided me for years!” He was shaking freely now, his voice hoarse, his body unable to take the punishment he was forcing on it. But Jack couldn’t stop now. “I lived five years of my fucking life with this man, and it turned out he was killing behind my back! I was fooled, Chief. I failed! Failed to do the only thing that I’m good at. I read people for a living - how the hell am I supposed to be able to read strangers when I couldn’t even see the truth in a man that I lived with?!”
“You weren’t the only one that was fooled, Jack.” The Chief said, his voice still level, still in control.
The words cut through Jack, severing his last ounce of control. “I loved him! I loved him and the man that I loved is a lie! I fell for the one fucking thing in this world that I am supposed to be able to see! So don’t you dare sit there and tell me you understand, that I’m not alone, because I am. I am one hundred perfect alone right now!”
“What about Ianto?” Chief asked, shutting Jack up. He paused for a moment, before, realizing Jack was finished with his tirade, and continuing “You are many things, Jack Harkness, but you are not alone. Ianto out there, he’s real, and more importantly, he needs you right now. So I am going to give you two months. Two months to pull your shit together and to make things right again. That means in exactly two months from today, you are going to walk into this building, knock on my door, enter, and pick up the file I am going to have waiting for you, you understand? And if on that day you don’t come, I am going to personally march up to your door, knock it down, and drag you back to this police station. Am. I. Clear?”
It felt like an eternity before Jack spoke. And when he did, he said just two simple words. “Yes, sir.”
--xXx--
It was a normal day for Cardiff, in terms of weather. There were heavy clouds overhead, promising rain, but too lazy to deliver it right now. People who were walking around had their trusty umbrellas by their sides, not letting the possibility of downpour ruin their plans for the day. Because for them, it was a time not only to be out and about, but to celebrate. The Cardiff serial killer had been caught red-handed - and better yet, killed. It was official that the streets were safe again, and everyone was rejoicing at their city once more being safe.
There were three people that day, however, that were nowhere near rejoicing.
They stood together off to the side of a freshly dug grave. This grave was near the back of a small cemetery, so new that the headstone hadn’t even been placed at the head yet. The only sign that someone had actually been buried was the freshly upturned earth. The man who had been buried barely had any friends - in fact, it could be said that he had none at all. There hadn’t been a funeral, Just a priest doing what he needed to do to inter the body to the ground.. He had been placed in his coffin as soon as his body had been released from the Cardiff police, and buried six feet under, where he would stay until his body rotted through the wood and became no different than the ground that would eternally be his keeper.
“He always wanted to be cremated.” Jack said, standing off to the side of the grave. He was dressed in all black, his large waterproof coat even the dark and dreary colour. It was zipped all the way up to his collarbone, the collar of the coat upturned, protecting his neck from the weather. His eyes were red and swollen, proof of crying, lack of sleep, or both. In one hand he held a cane, which he leaned heavily on. The other held his boyfriend’s hand in a death grip, using him for support as much as his cane. “Said he wanted to arrive at hell in style. Make an impression.”
Ianto Jones was also dressed in all black, the only difference being his floor-length coat was unzipped and fluttered around a bit in the wind. His hands were gloved, and while his one was being hogged by Jack, his other was gripping a cane not unlike the one his counterpart was using. It was almost a mirror image - Jack needing his cane to support his leg, which these past two days hadn’t stopped hurting, and Ianto needing his cane to keep pressure off of his kneecap, which had been dislocated five nights earlier during a particularly brutal battle in a warehouse. The bruises on his neck were still bright and vivid in their colours of blue, black, brown and purple; still clearly defined as finger marks, betraying how he had got them. He said nothing, there only to provide his lover with support.
Gwen stood slightly behind the two, herself in all black as well. She came to the funeral not only for Jack’s sake, but also for her own. Ever since she had been issued a gun and made to use it, she had made it a rule of hers to always go to the grave sight of those she had killed. It was one of the only ways that she was able to stay sane in a job like hers. She had killed more people that she was ok with admitting, but she always visited their resting places on the anniversary of their deaths, just to remind herself why she did what she did. To keep herself human. Gwen hated John Hart. She hated what he had done to Jack, how negatively he had impacted on the man at such a venerable time of his life. She had cursed at him, yelled at him, plotted his demise. But she knew that, deep down, his death would be the one that would keep her up at night.
So she stood there with her best friend, worried about his mental health, and the well-being of his boyfriend. Ianto had been the one who was almost murdered by John. She didn’t like that he was there, and had told him as much as soon as they had arrived at the grave side. But Ianto had just taken Jack’s hand and told her with his eyes that Jack needed him there, so he would be there for him. It didn’t matter to the man at the moment that it could have been him in that coffin; that Jack’s tears could have been shed for him.
Gwen knew that if she had to go back and do everything again, she still would have pulled that trigger and aimed for John’s head. It didn’t make facing it any easier, but a small part of her knew she had done the right thing. A small part of her knew that if it had been Ianto’s body lying in that black bag, Jack never would have gotten up off that ground. He never would have let go of the corpse and gotten in the car. He would have died that night along with his lover, and this time no amount of loving and caring could have fixed it.
She stepped forward and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. She felt him flinch a bit at the sudden contact, then relax and lean into her touch. She came up beside him, her feet level with his as they stared at the upturned soil. Gwen knew what the headstone would say - it wouldn’t even have John’s full name on it, in case someone visiting a grave nearby would see his name and connect it to the John Hart who was a serial killer in Cardiff.
“They gave me the will, after looking through it.” Gwen said softly. Jack’s head turned just a fraction of an inch, so she knew he had heard her. Taking a breath, she dove back in. “It didn’t take long to go through it. Just five words. Thought you would want it.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of legal paper. She offered it to Jack, and for a second she thought he wasn’t going to take it. But then his hand let go of Ianto’s and gently took the paper, opening it and reading the five small words on the paper.
‘Jack Harkness gets it all.’
Gwen watched as he stared at the paper, unmoving for several minutes. She glanced at Ianto and caught his eye, and silently asked him if she could have a few moments with Jack. The Welshman understood her plea, for a second later he told Jack that he was going to go and warm up the car, and not to take much longer. Jack barely nodded as he left.
Gwen waited until Ianto was a few yards away to take his place, slipping her hand around Jack’s arm and offering herself as support. Jack sagged onto her.
“I don’t believe it Gwen. I can’t.” Jack said then, his head turning to meet hers, glancing away from the grave for the first time since it came into view. “I knew him for so long - he couldn’t have.”
Gwen stayed silent for several heartbeats, trying to find the right words to say. In the end, she realized that there were none. “Sometimes, people….they just….something happens, and they….break.”
Jack closed his eyes, and for a moment Gwen was scared she had said the wrong thing. Then he opened them again, and when he spoke, he sounded a little better. “I’m leaving in a week - Ianto and I are running away. Recovering. Chief gave me two months.”
Gwen smiled at this, genuinely happy. She knew that Jack never would have gotten over what had happened by staying in Cardiff, surrounded by reminders. “Good, Jack, you need that. You and Ianto both.”
She turned and saw the Welshman sitting in the car, staring at them, ever vigilant, waiting for Jack. She returned her attention to her friend. “Jack, I know you are hurting right now, and I understand. But you can’t forget that Ianto is hurting too. It’s in his eyes, Jack.” She paused. “It’s why you are so perfect for each other. Ianto is being so strong for you Jack - he needs you to be strong for him. Together, I’m sure that you two will get past this.”
She hugged him, and after a few moments, he returned the gesture.
“I don’t want to hear a peep from you until you get back, you hear? But the moment you step foot back in Cardiff, if I don’t get a phone call with promises of coffee and gossip, I swear I will hunt you down. Circle my calendar, I will.”
She didn’t get a smile, but there was a soft light that grew in his eyes. “Bye Gwen.” he said softly.
“Bye love.” she returned.
--xXx--
Ianto sat in the corner of their walk-in closet, his eyes closed as he felt the smooth black leather under his fingers. It had been a while since he had last touched this - a week to be exact. A week since he had replaced his little black book and purposefully left the edge of the carpet only slightly wrinkled. A week since he had sat in the warehouse, staring down the barrel of a .45 and putting his life on the line for the one thing in his life that he trusted absolutely - numbers. And they hadn’t let him down either. Because now, John Hart was six feet under, and would forever be known as the Cardiff serial killer.
Ianto had wrapped everything up quite well, if he could think so himself. It hadn’t taken Toshiko very long to find out that there was a breach in the Cardiff police mainframe, and it didn’t take a genius to recover the file he had deleted - John Hart’s file. It was really such a coincidence that the man’s background and personality almost fit Jack’s psych-eval of the serial killer to the T. And then there was the fact of John’s apartment. After getting over the initial shock of discovery, and reigning back control of himself, Ianto had taken the time to set things up to his advantage. He removed any evidence on the walls that would leave to any kind of conviction on his behalf, then even went so far as to log onto John’s laptop, type up a profile for himself - in the exact format as the resume he had left the police at Huw’s crime scene - and printed it off. The police had found all of this after disabling the trip wire Ianto had set up right outside of John’s bedroom. That information was more than enough to arrest John - him being dead and caught in the act of attempting to murder Ianto was just icing on the cake. Ianto’s recalling of the events couldn’t exactly be questioned, and all oddity of the fact that John wasn’t sticking to the serial killer’s MO was also tossed out the window due to emotional involvement. Ianto had cemented that fact by telling the police John had told him that the reason Ianto was going to be killed was because he was stealing Jack away. The perfect cover-up.
Ianto smiled only fractionally, allowing his true feelings to barely slip through a crack in his façade. His fingers trailed down the spine slowly, sensuously caressing the leather. His finger followed the edge of the cover, until finally he hooked his nail tips around the edge and pulled it, gently flipping to the first page. He went through the book, reaching the last page written on in exactly five seconds. There he hesitated, his eyes running over the numbers, digesting the data. He got to the bottom of the page, where the last number had been written in. He glanced to the left, where a black ballpoint pen was sitting. The same pen that he always used to mark down his numbers. That way he would always know if someone was marking in his book. He picked up the pen and hovered it over the small blank line that was left under John Hart’s name. What should he put? The last number was always how long it took for his hands to squeeze out their last breath - the duration of their last struggle. How much they wanted to hold onto life. He didn’t have a number for John Hart, for it wasn’t his hands that had done the final act. Ianto had set everything up perfectly, but in a way, he still felt cheated.
He sat the pen down in the crack of the book and brought his fingers up, gently drifting them over his throat. While the bruises remained, the burn that reminded Ianto how close he had come to a death of irony had long since faded. Ianto had been cheated that night. Even though he knew that, in order to stay hidden, he would have been unable to get John’s blood - metaphorically speaking - on his hands, he still loathed it. Ianto had so much wanted to feel John struggle beneath him, gasping for that final breath. He wanted to watch as the person who had single-handedly done the most harm to Jack fade away and then simply cease to exist. Police Detective Gwen Cooper had taken that away from him.
Ianto reached forward and again picked up the pen, this time bringing the tip down onto the paper. Slowly, perfectly, he wrote in what he deemed appropriate. It was the fastest death that Ianto had ever caused, and would always hold that record. Even in death, John Hart was mocking him, showing Ianto that he would never be just another name in his book of conquests.
‘0 seconds.’
He held the pen just a quarter of a second too long, making the period slightly bigger than any of the others in his book. Then he pulled away and capped the pen, reaching forward and sliding it back into its little hiding spot. And there it would stay until it was needed again.
Ianto stared at the page of numbers - stared at John Hart’s name as it peered back at him. Ianto let all the thoughts that he had been fighting the past week enter his mind. The words that the detective had thrown at him. The man had loved Jack, truly loved him. Ianto had watched from the ambulance, barely registering their questions, not feeling their probing fingers. He hadn’t even realized when they injected him with pain medication to help ease the discomfort of his kneecap. Because Ianto had been watching as Jack Harkness fell apart in front of him.
Something had happened inside Ianto then, watching Jack crumble, pull John’s dead body tight against his and fall to the ground, sobbing and crying and grieving. There had been a tug in Ianto’s heart and for exactly half a second, he found himself wishing that John hadn’t been killed. That Gwen’s bullet had only incapacitated him.
But it had only lasted half a second, and then the thought ran from his mind. Ianto had found himself reeling in shock from the wish. It had confused him to no end. He had known ahead of time what it would do to Jack, seeing his former lover dead. But it was either John or Ianto, and the Welshman knew exactly who wanted to live more.
Ianto took a deep breath, then turned the page, effectively closing off the chapter of his life that John Hart had been a part of. As he stared at the blank page, possibilities swarmed his mind, and he moved on.
A smile spread across his lips as Ianto’s hand pet the page, knowing that soon enough it would be full with numbers. Satisfied, he closed the book and gently replaced it in its cubby, replacing the carpet and smoothing out the edges.
Ianto stood up from the floor, groaning a bit as he stretched. He hobbled out of the closet, his knee still sore. He no longer felt the need for Jack’s cane, but still liked to use it when he was around. He knew it made Jack feel less vulnerable to share that small ting with him. Relying on the stick for a few days had been a good experience to have too.. Ianto was able to look at the world out of Jack’s eyes, understand a bit why the man refused to use one when it was logical to do so.
Jack was sleeping in their bed as Ianto padded out of the closet and back into the bedroom. He no longer looked peaceful in his sleep. Even while resting, his eyes would screw up tight and his mouth would set itself into a permanent scowl. Ianto hadn’t seen the man smile for the past week, and that in itself was a strange and unusual occurrence. The past seven days Ianto had to rely on his numbers more than ever to keep himself in check. To keep his world from crumbling even more than it already had.
Jack had fallen asleep with his head propped against the headboard of their bed. He was sitting up, a laptop open and resting on his legs, the slight hum of the machine letting everyone know that it was still on. Ianto undressed quickly, stripping down to only his underwear before crawling into bed, pulling up the covers and wiggling over next to Jack. Swiping his fingers on the mouse pad, Ianto woke the computer out of its slumber and took a look at what Jack had been working on. He frowned when he saw the result.
“Ianto?” Jack asked, his voice heavy with sleep as he awoke, stirring under the sheets. Ianto took the laptop from Jack and closed it, leaning over and setting it on the nightstand.
“You shouldn’t be looking at that.” Ianto said with worry tinting his voice. Jack had somehow got his hands on the electronic copy of the Cardiff serial killer case, including the closing statement and the psych evaluation made of John Hart by a psychologist other than Jack.
Jack sighed and ran his left hand through his hair, sinking down further under the sheets until he was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Ianto sank down as well, adopting his normal position - his arm slung across Jack’s waist, his head resting lightly on his chest, in just the right position to be able to hear his heart beat. Ianto loved Jack’s heartbeat - it was one of the only things about the man that could be predicted and controlled. He could count the heartbeat; find rhythm and pattern behind it. Jack’s heartbeat made sense.
“They’re saying he was fake, Ianto.” Jack whispered after three minutes and twenty seven seconds of silence. His voice sounded so strange - so weak and broken. “Saying that his whole life was a lie. His relationships and appearances were all fabricated so that he could continue living under the radar so he could…”
Jack drifted off, unable to finish the sentence. Ianto held onto Jack tighter, and felt the man shift closer in return. Jack could be so simple sometimes - the man craved touch, physical comfort. Sometimes all he needed was a gentle touch on the shoulder - other times he just yearned to be held tightly and told that everything was going to be ok.
“So long. I knew him so long. That’s what I do - tell when people are faking. He…I…they can’t tell me it wasn’t real.” Jack was crying now, silent tears falling down his face, speaking all the words he couldn’t say. Ianto knew - he could tell when he saw the way that Jack reacted to John’s death. The man loved him. Jack loved John. Maybe not the way that he said he loved Ianto, but there was a bond there, closer and more emotional than any normal one.
Jack had told him - about the cheating. It had been the night - or, more accurately, the morning - that they had come back from the police station, Ianto being allowed to leave because he had finished his statement. There had been barely any words exchanged between them, but none were needed, not at that time. Jack had held Ianto tightly, and the Welshman knew it was for Jack’s benefit as much as it was for himself. They had been quiet for such a long time, Ianto drifting off to sleep, when Jack had said it. ‘John and I’ was all that Jack said, but it was all that had been needed. He had tensed around Ianto, as if scared that he would pull away and leave. Instead of remaining quite, like he normally would have done, Ianto had turned around and kissed Jack gently on the lips, before whispering an ‘I know’ then falling asleep.
Ianto could have stayed quiet then - and he could have stayed quiet now. It was the logical thing to do. It was what his brain was telling him to do - just stay quiet, kiss him goodnight, then go to sleep. Wounds take time to heal, no matter how deep or shallow.
But Ianto’s heart was telling him to do something, and for the first time in his young life, Ianto Jones listened to his heart.
“Maybe. Maybe he had been faking so long, that one morning he woke up, and realized that he wasn’t acting anymore.” Ianto said, lifting his head up in order to look into Jack’s eyes as he talked. Their eyes met in a clash of blue, and the intensity of Jack’s gaze was so overwhelming that Ianto stumbled.
“That, what started out as just a cover - something to make him blend in, look like a normal person, ended up becoming the first real thing that he had ever had. He would have been dead so long ago if it wasn’t for you, Jack Harkness, so full of life and love and care. You took him - someone so empty and fake, and by sheer humanity turned him into something real. An actual person. You weren’t able to conquer the monster inside, but you were able to make it easier to battle.
“And when faced with a threat - with someone who was going to take you away from him. Take the only thing that ever meant something in his life and rip it away, leaving him to battle the darkness alone once again, he dealt with it the only way that he had ever known how.” Ianto’s voice cracked with emotion - it was like he was listening to someone else talk to Jack. It scared him, and for a moment he lost track of how many times Jack’s heart had beat in the past minute.
But then Ianto looked at Jack and saw his smile, the slight upturn of lips and flash of those pearly white teeth. He saw what passed for happiness for the first time in a week, and Ianto suddenly realized that he couldn’t care less about Jack’s heartbeat.
Jack leaned forward and kissed Ianto softly on the lips before falling back, his head gently hitting the pillow. He pulled Ianto closer, interweaving their legs and arms so that no-one could tell where one man started and the other ended.
“I love you Ianto Jones.” Jack whispered then. “So much.”
Ianto returned the embrace, for the first time in his life finding comfort and safety in the arms of his warm lover instead of the cold calculations of numbers. And he wasn’t sure whether or not that scared him.
It took Jack barely any time at all to fall asleep - Ianto didn’t know how long, or how many breaths it took for him to settle down. He couldn’t tell you how much Jack’s heart beat had slowed down in time of seconds between beats, or how long he could last before having to shift positions. Because that whole time, Ianto was figuring something out. Calling upon all those little tugs and pulls he had felt over the past month and a half, slowly piecing it all together.
He wasn’t sure how long it took him until everything clicked together, but when it did, he knew without a doubt that the answer he had stumbled upon was right.
“I love you.” he whispered.
And Ianto meant every word.
Topic Torchwood
Characters Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper, Rhys Williams, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Suzie Costello, Tenth Doctor, John Hart, Andy Davidson, Mickey Smith, mentions Rose Tyler, Martha Jones, other small-characters
Pairings Jack/Ianto, Jack/John, Doctor/Rose, Gwen/Rhys
Genre AU, thriller, horror, romance, angst
Rating T
Beta jooles34
Summary Ianto Jones lives a very meticulous life. He has a schedule for everything he does - breakfast, work, personal time, love life, and his murder of the month. But when something goes wrong and one of his victims becomes the Cardiff police's latest case, will he be able to keep his personal life a secret? Not if Jack Harkness, consultant to the police and boyfriend of Ianto Jones, has anything to say about it.
Spoilers None
Author's Note This is it. The End. Wow - never ever thought it would end so soon! Oh my, this means that I move into my dorm in two days. Well - I absolutely had a huge blast writing this, and I really hope that all of you loved reading it just as much. There will be a oneshot that I am working on, set before both installations of this series which follows Jack and dives more into his relationship with John, and how me came to meet Mr. Ianto Jones. Before you ask if I'm going to be doing a sequel, I shall answer. I don't know. It rests upon whether or not I am going to have enough time during the school year to write it. Unlike last year, I am actually going to have to work to maintain my grades - and work hard, if talking to alumni has been accurate, which I believe it is. I am going to try very hard, however, to make time for my writing. ^_^ Special thanks once again to laisy for my amazing banner, and jooles34 as my wonderful beta. And now, I present to you the final chapter. Enjoy!
Master List
Previous Chapter
She pulled the cop car onto the mud in front of the warehouse and jumped out, the key still in the ignition and the engine still running - she didn’t care. The others were following her close behind, but not close enough. They weren’t on her heels - a few feet back. Following her, but not joining her. She felt like she was all alone in these few seconds, everything oh so very loud and distracting. The way her hair whipped angrily in her face as she ran. The sound of her boots as they squelched in the mud, then cracked on the gravel and small rocks underfoot. The rustling of clothes as the too few police officers advanced behind her. The loudest sound of them all was her heart, pounding in her chest.
She saw the two cars out of the corner of her eye as she ran. She recognized them both instantly - John Hart’s beat-up old car, the red paint peeling, the shiniest piece of metal being the GPS tracker hidden under the car. Then there was Ianto’s, dark blue paint without a chip in sight, sparkling with perfection under the moonlight. The sight brought a shot of fear, and with it adrenaline. But it wasn’t fear for herself that drove her.
Gwen’s hand was already on the butt of her gun as she approached the door, drawing the deadly piece of metal as she burst through the door. Her arms outstretched, her finger gently ghosting over the trigger, ready to shoot.
Then everything fell quiet.
The noises that had assaulted her were suddenly silenced - not because they stopped, but because the sight in front of her was enough to block everything from her mind. Time seemed to slow down around her. Her breaths became long and shallow, her eyelids felt heavy as she blinked, her legs like lead. Only her trigger finger remained light and agile.
John Hart stood in front of her, only a few yards away. His gun was trailed on someone who was sitting in a metal chair. Gwen’s heart skipped a beat - it was Ianto. Her mind didn’t see the blood dripping from John’s chin, or the almost smug look that showed on Ianto’s face. All her eyes were able to focus on was John’s trigger finger, as it slowly started to squeeze.
A shot rang out.
The loud bang of her weapon brought back all her senses, sounds filled the air and time rushed forward, hitting her like a brick wall. She stumbled back half a step as the rest of the police offers rushed past her, their guns out even though the target had been neutralized.
John Hart had been dead before he hit the ground.
Gwen stood still, unable to look away, unable to move. Her breath shaky as she stared at what she had done - the man she had killed. He lay there, on the cold concrete floor of this forsaken warehouse. Even from her distance, Gwen could see that his eyes were still open, glazed over. Blood was gushing from his temple where she had shot him. The bullet hole was on the side of his head, right behind his eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to imagine what the other side of his head looked like. The blood was pooling onto the floor, soaking John’s hair and skin, seeping into his clothing; the remainder of his life - a whisper of what he had been - draining onto the floor, warm and sticky. Leaking, not gushing. Gushing would have meant his heart was still beating.
Gwen felt sick. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. The scene in front of her was too familiar. For a moment she blinked, and it wasn’t John Hart lying on the floor anymore. It was Jack. Her Jack; his entire right side covered with his own blood, his screams echoing throughout the hollow room as his life slowly left him, seeping from the numerous shotgun pellet wounds that marred him. She had been frozen then too, unable to do anything but hold her partner in her red, sticky arms and rock him; holding him way too tight, whispering that everything was going to be ok, knowing that it wasn’t. It had been the only time that Gwen had ever frozen. Ever felt so helpless.
Until now.
She blinked, and John was once more the one lying on the floor, dead. She breathed, and this time when she blinked, her eyes turned hard. Gwen couldn’t fall apart now - she couldn’t fold inward. So she distanced her mind - forced herself to move, to walk, to talk. There was a radio in her hand. She didn’t remember reaching for it, but she knew she had. She brought it up to her numb lips, and called for an ambulance and a body bag. Her voice sounded strange, surreal, even though she knew it was her who was talking.
And then she was moving, past John’s cooling body. Past the police officers who were cordoning off the scene and protecting the corpse. One talked to her, his words slow and incomprehensible. She brushed him off and kept walking. Then she was standing next to Ianto, her hand reaching out to him. He flinched and she pulled back. Her voice was soothing as she spoke, coaxing him, trying to find out if he was hurt. Telling him it would be ok. She felt like she wasn’t inside her body anymore - like she was an invisible bystander who was watching a woman who looked like her and talked like her do her job. But Gwen couldn’t stop and think about that for too long, because it wasn’t her time to be weak. It was her time to get the job done.
The ambulance got there - Gwen didn’t know what had happened to the ten minutes between her calling it in and the crew arriving. She stood back and let the paramedics do their job, easing Ianto onto a stretcher and looking him over for injuries. Something was wrong with his knee - there were imprints of fingers around his throat. Gwen’s mind made the connection, but she stuffed it into the recesses of her brain. She couldn’t face that. Not yet.
She watched as Ianto acted as distant as she felt. She turned away and was assaulted by the sight of John’s body being carefully packed into a body bag, picked up and carried outside. She followed, rattling off instructions the whole time. Talking. Moving. Doing her job.
Ianto was sitting in the back of the ambulance now, the paramedics continuing their job of looking him over thoroughly, preventing him from going into shock. They spoke to him, their tones low and soothing.
John’s body was lowered onto the stretcher that Ianto had been on before. Gwen watched with detachment as the large black back was sat there. Nothing moved underneath. She wanted more than anything to find out that she was sleeping; her brain simply conjuring up her worst nightmare. She wanted to wake up and go into work and see Jack’s smile and hear Ianto’s quite conversations and feel pissed at John. Living, breathing, non-homicidal John. But Gwen knew. She knew she was never going to wake up.
Another car was pulling onto the warehouse property now. It was a large, black SUV that Gwen immediately recognized. She watched with despair as Jack climbed out, his eyes wide in the night. He half ran, half stumbled over to her, and Gwen found that she was reaching out, grabbing onto him. Stopping him. She was yelling at him to calm down. ‘Ianto’s all right’ she said, knowing that he needed to be in control when he approached him. She caught Ianto in the corner of her eye and turned her head slightly to get a better look. He was staring at Jack with a haunted look in his eyes, and she let her best friend go. He ran to Ianto, and they embraced. She watched as Ianto’s eyes closed, his hands gripping his partner’s coat pulling him closer. They stayed like that until the paramedics asked Jack to leave - to back away, to let go. They weren’t finished. The man wasn’t going to listen.
Gwen walked over, still not inside herself, still watching from the outside. She watched as her hand grasped Jack’s arm and tugged him away. She was prepared for a fight, but he didn’t give one. He released Ianto’s hand slowly, not wanting to let go. Not wanting to break the connection.
Then Jack looked at her, asking her a question. ‘John.’ he said. ‘Where’s John?’
Inside, Gwen screamed. She screamed and cried and cursed and bellowed. Outside though, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t say what had happened. Instead, her eyes flickered quickly to the black body bag. The lump of flesh that was lying so still, so frozen, on the stretcher.
Gwen Cooper watched as something inside Jack Harkness shattered.
He didn’t run to the body like he had with Ianto. Instead, he walked slowly, reluctantly. Like he didn’t want to face the truth of what was inside the black bag. He reached the stretcher and slowly - so painfully slowly - he reached out, and with shaking hands he pulled back the zipper, revealing what was inside.
Jack did something horrible then. Something that would have caused anyone else to have been immediately swarmed by police, restrained and most probably dragged into the back of a police car. But no-one advanced on him, no-one threatened him, no-one stopped him. Not even Gwen.
She watched as his hands disappeared into the bag as he wound his arms around the cold, dead flesh of his ex-lover. Jack pulled John’s body towards him, and buried his face in John’s hair, getting blood all over his clothes and skin. A sob wracked his frame, and Gwen watched as Jack’s legs gave way from under him.
In a surreal, almost slow-motion move, Jack sunk to the ground, pulling the body of Detective John Hart with him. He hit the ground and cradled John’s body, pulling it as close to him as he could, then trying to get closer. Jack’s warm lips brushed John’s cold dead ones and he started to rock back and forth, outwardly sobbing and crying. His face once again buried itself into John’s hair. The sound that Jack was making was so full of pain and despair and hurt that it was instantly imprinted into Gwen’s mind. It was a sound that she knew she would be having nightmares about for months.
Gwen glanced over at Ianto, and saw that he was staring intently at Jack, pain in his eyes that had nothing to do with his injuries. She watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek, disappearing as it followed the curve of his throat.
She found herself walking forward, sinking to the ground, wrapping her arms around Jack, holding tight. She felt her skin came in contact with John’s, and a shiver coursed through her body. She didn’t pull away though.
She sat there, holding Jack, muttering into his ear. ”It’s going to be ok,” she said, over and over and over again. And just like before, she knew that every word she spoke was a lie.
--xXx--
He was numb.
Jack sat in the police station, in the chair where the family always sat. The constables and detectives always talked about that chair - it was something of a hot topic. A new person always meant a new case, a new victim - always meant that there was someone in the interrogation room being questioned. The chair sat there for family members, loved ones. The person who drew the short straw and had to wait for whover was being questioned by the police. Anyone who sat in the chair wasn’t calm, or collected. They were always pale, distraught, worried. Sometimes they were even broken.
Jack Harkness was broken.
He sat in that chair now, leaning forward, a cup of cold and forgotten coffee balanced dangerously between his two hands, which cradled the Styrofoam like an egg. His head was down, blue eyes staring into the murky brown liquid like it held the answers that he wanted.
Police officers walked by him, the night shift giving way to those luckier officers who drew the morning hours. They whispered about him, thinking he didn’t hear them, but he did. He heard every single word that they spoke, their hushed tones no match for his ears. It had only been a few hours, but the news had already circulated. The news about the hired detective, John Hart, and how he was dead. Caught in the act, they all said as they walked by, warm coffee in their hands and gossip on their lips. He’s the serial killer that had been terrorizing them for the past month. He was working his own case. They went on and on about how clever it was, and how only a twisted son-of-a-bitch like that could ever think of such a thing. They never spoke about how they had drinks with John one night, or traded words with him several days earlier at the front desk. Then they would see Jack sitting in The Chair, and the whispers would dip lower, to where he couldn’t hear. But he knew what they were saying. He knew they would be talking about the criminal psychologist who had a breakdown at the crime scene, contaminating the body by getting his grimy hands all over it.
They never noticed the blood that stained his clothes, or the vacant look in his eyes.
When Jack had arrived, he had gone straight to the bathroom, where he had thrown up until his stomach was empty, and he was left just spitting up bile. Then he’d washed his hands and face, getting rid of as much of John’s life blood as he could. Scrubbing away the man as much as he could at that moment. He needed a shower - needed to take soap and wash until his skin turned raw, and then wash some more.
He needed Ianto.
But his Welshman was being debriefed at the moment. Taken care of. So Jack waited.
His mind went to places that he didn’t want to go. Every time he closed his eyes he saw John’s face loom in front of him, a smirk dancing on his lips, or the laughter lines that surrounded his eyes. Every time he breathed Jack tasted John, felt him. Wanted him. But he couldn’t have him anymore. John was dead.
The thought sent shivers through Jack, and he curled up tighter. He had enough wits about him to set his coffee cup down before drawing his thick coat around him like a cocoon to block out everything else. His leg and side and arm hurt like hell, and every time he moved it felt like his mangled flesh was on fire. It burned like the day he got shot. The psychologist in Jack knew that it was mental pain - that his skin had long ago healed. But the rest of him felt the pain, and acknowledged it as real. As real as the loss he was feeling now.
Ianto was the love of Jack’s life. That much he knew for certain. Was and always would be, until he died. Maybe even after that. Jack didn’t know if he would have been able to go on if it had been Ianto in the body bag and John in the ambulance. Jack didn’t think he had it in him to continue breathing - living, if Ianto was gone. He was his life, his breath, his everything.
But John, John had been something else entirely. John had been the only thing in Jack’s life that was constant. A rock that would never move, never change. Just continue to exist. Jack would have nightmares, sometimes, of Ianto dying - Gwen, even. Something would go horribly wrong, and suddenly they wouldn’t be there anymore. Those dreams caused him to worry, to care even more than he already did. Because life was so damn short, even shorter when you were trying to share it with someone. But he never dreamt of John dying. He never thought about what would happen when the man was no longer there. Because in Jack’s mind, John had always been there. Always been there and always would. He didn’t have to worry about rushing into things, or trying to say certain words because it might one day be too late. With John, things were simple. No matter how many times they fought or walked away from each other, John would always be there, waiting for him. Jack never fought for John. Never worried about loosing him, about saying the wrong thing. Because he didn’t have to.
And now he was gone.
The worst part about the whole thing, was that it took the man dying for Jack to realize exactly how much of an impact he’d had on his life.
Jack took an unsteady breath, and leaned back, running his hand through his hair, ignoring the blood on his sleeves. It was a little past six in the morning, but felt like The middle of the night.
The door to his right opened, and Detective Cooper walked out.
Jack stumbled to his feet, all thoughts of John instantly overridden by his worry for Ianto. “Is he ok? Is Ianto alright?”
Gwen, her mouth in a firm line, waited until Jack was finished to speak. “Physically, he’s lucky. Dislocated kneecap, bruising around the neck, along with a few more bruises on his stomach. He fought back pretty hard. As for mentally, I don’t know.”
She paused then, to run her hand through her hair and gather her thoughts. Jack took a good look at her in that moment of silence, and realized that she probably looked as bad as he did, if not just slightly better. There were bags under her eyes and a haunted look in her brown orbs. She was suffering. They all were.
“Ianto’s coping mechanism is something normally seen in children and young adults that have experienced severe beatings - they just retreat into themselves. Ianto’s basically done the same thing. He answers my questions with short, precise answers. The only time he said anything unrelated to a question or that wasn’t simple fact, was to ask where you were - if you were ok.” Gwen said, stuffing her hands into her jacket.
“What about…” Jack asked, drifting off, unable to finish the sentence. He didn’t need to, Gwen knew exactly what he was trying to ask.
“We sent police to John’s apartment - what we found, paired with what Ianto told us…” It was her turn to stop mid-sentence.
Jack screwed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, shaking his head. “No.” he whispered. “No - I won’t believe it - I can’t! He…John…no.” Jack shook, his voice unsteady and full with emotion. He would have cried, but he didn’t have enough tears left in his body anymore.
“I’m sorry Jack.” Gwen said, stepping forward, trying to hug him. He pulled away.
“Ianto?” he asked, his voice suddenly turning cold. He wouldn’t believe it - he couldn’t. And yet, somewhere, deep down, Jack knew that what Gwen had said was true. He thought back on the past month, and little things started to align. John not telling anyone where he had been the night that Huw had been murdered. How arrogant he had been at the crime scene. His last actions. Hell, why he took the case to begin with. It all made perfect sense.
“He’s free to go.” Gwen said softly. “The paramedics wanted him to spend the night in the hospital after being debriefed, but I talked them into letting him go home. He needs you now, Jack.”
He wanted to argue. He wanted to scream and throw a fit and yell. He wanted to deny everything and curl up into a ball and cry until he couldn’t breathe anymore. But he couldn’t. Jack couldn’t loose control like that, because it wasn’t all about him. Ianto needed him, and he needed Ianto. So instead, Jack just nodded. “Just - I need to talk to Chief first.”
Gwen gave a tight smile, fighting back a yawn. “He just arrived - should be in his office.”
Jack gave a nod of thanks and then limped off. His foot felt like it was on fire the whole way down, every step filled with agonizing pain. But he didn’t give up. He continued to walk.
He entered the Chief’s office without knocking, barely even glancing at the man. The Chief looked up at Jack, an expression of genuine worry on his face. Jack didn’t bother to register it. He was tired of the looks of pity and worry he had been getting that night. Tired of the ‘poor boy’ attitudes that the other police officers had so obviously been sending his way. He was tired of it all.
“I just wanted to come and tell you that I won’t be available as a consult for the police anymore.” Jack said, his hands deep in his pockets, pressed tight against his sides to stop them from shaking.
The Chief just sat his pen down on his desk and looked at Jack with a gaze that demanded to be met. Tiredly, Jack raised his eyes. “No.”
Surprised, Jack just stared at the Chief.
“I know that you are hurting right now Jack. And that you feel broken and cheated. But I am not letting my best consultant just walk away because a case went south.”
“Went south?!” Jack yelled, his emotions and grief spilling out of him in the form of anger. “My ex turned out to be a fucking serial killer, who tried to kill the love of my life! An ex who blindsided me for years!” He was shaking freely now, his voice hoarse, his body unable to take the punishment he was forcing on it. But Jack couldn’t stop now. “I lived five years of my fucking life with this man, and it turned out he was killing behind my back! I was fooled, Chief. I failed! Failed to do the only thing that I’m good at. I read people for a living - how the hell am I supposed to be able to read strangers when I couldn’t even see the truth in a man that I lived with?!”
“You weren’t the only one that was fooled, Jack.” The Chief said, his voice still level, still in control.
The words cut through Jack, severing his last ounce of control. “I loved him! I loved him and the man that I loved is a lie! I fell for the one fucking thing in this world that I am supposed to be able to see! So don’t you dare sit there and tell me you understand, that I’m not alone, because I am. I am one hundred perfect alone right now!”
“What about Ianto?” Chief asked, shutting Jack up. He paused for a moment, before, realizing Jack was finished with his tirade, and continuing “You are many things, Jack Harkness, but you are not alone. Ianto out there, he’s real, and more importantly, he needs you right now. So I am going to give you two months. Two months to pull your shit together and to make things right again. That means in exactly two months from today, you are going to walk into this building, knock on my door, enter, and pick up the file I am going to have waiting for you, you understand? And if on that day you don’t come, I am going to personally march up to your door, knock it down, and drag you back to this police station. Am. I. Clear?”
It felt like an eternity before Jack spoke. And when he did, he said just two simple words. “Yes, sir.”
--xXx--
It was a normal day for Cardiff, in terms of weather. There were heavy clouds overhead, promising rain, but too lazy to deliver it right now. People who were walking around had their trusty umbrellas by their sides, not letting the possibility of downpour ruin their plans for the day. Because for them, it was a time not only to be out and about, but to celebrate. The Cardiff serial killer had been caught red-handed - and better yet, killed. It was official that the streets were safe again, and everyone was rejoicing at their city once more being safe.
There were three people that day, however, that were nowhere near rejoicing.
They stood together off to the side of a freshly dug grave. This grave was near the back of a small cemetery, so new that the headstone hadn’t even been placed at the head yet. The only sign that someone had actually been buried was the freshly upturned earth. The man who had been buried barely had any friends - in fact, it could be said that he had none at all. There hadn’t been a funeral, Just a priest doing what he needed to do to inter the body to the ground.. He had been placed in his coffin as soon as his body had been released from the Cardiff police, and buried six feet under, where he would stay until his body rotted through the wood and became no different than the ground that would eternally be his keeper.
“He always wanted to be cremated.” Jack said, standing off to the side of the grave. He was dressed in all black, his large waterproof coat even the dark and dreary colour. It was zipped all the way up to his collarbone, the collar of the coat upturned, protecting his neck from the weather. His eyes were red and swollen, proof of crying, lack of sleep, or both. In one hand he held a cane, which he leaned heavily on. The other held his boyfriend’s hand in a death grip, using him for support as much as his cane. “Said he wanted to arrive at hell in style. Make an impression.”
Ianto Jones was also dressed in all black, the only difference being his floor-length coat was unzipped and fluttered around a bit in the wind. His hands were gloved, and while his one was being hogged by Jack, his other was gripping a cane not unlike the one his counterpart was using. It was almost a mirror image - Jack needing his cane to support his leg, which these past two days hadn’t stopped hurting, and Ianto needing his cane to keep pressure off of his kneecap, which had been dislocated five nights earlier during a particularly brutal battle in a warehouse. The bruises on his neck were still bright and vivid in their colours of blue, black, brown and purple; still clearly defined as finger marks, betraying how he had got them. He said nothing, there only to provide his lover with support.
Gwen stood slightly behind the two, herself in all black as well. She came to the funeral not only for Jack’s sake, but also for her own. Ever since she had been issued a gun and made to use it, she had made it a rule of hers to always go to the grave sight of those she had killed. It was one of the only ways that she was able to stay sane in a job like hers. She had killed more people that she was ok with admitting, but she always visited their resting places on the anniversary of their deaths, just to remind herself why she did what she did. To keep herself human. Gwen hated John Hart. She hated what he had done to Jack, how negatively he had impacted on the man at such a venerable time of his life. She had cursed at him, yelled at him, plotted his demise. But she knew that, deep down, his death would be the one that would keep her up at night.
So she stood there with her best friend, worried about his mental health, and the well-being of his boyfriend. Ianto had been the one who was almost murdered by John. She didn’t like that he was there, and had told him as much as soon as they had arrived at the grave side. But Ianto had just taken Jack’s hand and told her with his eyes that Jack needed him there, so he would be there for him. It didn’t matter to the man at the moment that it could have been him in that coffin; that Jack’s tears could have been shed for him.
Gwen knew that if she had to go back and do everything again, she still would have pulled that trigger and aimed for John’s head. It didn’t make facing it any easier, but a small part of her knew she had done the right thing. A small part of her knew that if it had been Ianto’s body lying in that black bag, Jack never would have gotten up off that ground. He never would have let go of the corpse and gotten in the car. He would have died that night along with his lover, and this time no amount of loving and caring could have fixed it.
She stepped forward and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. She felt him flinch a bit at the sudden contact, then relax and lean into her touch. She came up beside him, her feet level with his as they stared at the upturned soil. Gwen knew what the headstone would say - it wouldn’t even have John’s full name on it, in case someone visiting a grave nearby would see his name and connect it to the John Hart who was a serial killer in Cardiff.
“They gave me the will, after looking through it.” Gwen said softly. Jack’s head turned just a fraction of an inch, so she knew he had heard her. Taking a breath, she dove back in. “It didn’t take long to go through it. Just five words. Thought you would want it.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of legal paper. She offered it to Jack, and for a second she thought he wasn’t going to take it. But then his hand let go of Ianto’s and gently took the paper, opening it and reading the five small words on the paper.
‘Jack Harkness gets it all.’
Gwen watched as he stared at the paper, unmoving for several minutes. She glanced at Ianto and caught his eye, and silently asked him if she could have a few moments with Jack. The Welshman understood her plea, for a second later he told Jack that he was going to go and warm up the car, and not to take much longer. Jack barely nodded as he left.
Gwen waited until Ianto was a few yards away to take his place, slipping her hand around Jack’s arm and offering herself as support. Jack sagged onto her.
“I don’t believe it Gwen. I can’t.” Jack said then, his head turning to meet hers, glancing away from the grave for the first time since it came into view. “I knew him for so long - he couldn’t have.”
Gwen stayed silent for several heartbeats, trying to find the right words to say. In the end, she realized that there were none. “Sometimes, people….they just….something happens, and they….break.”
Jack closed his eyes, and for a moment Gwen was scared she had said the wrong thing. Then he opened them again, and when he spoke, he sounded a little better. “I’m leaving in a week - Ianto and I are running away. Recovering. Chief gave me two months.”
Gwen smiled at this, genuinely happy. She knew that Jack never would have gotten over what had happened by staying in Cardiff, surrounded by reminders. “Good, Jack, you need that. You and Ianto both.”
She turned and saw the Welshman sitting in the car, staring at them, ever vigilant, waiting for Jack. She returned her attention to her friend. “Jack, I know you are hurting right now, and I understand. But you can’t forget that Ianto is hurting too. It’s in his eyes, Jack.” She paused. “It’s why you are so perfect for each other. Ianto is being so strong for you Jack - he needs you to be strong for him. Together, I’m sure that you two will get past this.”
She hugged him, and after a few moments, he returned the gesture.
“I don’t want to hear a peep from you until you get back, you hear? But the moment you step foot back in Cardiff, if I don’t get a phone call with promises of coffee and gossip, I swear I will hunt you down. Circle my calendar, I will.”
She didn’t get a smile, but there was a soft light that grew in his eyes. “Bye Gwen.” he said softly.
“Bye love.” she returned.
--xXx--
Ianto sat in the corner of their walk-in closet, his eyes closed as he felt the smooth black leather under his fingers. It had been a while since he had last touched this - a week to be exact. A week since he had replaced his little black book and purposefully left the edge of the carpet only slightly wrinkled. A week since he had sat in the warehouse, staring down the barrel of a .45 and putting his life on the line for the one thing in his life that he trusted absolutely - numbers. And they hadn’t let him down either. Because now, John Hart was six feet under, and would forever be known as the Cardiff serial killer.
Ianto had wrapped everything up quite well, if he could think so himself. It hadn’t taken Toshiko very long to find out that there was a breach in the Cardiff police mainframe, and it didn’t take a genius to recover the file he had deleted - John Hart’s file. It was really such a coincidence that the man’s background and personality almost fit Jack’s psych-eval of the serial killer to the T. And then there was the fact of John’s apartment. After getting over the initial shock of discovery, and reigning back control of himself, Ianto had taken the time to set things up to his advantage. He removed any evidence on the walls that would leave to any kind of conviction on his behalf, then even went so far as to log onto John’s laptop, type up a profile for himself - in the exact format as the resume he had left the police at Huw’s crime scene - and printed it off. The police had found all of this after disabling the trip wire Ianto had set up right outside of John’s bedroom. That information was more than enough to arrest John - him being dead and caught in the act of attempting to murder Ianto was just icing on the cake. Ianto’s recalling of the events couldn’t exactly be questioned, and all oddity of the fact that John wasn’t sticking to the serial killer’s MO was also tossed out the window due to emotional involvement. Ianto had cemented that fact by telling the police John had told him that the reason Ianto was going to be killed was because he was stealing Jack away. The perfect cover-up.
Ianto smiled only fractionally, allowing his true feelings to barely slip through a crack in his façade. His fingers trailed down the spine slowly, sensuously caressing the leather. His finger followed the edge of the cover, until finally he hooked his nail tips around the edge and pulled it, gently flipping to the first page. He went through the book, reaching the last page written on in exactly five seconds. There he hesitated, his eyes running over the numbers, digesting the data. He got to the bottom of the page, where the last number had been written in. He glanced to the left, where a black ballpoint pen was sitting. The same pen that he always used to mark down his numbers. That way he would always know if someone was marking in his book. He picked up the pen and hovered it over the small blank line that was left under John Hart’s name. What should he put? The last number was always how long it took for his hands to squeeze out their last breath - the duration of their last struggle. How much they wanted to hold onto life. He didn’t have a number for John Hart, for it wasn’t his hands that had done the final act. Ianto had set everything up perfectly, but in a way, he still felt cheated.
He sat the pen down in the crack of the book and brought his fingers up, gently drifting them over his throat. While the bruises remained, the burn that reminded Ianto how close he had come to a death of irony had long since faded. Ianto had been cheated that night. Even though he knew that, in order to stay hidden, he would have been unable to get John’s blood - metaphorically speaking - on his hands, he still loathed it. Ianto had so much wanted to feel John struggle beneath him, gasping for that final breath. He wanted to watch as the person who had single-handedly done the most harm to Jack fade away and then simply cease to exist. Police Detective Gwen Cooper had taken that away from him.
Ianto reached forward and again picked up the pen, this time bringing the tip down onto the paper. Slowly, perfectly, he wrote in what he deemed appropriate. It was the fastest death that Ianto had ever caused, and would always hold that record. Even in death, John Hart was mocking him, showing Ianto that he would never be just another name in his book of conquests.
‘0 seconds.’
He held the pen just a quarter of a second too long, making the period slightly bigger than any of the others in his book. Then he pulled away and capped the pen, reaching forward and sliding it back into its little hiding spot. And there it would stay until it was needed again.
Ianto stared at the page of numbers - stared at John Hart’s name as it peered back at him. Ianto let all the thoughts that he had been fighting the past week enter his mind. The words that the detective had thrown at him. The man had loved Jack, truly loved him. Ianto had watched from the ambulance, barely registering their questions, not feeling their probing fingers. He hadn’t even realized when they injected him with pain medication to help ease the discomfort of his kneecap. Because Ianto had been watching as Jack Harkness fell apart in front of him.
Something had happened inside Ianto then, watching Jack crumble, pull John’s dead body tight against his and fall to the ground, sobbing and crying and grieving. There had been a tug in Ianto’s heart and for exactly half a second, he found himself wishing that John hadn’t been killed. That Gwen’s bullet had only incapacitated him.
But it had only lasted half a second, and then the thought ran from his mind. Ianto had found himself reeling in shock from the wish. It had confused him to no end. He had known ahead of time what it would do to Jack, seeing his former lover dead. But it was either John or Ianto, and the Welshman knew exactly who wanted to live more.
Ianto took a deep breath, then turned the page, effectively closing off the chapter of his life that John Hart had been a part of. As he stared at the blank page, possibilities swarmed his mind, and he moved on.
A smile spread across his lips as Ianto’s hand pet the page, knowing that soon enough it would be full with numbers. Satisfied, he closed the book and gently replaced it in its cubby, replacing the carpet and smoothing out the edges.
Ianto stood up from the floor, groaning a bit as he stretched. He hobbled out of the closet, his knee still sore. He no longer felt the need for Jack’s cane, but still liked to use it when he was around. He knew it made Jack feel less vulnerable to share that small ting with him. Relying on the stick for a few days had been a good experience to have too.. Ianto was able to look at the world out of Jack’s eyes, understand a bit why the man refused to use one when it was logical to do so.
Jack was sleeping in their bed as Ianto padded out of the closet and back into the bedroom. He no longer looked peaceful in his sleep. Even while resting, his eyes would screw up tight and his mouth would set itself into a permanent scowl. Ianto hadn’t seen the man smile for the past week, and that in itself was a strange and unusual occurrence. The past seven days Ianto had to rely on his numbers more than ever to keep himself in check. To keep his world from crumbling even more than it already had.
Jack had fallen asleep with his head propped against the headboard of their bed. He was sitting up, a laptop open and resting on his legs, the slight hum of the machine letting everyone know that it was still on. Ianto undressed quickly, stripping down to only his underwear before crawling into bed, pulling up the covers and wiggling over next to Jack. Swiping his fingers on the mouse pad, Ianto woke the computer out of its slumber and took a look at what Jack had been working on. He frowned when he saw the result.
“Ianto?” Jack asked, his voice heavy with sleep as he awoke, stirring under the sheets. Ianto took the laptop from Jack and closed it, leaning over and setting it on the nightstand.
“You shouldn’t be looking at that.” Ianto said with worry tinting his voice. Jack had somehow got his hands on the electronic copy of the Cardiff serial killer case, including the closing statement and the psych evaluation made of John Hart by a psychologist other than Jack.
Jack sighed and ran his left hand through his hair, sinking down further under the sheets until he was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Ianto sank down as well, adopting his normal position - his arm slung across Jack’s waist, his head resting lightly on his chest, in just the right position to be able to hear his heart beat. Ianto loved Jack’s heartbeat - it was one of the only things about the man that could be predicted and controlled. He could count the heartbeat; find rhythm and pattern behind it. Jack’s heartbeat made sense.
“They’re saying he was fake, Ianto.” Jack whispered after three minutes and twenty seven seconds of silence. His voice sounded so strange - so weak and broken. “Saying that his whole life was a lie. His relationships and appearances were all fabricated so that he could continue living under the radar so he could…”
Jack drifted off, unable to finish the sentence. Ianto held onto Jack tighter, and felt the man shift closer in return. Jack could be so simple sometimes - the man craved touch, physical comfort. Sometimes all he needed was a gentle touch on the shoulder - other times he just yearned to be held tightly and told that everything was going to be ok.
“So long. I knew him so long. That’s what I do - tell when people are faking. He…I…they can’t tell me it wasn’t real.” Jack was crying now, silent tears falling down his face, speaking all the words he couldn’t say. Ianto knew - he could tell when he saw the way that Jack reacted to John’s death. The man loved him. Jack loved John. Maybe not the way that he said he loved Ianto, but there was a bond there, closer and more emotional than any normal one.
Jack had told him - about the cheating. It had been the night - or, more accurately, the morning - that they had come back from the police station, Ianto being allowed to leave because he had finished his statement. There had been barely any words exchanged between them, but none were needed, not at that time. Jack had held Ianto tightly, and the Welshman knew it was for Jack’s benefit as much as it was for himself. They had been quiet for such a long time, Ianto drifting off to sleep, when Jack had said it. ‘John and I’ was all that Jack said, but it was all that had been needed. He had tensed around Ianto, as if scared that he would pull away and leave. Instead of remaining quite, like he normally would have done, Ianto had turned around and kissed Jack gently on the lips, before whispering an ‘I know’ then falling asleep.
Ianto could have stayed quiet then - and he could have stayed quiet now. It was the logical thing to do. It was what his brain was telling him to do - just stay quiet, kiss him goodnight, then go to sleep. Wounds take time to heal, no matter how deep or shallow.
But Ianto’s heart was telling him to do something, and for the first time in his young life, Ianto Jones listened to his heart.
“Maybe. Maybe he had been faking so long, that one morning he woke up, and realized that he wasn’t acting anymore.” Ianto said, lifting his head up in order to look into Jack’s eyes as he talked. Their eyes met in a clash of blue, and the intensity of Jack’s gaze was so overwhelming that Ianto stumbled.
“That, what started out as just a cover - something to make him blend in, look like a normal person, ended up becoming the first real thing that he had ever had. He would have been dead so long ago if it wasn’t for you, Jack Harkness, so full of life and love and care. You took him - someone so empty and fake, and by sheer humanity turned him into something real. An actual person. You weren’t able to conquer the monster inside, but you were able to make it easier to battle.
“And when faced with a threat - with someone who was going to take you away from him. Take the only thing that ever meant something in his life and rip it away, leaving him to battle the darkness alone once again, he dealt with it the only way that he had ever known how.” Ianto’s voice cracked with emotion - it was like he was listening to someone else talk to Jack. It scared him, and for a moment he lost track of how many times Jack’s heart had beat in the past minute.
But then Ianto looked at Jack and saw his smile, the slight upturn of lips and flash of those pearly white teeth. He saw what passed for happiness for the first time in a week, and Ianto suddenly realized that he couldn’t care less about Jack’s heartbeat.
Jack leaned forward and kissed Ianto softly on the lips before falling back, his head gently hitting the pillow. He pulled Ianto closer, interweaving their legs and arms so that no-one could tell where one man started and the other ended.
“I love you Ianto Jones.” Jack whispered then. “So much.”
Ianto returned the embrace, for the first time in his life finding comfort and safety in the arms of his warm lover instead of the cold calculations of numbers. And he wasn’t sure whether or not that scared him.
It took Jack barely any time at all to fall asleep - Ianto didn’t know how long, or how many breaths it took for him to settle down. He couldn’t tell you how much Jack’s heart beat had slowed down in time of seconds between beats, or how long he could last before having to shift positions. Because that whole time, Ianto was figuring something out. Calling upon all those little tugs and pulls he had felt over the past month and a half, slowly piecing it all together.
He wasn’t sure how long it took him until everything clicked together, but when it did, he knew without a doubt that the answer he had stumbled upon was right.
“I love you.” he whispered.
And Ianto meant every word.