Bright Darkness (12/15)
Title: Bright Darkness (12/15)
Author:
used_songs
Beta: lefaym
Pairing: teamfic, Jack/Ianto
Rating/Warning/Spoilers: M. Set sometime between KKBB and Meat. There will be spoilers for Seasons 1 and 2.
Summary: A trip to London ends up being a far longer journey than expected.
Previous chapters.
Chapter 12
The next morning on the road, the pilgrims were quiet for a while, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Finally, Thopas said, "Well, friends, shall we have a tale? Who can start us off?"
The Prioress' Tale
The prioress, who was generally quite fierce in defense of the morals of the clergy, spoke in a surprisingly meek and affected tone, saying, "I have a little tale that may be instructive. I know I am just a woman and have a very weak mind compared to some of you men, but perhaps I can entertain and even educate with my delicate little story." Tosh grimaced at the coy, self-deprecating speech, even as some of the men preened and smiled.
"Excellent, Madam!" exclaimed the nun's priest loudly, speaking over Alisoun's murmured protest. "It will be nice to hear something pleasant."
Madam Eglantyne began her story.
Tosh remembered the nun's priest's innocent words as the prioress' tale droned on. She thought she had never heard such an immoral and bigoted tale in her life. Drawing her horse near to Ianto's, she asked, "Did they really believe these things?"
Ianto gave her a long suffering look and replied, "Unfortunately, among most Christians of this period anti-Semitism was the rule rather than the exception."
"Her story ... it's vile, and all the while she keeps saying that she’s so delicate, like all this hatred is normal. How can people listen to this?" She shivered. “Don’t they understand what it can lead to?”
"I don't know," Ianto replied. "I’ve never understood it.”
Tosh bit her lip, “I feel as if … with some of these stories I can see inside people’s heads, what their secret feelings are. I feel dirty now.”
As the prioress’ tale drew to a close, Thopas cast about to see who was ready to speak. When he caught Owen’s eye, Owen shrugged and nodded.
The Dyer's Tale
"Yeah, I have a tale," Owen said. "There was this guy ... a real prince. Prince Owen. And he had it all. A loving family, devoted wife, wonderful friends, great house, lots of money, enormous tracts of land. He had it all. The only thing he wanted that he didn't have was his freedom.
"This prince, he was tired of all of the responsibilities. And he felt guilty for not being happy because anyone else in this situation would be happy. He should've been happy. But he wasn't.
"He’d go out riding every day, each day going further and further but never having the guts to just leave. One day he was out riding in the forest and he met this incredibly gorgeous woman. She had long brown hair and a beautiful smile. She was sitting on a fallen tree and she was laughing. Not in a crazy way, but like she was really happy with her life.
"He rode up to her and asked, 'What are you laughing at?'
"She replied, 'I'm laughing because life is ridiculous and funny. And I’m laughing at you because you are afraid to reach for what you want.'
"'Ah, correction,' he said. 'I'm doing the right thing, the responsible thing.'
"'I'm sure that will be a great comfort to you when it's all done. You'll know that you spent your lifetime making other people happy and denying what you want.'
"'Well then, what should I do?' he asked, jumping down from his horse.
"She looked at him with intense eyes and said shortly, 'Take what you want.' Then she vanished. Prince Owen stood around in the forest for a while like an idiot, trying to decide what to do. Then he got on his horse and went back home.
"The prince became a king, grew old in his beautiful home with his family and his loving wife and finally he died. After he was gone, he was remembered for a short while as a faithful and responsible ruler and father, but soon he was forgotten. The end."
"How can that be the end?" protested Sir Walter, visibly disturbed by Owen’s flippancy and by the story. "He did his duty. What could be more important or rewarding than that?" The knight looked at Owen in confusion.
"He did his duty, alright," Owen shrugged. "And he was forgotten in the end anyway. He could've done what he wanted with his life and had the same result in the end."
"But he made others happy," said Gwen. “Surely that has to count for something.”
Owen rolled his eyes, "Look, I'm not going to argue with you about a story I made up just to pass the time. But I don't see why his happiness was any less important than anybody else's. And none of it matters anyway. No matter what we do, it all ends up the same."
There was a brief silence, and then Ianto said, "What about that song?"
"What song?" Owen turned to him incredulously, ready to take offense. "What are you on about?"
"That song you were singing the other day. 'I've been searching low and high. I won't get to get what I'm after till the day I die, I'm a seeker.’ That doesn’t sound like someone who believes that nothing matters.”
"That's just a song, Ifan," Owen said uncertainly. He gestured toward the fields and the thick woods with an open palm. "There's nothing but this."
Nun's Priest's Tale
"Now, friend! That is a harsh lesson," rejoined Sir John, the nun's priest, as once more his horse stumbled on the road and he clung on even more tightly. "I believe that there is good in life as well, or else why would anyone bother?"
He launched into a surprisingly entertaining tale about a rooster named Chauntecleer, a story that made the time pass pleasantly and kept everyone laughing and relaxed. When he wound up his story with a lesson that wouldn't have seemed out of place back at Torchwood, to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, Tosh felt emboldened to speak.
The Tapestry Maker's Tale
Tosh cleared her throat softly and said, "I agree with you, sir. There comes a point when you have to let the past go."
Thopas said with lively interest, "Well, quiet Thomas Sayer, do you have a tale on that theme for us as well?'
Tosh thought for a moment, composing herself, and then nodded. “I do have a tale. It’s the story of a second chance.
"There was a falcon, a fierce bird that was accustomed to hunting alone. She loved the sky, loved to drift on the currents and drop like death from the clouds. She loved freedom, flying, hunting.
"One day, as she flew over the rooftops, she looked down and saw a falcon like herself, only this bird was in a cage. He was dashing his body against the metal bars of his prison. She flew lower so as to see better, and, spotting her, the falcon called to her. He said, 'Friend! Please help me! Help me to escape from this prison!'
"Warily, she circled the cage. She said, 'Perhaps there is a good reason you are there in prison. Why should I trust you?'
"The falcon cocked his head and said, 'I am imprisoned because I was foolish. I went into the market hunting for pigeons, and I was captured. I should never have gone there.' He stepped back from the bars wearily. 'And now I am here, stuck in this cage for the rest of my life. I will never feel the wind over my feathers again.'
"She looked at him, trying to imagine what it would be like never to fly again, never to be free to go where she willed, to soar and climb, to crouch behind metal bars until death took her. She made her decision. 'I’ll help you. What can I do?'
“The male falcon thought for a moment and then said, ‘The man who has imprisoned me here opens the door to feed me every evening. When he comes, you should fly down and surprise him. He’s quite a coward and will run away and I’ll be able to escape.’ They agreed to this plan and the first falcon found a place up under the thatch where she could hide and yet still see the cage.
“As the darkness began to fall, a short pale man with heavy black hair came into the yard carrying a dead rabbit and a small gold key. He approached the cage, saying, ‘Here, now. I’ve brought you a good dinner, my friend.’ The falcon in the cage gripped his perch with excitement. As the man swung open the door of the cage the female falcon dove toward him. The falcon inside suddenly shrieked, ‘Catch her! Catch her!’ The man flung his arms up trying to grab her but somehow she evaded him and left him cursing in the yard.
“Fuming, she flew away swearing to leave the falcon in his cage. However, she didn’t fly far. When she judged enough time had passed so that the man would be gone, she flew back and alighted near the cage. She asked, ‘Why? Why did you betray me?’
“The male falcon replied, ‘He wants a breeding pair. I was just serving my master.’
“’But you could’ve been free.’
“The falcon looked at her with hopeless eyes. ‘Free? I don’t even remember what that feels like.
“She looked at him, at his despair and his inability to see the beyond the narrowness of his life, and made a decision. Without a word she took off, flying low around the corner of the house until she came to a window. She peered inside and spied the key hanging from a nail in the wall. Steadying her nerves, she crept into the window and then flung herself forward to snatch the key. Her wings beating strongly, she rushed back to the cage and opened the door.
“’There,’ she announced. ‘You’re free. Fly away.’
“The falcon looked at her fearfully and said, ‘Should I go with you?’
“’No, she replied, ‘I released you, but you don’t belong to me. You’re free. Go!’ And with that she sprang into the night air, back into the sky she loved.”
When she concluded her tale, many of the pilgrims murmured their compliments. Tosh blushed a little and looked down. Alisoun, however, averred, “You should be proud of your tale, young man. I can’t tell you how impressed I am by you Welshmen and your tales about women. The men around here could learn a thing or two from you!”
Jack chuckled and Alisoun rounded on him, “Oh! I recall your tale well, John Hardy! You know how to respect a woman and treat her right, of that I’m sure.”
Ianto rolled his eyes as Jack shot him a triumphant look. “You see? My fame precedes me.” He nodded to Alisoun gallantly “Thank you very much, my lady. I do try to please.” He smirked at Ianto, “And I never get any complaints.”
Alisoun replied knowingly, “I’ll bet you do please. ‘Somewhat of lust, somewhat of love,’ that kind of thing?”
Jack raised an eyebrow in inquiry, a half smile on his face, and Ianto supplied, “John Gower.”
Thopas sighed, “That hack.”
Ianto said seriously, “I don’t know. I’ve always liked his definition of love. Bright darkness and bitter honey. That sums it up quite well.”
The youngest nun sighed dramatically and added, “Further from you than Earth to heaven.”
Alisoun looked at her sardonically and said, “Hmph. I suppose. All that’s fine, but there’s no substitute for a little fun in bed.” Jack laughed and she smiled at him.
Madam Eglantyne interrupted. “I think perhaps your conversation should be reserved for holier topics, sister.”
Second Nun's Tale
"I can tell you the tale of the suffering of Saint Cecile and the bliss of holy martyrdom," offered the second nun eagerly, looking down and blushing a bit.
"Let's have it, then!" exclaimed the summoner. "I for one am tired of this mania for stories about birds."
The young nun cheerfully launched into a prolonged and lovingly detailed description of torture, martyrdom, and beheading. Even Owen looked a bit pale at the story, although most of the pilgrims' reactions ranged from polite interest to indifference. Jack tried to shut out the nun’s piping voice, but the horses' hooves drumming on the road and the visceral terror that still overtook him when he let himself think back over the events of the last year soon caught up to him, washing over him in an inexorable, dizzying tide. He was suddenly unable to breath, drowning in loneliness and fear.
He must have made a sound, because Ianto, attuned to him as always, looked over at him sharply and saw that he was listing to the side, riding with loose hands. Ianto abruptly pulled his horse's head and cut across to ride next to Jack, reaching over to grasp the reins of Jack's horse. "Jack," he urged softly, "what's wrong?"
"I'm fine," Jack mumbled, staring straight ahead blindly. "Too much sun."
"Stop lying to me, Jack. Do me that courtesy, at least," Ianto replied acidly. "What is it? Let me help you."
Jack shuddered. "I'm ... I'm ..." he trailed off helplessly. “I can’t tell you.”
"Jack, listen to me. Whatever it is ... or isn't ... you're here with me and with the others. We're on our way home." Ianto continued, his voice rough and worried, "I can't hold you now, but as soon as I'm able .... if it would help --."
Jack looked at him then, breathing heavily, his fists now clenched and knotted. "Ianto, I died. You died. We all died. It ... it was ... every time I died there was some new ... and then when I came back ... I was still wrong. He couldn't save me from this." His voice broke on his anguish and he took a deep breath. "It never ends, Ianto. It never ends." Jack laughed sharply, a bitter and ugly sound, "We all fall down and then I get back up and we all fall down and I get back up." He stopped, shuddering again. "He laughed every time," he continued. "Every time. And I kept falling down. Do you know what it feels like to look down and see parts of yourself lying there on a slick metal floor?" He laughed harshly, breathing through gritted teeth. “Of course you don’t. I’m the only one who lives to tell it.” He looked at Ianto, fear evident in his eyes, “And we don’t even know if you were exposed to the plague. We don’t even know --,” his voice broke and he stopped.
Ianto ran a hand over his head in distress, dislodging his cap and ruffling his hair. "Jack, I can't help what's happened, just like I can't help whatever will happen in the future. But we're here now at this spot on the road and that has to count for something, right?"
Jack nodded tightly, his eyes still wide and panicked.
"Okay, then," Ianto said soothingly, shielding Jack from the view of the others with his body. "So focus on that. We're here. The world is new. The road is under our feet. And we're on our way home."
Jack nodded again. Ianto said softly, “Do you know that the Milky Way is said to be the route that pilgrims take after death? And when you see a shooting star, it’s supposed to be a pilgrim who has slipped from the path.” He smiled at Jack, who was watching him closely. “I like that image. I’ve slipped off the path so many times, it’s comforting to think of being a shooting star rather than just an idiot with incredibly bad judgment.” He laughed softly. “My fuck ups leave blazing trails in the universe.”
Jack’s lips twitched and he gave Ianto a strained smile. Gradually Jack calmed himself until he was able to take back the reins.
Nonetheless, Ianto stayed close, interposing himself between Jack and the others and keeping a careful eye on him.
As the second nun finished her tale, there was a stir among some of the pilgrims. To their left there was a small village crowded against the road and hemmed in by tall ferns and vine-wrapped trees.
“Ah, Boghton under Blee! We will be in Canterbury before nightfall,” the parson exclaimed with satisfaction, stroking his horse’s neck encouragingly. “We’re almost to our destination.”
Parson's Tale
“In that case, sir, if you would please bless us with a final tale,” Thopas said, “that would round out the first half of our journey together.”
“I would be delighted,” replied the parson. He took a deep breath and began.
“This is not a story,” griped Owen after the parson had spoken for ten minutes or so. “This is a fucking sermon.”
“Well, we are on a pilgrimage to a holy site,” replied Gwen. “I guess it makes sense to have a prayer here at the end.”
“I don’t care. If I wanted to hear a sermon, I’d be in a church. Anyway, most of these stories are crap. I can’t believe anyone bothered to write them down,” Owen grumbled.
"If it makes you feel any better, I think we're almost there," Ianto remarked.
"Now how do you know that?"
"The parson's tale finishes it off." He shrugged. “We should be there soon.”
“And then we find the time slip and go home,” Jack said confidently.
Author:
used_songs
Beta: lefaym
Pairing: teamfic, Jack/Ianto
Rating/Warning/Spoilers: M. Set sometime between KKBB and Meat. There will be spoilers for Seasons 1 and 2.
Summary: A trip to London ends up being a far longer journey than expected.
Previous chapters.
Chapter 12
The next morning on the road, the pilgrims were quiet for a while, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Finally, Thopas said, "Well, friends, shall we have a tale? Who can start us off?"
The Prioress' Tale
The prioress, who was generally quite fierce in defense of the morals of the clergy, spoke in a surprisingly meek and affected tone, saying, "I have a little tale that may be instructive. I know I am just a woman and have a very weak mind compared to some of you men, but perhaps I can entertain and even educate with my delicate little story." Tosh grimaced at the coy, self-deprecating speech, even as some of the men preened and smiled.
"Excellent, Madam!" exclaimed the nun's priest loudly, speaking over Alisoun's murmured protest. "It will be nice to hear something pleasant."
Madam Eglantyne began her story.
Tosh remembered the nun's priest's innocent words as the prioress' tale droned on. She thought she had never heard such an immoral and bigoted tale in her life. Drawing her horse near to Ianto's, she asked, "Did they really believe these things?"
Ianto gave her a long suffering look and replied, "Unfortunately, among most Christians of this period anti-Semitism was the rule rather than the exception."
"Her story ... it's vile, and all the while she keeps saying that she’s so delicate, like all this hatred is normal. How can people listen to this?" She shivered. “Don’t they understand what it can lead to?”
"I don't know," Ianto replied. "I’ve never understood it.”
Tosh bit her lip, “I feel as if … with some of these stories I can see inside people’s heads, what their secret feelings are. I feel dirty now.”
As the prioress’ tale drew to a close, Thopas cast about to see who was ready to speak. When he caught Owen’s eye, Owen shrugged and nodded.
The Dyer's Tale
"Yeah, I have a tale," Owen said. "There was this guy ... a real prince. Prince Owen. And he had it all. A loving family, devoted wife, wonderful friends, great house, lots of money, enormous tracts of land. He had it all. The only thing he wanted that he didn't have was his freedom.
"This prince, he was tired of all of the responsibilities. And he felt guilty for not being happy because anyone else in this situation would be happy. He should've been happy. But he wasn't.
"He’d go out riding every day, each day going further and further but never having the guts to just leave. One day he was out riding in the forest and he met this incredibly gorgeous woman. She had long brown hair and a beautiful smile. She was sitting on a fallen tree and she was laughing. Not in a crazy way, but like she was really happy with her life.
"He rode up to her and asked, 'What are you laughing at?'
"She replied, 'I'm laughing because life is ridiculous and funny. And I’m laughing at you because you are afraid to reach for what you want.'
"'Ah, correction,' he said. 'I'm doing the right thing, the responsible thing.'
"'I'm sure that will be a great comfort to you when it's all done. You'll know that you spent your lifetime making other people happy and denying what you want.'
"'Well then, what should I do?' he asked, jumping down from his horse.
"She looked at him with intense eyes and said shortly, 'Take what you want.' Then she vanished. Prince Owen stood around in the forest for a while like an idiot, trying to decide what to do. Then he got on his horse and went back home.
"The prince became a king, grew old in his beautiful home with his family and his loving wife and finally he died. After he was gone, he was remembered for a short while as a faithful and responsible ruler and father, but soon he was forgotten. The end."
"How can that be the end?" protested Sir Walter, visibly disturbed by Owen’s flippancy and by the story. "He did his duty. What could be more important or rewarding than that?" The knight looked at Owen in confusion.
"He did his duty, alright," Owen shrugged. "And he was forgotten in the end anyway. He could've done what he wanted with his life and had the same result in the end."
"But he made others happy," said Gwen. “Surely that has to count for something.”
Owen rolled his eyes, "Look, I'm not going to argue with you about a story I made up just to pass the time. But I don't see why his happiness was any less important than anybody else's. And none of it matters anyway. No matter what we do, it all ends up the same."
There was a brief silence, and then Ianto said, "What about that song?"
"What song?" Owen turned to him incredulously, ready to take offense. "What are you on about?"
"That song you were singing the other day. 'I've been searching low and high. I won't get to get what I'm after till the day I die, I'm a seeker.’ That doesn’t sound like someone who believes that nothing matters.”
"That's just a song, Ifan," Owen said uncertainly. He gestured toward the fields and the thick woods with an open palm. "There's nothing but this."
Nun's Priest's Tale
"Now, friend! That is a harsh lesson," rejoined Sir John, the nun's priest, as once more his horse stumbled on the road and he clung on even more tightly. "I believe that there is good in life as well, or else why would anyone bother?"
He launched into a surprisingly entertaining tale about a rooster named Chauntecleer, a story that made the time pass pleasantly and kept everyone laughing and relaxed. When he wound up his story with a lesson that wouldn't have seemed out of place back at Torchwood, to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, Tosh felt emboldened to speak.
The Tapestry Maker's Tale
Tosh cleared her throat softly and said, "I agree with you, sir. There comes a point when you have to let the past go."
Thopas said with lively interest, "Well, quiet Thomas Sayer, do you have a tale on that theme for us as well?'
Tosh thought for a moment, composing herself, and then nodded. “I do have a tale. It’s the story of a second chance.
"There was a falcon, a fierce bird that was accustomed to hunting alone. She loved the sky, loved to drift on the currents and drop like death from the clouds. She loved freedom, flying, hunting.
"One day, as she flew over the rooftops, she looked down and saw a falcon like herself, only this bird was in a cage. He was dashing his body against the metal bars of his prison. She flew lower so as to see better, and, spotting her, the falcon called to her. He said, 'Friend! Please help me! Help me to escape from this prison!'
"Warily, she circled the cage. She said, 'Perhaps there is a good reason you are there in prison. Why should I trust you?'
"The falcon cocked his head and said, 'I am imprisoned because I was foolish. I went into the market hunting for pigeons, and I was captured. I should never have gone there.' He stepped back from the bars wearily. 'And now I am here, stuck in this cage for the rest of my life. I will never feel the wind over my feathers again.'
"She looked at him, trying to imagine what it would be like never to fly again, never to be free to go where she willed, to soar and climb, to crouch behind metal bars until death took her. She made her decision. 'I’ll help you. What can I do?'
“The male falcon thought for a moment and then said, ‘The man who has imprisoned me here opens the door to feed me every evening. When he comes, you should fly down and surprise him. He’s quite a coward and will run away and I’ll be able to escape.’ They agreed to this plan and the first falcon found a place up under the thatch where she could hide and yet still see the cage.
“As the darkness began to fall, a short pale man with heavy black hair came into the yard carrying a dead rabbit and a small gold key. He approached the cage, saying, ‘Here, now. I’ve brought you a good dinner, my friend.’ The falcon in the cage gripped his perch with excitement. As the man swung open the door of the cage the female falcon dove toward him. The falcon inside suddenly shrieked, ‘Catch her! Catch her!’ The man flung his arms up trying to grab her but somehow she evaded him and left him cursing in the yard.
“Fuming, she flew away swearing to leave the falcon in his cage. However, she didn’t fly far. When she judged enough time had passed so that the man would be gone, she flew back and alighted near the cage. She asked, ‘Why? Why did you betray me?’
“The male falcon replied, ‘He wants a breeding pair. I was just serving my master.’
“’But you could’ve been free.’
“The falcon looked at her with hopeless eyes. ‘Free? I don’t even remember what that feels like.
“She looked at him, at his despair and his inability to see the beyond the narrowness of his life, and made a decision. Without a word she took off, flying low around the corner of the house until she came to a window. She peered inside and spied the key hanging from a nail in the wall. Steadying her nerves, she crept into the window and then flung herself forward to snatch the key. Her wings beating strongly, she rushed back to the cage and opened the door.
“’There,’ she announced. ‘You’re free. Fly away.’
“The falcon looked at her fearfully and said, ‘Should I go with you?’
“’No, she replied, ‘I released you, but you don’t belong to me. You’re free. Go!’ And with that she sprang into the night air, back into the sky she loved.”
When she concluded her tale, many of the pilgrims murmured their compliments. Tosh blushed a little and looked down. Alisoun, however, averred, “You should be proud of your tale, young man. I can’t tell you how impressed I am by you Welshmen and your tales about women. The men around here could learn a thing or two from you!”
Jack chuckled and Alisoun rounded on him, “Oh! I recall your tale well, John Hardy! You know how to respect a woman and treat her right, of that I’m sure.”
Ianto rolled his eyes as Jack shot him a triumphant look. “You see? My fame precedes me.” He nodded to Alisoun gallantly “Thank you very much, my lady. I do try to please.” He smirked at Ianto, “And I never get any complaints.”
Alisoun replied knowingly, “I’ll bet you do please. ‘Somewhat of lust, somewhat of love,’ that kind of thing?”
Jack raised an eyebrow in inquiry, a half smile on his face, and Ianto supplied, “John Gower.”
Thopas sighed, “That hack.”
Ianto said seriously, “I don’t know. I’ve always liked his definition of love. Bright darkness and bitter honey. That sums it up quite well.”
The youngest nun sighed dramatically and added, “Further from you than Earth to heaven.”
Alisoun looked at her sardonically and said, “Hmph. I suppose. All that’s fine, but there’s no substitute for a little fun in bed.” Jack laughed and she smiled at him.
Madam Eglantyne interrupted. “I think perhaps your conversation should be reserved for holier topics, sister.”
Second Nun's Tale
"I can tell you the tale of the suffering of Saint Cecile and the bliss of holy martyrdom," offered the second nun eagerly, looking down and blushing a bit.
"Let's have it, then!" exclaimed the summoner. "I for one am tired of this mania for stories about birds."
The young nun cheerfully launched into a prolonged and lovingly detailed description of torture, martyrdom, and beheading. Even Owen looked a bit pale at the story, although most of the pilgrims' reactions ranged from polite interest to indifference. Jack tried to shut out the nun’s piping voice, but the horses' hooves drumming on the road and the visceral terror that still overtook him when he let himself think back over the events of the last year soon caught up to him, washing over him in an inexorable, dizzying tide. He was suddenly unable to breath, drowning in loneliness and fear.
He must have made a sound, because Ianto, attuned to him as always, looked over at him sharply and saw that he was listing to the side, riding with loose hands. Ianto abruptly pulled his horse's head and cut across to ride next to Jack, reaching over to grasp the reins of Jack's horse. "Jack," he urged softly, "what's wrong?"
"I'm fine," Jack mumbled, staring straight ahead blindly. "Too much sun."
"Stop lying to me, Jack. Do me that courtesy, at least," Ianto replied acidly. "What is it? Let me help you."
Jack shuddered. "I'm ... I'm ..." he trailed off helplessly. “I can’t tell you.”
"Jack, listen to me. Whatever it is ... or isn't ... you're here with me and with the others. We're on our way home." Ianto continued, his voice rough and worried, "I can't hold you now, but as soon as I'm able .... if it would help --."
Jack looked at him then, breathing heavily, his fists now clenched and knotted. "Ianto, I died. You died. We all died. It ... it was ... every time I died there was some new ... and then when I came back ... I was still wrong. He couldn't save me from this." His voice broke on his anguish and he took a deep breath. "It never ends, Ianto. It never ends." Jack laughed sharply, a bitter and ugly sound, "We all fall down and then I get back up and we all fall down and I get back up." He stopped, shuddering again. "He laughed every time," he continued. "Every time. And I kept falling down. Do you know what it feels like to look down and see parts of yourself lying there on a slick metal floor?" He laughed harshly, breathing through gritted teeth. “Of course you don’t. I’m the only one who lives to tell it.” He looked at Ianto, fear evident in his eyes, “And we don’t even know if you were exposed to the plague. We don’t even know --,” his voice broke and he stopped.
Ianto ran a hand over his head in distress, dislodging his cap and ruffling his hair. "Jack, I can't help what's happened, just like I can't help whatever will happen in the future. But we're here now at this spot on the road and that has to count for something, right?"
Jack nodded tightly, his eyes still wide and panicked.
"Okay, then," Ianto said soothingly, shielding Jack from the view of the others with his body. "So focus on that. We're here. The world is new. The road is under our feet. And we're on our way home."
Jack nodded again. Ianto said softly, “Do you know that the Milky Way is said to be the route that pilgrims take after death? And when you see a shooting star, it’s supposed to be a pilgrim who has slipped from the path.” He smiled at Jack, who was watching him closely. “I like that image. I’ve slipped off the path so many times, it’s comforting to think of being a shooting star rather than just an idiot with incredibly bad judgment.” He laughed softly. “My fuck ups leave blazing trails in the universe.”
Jack’s lips twitched and he gave Ianto a strained smile. Gradually Jack calmed himself until he was able to take back the reins.
Nonetheless, Ianto stayed close, interposing himself between Jack and the others and keeping a careful eye on him.
As the second nun finished her tale, there was a stir among some of the pilgrims. To their left there was a small village crowded against the road and hemmed in by tall ferns and vine-wrapped trees.
“Ah, Boghton under Blee! We will be in Canterbury before nightfall,” the parson exclaimed with satisfaction, stroking his horse’s neck encouragingly. “We’re almost to our destination.”
Parson's Tale
“In that case, sir, if you would please bless us with a final tale,” Thopas said, “that would round out the first half of our journey together.”
“I would be delighted,” replied the parson. He took a deep breath and began.
“This is not a story,” griped Owen after the parson had spoken for ten minutes or so. “This is a fucking sermon.”
“Well, we are on a pilgrimage to a holy site,” replied Gwen. “I guess it makes sense to have a prayer here at the end.”
“I don’t care. If I wanted to hear a sermon, I’d be in a church. Anyway, most of these stories are crap. I can’t believe anyone bothered to write them down,” Owen grumbled.
"If it makes you feel any better, I think we're almost there," Ianto remarked.
"Now how do you know that?"
"The parson's tale finishes it off." He shrugged. “We should be there soon.”
“And then we find the time slip and go home,” Jack said confidently.