Fic: Through A Glass, Darkly (1/2)
Rating: PG-13 (mainly for language)
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Rhiannon, Gwen, OMC
Spoilers: All of TW, including COE
Warnings: Character death (canon), angst, m/m
Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to RTD and the BBC.
A/N: The idea for this story came from a really strange dream I had a couple of weeks ago. I was telling teachwriteslash about the dream and she said I had to write it. So, here it is. Happy birthday, my friend!
Beta: faithharkness . Idea-bouncing, support & prodding: beth_mccombs and cjharknessgirl
“Stop pushing it, Ianto! You’re just supposed to touch it and let it guide itself.” Eighteen year-old Rhiannon Jones glared across the Ouija board at her little brother.
“This is stupid, Rhi,” came the bored reply. “Dad would have your guts for garters if he knew you wasted your allowance on this thing.” The last statement was made with all the confidence of a thirteen year-old who was constantly in trouble with the parent in question.
“Shut up, Yan,” Rhiannon snapped. “If Dad finds out about this, he finds out about your little habit. I bet you don’t even pay for those cigarettes you smoke.”
“Whatever.” Ianto rolled his eyes and scowled at his sister. “This is still a stupid game.”
Rhiannon looked at her younger brother and marvelled once again at his strength of spirit. No matter what their dad did to him, Ianto persevered and fought back. Sometimes that stubbornness really irritated her, though - like now.
“It’s not a game, Ianto,” she sighed. “It’s a way to contact the spirits of people that have died.”
“Bollocks,” Ianto scoffed. “If dead people wanted to talk to us, they wouldn’t use cheap bits of plastic and cardboard.”
“Fine, I’ll put it away,” Rhiannon capitulated, suiting her actions to her words. She turned back to the slender boy sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. “Don’t you have any imagination, Yan? Don’t you believe in fairies, or ghosts…or even aliens? You’re always watching those stupid sci-fi shows on the telly.”
Ianto snorted derisively. “I watch Pinky and the Brain on the telly, too - doesn’t mean I think mice can talk.” He paused and looked at her curiously. “Do you believe in that stuff, Rhi?”
“Yeah, I do, Yan,” she replied thoughtfully. “It’s nice to believe in something other than what we see here on the estate. I’m named after the Welsh goddess of birds, horses, enchantments, fertility and the underworld, you know.”
“So, because you’re named after a goddess that means you have to believe in all that mystical shit?” His eyes reflected a wealth of cynicism well beyond his thirteen years. “Does that mean I should go out and preach the gospel to the unwashed masses because I’m named after an apostle?”
“Don’t be a git, Yan,” Rhiannon replied. “I’m trying to be serious. Don’t you ever want more out of life than what we have?”
Ianto pushed himself to his feet and laughed mockingly. “Yes, oh great goddess Rhiannon, I’d trade my soul for a chance to get off the estate and find true love.”
He turned to walk out of the room and missed the way Rhiannon’s eyes began to glow.
“Done,” she whispered her voice echoing with an otherworldly timbre. “You are mine now, Ianto Padrig Jones. Forever.”
><><><><><><><><
“I take it back, all right? I take it all back. But not him!”
Ianto could feel the virus infecting his body, shutting down his organs, his lungs filling with fluid. He felt his legs give way and he was falling; falling to the floor. Strong arms caught him and eased his descent. He was surrounded by a reassuring scent, the scent of Jack.
“No! No, no, no, no, no. Ianto, no!”
They had discussed it once - he, Gwen and Tosh - how Jack’s scent was different for each of them. Tosh thought he smelled like cherry blossoms after a spring rain and Gwen said it was fresh-baked bread and roses. Ianto thought Jack had always smelled like the wind after a storm at sea, with just the faintest hint of rich coffee and bitter chocolate. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating.
He focused his wandering attention on Jack’s panicked blue eyes. Another aroma was overlaying the Captain’s natural pheromones - a metallic, vinegary smell that wound its way through the comforting scent Ianto knew so well.
“It’s all my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” he replied, assuring his lover that he wasn’t to blame; it was just the way life went, especially life in Torchwood. Ianto felt Jack’s hand caressing his cheek and relaxed into the sensation until pain rippled through his body.
His face crumpled at the sorrow in Jack’s eyes. I didn’t want to leave you like this. I didn’t want to leave you at all. “I love you.”
“Don’t.”
Ianto knew that Jack didn’t think of himself as worthy, as deserving to be loved. Ianto knew Jack’s thinking was wrong. If ever a man deserved to be loved, it was Jack, and Ianto wanted him to remember that he was loved. Loved unconditionally for exactly who he was - not as the heroic Captain of Torchwood but as the man, Jack Harkness….
“Ianto? Ianto? Ianto, stay with me. Ianto, stay with me, please. Please, stay with me, please.”
Ianto opened his eyes. His entire body ached, like he’d been chasing Weevils for days and then come down with the flu. His eyes wandered before focusing back on Jack. Jack, who was holding him in his arms, regret on his face and tears in his beautiful blue eyes.
“Hey. It was good, yeah?” Ianto forced the words out past vocal chords that seemed to want to freeze. Suddenly the pain was gone, just a heaviness left in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. The rest of his body felt numb, except where Jack was touching him - he could still feel Jack’s arms holding on to him, keeping him anchored.
“Yeah.”
Looking into Jack’s eyes, he knew he was as close as he was ever going to get to eternity. The regret and sorrow of millennia shone in that indigo gaze and suddenly Ianto was afraid.
“Don’t forget me,” he pleaded.
“Never could.”
Ianto felt tears well beneath his eyelids. He knew memories faded over time. He’d realized a few short weeks ago that he could no longer recall exactly how Lisa’s skin felt beneath his hands. Even if Jack truly wanted to remember him, Ianto knew that, eventually, he’d be forgotten.
“In a thousand years’ time,” his voice broke, “you won’t remember me.”
“Yes, I will. I promise. I will.”
It felt like there was an invisible cloth over his face. He struggled to breathe in more oxygen. Everything was dim around him, only Jack’s face could still be seen clearly. He fought to keep his eyes open but he was tired, so very tired. Maybe if he closed his eyes for just a moment…
“Ianto? Ianto? Don’t leave me, please. Please, don’t…”
><><><><><><><
Ianto Jones opened his eyes to a world covered in darkness. He couldn’t remember what had happened, but he felt a sense of urgency coursing through him. Jack - he had to find Jack.
A glow was coming from somewhere behind him and Ianto turned around, hoping he could find someone, anyone, to explain what was going on. The light was coming from a rectangular opening.
He moved forward and found himself looking out over a large room - a room where bodies had been laid out in orderly rows and covered with red cloths. Movement drew his attention to the far side of the room and what he saw caused the breath to catch in his throat.
A dark haired woman sat between two of the red draped bodies. The shrouds had been pulled away from the faces and her head was bowed over one of the forms. Her hand kept fussing with the clothing on the still figure.
When the body behind the woman sat up, Ianto realized what he was seeing. Jack. Jack had died and come back and Gwen was there waiting for him. Who was the body that Gwen was facing, though?
“Not Rhys,” Ianto whispered, wracking his brain for what had happened.
His memory came back with a vengeance when he saw Jack move over and wrap an arm around Gwen; both of them clearly mourning for the figure in front of them.
“No,” Ianto screamed, pounding on the transparent surface in front of him. “Jack! Gwen! No, I’m here. I’m here. Jack!”
“He can’t hear you,” an unearthly voice murmured in his ear.
“What?” He whirled around to face the being next to him, eyes wide in shock. “R-Rhiannon?” he faltered. “What - what are you doing here? And what the fuck are you wearing?”
His sister was standing next to him in a flowing ivory gown, her hair hanging loose and free around her face. A faint luminescence surrounded her.
“Rhi?” He was either dead or on some really powerful drugs.
“You’re dead,” Rhiannon answered his unspoken thoughts.
Ianto crossed his arms and glared at his sister. “If I’m dead, then what are you doing here? And were, exactly, is here anyway?”
“You’ve always had a strong soul, Ianto Jones,” she began to explain. “Even as a child your spirit shone across the astral plane, calling to the supernatural forces of this world. I was the one that got to you first.”
“What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously. “Who the fuck are you?”
“You never had a sister, Ianto Jones; you were born an only child,” she said. “I assumed a place in your family, using my powers to make your parents think they had a daughter.”
“Who are you?” Ianto whispered as his entire world shifted out of alignment one more time.
“You called me by name once, Yan, remember? The day we played with the Ouija board?” she goaded. “You were thirteen years old and what happened that day is directly responsible for you being here today.”
The memory of that day forced its way to the front of his mind and Ianto gasped in shock. “No, it’s not possible. You’re a myth.”
Her peal of laughter grated over his already raw nerves. “How many years have you worked for Torchwood, Ianto Jones? And you can still say something isn’t possible? What is it your Captain always says - most myths have some basis in fact?”
“If you are really a goddess, what do you want with me?” Ianto demanded. “Why am I so special?”
“I told you already, Yan,” she replied impatiently. “You have one of the strongest souls I’ve ever seen; and now it’s mine.”
“Yours?! What do you mean it’s yours?” Ianto yelped.
“You traded it to me for a life off the estate you grew up on and a chance to find true love,” she pointed out. “You had a life off the estate; it’s just too bad that you didn’t find true love before you died.”
“I’ve felt true love,” Ianto protested, his sorrow at leaving Jack alone again choking off his words.
“Ah, but he never said he loved you back,” she reminded him triumphantly. “Therefore your soul is forfeit to me for eternity.”
“What about Lisa?” Ianto asked desperately. “I loved -“
The goddess scoffed. “What you felt for Lisa wasn’t true love - it was infatuation exacerbated by survivor’s guilt and Welsh stubbornness. No, your soul is mine, Ianto Jones.”
Ianto’s mind was reeling. He turned away from the being at his side to look out over the gymnasium. He rested his head against his forearm and watched as Jack gathered his lifeless body into his arms.
“So, what happens next?” he asked quietly.
“That is entirely up to you, Ianto,” Rhiannon answered back. “You have two choices - either give up now and submit your soul to me willingly, or -“
“Or what?” Ianto demanded when her voice trailed off.
“There is a way out of this but it won’t be easy,” she explained. “You can remain on this plane of existence and attempt to find someone to take your place. You will be trapped here, only able to see what is going on in the world out there through reflective surfaces.”
Ianto glared over his shoulder at her. “How the hell am I supposed to find someone to take my place? Will anyone be able to see me? Will they be able to hear me?”
“Under the right circumstances, yes, you will be seen and heard. Is that your choice?” she asked.
“What are the ‘right circumstances’?” Ianto enquired. He paused, waiting for an answer that never came. Sighing, he made his decision. “Yes, that is my choice.”
When there was no response, he looked around. Rhiannon had disappeared, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He turned back to watch his lover and his friend mourn him. He rested his fingers lightly against the barrier and whispered a promise.
“I’ll find a way back to you, my Captain. I promise.”
Part 2
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Rhiannon, Gwen, OMC
Spoilers: All of TW, including COE
Warnings: Character death (canon), angst, m/m
Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to RTD and the BBC.
A/N: The idea for this story came from a really strange dream I had a couple of weeks ago. I was telling teachwriteslash about the dream and she said I had to write it. So, here it is. Happy birthday, my friend!
Beta: faithharkness . Idea-bouncing, support & prodding: beth_mccombs and cjharknessgirl
“Stop pushing it, Ianto! You’re just supposed to touch it and let it guide itself.” Eighteen year-old Rhiannon Jones glared across the Ouija board at her little brother.
“This is stupid, Rhi,” came the bored reply. “Dad would have your guts for garters if he knew you wasted your allowance on this thing.” The last statement was made with all the confidence of a thirteen year-old who was constantly in trouble with the parent in question.
“Shut up, Yan,” Rhiannon snapped. “If Dad finds out about this, he finds out about your little habit. I bet you don’t even pay for those cigarettes you smoke.”
“Whatever.” Ianto rolled his eyes and scowled at his sister. “This is still a stupid game.”
Rhiannon looked at her younger brother and marvelled once again at his strength of spirit. No matter what their dad did to him, Ianto persevered and fought back. Sometimes that stubbornness really irritated her, though - like now.
“It’s not a game, Ianto,” she sighed. “It’s a way to contact the spirits of people that have died.”
“Bollocks,” Ianto scoffed. “If dead people wanted to talk to us, they wouldn’t use cheap bits of plastic and cardboard.”
“Fine, I’ll put it away,” Rhiannon capitulated, suiting her actions to her words. She turned back to the slender boy sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. “Don’t you have any imagination, Yan? Don’t you believe in fairies, or ghosts…or even aliens? You’re always watching those stupid sci-fi shows on the telly.”
Ianto snorted derisively. “I watch Pinky and the Brain on the telly, too - doesn’t mean I think mice can talk.” He paused and looked at her curiously. “Do you believe in that stuff, Rhi?”
“Yeah, I do, Yan,” she replied thoughtfully. “It’s nice to believe in something other than what we see here on the estate. I’m named after the Welsh goddess of birds, horses, enchantments, fertility and the underworld, you know.”
“So, because you’re named after a goddess that means you have to believe in all that mystical shit?” His eyes reflected a wealth of cynicism well beyond his thirteen years. “Does that mean I should go out and preach the gospel to the unwashed masses because I’m named after an apostle?”
“Don’t be a git, Yan,” Rhiannon replied. “I’m trying to be serious. Don’t you ever want more out of life than what we have?”
Ianto pushed himself to his feet and laughed mockingly. “Yes, oh great goddess Rhiannon, I’d trade my soul for a chance to get off the estate and find true love.”
He turned to walk out of the room and missed the way Rhiannon’s eyes began to glow.
“Done,” she whispered her voice echoing with an otherworldly timbre. “You are mine now, Ianto Padrig Jones. Forever.”
><><><><><><><><
“I take it back, all right? I take it all back. But not him!”
Ianto could feel the virus infecting his body, shutting down his organs, his lungs filling with fluid. He felt his legs give way and he was falling; falling to the floor. Strong arms caught him and eased his descent. He was surrounded by a reassuring scent, the scent of Jack.
“No! No, no, no, no, no. Ianto, no!”
They had discussed it once - he, Gwen and Tosh - how Jack’s scent was different for each of them. Tosh thought he smelled like cherry blossoms after a spring rain and Gwen said it was fresh-baked bread and roses. Ianto thought Jack had always smelled like the wind after a storm at sea, with just the faintest hint of rich coffee and bitter chocolate. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating.
He focused his wandering attention on Jack’s panicked blue eyes. Another aroma was overlaying the Captain’s natural pheromones - a metallic, vinegary smell that wound its way through the comforting scent Ianto knew so well.
“It’s all my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” he replied, assuring his lover that he wasn’t to blame; it was just the way life went, especially life in Torchwood. Ianto felt Jack’s hand caressing his cheek and relaxed into the sensation until pain rippled through his body.
His face crumpled at the sorrow in Jack’s eyes. I didn’t want to leave you like this. I didn’t want to leave you at all. “I love you.”
“Don’t.”
Ianto knew that Jack didn’t think of himself as worthy, as deserving to be loved. Ianto knew Jack’s thinking was wrong. If ever a man deserved to be loved, it was Jack, and Ianto wanted him to remember that he was loved. Loved unconditionally for exactly who he was - not as the heroic Captain of Torchwood but as the man, Jack Harkness….
“Ianto? Ianto? Ianto, stay with me. Ianto, stay with me, please. Please, stay with me, please.”
Ianto opened his eyes. His entire body ached, like he’d been chasing Weevils for days and then come down with the flu. His eyes wandered before focusing back on Jack. Jack, who was holding him in his arms, regret on his face and tears in his beautiful blue eyes.
“Hey. It was good, yeah?” Ianto forced the words out past vocal chords that seemed to want to freeze. Suddenly the pain was gone, just a heaviness left in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. The rest of his body felt numb, except where Jack was touching him - he could still feel Jack’s arms holding on to him, keeping him anchored.
“Yeah.”
Looking into Jack’s eyes, he knew he was as close as he was ever going to get to eternity. The regret and sorrow of millennia shone in that indigo gaze and suddenly Ianto was afraid.
“Don’t forget me,” he pleaded.
“Never could.”
Ianto felt tears well beneath his eyelids. He knew memories faded over time. He’d realized a few short weeks ago that he could no longer recall exactly how Lisa’s skin felt beneath his hands. Even if Jack truly wanted to remember him, Ianto knew that, eventually, he’d be forgotten.
“In a thousand years’ time,” his voice broke, “you won’t remember me.”
“Yes, I will. I promise. I will.”
It felt like there was an invisible cloth over his face. He struggled to breathe in more oxygen. Everything was dim around him, only Jack’s face could still be seen clearly. He fought to keep his eyes open but he was tired, so very tired. Maybe if he closed his eyes for just a moment…
“Ianto? Ianto? Don’t leave me, please. Please, don’t…”
><><><><><><><
Ianto Jones opened his eyes to a world covered in darkness. He couldn’t remember what had happened, but he felt a sense of urgency coursing through him. Jack - he had to find Jack.
A glow was coming from somewhere behind him and Ianto turned around, hoping he could find someone, anyone, to explain what was going on. The light was coming from a rectangular opening.
He moved forward and found himself looking out over a large room - a room where bodies had been laid out in orderly rows and covered with red cloths. Movement drew his attention to the far side of the room and what he saw caused the breath to catch in his throat.
A dark haired woman sat between two of the red draped bodies. The shrouds had been pulled away from the faces and her head was bowed over one of the forms. Her hand kept fussing with the clothing on the still figure.
When the body behind the woman sat up, Ianto realized what he was seeing. Jack. Jack had died and come back and Gwen was there waiting for him. Who was the body that Gwen was facing, though?
“Not Rhys,” Ianto whispered, wracking his brain for what had happened.
His memory came back with a vengeance when he saw Jack move over and wrap an arm around Gwen; both of them clearly mourning for the figure in front of them.
“No,” Ianto screamed, pounding on the transparent surface in front of him. “Jack! Gwen! No, I’m here. I’m here. Jack!”
“He can’t hear you,” an unearthly voice murmured in his ear.
“What?” He whirled around to face the being next to him, eyes wide in shock. “R-Rhiannon?” he faltered. “What - what are you doing here? And what the fuck are you wearing?”
His sister was standing next to him in a flowing ivory gown, her hair hanging loose and free around her face. A faint luminescence surrounded her.
“Rhi?” He was either dead or on some really powerful drugs.
“You’re dead,” Rhiannon answered his unspoken thoughts.
Ianto crossed his arms and glared at his sister. “If I’m dead, then what are you doing here? And were, exactly, is here anyway?”
“You’ve always had a strong soul, Ianto Jones,” she began to explain. “Even as a child your spirit shone across the astral plane, calling to the supernatural forces of this world. I was the one that got to you first.”
“What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously. “Who the fuck are you?”
“You never had a sister, Ianto Jones; you were born an only child,” she said. “I assumed a place in your family, using my powers to make your parents think they had a daughter.”
“Who are you?” Ianto whispered as his entire world shifted out of alignment one more time.
“You called me by name once, Yan, remember? The day we played with the Ouija board?” she goaded. “You were thirteen years old and what happened that day is directly responsible for you being here today.”
The memory of that day forced its way to the front of his mind and Ianto gasped in shock. “No, it’s not possible. You’re a myth.”
Her peal of laughter grated over his already raw nerves. “How many years have you worked for Torchwood, Ianto Jones? And you can still say something isn’t possible? What is it your Captain always says - most myths have some basis in fact?”
“If you are really a goddess, what do you want with me?” Ianto demanded. “Why am I so special?”
“I told you already, Yan,” she replied impatiently. “You have one of the strongest souls I’ve ever seen; and now it’s mine.”
“Yours?! What do you mean it’s yours?” Ianto yelped.
“You traded it to me for a life off the estate you grew up on and a chance to find true love,” she pointed out. “You had a life off the estate; it’s just too bad that you didn’t find true love before you died.”
“I’ve felt true love,” Ianto protested, his sorrow at leaving Jack alone again choking off his words.
“Ah, but he never said he loved you back,” she reminded him triumphantly. “Therefore your soul is forfeit to me for eternity.”
“What about Lisa?” Ianto asked desperately. “I loved -“
The goddess scoffed. “What you felt for Lisa wasn’t true love - it was infatuation exacerbated by survivor’s guilt and Welsh stubbornness. No, your soul is mine, Ianto Jones.”
Ianto’s mind was reeling. He turned away from the being at his side to look out over the gymnasium. He rested his head against his forearm and watched as Jack gathered his lifeless body into his arms.
“So, what happens next?” he asked quietly.
“That is entirely up to you, Ianto,” Rhiannon answered back. “You have two choices - either give up now and submit your soul to me willingly, or -“
“Or what?” Ianto demanded when her voice trailed off.
“There is a way out of this but it won’t be easy,” she explained. “You can remain on this plane of existence and attempt to find someone to take your place. You will be trapped here, only able to see what is going on in the world out there through reflective surfaces.”
Ianto glared over his shoulder at her. “How the hell am I supposed to find someone to take my place? Will anyone be able to see me? Will they be able to hear me?”
“Under the right circumstances, yes, you will be seen and heard. Is that your choice?” she asked.
“What are the ‘right circumstances’?” Ianto enquired. He paused, waiting for an answer that never came. Sighing, he made his decision. “Yes, that is my choice.”
When there was no response, he looked around. Rhiannon had disappeared, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He turned back to watch his lover and his friend mourn him. He rested his fingers lightly against the barrier and whispered a promise.
“I’ll find a way back to you, my Captain. I promise.”
Part 2