[FIC] Holding to the Ground {Part One} | Jack/Ianto (Hard R/NC-17)
TITLE: Holding to the Ground
AUTHOR: thescarletwoman
BETA(S): flyingtonowhere and halfspell
ARTIST: rotaryphones
CHARACTER(S): Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, the Doctor, Gwen Cooper, Various OCs. PAIRING: Jack/Ianto
RATING: Hard R/Bordering on NC-17
WORD COUNT: ~22,000
WARNINGS: character death (though brief), AU, Spoilers through Children of Earth
DISCLAIMER: Torchwood and Doctor Who belong to the BBC. No copyright infringement intended. Reference quotes come from Episode 1x01 'Everything Changes' and some ideas come from the musical RENT.
AUTHOR'S NOTE(S): This has been quite a wild ride -- and one I wasn't sure I'd see through to the end. But thank you to my wonderful friends who pushed me to see this through until the very end. And a special thank you to Cap -- who helped me find the voice of the Doctor when I needed it the most. Thank you to my wonderful betas, any remaining mistakes are mine.
SUMMARY: Jack has never dealt with grief well and this is no exception. Running away from all of his responsibilities, he leaves Gwen alone to try to rebuild the crumbling Torchwood. Jack travells the world until something pulls him back to Cardiff -- to discover something he never thought possible. The only problem is he needs the Doctor's help, and who knows when he'll return again?
LINK TO FIC: Part One | Part Two | Part Three
Bang.
The sound of the gun shot echoed, breaking the silence that stretched over the Plass like a blanket. The revolver fell from Jack's hand a moment later as his body pitched forward into the cold sea. He had chosen the time appropriately, namely because the late hour would lend itself to less witnesses. There was no one to run to the edge of the pier and try to fish him out, to attempt to save the poor man who suddenly decided to end it all by putting the barrel of a gun to his temple and blow his brains out.
God, what a shock it would have been to the hapless individual to suddenly have Jack wake up while his saviour was pulling the seemingly lifeless body from the water. Normal people didn't come back to life
It wasn't the first time he'd put a bullet in his head since Ianto died. Every day at 4:37 am (exactly twelve hours after Ianto exhaled his final breath) Jack killed himself in one form or another -- though lately a gunshot seemed to appeal to his sense of self-loathing. He didn't care if it was an overly dramatic way to die or if it made him seem like some gigantic romantic who couldn't live without his lover, Jack needed a way to deal with his guilt and suicide was his method of choice.
Jack was none of those things. He was merely a man who knew no other way of dealing with grief. It wasn't only Ianto's death he was mourning, but the end of his relationship with his daughter and the death of his grandson. With each eventual resurrection, Jack grew colder, harder. Every time Jack died, a bit more of his humanity died with him -- though there wasn't much left of that to lose. What else was there for him in the end? He had seen his lover die by his own hand. Jack had destroyed his daughter in order to save the world. At the very base of his existence, Jack Harkness was a soldier and he knew that there were times sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. He had once sacrificed Jasmine to the fairies even though he had faced the silent disapproval of the rest of his team. Jack understood that, at times, he would have to do the unconscionable in order to keep the rest of the world safe.
He was the one who had taken on the role of hero -- the decisions and the repercussions were his cross to bear for the rest of his long life.
In the end, there was only so much a man could take without snapping. Apparently, Jack had found his breaking point.
Once upon a time, Jack had loathed the blackness, the cold inky space that surrounded death. Now he found solace in its depths. There was a part of Jack that prayed he would find Ianto within the black confines of death; that he could see him one last time and apologise for everything... apologise for not listening to him in the first place. The entire plan had been half-cocked from the beginning and Ianto had argued with him until his voice cracked from anger. Yet Jack had ignored his concerns, convinced Ianto that he was right and had all but forced Ianto to accompany him to the Thames house without so much as a mask for protection.
Stupidly, Jack had antagonised the 456. His pride had gotten the better of him because he had become lazy in dealing with people and aliens. Jack believed that a few well-placed words accompanied by waving a gun around would case the 456 to capitulate to his demands. He never expected the 456 to fight back and he sure as hell never expected their retaliation to be so deadly. Ianto wasn't the only casualty from Jack's bull-headed mistake. He had seen the body bags in the makeshift morgue; their deaths increased the number of stains Jack would carry on his soul for the rest of his life.
So much death... and all of them were his fault because he had enjoyed playing the role of the hero. In the end, the role of the hero was one never intended for Jack Harkness. Too often Jack bumbled his way through things and at the end only barely managed to save the day. It was usually dumb luck coupled with a lot of elbow grease that got Torchwood through their messes.
Sure, they had lived to fight another day -- but at what cost? A destroyed Hub, a decimated team, and the destruction of his own blood.
The darkness didn't last for long and soon Jack was thrust from the cold arms of death and pushed back to the land of the living. He drew in that first breath, disoriented from being under water, and sucked in water rather than oxygen.
Gasping for breath and choking on a mouthfull of water as it filled his lungs, Jack pushed himself to the surface, fighting the weight of his wet greatcoat. One of these days he'd remember to remove it before he plunged into the icy water -- particularly as some of the bloodstains were rather conspicuous. Jack treaded water for a few minutes, getting his bearings and resigning himself to this hellish existence once more. Even after so many deaths, there was a large part of Jack that hoped this next one would be the one to end it all.
And yet, every time, he woke -- still shuffling along this mortal coil. Maybe next time.
Slowly, Jack began to swim towards one of the ladders, pulling himself out of the frigid water and back onto dry land. Water poured from him, squeezing out of his heavy coat and clothing, drenching the flagstones beneath his feet. Every time he rose from the water, Jack couldn't help but think of a baptism: each death was a new rebirth, slowly purging the Doctor's healing influence from every cell of Jack's body. Perhaps he would have been better off as a coward, better off never trying to play the hero -- a part he had never been cast in and had no right to attempt. Slowly the Captain was slipping away from Jack and in its place was the rogue Time Agent -- the con man who cared for nothing but money, liquor and a good fuck.
The hero gig hadn't worked out and, really, until the Doctor had come along he was doing pretty damn good with the bastard stuff. Why shouldn't he go back to what he was good at?
Thank god it was so early in the morning, no one was around to see the spectacle he was about to make. Eyes raised to the heavens, Jack shook his fist and began to yell, knowing full well that there was no way the Doctor could hear his ravings.
"Where the bloody hell are you, Doctor? You claim to love humanity so much? Where the fuck were you when we needed you the most? When I needed you?" His voice was hoarse by the time Jack finished, but he didn't care. Seven stages of grief? Jack Harkness was permanently vacillating between denial and anger. "Come on. Show your face around here again. I fucking dare you."
As always, there was no response. The first few times he had shouted, Jack had felt some measure of relief afterwards. Now? It only pissed him off all the more that he couldn't give the Doctor a piece of his mind in person.
Not to mention a piece of his fist in his jaw.
Jack retrieved his revolver, sliding it back into its holster and turned on his heel, walking away from the construction in the Plass. He had no idea what they were going to make of the gaping hole that had once been his home, nor did he care anymore. It was Gwen's now by default.
Jack Harkness was through with Torchwood.
***
Dark. Cold. Wet. Black.
Floating. Weightless. Nothingness.
No body. No feeling. No life.
Wet. Cold.
Death.
Dead.
***
He was not there to receive the body, nor was Jack the one to tell Ianto's family he had been killed. Both tasks he had passed on to Gwen, not wanting to be anywhere near the make-shift Hub or anything having to do with one Ianto Jones. He had left his instructions: how Ianto's body was to be stored until the Hub was rebuilt and what the Jones family would be able to do for a burial. Ianto's body was now Torchwood property, another one of the pitiful souls taken much before their time and stored away beneath Cardiff until the end of time.
Apparently, the only ways to survive to reach the age of thirty in Torchwood was to be immortal or to be hired at age thirty-one.
There was nothing left for Jack here in Cardiff. No Doctor to wait for as, if the Doctor really cared about humanity as much as he professed to, where the hell was he during this whole debacle? No family because Jack knew Alice would rather see him dead than invite him into her home ever again. On that, Jack couldn't blame her -- if he were her, he wouldn't want to see himself either. No Torchwood, he had blown the Hub to kingdom come. Yes, Jack knew Torchwood was more than just the Hub, but he had lost enough in the name of Torchwood. The man had had reached his limit and he was done. Someone else could take over.
Worst of all, Jack didn't even have his Vortex Manipulator -- yet another thing that Torchwood had taken from him. After wearing the thing for roughly two millennia, his wrist felt naked without it. He rubbed the bare skin, wishing it was there to give him some way to escape the Earth. Jack may not have been able to travel in time (thanks Doctor. Really appreciate that one.) but he could at least call a passing ship in an attempt to hitch a ride. Anything that could get him away from this dead planet was okay by Jack, even a garbage transport would do.
Short of that, maybe it was high time he left Cardiff. At this point, it didn't matter where he went, so long as it had nothing to do with Wales or Cardiff.
India was supposed to be nice this time of year. Or perhaps the Amazon. His coat would be a bitch in the heat but those were the breaks, eh?
Jack had a fair amount of cash set aside for that proverbial rainy day and, frankly, it didn't get much drearier than this. Money in hand, Jack booked the first flight (first class of course) for the destination farthest away from Cardiff.
Ghat would do for a start. Maybe he could wander the desert for twenty-some odd years.
***
Cold. Death. Dark. Alone.
Feeling. Odd. Strange.
Not dark. Pinpricks of light. Dark... no, no light.
Grey not black.
Cold. Hot.
Something.
***
"You lot have the plans. What more do you need?"
It didn't take a rocket scientist to realise this was not going well and consequently, Gwen Cooper-Williams was one pissed off Welshwoman. Now in the position of de facto leader, Gwen was faced with the arduous task of dealing with Cardiff's finest to help rebuild not only the Roald Dahl Plass, but the Hub beneath it. They only needed to complete the main structure in order to begin the construction of the Plass itself. It was only when she saw the crater left behind by Jack's bomb that Gwen had an inkling of how extensive the Hub truly was. Yes, she realised it was a large space but when the flagstones of the Plass were peeled away like the top of a sardine can, she could appreciate the engineering that had carved out the structure beneath Cardiff -- especially when one considered the age of the original Hub.
They hadn't seen hide nor hair of Myfanwy, but Gwen was going to assume the best for the pteranodon. Besides, they had found pieces of Janet's body, so it stood to reason that if Myfanwy hadn't gotten out in time, they'd have found her as well. That was Gwen's feeling and she'd stick to it until she had evidence to the contrary. Not to mention Gwen didn't feel up to explaining why there were non-fossilised dinosaur bones in Cardiff.
Explaining the reason for an underground secret lair beneath Cardiff had been hard enough without a large-scale dose of Retcon as a 'binding' agent.
The worker shouted something unintelligible back at her and Gwen ignored it. Fine and whatever. She wasn't here to make friends, she was here to oversee things as Jack would have wanted them carried out.
Then again, did it really matter what Jack wanted? He left them... again. No, she wouldn't think like that. She would rebuild the Hub exactly as Jack would have wanted it built and she was determined to entice him back at some point. Gwen firmly believed that Jack would return to her, no matter what happened in the interim. He simply needed time away from everything and more time to clear his head. But he'd be back.
He had to and Gwen wouldn't be shaken from her belief.
"Cooper!" Gwen turned in the direction of the voice, seeing a man approach carrying a clip board.
God, what now?
"Yeah, what is it?" Gwen asked, meeting the man half-way. "I'm busy and I have things that need taking care of--"
"I need you to sign for the body."
Gwen could feel the colour drain from her face, chest tightening as she fought a near overwhelming wave of emotion. Damn this pregnancy and her current predicament to greet every small thing with an over-exaggerated response. Still, anyone would have the same reaction hearing their friend was now relegated to the category of 'body' -- no longer a person but a husk, an empty shell.
She didn't need a name to know who the bloke was referring to as a body.
"Right," Gwen replied. "I thought the paperwork had been taken care of already. He was to be kept in cryogenics until Torchwood came for him. You have the orders from Captain Harkness."
"Look lady, I don't know anything about that. I was told to bring the body here and let you lot take care of it."
"And what the hell do you think I'm going to do with it?" Gwen asked, gesturing behind her. "Does it really look like I have the means to take care of a body? Where do you think I'm hiding a freeze chamber, up my skirt?"
"You're not wearing a skirt."
Gwen rubbed her temples, wondering how Jack dealt with these imbeciles day in and day out. Granted, she had her taste of it when he had left them all in the lurch, running after the Doctor a few years back. However, at that time, she'd been able to use Toshiko, Owen and Ianto as back-up. Now, she was completely on her own. One thing was for certain, Gwen wasn't going to be alone for long. With or without Jack's blessing she was going to hire some help.
"And you've not learned the definition of sarcasm," Gwen replied, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "So what am I supposed to do with a body I have no way of preserving?"
The uniformed man shrugged. "Not my problem."
"Oh, I'm about to make it your problem," Gwen replied, snatching the clipboard from him. She began scanning it, knowing there had to be some instructions contained therein that the man missed, something that would prove she was right and he was in the wrong.
Besides, as far as she knew, Ianto would have set all the arrangements and she couldn't imagine him not following everything through to the n-th letter of the law. Searching through the three pages, Gwen finally found what she was looking for -- small print, perhaps, but it was there. Ah, vindication.
"Right then," Gwen said, curling the paper back and turning the board so he could see it. "Tell me what this says." She pointed at the line in question, stepping back and placed her hands on her hips, smirking.
He took the clip board from her, squinting at the tiny print and scowled.
"Read it," Gwen repeated, crossing her arms in front of her chest. God, she was even starting to act like Jack, wasn't she?
"Says that we're to hold the deceased in cryo-stasis until such the time that Torchwood sees fit to relieve us of our duty."
"Then, following that, have any of us come to retrieve Mr Jones from your hands?" Gwen continued, uncrossing one of her hands and picking at her nails.
"No, you haven't."
"Well," Gwen took a step forward and patted the man on the shoulder, giving him her sweetest smile, "in that case, I suggest you return Mr Jones to where he should be until I come for him. Which will be once he can be safely moved and into storage."
God, storage. It sounded so damned cold (pun not intended). How did Jack do this time after time after time? Gwen drew in a breath and slowly exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose for a second time and tried to look more annoyed as opposed to crushed. The man had the good grace to look suitably abashed and Gwen was relieved. One more possible crisis averted for the time being -- a well-won victory in her mind.
"Got it."
"Got it, what?" Gwen asked, clearing her throat.
"Got it, ma'am."
Arms crossed in front of her chest once more, Gwen watched with a satisfied smirk as the man returned to his van with his head bowed. If she could, she would have taken Ianto's body and kept it somewhere safe -- he belonged with Torchwood, such that it was. Gwen had seen hide nor hair of Jack since the 456's departure and something told her not to go in search of him. He would return whenever he was good and ready and until then, Gwen would keep things moving.
She only hoped that the end of the world wasn't approaching them at the break-neck pace Jack always seemed to warn them about: the 21st century was when it all changes. They could only deal with so many disasters at a time and now that the only members of Torchwood were an absent leader and a pregnant woman, the world didn't stand much of a chance.
The simple answer was they weren't ready.
"Cooper!"
Gwen turned in the direction of the voice, uncrossing her arms and jogging towards the construction worker as he flagged her down. No rest for the weary or the wicked.
***
Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.
Feeling. Warmth.
Surroundings. Light. Dark. Gray.
Contact. Coming.
Soon.
***
Three months. Three months he had spent in the ass-end of the world, wandering deserts and forests, not caring where he was or where he was going. There were times Jack forgot to eat, forgot to sleep and only when his body gave out due to heat stroke or dehydration would he remember the necessities of life. His greatcoat was ripped beyond repair but even that didn't seem to bother him. The only odd thing was that Jack had yet to grow facial hair and look like some primitive Neanderthal wandering through the uncharted wilderness. Jack had always shaved daily, one of those human conventions he'd always followed due to his vanity as opposed to the need to get rid of stubble. But having a smooth face after months of neglect, Jack realised that there was quite a bit more to the whole 'fixed point in time' that he had never contemplated.
Not only couldn't Jack die, but he would always return to the same state he'd been in when the Daleks had Exterminated him and Rose brought him back. Yes, Jack did notice the occasional grey hair here and there and his hair did grow and turn grey. Just... not at the speed it should have. Granted, Jack had gone these extended lengths of time without grooming before, but never before had he been so acutely aware of what physical changed did (or in this case didn't happen to him).
He had lost track of the number of deaths he had accumulated since the incident at the Thames house. There had been a time when Jack could name, in order, every single one of his deaths and the cause of it. Now they seemed to stretch out behind and in front of him, an endless stream of rebirths and deaths that no longer had a meaning. Depression wasn't becoming on Captain Jack -- but it was hard not to slip into such a state. In the course of one day, Jack had lost his family, his humanity, and his lover -- and been forced to do unconscionable things. There wasn't a person in the world strong enough to survive all of that without it affecting him.
Save maybe the perfect Doctor. Bastard.
Jack Harkness: the modern-day Lady Macbeth who would forever see bloodstains on his hands. So many deaths, all because he was too proud and too bull-headed to listen to reason. Maybe, had he actually stopped to think, he could have avoided the entire incident and would have found a way to reason with the 456 before it had reached the point it had. He could have discovered a way to defeat them, to send them away without resorting to the death of his own flesh and blood.
Alice would never forgive him for what he did to Steven. No matter how Jack tried to explain it, he knew he had been in the wrong and had no right to take Steven's life. Yes, in the end, Jack had saved millions of lives, but at what cost? Destroying his daughter and severing any relationship he had tried to build with her over the years, while the rest of the world got to bask in the thrill of victory. Jack had a true talent for being able to screw over anyone and everyone -- particularly those he loved most. Alice's hatred of him wouldn't change how he felt about his daughter, it only caused an already open wound to fester and rot.
It was a wound that said he would never again be able to see her as her father. Killing Steven had removed that right once and for all. Hell, if he could, he'd hand over his revolver and let her get the revenge she so rightly deserved. As many times as she wanted.
Jack was his own worst enemy.
Ignoring the branches as they caught on his torn trousers, Jack picked his way through the under brush. One of these days he would find his purpose once more. Gwen was back in Cardiff, and knowing her as he did, she was working on rebuilding the Hub to its former glory. Perhaps he would return eventually, once the pain of being screwed by the people he protected didn't hurt so much.
Until then, Jack would stay where he was: tracking down obscure civilizations and items that had been nothing but long-forgotten myths. Things that had come through various Rifts across the world, falling into the hands of people who had no idea what they had. Jack may have hated the human race, he may have wanted to run away from the blue and green planet to find meaning and purpose somewhere else, but he couldn't change the part of him that automatically thought of keeping the Earth safe. In the end, Jack couldn't say 'fuck you' to the human race -- he truly was a hero beneath it all.
No matter how he wanted to believe otherwise.
***
Hot. Wet. Sweat. Wet Heat.
Icy hot. Warm chill.
Strange.
Awareness.
Living.
Alive.
***
Five months following the explosion that rocked Cardiff to its very core, the Plass was finally finished. To the untrained eye, it looked much as it did before the bomb had destroyed it. The water fountain/sculpture was once more in place, water peacefully flowing down the mirrored walls and to the ground far below.
However, whenever Gwen Cooper-Williams looked at the space, all she could see was the gaping hole that had brought her world crashing down. Things may have been as they were but nothing felt right. The Tourist Shop had since been repaired, guide books on order for a shop that would never be open again. It didn't seem proper to re-open the Tourist Shop without Ianto standing behind the counter. Perhaps one day she'd come up with some other business to use as the public face of Torchwood, but for now the silent office would serve as a memorial for the man taken so brutally from them.
He hadn't even turned twenty-six yet. God, what sort of a cruel world ripped a man so young from its grasp?
It certainly wasn't the world Gwen had signed on to protect when Jack asked her to join Torchwood. What was the point of working to keep the earth safe when one alien could destroy everything in a moment? They did so much for the world and for Cardiff... and this was how they were repaid? In Gwen's professional opinion, it seemed like they were getting the short end of the proverbial stick.
And then there was Jack's lift. Sure, the flagstones and apparatus beneath were in place, but there was nothing invisible about the lift any more. Now when it lowered, there was a big gaping hole that anyone could fall into if they weren't paying attention. Jack had once mocked her for finding fault in a 'cool contraption', but now that fault had come to fruition. Still, she had to recreate his personal entrance... even if Gwen didn't know if Jack would ever return to her.
To Torchwood, Gwen mentally corrected. To her and Torchwood.
Gwen let her hand rest on her now bulging stomach, looking back and forth between the two monuments: where she knew the Tourist Shop sat and the Sculpture in front of her. How had they come to this? How did everything change so abruptly?
Why did they have to lose everything?
From behind, the sound of a horn drew Gwen's attention away from her thoughts. Ah, the same van and (most likely) the same idiot who showed up the last time. Gwen pressed her earpiece, calling down into the makeshift Medical Bay in the Hub below. She had insisted it be finished first for the express purpose of getting Ianto back as soon as humanly possible. He belonged here at the Hub, not with strangers.
"Robert. Come up." Gwen spoke said into the hidden mouthpiece. "They're here."
"On my way," came the immediate response.
Robert was a good bloke. Bit stuck up, but all around a good chap. Besides, he was a good doctor and they needed more than just... well... her around. Gwen had tried to contact Jack about the expansion of their decimated team, but there had been no response. She had managed to keep tabs on him, setting the databases to constantly search for reports of a strange man who couldn't die. Gwen assumed he'd go after the dangerous missions and Jack's death usually accompanied such endeavours. As always, Gwen's assumption had been right on the money. To date, Gwen had tracked him through Africa, losing track of him for six weeks before he resurfaced in Peru. At least she knew approximately where he was so that, if and when things went pear shaped, she could find him. However, finding Jack and getting him to come home were two different things. Gwen would cross that bridge when she (and Torchwod) arrived at it.
Apparently the hiring of new team members didn't constitute an emergency, even if she had sent multiple missives to him seeking his guidance and approval. In the end, Gwen had exercised her best judgement in hiring Robert Watson as the new Doctor and Janice Thompson to work general support. She stayed with the three of them in the vain hope that Jack would return soon and they wouldn't be 'over-staffed'. Granted, Gwen wondered if there was such a thing as 'over-staffed' when it came to Torchwood. Half the time even when there were five of them it felt like they could use more help.
Fifteen hour days really shouldn't be the norm at any job, right? Particularly when they happened six days a week.
There was only one rule in the Hub: no one was to touch the coffee machine. Gwen had purchased a small percolator, something she knew Ianto would disapprove of highly -- but she didn't want anyone operating the gleaming silver appliance. She owed him that much, didn't she? All right, so maybe it was stupid for her to make a damned memorial out of an appliance, but there it was and this was now her Torchwood thanks to Jack's abandonment.
"Gwen?"
A hand on her shoulder accompanied the soft voice. She had heard him approaching, the squeaky wheel of the gurney giving away Robert's attempt at a silent approach. Gwen gave a small smile in response though didn't turn to look at Robert; her eyes were fixed on the van as it backed onto the pedestrian area.
"So... that's him, yeah?"
"Yeah," Gwen replied, finally glancing askance at Robert. "That's him."
Honestly, why had she hired him? He wasn't that much older than Ianto was. Here she was, bitching about how young employees were when they died because they worked for Torchwood, and she now was perpetuating that cause. There were times Gwen was half-tempted to shut Torchwood down completely and let Cardiff fend for itself. Gwen would entertain the idea but the flight of fancy would leave her as reason kicked back in. With the Rift as out of control as it was, leaving the people of Cardiff unprotected was stupid.
Besides, it's not what Jack would have done, and to abandon Cardiff would mean Tosh, Owen, and Ianto all died in vain. Apparently Gwen had more respect for the Welsh than Jack, who up and left her time and time again.
Really -- this whole running away thing was getting really fucking old.
"You okay?" Robert asked, thumb rubbing Gwen's shoulder.
It was only when he spoke that Gwen realised tears were slipping quietly down her cheeks. Robert wordlessly handed her a handkerchief and Gwen murmured her thanks as she dabbed at her eyes. She shouldn't be the one to do this -- Jack should be here. It shouldn't be her alone. But no, Jack was off god knew where, fucking god knew what.
"I'm fine," Gwen replied, handing the damp scrap of fabric back to Robert. "Always am." She gave him a smile that was far too bright to be anywhere near sincere or real.
"Riiiiight," Robert said, rolling his eyes. "And I'm Father Christmas."
"You've lost weight," Gwen shot back.
"Oi! Which one of you is Gwen Cooper?"
Apparently the bloke was learning impaired -- he was the same bloody knob who had tried to turn the body over to her the last time and couldn't read proper English on the clipboard. If he couldn't recognise her from the last time he came by, Gwen was half tempted to ask if it was really Ianto's body in the back of the van.
"The only woman standing here," Gwen snapped in response, taking a step toward the man. "So I think it would be safe to assume that I am Gwen Cooper."
"Right then," the man replied, seemingly unphased by Gwen's brusque attitude. "Sign here and it's all yours."
"He," Gwen said, looking up mid-signature. "While he may be dead, he is still a he and not an it. Mind having a wee bit of respect for the dead?"
While Gwen's earlier tone of voice didn't seem to have much of an effect on him, at least this time the man managed to look suitably abashed by Gwen's attitude. She handed the now signed clipboard back to him and he turned away without a word, leaving Gwen and Robert following soundlessly behind him -- well, silently save that damn squeaky wheel. The back of the van was unlocked, doors opened, and Gwen stood watch almost protectively as the boy and Robert lowered the black body bag onto the gurney. Gwen swallowed hard, fighting that wave of emotion once more as she looked at the bag, knowing Ianto lay peacefully inside and being brought to his final resting place.
"Right then, that's that. I'll leave you to it."
Gwen waved him off, turning on her heel and leading the way back to the Hub proper. One hand was on the metal railing, helping Robert steer the now-occupied gurney across the flagstones. They walked in silence (squeaky-squeak-squeak) and Gwen was relieved Robert didn't attempt to start up a conversation. Frankly, Gwen wasn't sure if she could say anything half-way intelligible.
Damnit Jack, you should have been here. This is your job, not mine. You should be here.
They entered the Hub in silence, the only sounds coming from the teetering gurney and the siren above the cog door. Gwen led their tiny procession through the Hub, traversing walkways she knew all too well, even if they weren't the original platforms. The Hub: rebuilt completely to the original plans, ready and waiting for their Captain to re-take the reigns once more. The only question was if and when he'd show his bloody face around here again.
"Gwen? You okay, there?"
She nodded, sliding the wheeled bed under the lights in the autopsy bay. There would be no cutting into Ianto, there was no need to do anything to mutilate his body. They knew what he died of (death by Torchwood) and all that was left was to inter him in the vaults, frozen for the rest of time. Whoever decided that Torchwood operatives should be frozen ought to be thawed out and shoved somewhere to rot. Honestly, depriving families of a body to mourn over properly. Whose bright idea was that?
"I'll be fine," Gwen repeated, pulling herself from her thoughts and giving Robert a smile that was a bit too wide and too bright to be sincere. "I'll be down later to take care of the rest of the arrangements. Just hook him up to the machines."
"On it, boss."
With a curt nod, Gwen quickly excused herself from the autopsy bay and made a beeline for the cog door. She needed out of this place for a few hours before she went mad.
What Gwen needed was a large, stiff drink.
***
Movement. Down. Down. Around.
Familiar. Familiarity?
Impossible. No. No not.
Possible.
Homecoming.
Home.
***
Over the years, Jack had learned to trust his instincts and on the whole, they had served him well. Of course, this time Jack had been foolhardy and cocky, ignoring his instincts when it came to dealing with the 456 and look where it had gotten him: a dead grandson and a dead lover -- not to mention a hole in his soul that he knew would never be whole ever again.
Again, Jack's thoughts turned to the Doctor: a man who professed to love humanity as much as he did couldn't even show his fucking face in their hour of need. He had this argument with himself repeatedly, cursing the man he had once respected for not coming to the Earth's defence when Jack was making a mess of things. God, how different things could have been had the blue box shown up in Cardiff! Not even Cardiff -- anywhere in the isles would have suited Jack fine. Even the continent would have been fine, so long as it was close enough to enable travel to London so he could fix things.
But no -- Jack had been alone, had bumbled through it and ignored every one of his instincts that said to keep Ianto Jones far away from the Thames House. Even when Ianto had argued that the plan was stupid at the very best, Jack had silenced Ianto's concerns and done what Jack wanted to do.
Deep down, Jack had hoped the Doctor would come -- that each stupid mistake Torchwood made would somehow reach the Time Lord and he'd swoop in, right in the nick of time, and save the day.
Oh, how very wrong he'd been.
Still, for some reason, Jack believed the Doctor was going to return to the Earth and somehow manage to set things right. He kept moving about the globe, going places that seemed to have the sorts of activity that would interest the Doctor in the vain hope it would be enough to entice the man from whatever galaxy he was occupying that week. Yet, five months later and there was no sign of the Doctor. Whenever Jack was near to a computer, he would hack into the Torchwood databases, knowing that the monitors would have some record of TARDIS activity if there was some.
Nothing. Roughly a hundred and fifty days and there was nothing.
"Doctor, where the hell are you?"
As much as Jack didn't want to go back to Wales, he found himself moving closer to the British Isles in varying degrees. His body simply felt at home on Welsh soil, even if his heart didn't want to look upon another blue-eyed, dark haired man ever again. He'd lost too many of them over the years. He had lost Greg nearly fifty years ago and there wasn't a day that went by that Jack didn't think of the man taken as revenge for the future. What was Ianto, then? Revenge for the past? Revenge for sins he committed so many years ago? Revenge for sins not even contemplated?
Or nothing more than a senseless killing that, in the end, meant nothing?
No. No, it had to mean something. Jack couldn't live with himself if he had needlessly caused the death of the one man who had been able to keep and hold his attentions for longer than a few months.
And so, Jack found himself on a train, boot propped up on the seat across from him, watching the American countryside roll by. Few Americans travelled by train any more which meant Jack had almost the entire car to himself. He tapped a random rhythm on his knee, staring out as the lush greenery passed him by, blurring with the speed of the train.
He had no idea why he was returning to Cardiff, only that he was.
This time, Jack Harkness was going to listen to his instincts.
***
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. If it wasn't for the blinking lights and the faint, yet steady beat-pulse as the apparatus worked to lower Ianto's body temperature to Torchwood standards, Gwen would have thought he was sleeping. His body was cold, the company that had stored Ianto's body followed every instruction perfectly. Torchwood, however, had different equipment to store a body in the chambers found in the Hub.
Gwen had found the file on Jack's computer detailing exactly how Ianto's body was to be taken care of in the event of his death. There was no retrieving Ianto's suit from Jack's rooms below -- those rooms had gone the way of the dodo (not counting the one that had come through the Rift a few months ago). Retrieving them from his room? Gwen shook her head to get rid of the visual, ignoring the fact that she had seen them once before en flagrante delecto. Having clothes in Jack's rooms meant there was something more than just a quick fuck. Deep down, there was a part of Gwen that had always assumed their relationship wasn't that serious. Certainly not 'move in and live together' serious. From what Gwen knew of Jack, she couldn't imagine him in a committed relationship, no matter how she had dreamed he would whisk her away from Rhys and...
But she digressed.
In the absence of a suit in the Hub, Gwen had returned to Ianto's flat and retrieved something suitably (pardon the pun) appropriate. What else could she grab but a three-piece pinstripe suit? Pressed and hung on a drawer handle behind her, the suit waited to dress its owner for the last time in preparation for his final resting place. Reverently, Gwen removed Ianto's current tie and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, all the while thinking it was Jack who should be doing this. Not her.
God knew where the hell he was these days. So many times over the past five months she had tried contacting him and when she knew Ianto's body was to be delivered to the Hub, she had tried to find him yet again to no avail. For months she had been able to track him, then suddenly he had completely disappeared off the face of the Earth. Either she didn't have the right channels to locate him or Jack simply didn't want to be found. Nice way to treat your lover, Gwen silently chided. Don't even come home for his 'funeral'. Gwen wasn't surprised -- Jack was behaving like a damned child who packed up his toys when things didn't go his way. When, what he should have done, was be a man and stay here for the rest of them.
Stay here for her.
Ianto's shirt parted and Gwen's gaze was immediately drawn to his bare torso and the large red tattoo that curled around his waist. Yes, Gwen had seen Ianto nude from the waist up that one time, but her eyes had been more focused on Jack and the fact that Ianto's hand was wrapped around Jack's cock than looking at any physical body features. But now that there was nothing to distract her, Gwen found herself staring at the tattoo. It was a over-sized image of the Welsh dragon, head resting on Ianto's abdomen while the rest curled around his torso, leaving Gwen to wonder how big the thing really was. A small silver chain and leather necklace encircled his neck and was now visible, having been completely hidden by his crisply pressed oxford shirt and tie. Looking at Ianto's half-nude body, she began to realise there was so much to Ianto that she never knew. Here was a man that, for as long as she had known him (with very rare exceptions; the trip to the country coming immediately to mind), always wore a suit and appeared to be the epitome of propriety. With hair rarely out of place and always ready with a cup of coffee or a caustic remark, Ianto seemed to be the sort that curled up with a book at the end of the day and never broke the law.
Yet a tattoo seemed to negate her idealistic view of the office boy, instead creating the image of a man who kept his real thoughts and feelings hidden behind a tie. It begged the question of how much Jack really knew about Ianto; how much any of them knew.
"Funny thing, really."
Gwen frowned, finally tearing her gaze away from the tattoo as she heard Robert's voice behind her.
"What's funny?" She asked, her voice harsher than she intended.
Gwen reached for the bowl of cool beside her and the accompanying white cloth, soaking it in the warm, sudsy liquid. Letting the soap soak into the rag, Gwen wrung it out and began to use the damp towel to carefully sponge Ianto's body clean.
"Hear that slow beeping?"
"Yes... it's the machines or something. I'm not the doctor, that's why I hired you." Gwen paused. "Well, I suppose you're going to tell me what it is regardless of if I want to know or not, so why don't you just tell me?"
A beat pause, as if Robert was attempting to build up suspense. "It's his heartbeat," he finally said.
The bowl of water fell from where it was perched in Gwen's lap and hit the cement floor with a loud clatter. Her boots and jeans were instantly soaked as the water splashed onto her legs, while Gwen stared at Ianto's body in shock.
"Heartbeat? What bloody heartbeat?" Gwen asked, eyes wide. This was Torchwood where anything could happen but she had seen Ianto laying cold and still in the morgue.
He was dead and nothing but wishful thinking was ever going to bring him back.
"Well? What fucking heartbeat?" Gwen pressed, turning in her stool to face Robert. "Don't start something and then leave it to me to fill in the blanks.
"Weeeeeeell," Robert drew the word out, his intonation sounding a bit like Owen's when he wanted to prove he was smarter than everyone else. Must have been a personality trait amongst doctors to be right arses at the worst possible times. Robert crossed to her, carefully stepping over the spilled, soapy water to stand beside Gwen. "I didn't think it was possible and honestly thought I was going mental. I did some investigation but managed to find what the sound was and it's Ianto's heartbeat. It's weak and quite faint, but it's there. Robert spread his hands wide, a smirk settling into his features.
For what Robert had to say next, Gwen was relieved she was already sitting down.
"Gwen? Ianto Jones is alive."
LINK TO FIC: Part One | Part Two | Part Three
AUTHOR: thescarletwoman
BETA(S): flyingtonowhere and halfspell
ARTIST: rotaryphones
CHARACTER(S): Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, the Doctor, Gwen Cooper, Various OCs. PAIRING: Jack/Ianto
RATING: Hard R/Bordering on NC-17
WORD COUNT: ~22,000
WARNINGS: character death (though brief), AU, Spoilers through Children of Earth
DISCLAIMER: Torchwood and Doctor Who belong to the BBC. No copyright infringement intended. Reference quotes come from Episode 1x01 'Everything Changes' and some ideas come from the musical RENT.
AUTHOR'S NOTE(S): This has been quite a wild ride -- and one I wasn't sure I'd see through to the end. But thank you to my wonderful friends who pushed me to see this through until the very end. And a special thank you to Cap -- who helped me find the voice of the Doctor when I needed it the most. Thank you to my wonderful betas, any remaining mistakes are mine.
SUMMARY: Jack has never dealt with grief well and this is no exception. Running away from all of his responsibilities, he leaves Gwen alone to try to rebuild the crumbling Torchwood. Jack travells the world until something pulls him back to Cardiff -- to discover something he never thought possible. The only problem is he needs the Doctor's help, and who knows when he'll return again?
LINK TO FIC: Part One | Part Two | Part Three
Bang.
The sound of the gun shot echoed, breaking the silence that stretched over the Plass like a blanket. The revolver fell from Jack's hand a moment later as his body pitched forward into the cold sea. He had chosen the time appropriately, namely because the late hour would lend itself to less witnesses. There was no one to run to the edge of the pier and try to fish him out, to attempt to save the poor man who suddenly decided to end it all by putting the barrel of a gun to his temple and blow his brains out.
God, what a shock it would have been to the hapless individual to suddenly have Jack wake up while his saviour was pulling the seemingly lifeless body from the water. Normal people didn't come back to life
It wasn't the first time he'd put a bullet in his head since Ianto died. Every day at 4:37 am (exactly twelve hours after Ianto exhaled his final breath) Jack killed himself in one form or another -- though lately a gunshot seemed to appeal to his sense of self-loathing. He didn't care if it was an overly dramatic way to die or if it made him seem like some gigantic romantic who couldn't live without his lover, Jack needed a way to deal with his guilt and suicide was his method of choice.
Jack was none of those things. He was merely a man who knew no other way of dealing with grief. It wasn't only Ianto's death he was mourning, but the end of his relationship with his daughter and the death of his grandson. With each eventual resurrection, Jack grew colder, harder. Every time Jack died, a bit more of his humanity died with him -- though there wasn't much left of that to lose. What else was there for him in the end? He had seen his lover die by his own hand. Jack had destroyed his daughter in order to save the world. At the very base of his existence, Jack Harkness was a soldier and he knew that there were times sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. He had once sacrificed Jasmine to the fairies even though he had faced the silent disapproval of the rest of his team. Jack understood that, at times, he would have to do the unconscionable in order to keep the rest of the world safe.
He was the one who had taken on the role of hero -- the decisions and the repercussions were his cross to bear for the rest of his long life.
In the end, there was only so much a man could take without snapping. Apparently, Jack had found his breaking point.
Once upon a time, Jack had loathed the blackness, the cold inky space that surrounded death. Now he found solace in its depths. There was a part of Jack that prayed he would find Ianto within the black confines of death; that he could see him one last time and apologise for everything... apologise for not listening to him in the first place. The entire plan had been half-cocked from the beginning and Ianto had argued with him until his voice cracked from anger. Yet Jack had ignored his concerns, convinced Ianto that he was right and had all but forced Ianto to accompany him to the Thames house without so much as a mask for protection.
Stupidly, Jack had antagonised the 456. His pride had gotten the better of him because he had become lazy in dealing with people and aliens. Jack believed that a few well-placed words accompanied by waving a gun around would case the 456 to capitulate to his demands. He never expected the 456 to fight back and he sure as hell never expected their retaliation to be so deadly. Ianto wasn't the only casualty from Jack's bull-headed mistake. He had seen the body bags in the makeshift morgue; their deaths increased the number of stains Jack would carry on his soul for the rest of his life.
So much death... and all of them were his fault because he had enjoyed playing the role of the hero. In the end, the role of the hero was one never intended for Jack Harkness. Too often Jack bumbled his way through things and at the end only barely managed to save the day. It was usually dumb luck coupled with a lot of elbow grease that got Torchwood through their messes.
Sure, they had lived to fight another day -- but at what cost? A destroyed Hub, a decimated team, and the destruction of his own blood.
The darkness didn't last for long and soon Jack was thrust from the cold arms of death and pushed back to the land of the living. He drew in that first breath, disoriented from being under water, and sucked in water rather than oxygen.
Gasping for breath and choking on a mouthfull of water as it filled his lungs, Jack pushed himself to the surface, fighting the weight of his wet greatcoat. One of these days he'd remember to remove it before he plunged into the icy water -- particularly as some of the bloodstains were rather conspicuous. Jack treaded water for a few minutes, getting his bearings and resigning himself to this hellish existence once more. Even after so many deaths, there was a large part of Jack that hoped this next one would be the one to end it all.
And yet, every time, he woke -- still shuffling along this mortal coil. Maybe next time.
Slowly, Jack began to swim towards one of the ladders, pulling himself out of the frigid water and back onto dry land. Water poured from him, squeezing out of his heavy coat and clothing, drenching the flagstones beneath his feet. Every time he rose from the water, Jack couldn't help but think of a baptism: each death was a new rebirth, slowly purging the Doctor's healing influence from every cell of Jack's body. Perhaps he would have been better off as a coward, better off never trying to play the hero -- a part he had never been cast in and had no right to attempt. Slowly the Captain was slipping away from Jack and in its place was the rogue Time Agent -- the con man who cared for nothing but money, liquor and a good fuck.
The hero gig hadn't worked out and, really, until the Doctor had come along he was doing pretty damn good with the bastard stuff. Why shouldn't he go back to what he was good at?
Thank god it was so early in the morning, no one was around to see the spectacle he was about to make. Eyes raised to the heavens, Jack shook his fist and began to yell, knowing full well that there was no way the Doctor could hear his ravings.
"Where the bloody hell are you, Doctor? You claim to love humanity so much? Where the fuck were you when we needed you the most? When I needed you?" His voice was hoarse by the time Jack finished, but he didn't care. Seven stages of grief? Jack Harkness was permanently vacillating between denial and anger. "Come on. Show your face around here again. I fucking dare you."
As always, there was no response. The first few times he had shouted, Jack had felt some measure of relief afterwards. Now? It only pissed him off all the more that he couldn't give the Doctor a piece of his mind in person.
Not to mention a piece of his fist in his jaw.
Jack retrieved his revolver, sliding it back into its holster and turned on his heel, walking away from the construction in the Plass. He had no idea what they were going to make of the gaping hole that had once been his home, nor did he care anymore. It was Gwen's now by default.
Jack Harkness was through with Torchwood.
***
Dark. Cold. Wet. Black.
Floating. Weightless. Nothingness.
No body. No feeling. No life.
Wet. Cold.
Death.
Dead.
***
He was not there to receive the body, nor was Jack the one to tell Ianto's family he had been killed. Both tasks he had passed on to Gwen, not wanting to be anywhere near the make-shift Hub or anything having to do with one Ianto Jones. He had left his instructions: how Ianto's body was to be stored until the Hub was rebuilt and what the Jones family would be able to do for a burial. Ianto's body was now Torchwood property, another one of the pitiful souls taken much before their time and stored away beneath Cardiff until the end of time.
Apparently, the only ways to survive to reach the age of thirty in Torchwood was to be immortal or to be hired at age thirty-one.
There was nothing left for Jack here in Cardiff. No Doctor to wait for as, if the Doctor really cared about humanity as much as he professed to, where the hell was he during this whole debacle? No family because Jack knew Alice would rather see him dead than invite him into her home ever again. On that, Jack couldn't blame her -- if he were her, he wouldn't want to see himself either. No Torchwood, he had blown the Hub to kingdom come. Yes, Jack knew Torchwood was more than just the Hub, but he had lost enough in the name of Torchwood. The man had had reached his limit and he was done. Someone else could take over.
Worst of all, Jack didn't even have his Vortex Manipulator -- yet another thing that Torchwood had taken from him. After wearing the thing for roughly two millennia, his wrist felt naked without it. He rubbed the bare skin, wishing it was there to give him some way to escape the Earth. Jack may not have been able to travel in time (thanks Doctor. Really appreciate that one.) but he could at least call a passing ship in an attempt to hitch a ride. Anything that could get him away from this dead planet was okay by Jack, even a garbage transport would do.
Short of that, maybe it was high time he left Cardiff. At this point, it didn't matter where he went, so long as it had nothing to do with Wales or Cardiff.
India was supposed to be nice this time of year. Or perhaps the Amazon. His coat would be a bitch in the heat but those were the breaks, eh?
Jack had a fair amount of cash set aside for that proverbial rainy day and, frankly, it didn't get much drearier than this. Money in hand, Jack booked the first flight (first class of course) for the destination farthest away from Cardiff.
Ghat would do for a start. Maybe he could wander the desert for twenty-some odd years.
***
Cold. Death. Dark. Alone.
Feeling. Odd. Strange.
Not dark. Pinpricks of light. Dark... no, no light.
Grey not black.
Cold. Hot.
Something.
***
"You lot have the plans. What more do you need?"
It didn't take a rocket scientist to realise this was not going well and consequently, Gwen Cooper-Williams was one pissed off Welshwoman. Now in the position of de facto leader, Gwen was faced with the arduous task of dealing with Cardiff's finest to help rebuild not only the Roald Dahl Plass, but the Hub beneath it. They only needed to complete the main structure in order to begin the construction of the Plass itself. It was only when she saw the crater left behind by Jack's bomb that Gwen had an inkling of how extensive the Hub truly was. Yes, she realised it was a large space but when the flagstones of the Plass were peeled away like the top of a sardine can, she could appreciate the engineering that had carved out the structure beneath Cardiff -- especially when one considered the age of the original Hub.
They hadn't seen hide nor hair of Myfanwy, but Gwen was going to assume the best for the pteranodon. Besides, they had found pieces of Janet's body, so it stood to reason that if Myfanwy hadn't gotten out in time, they'd have found her as well. That was Gwen's feeling and she'd stick to it until she had evidence to the contrary. Not to mention Gwen didn't feel up to explaining why there were non-fossilised dinosaur bones in Cardiff.
Explaining the reason for an underground secret lair beneath Cardiff had been hard enough without a large-scale dose of Retcon as a 'binding' agent.
The worker shouted something unintelligible back at her and Gwen ignored it. Fine and whatever. She wasn't here to make friends, she was here to oversee things as Jack would have wanted them carried out.
Then again, did it really matter what Jack wanted? He left them... again. No, she wouldn't think like that. She would rebuild the Hub exactly as Jack would have wanted it built and she was determined to entice him back at some point. Gwen firmly believed that Jack would return to her, no matter what happened in the interim. He simply needed time away from everything and more time to clear his head. But he'd be back.
He had to and Gwen wouldn't be shaken from her belief.
"Cooper!" Gwen turned in the direction of the voice, seeing a man approach carrying a clip board.
God, what now?
"Yeah, what is it?" Gwen asked, meeting the man half-way. "I'm busy and I have things that need taking care of--"
"I need you to sign for the body."
Gwen could feel the colour drain from her face, chest tightening as she fought a near overwhelming wave of emotion. Damn this pregnancy and her current predicament to greet every small thing with an over-exaggerated response. Still, anyone would have the same reaction hearing their friend was now relegated to the category of 'body' -- no longer a person but a husk, an empty shell.
She didn't need a name to know who the bloke was referring to as a body.
"Right," Gwen replied. "I thought the paperwork had been taken care of already. He was to be kept in cryogenics until Torchwood came for him. You have the orders from Captain Harkness."
"Look lady, I don't know anything about that. I was told to bring the body here and let you lot take care of it."
"And what the hell do you think I'm going to do with it?" Gwen asked, gesturing behind her. "Does it really look like I have the means to take care of a body? Where do you think I'm hiding a freeze chamber, up my skirt?"
"You're not wearing a skirt."
Gwen rubbed her temples, wondering how Jack dealt with these imbeciles day in and day out. Granted, she had her taste of it when he had left them all in the lurch, running after the Doctor a few years back. However, at that time, she'd been able to use Toshiko, Owen and Ianto as back-up. Now, she was completely on her own. One thing was for certain, Gwen wasn't going to be alone for long. With or without Jack's blessing she was going to hire some help.
"And you've not learned the definition of sarcasm," Gwen replied, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "So what am I supposed to do with a body I have no way of preserving?"
The uniformed man shrugged. "Not my problem."
"Oh, I'm about to make it your problem," Gwen replied, snatching the clipboard from him. She began scanning it, knowing there had to be some instructions contained therein that the man missed, something that would prove she was right and he was in the wrong.
Besides, as far as she knew, Ianto would have set all the arrangements and she couldn't imagine him not following everything through to the n-th letter of the law. Searching through the three pages, Gwen finally found what she was looking for -- small print, perhaps, but it was there. Ah, vindication.
"Right then," Gwen said, curling the paper back and turning the board so he could see it. "Tell me what this says." She pointed at the line in question, stepping back and placed her hands on her hips, smirking.
He took the clip board from her, squinting at the tiny print and scowled.
"Read it," Gwen repeated, crossing her arms in front of her chest. God, she was even starting to act like Jack, wasn't she?
"Says that we're to hold the deceased in cryo-stasis until such the time that Torchwood sees fit to relieve us of our duty."
"Then, following that, have any of us come to retrieve Mr Jones from your hands?" Gwen continued, uncrossing one of her hands and picking at her nails.
"No, you haven't."
"Well," Gwen took a step forward and patted the man on the shoulder, giving him her sweetest smile, "in that case, I suggest you return Mr Jones to where he should be until I come for him. Which will be once he can be safely moved and into storage."
God, storage. It sounded so damned cold (pun not intended). How did Jack do this time after time after time? Gwen drew in a breath and slowly exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose for a second time and tried to look more annoyed as opposed to crushed. The man had the good grace to look suitably abashed and Gwen was relieved. One more possible crisis averted for the time being -- a well-won victory in her mind.
"Got it."
"Got it, what?" Gwen asked, clearing her throat.
"Got it, ma'am."
Arms crossed in front of her chest once more, Gwen watched with a satisfied smirk as the man returned to his van with his head bowed. If she could, she would have taken Ianto's body and kept it somewhere safe -- he belonged with Torchwood, such that it was. Gwen had seen hide nor hair of Jack since the 456's departure and something told her not to go in search of him. He would return whenever he was good and ready and until then, Gwen would keep things moving.
She only hoped that the end of the world wasn't approaching them at the break-neck pace Jack always seemed to warn them about: the 21st century was when it all changes. They could only deal with so many disasters at a time and now that the only members of Torchwood were an absent leader and a pregnant woman, the world didn't stand much of a chance.
The simple answer was they weren't ready.
"Cooper!"
Gwen turned in the direction of the voice, uncrossing her arms and jogging towards the construction worker as he flagged her down. No rest for the weary or the wicked.
***
Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.
Feeling. Warmth.
Surroundings. Light. Dark. Gray.
Contact. Coming.
Soon.
***
Three months. Three months he had spent in the ass-end of the world, wandering deserts and forests, not caring where he was or where he was going. There were times Jack forgot to eat, forgot to sleep and only when his body gave out due to heat stroke or dehydration would he remember the necessities of life. His greatcoat was ripped beyond repair but even that didn't seem to bother him. The only odd thing was that Jack had yet to grow facial hair and look like some primitive Neanderthal wandering through the uncharted wilderness. Jack had always shaved daily, one of those human conventions he'd always followed due to his vanity as opposed to the need to get rid of stubble. But having a smooth face after months of neglect, Jack realised that there was quite a bit more to the whole 'fixed point in time' that he had never contemplated.
Not only couldn't Jack die, but he would always return to the same state he'd been in when the Daleks had Exterminated him and Rose brought him back. Yes, Jack did notice the occasional grey hair here and there and his hair did grow and turn grey. Just... not at the speed it should have. Granted, Jack had gone these extended lengths of time without grooming before, but never before had he been so acutely aware of what physical changed did (or in this case didn't happen to him).
He had lost track of the number of deaths he had accumulated since the incident at the Thames house. There had been a time when Jack could name, in order, every single one of his deaths and the cause of it. Now they seemed to stretch out behind and in front of him, an endless stream of rebirths and deaths that no longer had a meaning. Depression wasn't becoming on Captain Jack -- but it was hard not to slip into such a state. In the course of one day, Jack had lost his family, his humanity, and his lover -- and been forced to do unconscionable things. There wasn't a person in the world strong enough to survive all of that without it affecting him.
Save maybe the perfect Doctor. Bastard.
Jack Harkness: the modern-day Lady Macbeth who would forever see bloodstains on his hands. So many deaths, all because he was too proud and too bull-headed to listen to reason. Maybe, had he actually stopped to think, he could have avoided the entire incident and would have found a way to reason with the 456 before it had reached the point it had. He could have discovered a way to defeat them, to send them away without resorting to the death of his own flesh and blood.
Alice would never forgive him for what he did to Steven. No matter how Jack tried to explain it, he knew he had been in the wrong and had no right to take Steven's life. Yes, in the end, Jack had saved millions of lives, but at what cost? Destroying his daughter and severing any relationship he had tried to build with her over the years, while the rest of the world got to bask in the thrill of victory. Jack had a true talent for being able to screw over anyone and everyone -- particularly those he loved most. Alice's hatred of him wouldn't change how he felt about his daughter, it only caused an already open wound to fester and rot.
It was a wound that said he would never again be able to see her as her father. Killing Steven had removed that right once and for all. Hell, if he could, he'd hand over his revolver and let her get the revenge she so rightly deserved. As many times as she wanted.
Jack was his own worst enemy.
Ignoring the branches as they caught on his torn trousers, Jack picked his way through the under brush. One of these days he would find his purpose once more. Gwen was back in Cardiff, and knowing her as he did, she was working on rebuilding the Hub to its former glory. Perhaps he would return eventually, once the pain of being screwed by the people he protected didn't hurt so much.
Until then, Jack would stay where he was: tracking down obscure civilizations and items that had been nothing but long-forgotten myths. Things that had come through various Rifts across the world, falling into the hands of people who had no idea what they had. Jack may have hated the human race, he may have wanted to run away from the blue and green planet to find meaning and purpose somewhere else, but he couldn't change the part of him that automatically thought of keeping the Earth safe. In the end, Jack couldn't say 'fuck you' to the human race -- he truly was a hero beneath it all.
No matter how he wanted to believe otherwise.
***
Hot. Wet. Sweat. Wet Heat.
Icy hot. Warm chill.
Strange.
Awareness.
Living.
Alive.
***
Five months following the explosion that rocked Cardiff to its very core, the Plass was finally finished. To the untrained eye, it looked much as it did before the bomb had destroyed it. The water fountain/sculpture was once more in place, water peacefully flowing down the mirrored walls and to the ground far below.
However, whenever Gwen Cooper-Williams looked at the space, all she could see was the gaping hole that had brought her world crashing down. Things may have been as they were but nothing felt right. The Tourist Shop had since been repaired, guide books on order for a shop that would never be open again. It didn't seem proper to re-open the Tourist Shop without Ianto standing behind the counter. Perhaps one day she'd come up with some other business to use as the public face of Torchwood, but for now the silent office would serve as a memorial for the man taken so brutally from them.
He hadn't even turned twenty-six yet. God, what sort of a cruel world ripped a man so young from its grasp?
It certainly wasn't the world Gwen had signed on to protect when Jack asked her to join Torchwood. What was the point of working to keep the earth safe when one alien could destroy everything in a moment? They did so much for the world and for Cardiff... and this was how they were repaid? In Gwen's professional opinion, it seemed like they were getting the short end of the proverbial stick.
And then there was Jack's lift. Sure, the flagstones and apparatus beneath were in place, but there was nothing invisible about the lift any more. Now when it lowered, there was a big gaping hole that anyone could fall into if they weren't paying attention. Jack had once mocked her for finding fault in a 'cool contraption', but now that fault had come to fruition. Still, she had to recreate his personal entrance... even if Gwen didn't know if Jack would ever return to her.
To Torchwood, Gwen mentally corrected. To her and Torchwood.
Gwen let her hand rest on her now bulging stomach, looking back and forth between the two monuments: where she knew the Tourist Shop sat and the Sculpture in front of her. How had they come to this? How did everything change so abruptly?
Why did they have to lose everything?
From behind, the sound of a horn drew Gwen's attention away from her thoughts. Ah, the same van and (most likely) the same idiot who showed up the last time. Gwen pressed her earpiece, calling down into the makeshift Medical Bay in the Hub below. She had insisted it be finished first for the express purpose of getting Ianto back as soon as humanly possible. He belonged here at the Hub, not with strangers.
"Robert. Come up." Gwen spoke said into the hidden mouthpiece. "They're here."
"On my way," came the immediate response.
Robert was a good bloke. Bit stuck up, but all around a good chap. Besides, he was a good doctor and they needed more than just... well... her around. Gwen had tried to contact Jack about the expansion of their decimated team, but there had been no response. She had managed to keep tabs on him, setting the databases to constantly search for reports of a strange man who couldn't die. Gwen assumed he'd go after the dangerous missions and Jack's death usually accompanied such endeavours. As always, Gwen's assumption had been right on the money. To date, Gwen had tracked him through Africa, losing track of him for six weeks before he resurfaced in Peru. At least she knew approximately where he was so that, if and when things went pear shaped, she could find him. However, finding Jack and getting him to come home were two different things. Gwen would cross that bridge when she (and Torchwod) arrived at it.
Apparently the hiring of new team members didn't constitute an emergency, even if she had sent multiple missives to him seeking his guidance and approval. In the end, Gwen had exercised her best judgement in hiring Robert Watson as the new Doctor and Janice Thompson to work general support. She stayed with the three of them in the vain hope that Jack would return soon and they wouldn't be 'over-staffed'. Granted, Gwen wondered if there was such a thing as 'over-staffed' when it came to Torchwood. Half the time even when there were five of them it felt like they could use more help.
Fifteen hour days really shouldn't be the norm at any job, right? Particularly when they happened six days a week.
There was only one rule in the Hub: no one was to touch the coffee machine. Gwen had purchased a small percolator, something she knew Ianto would disapprove of highly -- but she didn't want anyone operating the gleaming silver appliance. She owed him that much, didn't she? All right, so maybe it was stupid for her to make a damned memorial out of an appliance, but there it was and this was now her Torchwood thanks to Jack's abandonment.
"Gwen?"
A hand on her shoulder accompanied the soft voice. She had heard him approaching, the squeaky wheel of the gurney giving away Robert's attempt at a silent approach. Gwen gave a small smile in response though didn't turn to look at Robert; her eyes were fixed on the van as it backed onto the pedestrian area.
"So... that's him, yeah?"
"Yeah," Gwen replied, finally glancing askance at Robert. "That's him."
Honestly, why had she hired him? He wasn't that much older than Ianto was. Here she was, bitching about how young employees were when they died because they worked for Torchwood, and she now was perpetuating that cause. There were times Gwen was half-tempted to shut Torchwood down completely and let Cardiff fend for itself. Gwen would entertain the idea but the flight of fancy would leave her as reason kicked back in. With the Rift as out of control as it was, leaving the people of Cardiff unprotected was stupid.
Besides, it's not what Jack would have done, and to abandon Cardiff would mean Tosh, Owen, and Ianto all died in vain. Apparently Gwen had more respect for the Welsh than Jack, who up and left her time and time again.
Really -- this whole running away thing was getting really fucking old.
"You okay?" Robert asked, thumb rubbing Gwen's shoulder.
It was only when he spoke that Gwen realised tears were slipping quietly down her cheeks. Robert wordlessly handed her a handkerchief and Gwen murmured her thanks as she dabbed at her eyes. She shouldn't be the one to do this -- Jack should be here. It shouldn't be her alone. But no, Jack was off god knew where, fucking god knew what.
"I'm fine," Gwen replied, handing the damp scrap of fabric back to Robert. "Always am." She gave him a smile that was far too bright to be anywhere near sincere or real.
"Riiiiight," Robert said, rolling his eyes. "And I'm Father Christmas."
"You've lost weight," Gwen shot back.
"Oi! Which one of you is Gwen Cooper?"
Apparently the bloke was learning impaired -- he was the same bloody knob who had tried to turn the body over to her the last time and couldn't read proper English on the clipboard. If he couldn't recognise her from the last time he came by, Gwen was half tempted to ask if it was really Ianto's body in the back of the van.
"The only woman standing here," Gwen snapped in response, taking a step toward the man. "So I think it would be safe to assume that I am Gwen Cooper."
"Right then," the man replied, seemingly unphased by Gwen's brusque attitude. "Sign here and it's all yours."
"He," Gwen said, looking up mid-signature. "While he may be dead, he is still a he and not an it. Mind having a wee bit of respect for the dead?"
While Gwen's earlier tone of voice didn't seem to have much of an effect on him, at least this time the man managed to look suitably abashed by Gwen's attitude. She handed the now signed clipboard back to him and he turned away without a word, leaving Gwen and Robert following soundlessly behind him -- well, silently save that damn squeaky wheel. The back of the van was unlocked, doors opened, and Gwen stood watch almost protectively as the boy and Robert lowered the black body bag onto the gurney. Gwen swallowed hard, fighting that wave of emotion once more as she looked at the bag, knowing Ianto lay peacefully inside and being brought to his final resting place.
"Right then, that's that. I'll leave you to it."
Gwen waved him off, turning on her heel and leading the way back to the Hub proper. One hand was on the metal railing, helping Robert steer the now-occupied gurney across the flagstones. They walked in silence (squeaky-squeak-squeak) and Gwen was relieved Robert didn't attempt to start up a conversation. Frankly, Gwen wasn't sure if she could say anything half-way intelligible.
Damnit Jack, you should have been here. This is your job, not mine. You should be here.
They entered the Hub in silence, the only sounds coming from the teetering gurney and the siren above the cog door. Gwen led their tiny procession through the Hub, traversing walkways she knew all too well, even if they weren't the original platforms. The Hub: rebuilt completely to the original plans, ready and waiting for their Captain to re-take the reigns once more. The only question was if and when he'd show his bloody face around here again.
"Gwen? You okay, there?"
She nodded, sliding the wheeled bed under the lights in the autopsy bay. There would be no cutting into Ianto, there was no need to do anything to mutilate his body. They knew what he died of (death by Torchwood) and all that was left was to inter him in the vaults, frozen for the rest of time. Whoever decided that Torchwood operatives should be frozen ought to be thawed out and shoved somewhere to rot. Honestly, depriving families of a body to mourn over properly. Whose bright idea was that?
"I'll be fine," Gwen repeated, pulling herself from her thoughts and giving Robert a smile that was a bit too wide and too bright to be sincere. "I'll be down later to take care of the rest of the arrangements. Just hook him up to the machines."
"On it, boss."
With a curt nod, Gwen quickly excused herself from the autopsy bay and made a beeline for the cog door. She needed out of this place for a few hours before she went mad.
What Gwen needed was a large, stiff drink.
***
Movement. Down. Down. Around.
Familiar. Familiarity?
Impossible. No. No not.
Possible.
Homecoming.
Home.
***
Over the years, Jack had learned to trust his instincts and on the whole, they had served him well. Of course, this time Jack had been foolhardy and cocky, ignoring his instincts when it came to dealing with the 456 and look where it had gotten him: a dead grandson and a dead lover -- not to mention a hole in his soul that he knew would never be whole ever again.
Again, Jack's thoughts turned to the Doctor: a man who professed to love humanity as much as he did couldn't even show his fucking face in their hour of need. He had this argument with himself repeatedly, cursing the man he had once respected for not coming to the Earth's defence when Jack was making a mess of things. God, how different things could have been had the blue box shown up in Cardiff! Not even Cardiff -- anywhere in the isles would have suited Jack fine. Even the continent would have been fine, so long as it was close enough to enable travel to London so he could fix things.
But no -- Jack had been alone, had bumbled through it and ignored every one of his instincts that said to keep Ianto Jones far away from the Thames House. Even when Ianto had argued that the plan was stupid at the very best, Jack had silenced Ianto's concerns and done what Jack wanted to do.
Deep down, Jack had hoped the Doctor would come -- that each stupid mistake Torchwood made would somehow reach the Time Lord and he'd swoop in, right in the nick of time, and save the day.
Oh, how very wrong he'd been.
Still, for some reason, Jack believed the Doctor was going to return to the Earth and somehow manage to set things right. He kept moving about the globe, going places that seemed to have the sorts of activity that would interest the Doctor in the vain hope it would be enough to entice the man from whatever galaxy he was occupying that week. Yet, five months later and there was no sign of the Doctor. Whenever Jack was near to a computer, he would hack into the Torchwood databases, knowing that the monitors would have some record of TARDIS activity if there was some.
Nothing. Roughly a hundred and fifty days and there was nothing.
"Doctor, where the hell are you?"
As much as Jack didn't want to go back to Wales, he found himself moving closer to the British Isles in varying degrees. His body simply felt at home on Welsh soil, even if his heart didn't want to look upon another blue-eyed, dark haired man ever again. He'd lost too many of them over the years. He had lost Greg nearly fifty years ago and there wasn't a day that went by that Jack didn't think of the man taken as revenge for the future. What was Ianto, then? Revenge for the past? Revenge for sins he committed so many years ago? Revenge for sins not even contemplated?
Or nothing more than a senseless killing that, in the end, meant nothing?
No. No, it had to mean something. Jack couldn't live with himself if he had needlessly caused the death of the one man who had been able to keep and hold his attentions for longer than a few months.
And so, Jack found himself on a train, boot propped up on the seat across from him, watching the American countryside roll by. Few Americans travelled by train any more which meant Jack had almost the entire car to himself. He tapped a random rhythm on his knee, staring out as the lush greenery passed him by, blurring with the speed of the train.
He had no idea why he was returning to Cardiff, only that he was.
This time, Jack Harkness was going to listen to his instincts.
***
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. If it wasn't for the blinking lights and the faint, yet steady beat-pulse as the apparatus worked to lower Ianto's body temperature to Torchwood standards, Gwen would have thought he was sleeping. His body was cold, the company that had stored Ianto's body followed every instruction perfectly. Torchwood, however, had different equipment to store a body in the chambers found in the Hub.
Gwen had found the file on Jack's computer detailing exactly how Ianto's body was to be taken care of in the event of his death. There was no retrieving Ianto's suit from Jack's rooms below -- those rooms had gone the way of the dodo (not counting the one that had come through the Rift a few months ago). Retrieving them from his room? Gwen shook her head to get rid of the visual, ignoring the fact that she had seen them once before en flagrante delecto. Having clothes in Jack's rooms meant there was something more than just a quick fuck. Deep down, there was a part of Gwen that had always assumed their relationship wasn't that serious. Certainly not 'move in and live together' serious. From what Gwen knew of Jack, she couldn't imagine him in a committed relationship, no matter how she had dreamed he would whisk her away from Rhys and...
But she digressed.
In the absence of a suit in the Hub, Gwen had returned to Ianto's flat and retrieved something suitably (pardon the pun) appropriate. What else could she grab but a three-piece pinstripe suit? Pressed and hung on a drawer handle behind her, the suit waited to dress its owner for the last time in preparation for his final resting place. Reverently, Gwen removed Ianto's current tie and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, all the while thinking it was Jack who should be doing this. Not her.
God knew where the hell he was these days. So many times over the past five months she had tried contacting him and when she knew Ianto's body was to be delivered to the Hub, she had tried to find him yet again to no avail. For months she had been able to track him, then suddenly he had completely disappeared off the face of the Earth. Either she didn't have the right channels to locate him or Jack simply didn't want to be found. Nice way to treat your lover, Gwen silently chided. Don't even come home for his 'funeral'. Gwen wasn't surprised -- Jack was behaving like a damned child who packed up his toys when things didn't go his way. When, what he should have done, was be a man and stay here for the rest of them.
Stay here for her.
Ianto's shirt parted and Gwen's gaze was immediately drawn to his bare torso and the large red tattoo that curled around his waist. Yes, Gwen had seen Ianto nude from the waist up that one time, but her eyes had been more focused on Jack and the fact that Ianto's hand was wrapped around Jack's cock than looking at any physical body features. But now that there was nothing to distract her, Gwen found herself staring at the tattoo. It was a over-sized image of the Welsh dragon, head resting on Ianto's abdomen while the rest curled around his torso, leaving Gwen to wonder how big the thing really was. A small silver chain and leather necklace encircled his neck and was now visible, having been completely hidden by his crisply pressed oxford shirt and tie. Looking at Ianto's half-nude body, she began to realise there was so much to Ianto that she never knew. Here was a man that, for as long as she had known him (with very rare exceptions; the trip to the country coming immediately to mind), always wore a suit and appeared to be the epitome of propriety. With hair rarely out of place and always ready with a cup of coffee or a caustic remark, Ianto seemed to be the sort that curled up with a book at the end of the day and never broke the law.
Yet a tattoo seemed to negate her idealistic view of the office boy, instead creating the image of a man who kept his real thoughts and feelings hidden behind a tie. It begged the question of how much Jack really knew about Ianto; how much any of them knew.
"Funny thing, really."
Gwen frowned, finally tearing her gaze away from the tattoo as she heard Robert's voice behind her.
"What's funny?" She asked, her voice harsher than she intended.
Gwen reached for the bowl of cool beside her and the accompanying white cloth, soaking it in the warm, sudsy liquid. Letting the soap soak into the rag, Gwen wrung it out and began to use the damp towel to carefully sponge Ianto's body clean.
"Hear that slow beeping?"
"Yes... it's the machines or something. I'm not the doctor, that's why I hired you." Gwen paused. "Well, I suppose you're going to tell me what it is regardless of if I want to know or not, so why don't you just tell me?"
A beat pause, as if Robert was attempting to build up suspense. "It's his heartbeat," he finally said.
The bowl of water fell from where it was perched in Gwen's lap and hit the cement floor with a loud clatter. Her boots and jeans were instantly soaked as the water splashed onto her legs, while Gwen stared at Ianto's body in shock.
"Heartbeat? What bloody heartbeat?" Gwen asked, eyes wide. This was Torchwood where anything could happen but she had seen Ianto laying cold and still in the morgue.
He was dead and nothing but wishful thinking was ever going to bring him back.
"Well? What fucking heartbeat?" Gwen pressed, turning in her stool to face Robert. "Don't start something and then leave it to me to fill in the blanks.
"Weeeeeeell," Robert drew the word out, his intonation sounding a bit like Owen's when he wanted to prove he was smarter than everyone else. Must have been a personality trait amongst doctors to be right arses at the worst possible times. Robert crossed to her, carefully stepping over the spilled, soapy water to stand beside Gwen. "I didn't think it was possible and honestly thought I was going mental. I did some investigation but managed to find what the sound was and it's Ianto's heartbeat. It's weak and quite faint, but it's there. Robert spread his hands wide, a smirk settling into his features.
For what Robert had to say next, Gwen was relieved she was already sitting down.
"Gwen? Ianto Jones is alive."
LINK TO FIC: Part One | Part Two | Part Three