Fic: The Oncoming Storm (Slash, AU, Janto 17/40 Part 2)
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17 (betaed)
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on. Be sure to read the warnings.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: none
Notes For This Chapter: it's not necessary, but please note there are parallels to DW's "Doomsday", "Army of Ghosts", and TW's "Fragments". No spoilers, but history and ages are based and parallel the episodes.
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17 1/2
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 17
Three days later…
Jack had debated bringing flowers. But it was just a wall, for God's sake. It was just a plain white, flat piece of drywall that used to be the border of the portal to send every Cyberman and Dalek into an airless, lifeless void.
UNIT, Jack had discovered, was part of some organization called the United Nations. The Cybermen and Daleks were nothing new to them and they considered the Doctor and his companions in the highest regard.
He wasn't sure if he was glad or not. They didn't even insist on a guard for him. Jack had been free to roam the ruins.
Canary Wharf was a loss. The expansion had disintegrated to a skeletal ghost of what it used to be. He remembered seeing a model of it, his face reflected off the thick, clear case as the Doctor and Hartman…
Jack sucked in his breath. They never found Hartman. Jack watched as each steel mask was pried off every corpse. Her face was never found. Someone remembered her running to the Doctor's aid, buying the Time Lord just enough time to open the void. He succeeded and it took everything.
It took Rose, too. And then the Doctor left. Again.
The sob he'd been ignoring for he didn't know how long pressed against his throat, building behind his eyes, pushing to leave his mouth.
But as insistently it tried to escape, Jack just as viciously pushed it back down, far down until it was back in his gut to brew and lump. It sat like a stone. Sometimes it was hard to breathe with it, but Jack knew it was better than letting it out. He'd learned it was pointless to; there wasn't anyone who would listen.
"I miss you," Jack murmured, his hand touching the wall. It looked and felt deceptively innocuous. He didn't know who he missed. The more he thought about them, the more he thought about how it was before Station Five, and that just flooded back in the doubts, the fears, the abject, gut tearing loneliness that revived the lump in his gut.
Jack pressed his face to the wall. He was glad, so very glad no one was guarding him, following the Doctor's companion and finding him weeping soundlessly, dry-eyed, on a fucking wall.
His hands clawed the walls, hard enough he could feel his nails digging into the plaster and bleeding little furrows onto the plaster. The moment he smelled the blood, Jack jerked back, angry at himself. It felt like he was desecrating a grave.
"Idiot," Jack spat out and he tried to dab at the wall with the edge of his coat sleeve, not caring that the blood marred his greatcoat. Rose was behind this wall and here he was, Jack the wrong, the abomination, spilling his filth all over her grave. Their beautiful Rose, who had sailed on a barrage balloon among bursts of death from the Germans. Their Rose, who couldn't pronounce Raxacoricofallapatorius and giggled each time she tried. Her eyes had sparkled when she finally succeeded and she had practically thrown herself at the Doctor in such glee that left them all smiling for days.
No more. She was gone. She should have been safe. The Doctor had sent her back. Why? Why did the Doctor go back for her? Had he always wanted to go back for her? Jack felt an odd quiver of anger towards the Time Lord for doing this to Rose.
"She was safe," Jack whispered. He stopped trying to wipe the reddish streaks off the wall. It was doomed to fail anyway.
"She was safe, damn it!"
The first punch burned. The second, Jack felt a bone crack. The third, the fourth…Jack knew they should hurt. They just didn't.
Each blow felt like something gave and for one ludicrous moment, Jack thought maybe, just maybe, he could reach Rose behind this wall. Maybe take her place? No great loss, right? The Doctor would stop avoiding looking at him and Rose would be safe. And maybe Jack would finally get the oblivion he craved. Yes, it would be better if he was on the other side of this wall. Not Rose. Not beautiful, sparkling, human Rose.
Each punch felt inadequate. Each animalistic cry clawing out of his throat sounded pitiful. And the lump in his gut wouldn't go away. Like bile, it burned a path up his throat, forcing Jack to stop. Otherwise, it'd escape and then Jack knew he would be lost.
Jack leaned his head on the wall. His nostrils flared at the scent of his blood and skin on the walls. He didn't look at his hands. They didn't even hurt. Hell, they'd be fine soon.
"Is it safe to come in now?"
The voice made Jack close his eyes. He could feel Ianto Jones approaching without looking. It was odd. Jack was certain he would always know when Jones came. It was like the very air changed against his skin when Jones entered.
"How long were you standing there?" Jack could barely speak.
Jones' hands took his gingerly by the wrists and carefully pulled them down and towards him. Jack dutifully sat down and peered up at the younger man through hooded eyes. Jones sat in front of him, Indian style, with a case on his lap.
"Long enough to know I needed to head downstairs to get a kit." Jones hissed when he got a better look at the limp hands in his lap.
"God, look at the state of you," Jones murmured, distress clear in his voice. He turned over one hand. "My kit's not going to be enough. Let's get you to a medic-"
"It'll be fine." Jack yanked back his hands before the sensation of Jones' long, graceful fingers proved to be too much.
"No, they're not," Jones corrected in a firm voice. He retrieved his hold. "Some of these fingers look broke-"
"They're fine!"
Jones' grasp slackened and Jack escaped, leaping to his feet.
"I only want to help," Jones said calmly, staying seated on the ground.
"Why? Why me? Shouldn't you be somewhere else?" Jack stopped at Jones' pained expression. Horror crossed over Jack's face and he deflated.
"God, that was incredibly insensitive of me. I-I didn't mean it that-"
"I know." Jones gave him a faint smile. "I know." His face fell and he looked at the kit on his lap.
"They won't let me near her. She's with others they found. Too dangerous, they said." The younger man scoffed. "Lisa would never hurt me. She's not even awake. They've kept her under while everyone tries to figure out how to help them." Jones shrugged. "For two days they interrogated and counter questioned and…" Jones sighed. He fiddled with the medical kit.
"No questions today. And they still wouldn't let me see her."
Jack stared at him, at the pale hands toying with the leather satchel handle. Jack then looked at his swollen hands. Quietly, Jack walked back over, sat down in front of the younger man, and laid his hands on Jones' waiting ones.
"Thank you," Jack said, subduedly.
The other's mouth curved up just a little before he opened the kit and pulled out the bottle of saline.
The small sounds of saline trickling between fingers, gauze tearing, tape zipping off a spool, filled the room. Jack watched the other man as Jones focused with unusual intensity in cleaning the blood.
"Really," Jack murmured to the bowed head. "They don't even hurt-Ouch!"
Jones considered him with an arched eyebrow, the bottle of saline paused in mid-air. "Yes," he said wryly. "I can see that."
Jack snorted, averting his gaze. He grimaced as he could feel the other's ministrations.
"I'm sorry about Rose," Jones murmured tentatively as if he wasn't certain he should say anything.
Looking away also meant Jack was staring at the blood mottled wall. Rose would have scolded him for such a display.
"I'm sorry about Lisa," Jack returned. He felt Jones pause. Jack kept his gaze on the wall. It seemed kinder to Jones this way.
"I left her up here alone." The self recrimination was evident in his voice.
Because of me, Jack thought. Out loud, Jack said, "There was nothing you could have done. If you were up there, you-" Jack turned back and found Jones staring at him.
"You were safer in the chamber," Jones said softly. "Yet you came after me. Thank you."
Jack pulled his hands away. "Don't make me into a hero, Ianto Jones," Jack bit out, his voice rough.
"You can't blame me for that," Jones shrugged. He made no attempt to retake the hands. He calmly gathered up the remaining materials. "I think you made yourself a hero all by yourself."
He couldn't say anything, couldn't tell Jones the truth. He was selfish. Jack knew that. The way Jones looked at him, talked to him, he didn't want to lose that.
Jack stood up. He swayed a little on his feet, still feeling like he was underwater. His hands throbbed dully as he approached the wall.
"Sorry, Rose," Jack murmured, lifting a hand to touch the blemished wall, but the sight of the gauze wrapped around his hands made him pause.
"Who was she?"
She was everything good. Jack stroked one finger on the surface. He wondered if the Doctor had rested his head on the wall to grieve. Did he try to listen for her?
"When I first met the Doctor," Jack said out loud, "She was already traveling with him."
"A companion?"
The way Jones said it, it didn't make Jack flinch but he protested anyway. "You people call it…that. But no, I don't think…I mean…" Jack rested all five fingertips on the wall before lowering his hand. "She just traveled with him."
"So it was the three of you?"
Jack closed his eyes. He could still hear her laughing. "Yes," he sighed. "We got…separated. Then, the Doctor came back for me. I thought he sent Rose home to be safe. I don't know how she came back to…" Jack chuckled but there was little humor in it. "She probably insisted. Neither one of us could ever talk her out of anything. The more you tell her no, the more she'll want to do it."
"Sounds like someone I know."
Jack smiled faintly. "She died fighting with him. I think…she wouldn't have minded it that way."
"…Do…Did you love her?"
I can't love anyone, Jack thought. "The Doctor loved her." He rested his forehead on the wall. "God, this must be breaking his hearts. He went back for her, only to…" Ah, Rose, Rose, Rose. Jack placed his swollen hands to the wall. He clung to the surface. "She didn't deserve this."
"No one did." Jones rose to his feet and walked over. He leaned on the wall, against his left shoulder, and studied Jack.
"You said he came back for you?"
Jack didn't move. He kept his forehead against the wall, his eyes on the floor.
Jones audibly sucked in his breath. "He left you behind." It wasn't a question and Jack knew the word "again" was left out as a mercy.
"Will he come back?"
"Not to here." Not for me. Jack turned, resting his right shoulder on the wall. He leveled his gaze at Jones. "Not to the place where Rose died."
There must have been something on his face because Jones stiffened. "You're not staying, either," he read correctly.
Jack nodded. He gave himself a mocking laugh. "I got an offer." Jack shrugged. He fumbled out the crumpled first few pages of the letter that was found on him. The acting director of Torchwood had read it with him and even now, Jack couldn't believe it. "Here. The final words of Alex Hopkins."
Jones took the letter curiously. He scanned it. His eyes widened.
"Good God…"
"All of them." If his laugh came out hysterical, Jack was sure it was because he still felt a little lightheaded. "On New Year's Eve, 1999. Told London it was some alien attack." In a sense, it was. The alien pendant was now being sent back to Cardiff, under security, to be hidden in the vaults. "He was going to follow but then he realized he couldn't yet because he had to wait…"
Jones was still reading the letter, Hopkins' last will and testament. "He," Jones stammered. "He was waiting for you?"
"I'm not supposed to be here," Jack's voice cracked. The news, just like when Abigail had read it to him, was just as disbelieving. "Me! Captain Jack Harkness, the companion, was supposed to lead Torchwood Three into the 21st century!" He tried to run a hand through his hair, but damn it, they were bandaged and for some reason, not completely healed yet.
"I heard them talking. Called him Spooky Do. He was supposed to be crazy. Saw the future, went crazy, killed everyone, lied about it, then went around fixing the future!" Jack felt like punching the wall again. "Then he says on that damn letter he's leaving it to me-can he do that?"
"If you're taking it, I guess he apparently can," Jones was too calm. Jack wanted to smack him. He wanted Jones to yell, shout like him, too. But he didn't. In spite of it, Jack calmed.
"He gave up his life thinking he needed me for Torchwood," Jack whispered. "I can't waste that."
"I can't think of staying in Torchwood," Jones spoke just as low. His eyes, while red-rimmed, were dry. "All we did."
"You didn't do this," Jack said, turning around to lean his back on the wall.
Jones followed. He exhaled, long and slow. "No, perhaps not but I was part of it."
Jack glanced over sideways. "What are you going to do then?"
The shrug Jones gave was slow coming. "I've done many jobs." His mouth quirked. "Perhaps a coffee shop?"
Jack laughed, a short bark that hurt. "You should own one." Jack ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, remembering. When he turned back to Jones, he caught him staring. The younger man looked away quickly.
"Whatever would be fine," Jones said quietly. "I need to stay in London."
Jack sobered. "Lisa."
The nod made him look away. He stared down the large room and the debris, equipment pulled from their bolted housing, the center swept clean, stopping short at the wall. God, the force it must have been.
"I love Lisa."
Jack closed his eyes. "You wouldn't be you if you weren't, Ianto Jones," Jack murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing." Jack twisted around a little, resting the side of his head against the wall. He looked at Jones staring at nothing in particular.
Jones faced Jack, remorse lining his face. He looked worn, tired, and fragile. Jack couldn't help but react to it. He stepped away from the wall, a few steps until he was in front of Jones. The younger man watched him, making no move, no comment, only inhaling sharply when Jack leaned in, his elbows on either side of Jones.
"You love Lisa." It wasn't a question. Jack used it like a shield.
Jones sighed deeply. "She stayed with me through…difficult times."
"Sounds like a good person."
"She wa-is. God, she doesn't deserve this."
Jack rested his forehead on the wall. He felt Jones rest his on Jack's shoulder.
"You're right doing this," Jack murmured. "We…I was…curiosity, Ianto Jones. Nothing more."
"Yes," Jones sounded muffled, but there was a lilt of relief in the opening Jack offered. "I was overwhelmed."
Jack smiled sadly against the side of Jones' head. "I was very intimidating. You were worried I was going to blow up your planet."
"Well…You were very frightening coming out of that bloody police box."
The two men chuckled. Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His hands drifted up to Jones' shoulders. The younger man tensed, then relaxed, his arms going around Jack, his hands linking just below his lower back.
"If I ask," Jack asked haltingly, "Would you consider Cardiff?"
Jones stiffened again. "I don't think I could ever work for Torchwood again." His breath was harsh against Jack's throat. Jones' arms tightened around Jack. "If…"
It was a question Jack didn't wait for him to ask. It would be too much. Especially knowing the answer would always have to be no. "If I was a better man…"
"I can think of no better man, Jack Harkness." Jones attempted to pull back, but Jack pressed his body closer. Just for a little while longer.
"Even if you could ask," Jack murmured, "I would have to say no anyway." He held tighter, close enough to feel Jones' heart beat against his ribs. It was loud, rapid, like rain hitting a drum.
Jack swallowed. "A man died believing I was worth something. I…I can't let that go. And the D-Cardiff was built over a rift in space and time. He…"
"You're going to wait for him." Jones sounded resigned. "Even after he left you behind over and over again."
Jack could hear the reproach. He couldn't find the anger in return. "It's like you staying for Lisa."
"It's not the same."
Jack let go and Jones slipped out of his grasp. His arms never felt so empty. Jack forced himself to smile, to twist his mouth into a nonchalant curve he neither felt nor believed.
"I guess our timelines were never meant to cross, Ianto Jones." Jack reached out, thought better of it, and stepped back. "Lisa will be okay," Jack lied.
Jones looked relieved, so relieved, the lump in Jack's gut grew. "Thank you, Captain." Then, he tilted his head with a thought.
"You're changing Torchwood, aren't you?"
This time, the grin was more sincere. "I heard it's a fun group of kids there. It's time Torchwood got ready for this future Hopkins believed will happen. I think things might get interesting."
"Try not to piss off too many people, Harkness."
Jack waggled his eyebrows. He headed for the exit. As he passed Jones, Jack stopped. He cupped the younger man's cheek, pulling him closer. Jones automatically turned towards his mouth, but Jack neatly avoided his and pressed his lips to Jones' cheek. He lingered a little too long.
"Have a good life, Ianto Jones," Jack whispered, holding Jones' face between his hands. He stared at Jones, memorized all he could, then, with a small pat to both cheeks, Jack pulled away. "Goodbye, Ianto."
As he left Jones standing in the middle of Rose's final resting place, and went out the door and down the small steps, Jack thought he heard one last whisper.
"Goodbye, Jack."
Two months later…
Maybe he should have worn the red shirt with the charcoal tie instead.
It was cold on the wharf, but Ianto Jones wasn't shivering because of that. His hands shook despite the warm thermos he carried in one hand, a mug in the other. If his previous observations were correct, he wouldn't be standing here for much longer. How very characteristic of a time traveler to be so…punctual.
Ianto wanted to bite his lip but he was afraid he might bite too hard and bleed. That wouldn't be too impressive. Maybe he should have brought a resume? Who ever heard of offering-Oh, maybe the blue shirt might have been better?
Like the gong of a clock, the door to the Tourist Center opened and out walked Jack Harkness, his greatcoat flapping around his legs from the wind. He was talking into his earpiece and would have walked right by him until Ianto took a deep breath.
"Morning," he called out as bright as he could.
Harkness skidded to a halt barely a meter away. He gaped.
Ianto extended out his hand with the mug. He hoped it wasn't shaking too much for him to notice. "Coffee?"
And now TW begins...eg
Chapter 18: "Everything Changes"
Additional Notes: Many thanks to soullessminion for betaing this chapter.
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17 (betaed)
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on. Be sure to read the warnings.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: none
Notes For This Chapter: it's not necessary, but please note there are parallels to DW's "Doomsday", "Army of Ghosts", and TW's "Fragments". No spoilers, but history and ages are based and parallel the episodes.
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17 1/2
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 17
Three days later…
Jack had debated bringing flowers. But it was just a wall, for God's sake. It was just a plain white, flat piece of drywall that used to be the border of the portal to send every Cyberman and Dalek into an airless, lifeless void.
UNIT, Jack had discovered, was part of some organization called the United Nations. The Cybermen and Daleks were nothing new to them and they considered the Doctor and his companions in the highest regard.
He wasn't sure if he was glad or not. They didn't even insist on a guard for him. Jack had been free to roam the ruins.
Canary Wharf was a loss. The expansion had disintegrated to a skeletal ghost of what it used to be. He remembered seeing a model of it, his face reflected off the thick, clear case as the Doctor and Hartman…
Jack sucked in his breath. They never found Hartman. Jack watched as each steel mask was pried off every corpse. Her face was never found. Someone remembered her running to the Doctor's aid, buying the Time Lord just enough time to open the void. He succeeded and it took everything.
It took Rose, too. And then the Doctor left. Again.
The sob he'd been ignoring for he didn't know how long pressed against his throat, building behind his eyes, pushing to leave his mouth.
But as insistently it tried to escape, Jack just as viciously pushed it back down, far down until it was back in his gut to brew and lump. It sat like a stone. Sometimes it was hard to breathe with it, but Jack knew it was better than letting it out. He'd learned it was pointless to; there wasn't anyone who would listen.
"I miss you," Jack murmured, his hand touching the wall. It looked and felt deceptively innocuous. He didn't know who he missed. The more he thought about them, the more he thought about how it was before Station Five, and that just flooded back in the doubts, the fears, the abject, gut tearing loneliness that revived the lump in his gut.
Jack pressed his face to the wall. He was glad, so very glad no one was guarding him, following the Doctor's companion and finding him weeping soundlessly, dry-eyed, on a fucking wall.
His hands clawed the walls, hard enough he could feel his nails digging into the plaster and bleeding little furrows onto the plaster. The moment he smelled the blood, Jack jerked back, angry at himself. It felt like he was desecrating a grave.
"Idiot," Jack spat out and he tried to dab at the wall with the edge of his coat sleeve, not caring that the blood marred his greatcoat. Rose was behind this wall and here he was, Jack the wrong, the abomination, spilling his filth all over her grave. Their beautiful Rose, who had sailed on a barrage balloon among bursts of death from the Germans. Their Rose, who couldn't pronounce Raxacoricofallapatorius and giggled each time she tried. Her eyes had sparkled when she finally succeeded and she had practically thrown herself at the Doctor in such glee that left them all smiling for days.
No more. She was gone. She should have been safe. The Doctor had sent her back. Why? Why did the Doctor go back for her? Had he always wanted to go back for her? Jack felt an odd quiver of anger towards the Time Lord for doing this to Rose.
"She was safe," Jack whispered. He stopped trying to wipe the reddish streaks off the wall. It was doomed to fail anyway.
"She was safe, damn it!"
The first punch burned. The second, Jack felt a bone crack. The third, the fourth…Jack knew they should hurt. They just didn't.
Each blow felt like something gave and for one ludicrous moment, Jack thought maybe, just maybe, he could reach Rose behind this wall. Maybe take her place? No great loss, right? The Doctor would stop avoiding looking at him and Rose would be safe. And maybe Jack would finally get the oblivion he craved. Yes, it would be better if he was on the other side of this wall. Not Rose. Not beautiful, sparkling, human Rose.
Each punch felt inadequate. Each animalistic cry clawing out of his throat sounded pitiful. And the lump in his gut wouldn't go away. Like bile, it burned a path up his throat, forcing Jack to stop. Otherwise, it'd escape and then Jack knew he would be lost.
Jack leaned his head on the wall. His nostrils flared at the scent of his blood and skin on the walls. He didn't look at his hands. They didn't even hurt. Hell, they'd be fine soon.
"Is it safe to come in now?"
The voice made Jack close his eyes. He could feel Ianto Jones approaching without looking. It was odd. Jack was certain he would always know when Jones came. It was like the very air changed against his skin when Jones entered.
"How long were you standing there?" Jack could barely speak.
Jones' hands took his gingerly by the wrists and carefully pulled them down and towards him. Jack dutifully sat down and peered up at the younger man through hooded eyes. Jones sat in front of him, Indian style, with a case on his lap.
"Long enough to know I needed to head downstairs to get a kit." Jones hissed when he got a better look at the limp hands in his lap.
"God, look at the state of you," Jones murmured, distress clear in his voice. He turned over one hand. "My kit's not going to be enough. Let's get you to a medic-"
"It'll be fine." Jack yanked back his hands before the sensation of Jones' long, graceful fingers proved to be too much.
"No, they're not," Jones corrected in a firm voice. He retrieved his hold. "Some of these fingers look broke-"
"They're fine!"
Jones' grasp slackened and Jack escaped, leaping to his feet.
"I only want to help," Jones said calmly, staying seated on the ground.
"Why? Why me? Shouldn't you be somewhere else?" Jack stopped at Jones' pained expression. Horror crossed over Jack's face and he deflated.
"God, that was incredibly insensitive of me. I-I didn't mean it that-"
"I know." Jones gave him a faint smile. "I know." His face fell and he looked at the kit on his lap.
"They won't let me near her. She's with others they found. Too dangerous, they said." The younger man scoffed. "Lisa would never hurt me. She's not even awake. They've kept her under while everyone tries to figure out how to help them." Jones shrugged. "For two days they interrogated and counter questioned and…" Jones sighed. He fiddled with the medical kit.
"No questions today. And they still wouldn't let me see her."
Jack stared at him, at the pale hands toying with the leather satchel handle. Jack then looked at his swollen hands. Quietly, Jack walked back over, sat down in front of the younger man, and laid his hands on Jones' waiting ones.
"Thank you," Jack said, subduedly.
The other's mouth curved up just a little before he opened the kit and pulled out the bottle of saline.
The small sounds of saline trickling between fingers, gauze tearing, tape zipping off a spool, filled the room. Jack watched the other man as Jones focused with unusual intensity in cleaning the blood.
"Really," Jack murmured to the bowed head. "They don't even hurt-Ouch!"
Jones considered him with an arched eyebrow, the bottle of saline paused in mid-air. "Yes," he said wryly. "I can see that."
Jack snorted, averting his gaze. He grimaced as he could feel the other's ministrations.
"I'm sorry about Rose," Jones murmured tentatively as if he wasn't certain he should say anything.
Looking away also meant Jack was staring at the blood mottled wall. Rose would have scolded him for such a display.
"I'm sorry about Lisa," Jack returned. He felt Jones pause. Jack kept his gaze on the wall. It seemed kinder to Jones this way.
"I left her up here alone." The self recrimination was evident in his voice.
Because of me, Jack thought. Out loud, Jack said, "There was nothing you could have done. If you were up there, you-" Jack turned back and found Jones staring at him.
"You were safer in the chamber," Jones said softly. "Yet you came after me. Thank you."
Jack pulled his hands away. "Don't make me into a hero, Ianto Jones," Jack bit out, his voice rough.
"You can't blame me for that," Jones shrugged. He made no attempt to retake the hands. He calmly gathered up the remaining materials. "I think you made yourself a hero all by yourself."
He couldn't say anything, couldn't tell Jones the truth. He was selfish. Jack knew that. The way Jones looked at him, talked to him, he didn't want to lose that.
Jack stood up. He swayed a little on his feet, still feeling like he was underwater. His hands throbbed dully as he approached the wall.
"Sorry, Rose," Jack murmured, lifting a hand to touch the blemished wall, but the sight of the gauze wrapped around his hands made him pause.
"Who was she?"
She was everything good. Jack stroked one finger on the surface. He wondered if the Doctor had rested his head on the wall to grieve. Did he try to listen for her?
"When I first met the Doctor," Jack said out loud, "She was already traveling with him."
"A companion?"
The way Jones said it, it didn't make Jack flinch but he protested anyway. "You people call it…that. But no, I don't think…I mean…" Jack rested all five fingertips on the wall before lowering his hand. "She just traveled with him."
"So it was the three of you?"
Jack closed his eyes. He could still hear her laughing. "Yes," he sighed. "We got…separated. Then, the Doctor came back for me. I thought he sent Rose home to be safe. I don't know how she came back to…" Jack chuckled but there was little humor in it. "She probably insisted. Neither one of us could ever talk her out of anything. The more you tell her no, the more she'll want to do it."
"Sounds like someone I know."
Jack smiled faintly. "She died fighting with him. I think…she wouldn't have minded it that way."
"…Do…Did you love her?"
I can't love anyone, Jack thought. "The Doctor loved her." He rested his forehead on the wall. "God, this must be breaking his hearts. He went back for her, only to…" Ah, Rose, Rose, Rose. Jack placed his swollen hands to the wall. He clung to the surface. "She didn't deserve this."
"No one did." Jones rose to his feet and walked over. He leaned on the wall, against his left shoulder, and studied Jack.
"You said he came back for you?"
Jack didn't move. He kept his forehead against the wall, his eyes on the floor.
Jones audibly sucked in his breath. "He left you behind." It wasn't a question and Jack knew the word "again" was left out as a mercy.
"Will he come back?"
"Not to here." Not for me. Jack turned, resting his right shoulder on the wall. He leveled his gaze at Jones. "Not to the place where Rose died."
There must have been something on his face because Jones stiffened. "You're not staying, either," he read correctly.
Jack nodded. He gave himself a mocking laugh. "I got an offer." Jack shrugged. He fumbled out the crumpled first few pages of the letter that was found on him. The acting director of Torchwood had read it with him and even now, Jack couldn't believe it. "Here. The final words of Alex Hopkins."
Jones took the letter curiously. He scanned it. His eyes widened.
"Good God…"
"All of them." If his laugh came out hysterical, Jack was sure it was because he still felt a little lightheaded. "On New Year's Eve, 1999. Told London it was some alien attack." In a sense, it was. The alien pendant was now being sent back to Cardiff, under security, to be hidden in the vaults. "He was going to follow but then he realized he couldn't yet because he had to wait…"
Jones was still reading the letter, Hopkins' last will and testament. "He," Jones stammered. "He was waiting for you?"
"I'm not supposed to be here," Jack's voice cracked. The news, just like when Abigail had read it to him, was just as disbelieving. "Me! Captain Jack Harkness, the companion, was supposed to lead Torchwood Three into the 21st century!" He tried to run a hand through his hair, but damn it, they were bandaged and for some reason, not completely healed yet.
"I heard them talking. Called him Spooky Do. He was supposed to be crazy. Saw the future, went crazy, killed everyone, lied about it, then went around fixing the future!" Jack felt like punching the wall again. "Then he says on that damn letter he's leaving it to me-can he do that?"
"If you're taking it, I guess he apparently can," Jones was too calm. Jack wanted to smack him. He wanted Jones to yell, shout like him, too. But he didn't. In spite of it, Jack calmed.
"He gave up his life thinking he needed me for Torchwood," Jack whispered. "I can't waste that."
"I can't think of staying in Torchwood," Jones spoke just as low. His eyes, while red-rimmed, were dry. "All we did."
"You didn't do this," Jack said, turning around to lean his back on the wall.
Jones followed. He exhaled, long and slow. "No, perhaps not but I was part of it."
Jack glanced over sideways. "What are you going to do then?"
The shrug Jones gave was slow coming. "I've done many jobs." His mouth quirked. "Perhaps a coffee shop?"
Jack laughed, a short bark that hurt. "You should own one." Jack ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, remembering. When he turned back to Jones, he caught him staring. The younger man looked away quickly.
"Whatever would be fine," Jones said quietly. "I need to stay in London."
Jack sobered. "Lisa."
The nod made him look away. He stared down the large room and the debris, equipment pulled from their bolted housing, the center swept clean, stopping short at the wall. God, the force it must have been.
"I love Lisa."
Jack closed his eyes. "You wouldn't be you if you weren't, Ianto Jones," Jack murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing." Jack twisted around a little, resting the side of his head against the wall. He looked at Jones staring at nothing in particular.
Jones faced Jack, remorse lining his face. He looked worn, tired, and fragile. Jack couldn't help but react to it. He stepped away from the wall, a few steps until he was in front of Jones. The younger man watched him, making no move, no comment, only inhaling sharply when Jack leaned in, his elbows on either side of Jones.
"You love Lisa." It wasn't a question. Jack used it like a shield.
Jones sighed deeply. "She stayed with me through…difficult times."
"Sounds like a good person."
"She wa-is. God, she doesn't deserve this."
Jack rested his forehead on the wall. He felt Jones rest his on Jack's shoulder.
"You're right doing this," Jack murmured. "We…I was…curiosity, Ianto Jones. Nothing more."
"Yes," Jones sounded muffled, but there was a lilt of relief in the opening Jack offered. "I was overwhelmed."
Jack smiled sadly against the side of Jones' head. "I was very intimidating. You were worried I was going to blow up your planet."
"Well…You were very frightening coming out of that bloody police box."
The two men chuckled. Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His hands drifted up to Jones' shoulders. The younger man tensed, then relaxed, his arms going around Jack, his hands linking just below his lower back.
"If I ask," Jack asked haltingly, "Would you consider Cardiff?"
Jones stiffened again. "I don't think I could ever work for Torchwood again." His breath was harsh against Jack's throat. Jones' arms tightened around Jack. "If…"
It was a question Jack didn't wait for him to ask. It would be too much. Especially knowing the answer would always have to be no. "If I was a better man…"
"I can think of no better man, Jack Harkness." Jones attempted to pull back, but Jack pressed his body closer. Just for a little while longer.
"Even if you could ask," Jack murmured, "I would have to say no anyway." He held tighter, close enough to feel Jones' heart beat against his ribs. It was loud, rapid, like rain hitting a drum.
Jack swallowed. "A man died believing I was worth something. I…I can't let that go. And the D-Cardiff was built over a rift in space and time. He…"
"You're going to wait for him." Jones sounded resigned. "Even after he left you behind over and over again."
Jack could hear the reproach. He couldn't find the anger in return. "It's like you staying for Lisa."
"It's not the same."
Jack let go and Jones slipped out of his grasp. His arms never felt so empty. Jack forced himself to smile, to twist his mouth into a nonchalant curve he neither felt nor believed.
"I guess our timelines were never meant to cross, Ianto Jones." Jack reached out, thought better of it, and stepped back. "Lisa will be okay," Jack lied.
Jones looked relieved, so relieved, the lump in Jack's gut grew. "Thank you, Captain." Then, he tilted his head with a thought.
"You're changing Torchwood, aren't you?"
This time, the grin was more sincere. "I heard it's a fun group of kids there. It's time Torchwood got ready for this future Hopkins believed will happen. I think things might get interesting."
"Try not to piss off too many people, Harkness."
Jack waggled his eyebrows. He headed for the exit. As he passed Jones, Jack stopped. He cupped the younger man's cheek, pulling him closer. Jones automatically turned towards his mouth, but Jack neatly avoided his and pressed his lips to Jones' cheek. He lingered a little too long.
"Have a good life, Ianto Jones," Jack whispered, holding Jones' face between his hands. He stared at Jones, memorized all he could, then, with a small pat to both cheeks, Jack pulled away. "Goodbye, Ianto."
As he left Jones standing in the middle of Rose's final resting place, and went out the door and down the small steps, Jack thought he heard one last whisper.
"Goodbye, Jack."
Two months later…
Maybe he should have worn the red shirt with the charcoal tie instead.
It was cold on the wharf, but Ianto Jones wasn't shivering because of that. His hands shook despite the warm thermos he carried in one hand, a mug in the other. If his previous observations were correct, he wouldn't be standing here for much longer. How very characteristic of a time traveler to be so…punctual.
Ianto wanted to bite his lip but he was afraid he might bite too hard and bleed. That wouldn't be too impressive. Maybe he should have brought a resume? Who ever heard of offering-Oh, maybe the blue shirt might have been better?
Like the gong of a clock, the door to the Tourist Center opened and out walked Jack Harkness, his greatcoat flapping around his legs from the wind. He was talking into his earpiece and would have walked right by him until Ianto took a deep breath.
"Morning," he called out as bright as he could.
Harkness skidded to a halt barely a meter away. He gaped.
Ianto extended out his hand with the mug. He hoped it wasn't shaking too much for him to notice. "Coffee?"
And now TW begins...eg
Chapter 18: "Everything Changes"
Additional Notes: Many thanks to soullessminion for betaing this chapter.