Procrastination continued...
The Curves of your Lips (Rewrite History)
Part two, because LJ wouldn't allow me to post it all together.
***
Dorian Gray turned slowly around and looked at him with tear-dimmed eyes. "It is too late, Basil," he faltered.
"It is never too late, Dorian. Let us kneel down and try if we cannot remember a prayer. Isn't there a verse somewhere, 'Though your sins be as scarlet, yet I will make them as white as snow'?"
"Those words mean nothing to me now."
"Hush! Don't say that. You have done enough evil in your life. My God! Don't you see that accursed thing leering at us?"
Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him, as though it had been suggested to him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his ear by those grinning lips. The mad passions of a hunted animal stirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table, more than in his whole life he had ever loathed anything. He glanced wildly around. Something glimmered on the top of the painted chest that faced him. His eye fell on it. He knew what it was. It was a knife that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a piece of cord, and had forgotten to take away with him. He moved slowly towards it, passing Hallward as he did so.
***
Ianto had snuck out of the hub. All but crawled on hands and knees to avoid Jack, who was still talking on his mobile. It was undignified and a little embarrassing that Ianto, who had once made invisibility into an art form, found himself scrambling for the exit like a teenager sneaking out of an overprotective parent’s house.
Outside there was a slow and steady rain falling. It thudded all around him, almost immediately soaking through the wool of his coat and into the inner layers. But his umbrella was forgotten inside the hub and somehow Ianto found that he needed to feel the discomfort. It reminded him he was still alive. And he needed that, desperately needed that, right now.
Because he was going to die.
Well, some part of Ianto chided, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Torchwood was dangerous. He should have known this was coming. But the physical proof of the event, the undeniable proof, smashed into Ianto hard, breaking apart his world.
His first instinct was suspicion. Finding his own futuristic death note? It was too convenient. If Owen had still been alive, Ianto would have demanded to know if this was a practical joke. But Owen and Tosh were dead, and Gwen had never been one for the pranks. Jack, yes, but the captain would probably have shot himself in the head before doing something like this. Jack didn’t joke about death-it was a far too intimate companion in his life.
Ianto quickly rewrote the note himself and compared the handwriting. There were differences, a stronger slant and more scribbling, but nothing that couldn’t be explained away by shaky hands. The similarity was too striking for him to ignore it. And the mentions of Gwen and Jack and the coffee machine? It wasn’t a joke. Or a mistake. Ianto knew he had written this-knew it because this is exactly what he would have said if he knew he was going to die. Every word rang true.
Ianto believed in many things. Coincidence wasn’t one of them.
Denial quickly segued into panic. Ianto didn’t want to die.
He’d managed to come through so much-Canary Warf, Lisa, the cannibals, the rift, Jack’s disappearance, Owen’s death, Tosh’s death, Owen’s death again… the list went on and on. Somehow he had managed to survive-managed to balance on the edge between sanity and madness, and it was all for nothing. He was going to live the rest of his life wondering about when it would happen, if it would hurt very much, and how it was going to happen. This was what terminal medical patients must have felt like, Ianto thought, after they had received that fatal diagnosis.
He reread the letter-he’d taken it from the archive, along with the report and all other catalogued information. Maybe there was some hint in it, some way to avoid the inevitable. But when he looked for hope, all he saw were the words, “I just want you to know that I love you.”
He’d told Jack that he loved him in the letter. Ianto swallowed hard. The words had never passed over his lips, not yet. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready to say them, or even if Jack would be able to hear them.
Jack wouldn’t know about the letter. The captain was familiar with many of the items in the archives, but they were usually the more remarkable ones-the shiniest, the most interesting and the deadliest. Things came through the rift like driftwood into the bay, and most of it was treated as such, simply catalogued and put on a shelf out of sight. Unless it did something extraordinary, it was forgotten. A book and death note from an unknown time would have fallen under the category of ‘driftwood’ and treated with about as much attention.
For the next few days, Ianto moved through his life like a robot, relying on automatic habits. He came into work, made coffee, worked alongside Gwen, responded when someone asked him a question, smiled blandly when Jack entered the room, and managed to function without drawing attention to himself.
The real world had become a dazed cloud, drifting around him, untouchable, just out of reach. He was too far gone in herself to be bothered with most of it. Jack had noticed, of that Ianto was sure. He’d seen the older man stare at him when he thought Ianto wasn’t looking, and Ianto felt the disquiet in Jack’s stares. But Jack wouldn’t find out what was wrong. All records of the letter and book-both physical files and digital ones-had disappeared without a trace. The original letter was securely inside an inner pocket in Ianto’s jacket.
Only when he was alone did he allow himself to mull over its contents. He would unfold the delicate paper, take in the words that spelled out his future, and try to come to terms with that. And that would puncture the numb shield surrounding him, leaving a gaping hole, one that was swiftly filled with panic.
The fight or flight response was embedded in every human. It was designed to keep a person alive, to let them know that they were in danger. It was also a choice-to defend one’s self, or to run away. Ianto had always known that if someone he cared about was being threatened, he would fight. There was no way he could run. The thought of someone harming Gwen or Jack… it made his stomach turn. He wouldn’t allow it to happen. But the thought of defending himself, of running away to save himself, it bewildered him. Maybe he had lost too much of himself in Torchwood, he thought ruefully. Maybe he wasn’t even sure if there was much left of him to save.
Could he run? Could he leave this life behind, go someplace else and start over, if it meant he would live?
Still lost in thought, Ianto walked into the main level of the hub. Jack sat on the couch. Ianto skidded to a halt, heart thudding in his chest.
Jack was reading The Picture of Dorian Gray. Ianto had left if next to the coffeemaker, in plain sight, but he wasn’t sure he wanted Jack to read that-it was too close to the secrets he was currently keeping. His first instinct was to turn on his heel and walk away. He wanted to keep some distance between himself and that book, so that Jack couldn’t realize the significance that it now held. But he couldn’t disappear, because that would draw even more attention. Ianto busied himself with washing the dirty cups that seemed to collect at odd places around the hub, and then filling a glass of water for Jack. He’d noticed that Jack hadn’t had anything to drink in some time, and he knew that the captain liked to stay hydrated.
“I thought you didn’t want to read that,” Ianto commented, placing the glass at Jack’s elbow.
Jack looked up at him, smirking. “Just flipping to random pages and skimming-I don’t think that really counts as reading. UNIT sent me a few reports they want an outside opinion on.”
Ianto narrowed his eyes, giving Jack a stern stare. “And I’m sure you’re going to reply promptly.”
“Which is exactly why I’m reading anything except those reports.”
“Do you ever think life would be easier if we played nicely with the other alien-fighting organizations?”
Jack appeared to give it some thought. “Maybe. But not as much fun.” He picked up the glass, sipping and nodding his thanks.
Ianto picked up the book. “How far did you get?”
“Pretty/Immortal-Boy just killed Painter-Guy. Poor bastard. Should’ve run away when he had the chance.” Jack sounded skeptical. He swirled the water in his glass, watching it. “This is what I never liked about Victorian literature. A little too much drama and a slight lack in common sense.”
Ianto closed his eyes. “Love and common sense don’t hang out in the same bars.”
Jack raised his glass. “Truly.”
They didn’t speak for a while. When he could stand the awkward quiet no longer, Ianto inhaled sharply. “I think I need some fresh air. Care to join me?” It was the first time Ianto had offered to be alone with Jack since finding out about the letter.
The captain eyed him. There was still unease on Jack’s face, well disguised, but there nonetheless. He knew something was up, but would he ask?
Jack stood, and then offered his arm in mock formality. “Would be my pleasure.” Ianto felt himself relax a bit, glad that Jack was letting him keep his secrets, for now at least. He picked up his bag, automatically slinging it over his shoulder. Never knew when something would be needed. The Picture of Dorian Gray went into it.
They took the invisible lift up. Outside, there was a drizzly rain falling with just enough moisture to hang in the air, collecting in Ianto’s hair and shirt, but he welcomed the rain. The clean air felt wonderful in his chest and he breathed deeply, enjoying each lungful. When he glanced over at Jack, he saw the captain was watching him, amused. “Walk?” Jack asked, gesturing in the direction of the bay. “Come on.”
The water in the bay was dark. Ianto leaned on the metal railing, looking out over the small waves and tiny birds swooping over them. Jack’s hand remained firmly entwined with his. Ianto looked over. Jack was staring out at the bay like he really didn’t see it. Water droplets collected in his tousled hair, but he didn’t seem to notice the dampness, either.
Ianto felt dizzy for a moment, the question on his lips before he could bite it down. “Is the future unchangeable?”
Jack turned to look at him, a question in his eyes.
Ianto hastened to explain. “You’ve more experience with this than anyone. Time agent, doctor’s companion-you are pretty much an expert in time travel. I’ve read theories on it, on whether or not what happens is inevitable, or if any one small thing could change it. I just wanted to know what you think.”
Jack didn’t answer at first. “I’ve been to the future and back,” he said slowly, thinking through each word. “I’ve seen so much of what could be and how it came about, and sometimes I think there’s no changing that. But I was brought back to life by a single girl who wanted nothing more than to protect those she cared about. And I watched as a man managed to make the earth spin backwards on its axis, made time rewind itself so that the world wouldn’t have to go through a year of hell.” A smile curved his lips upward. “I’ve also seen a man who tried to catch someone who was falling, someone he didn’t even know, despite the fact that it could injure or even crush him.” He swiveled so that he stood directly in front of Ianto. They were so close Ianto could feel Jack’s breath on his lips when he exhaled. “I think the future is what those kinds of people make it to be.”
Ianto swallowed. Emotion throbbed in his chest, but it was swiftly being replaced by calm. He had his answer. “This is why he couldn’t just walk away,” he whispered. “There are some people you can’t leave, no matter the consequences.”
The words probably made no sense to Jack. He looked confused for a moment, but then Ianto’s hands were in his hair, tangling in the wet locks, kissing him fiercely. Jack didn’t respond for a moment, as if trying to understand, and then he was returning the kiss, arm coming to wrap around Ianto’s waist and hold him tightly. This was acceptance, this was throwing caution to the wind, and this was where Ianto needed to be.
Then Jack’s mobile rang.
Ianto felt more than heard the annoyed groan rumble in Jack’s chest. The captain took a step back, fumbling in his pocket. “This is Jack,” he said into the mobile, but his eyes lingered on Ianto. “Yes, yes, I know who you are-I remember your emails. I haven’t had the time to look over your findings yet, but I’ll do that right away….”
The hand on Ianto’s waist squeezed before it slipped away. Jack turned around to concentrate on the caller, shoulders straightening into the line that usually meant trouble. Looked like they’d be working late. Ianto looked back at the bay, leaning on the metal railing. He could taste the cold, salty air on his lips. It chased away the remnants of Jack’s warmth. He reached down into his backpack, withdrawing the book. He peered back at Jack, who was still talking on his mobile.
Ianto held the book so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The future, his future, stared back at him in all its gothic glory. Jack couldn’t find out about this. Jack couldn’t handle the thought of losing someone else right now. And while Ianto wasn’t sure when this was going to happen-if it was going to happen-he wouldn’t burden Jack with the knowledge.
He quickly retrieved the letter and glanced over it, taking in the most important words. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and returned his gaze to Jack. Jack was gesticulating wildly, trying to use his hand to prove a point, despite the fact whoever was on the other end of the phone line wouldn’t be able to see it. Ianto felt a small, fond smile tug at his mouth. He turned back to the railing, folding the papers into the book.
And then he threw it as hard as he could, watching it as it turned over and over in the air. It arched, sailing upward, and then plummeted into the dark water of the bay. Ianto watched the waves intently, searching. The book did not reappear.
Jack snapped his mobile shut, turning back to Ianto and frowning. “Looks like we might be going out of town for a little while.” He began walking back to the hub, looking over his shoulder as he went. “With me?”
Ianto swung his bag onto his shoulder and fell into step next to Jack. “Always.”
End