Five Days to Absolution - Part 3
Title: Five Days to Absolution (3/4)
Word count: This chapter: 4,047
Characters/Pairings: Captain Jack Harkness, Tenth Doctor, references to Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13
Spoiler: Torchwood: Children of Earth
Disclaimer: The BBC are the cruel masters of Torchwood and Doctor Who.
Warnings: This fiction as a whole is very dark and contains scenes that some may find disturbing/upsetting. This Chapter: hurt/comfort and angst.
A/N: This is set post-Children of Earth, and follows the canon therein.
What did Jack do in the first few weeks that followed Children of Earth: Day Five? And how can the Doctor help him now?
"Where were you?" Jack repeated, his voice hardly more than a murmur. The burst of adrenalin he'd just experienced had faded quickly, and had left him feeling even more exhausted and miserable.
"I can't be here all the time, Jack," said the Doctor, a little brusquely.
"You were supposed to save us," Jack whispered. "And you never came."
The Doctor didn’t reply.
"Do you realise what I had to do?" said Jack, his voice breaking. "Do you know what I've lost?"
Jack could hardly lift his head. He felt the cold rim of a glass tumbler being pressed against his cracked lips.
"Drink," said the Doctor softly, but as commandingly as he always had. Jack obeyed without thinking. He couldn't think; his head was filled with a dense fog. All Jack knew was that he was thirsty. Very thirsty. He gulped desperately at the cool water, until the glass was purposely moved away from his mouth, and Jack whimpered.
"Slowly," the Doctor muttered. "Don't want you throwing up all over my best brown suit," he scolded, but his voice was kind.
Jack panted a little, but when the glass was pushed against his lips again, he drank more sedately. After a moment, he pushed the glass away from himself with numbed fingers.
"That's right. Not too much at once," the Doctor said approvingly.
Jack rolled over, away from the Doctor's lap and braced himself on his elbow. He felt cold lino beneath his body. He was completely naked. Not that he cared.
Jack turned his head and looked at the Doctor for a long time. Then he managed to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position and shuffled away from the Time Lord on his bare arse, pushing against the floor with his feet like a toddler that hadn't quite learned to crawl on his hands and knees yet.
Jack shuffled away until his back touched the wooden bookcase. He looked into the Doctor's soulful eyes, unaware of how red-rimmed and bloodshot his own were.
Then Jack opened his mouth and took a deep breath.
"Where the hell were you?" Jack screamed, his cracking voice filled with hurt and rage. To the Doctor's dismay, Jack tucked his knees up against his stomach and buried his face in his arms like a distraught child.
The Doctor moved towards Jack, and Jack suddenly raised his reddened, damp face. "Don’t touch me," he hissed. "Don't come anywhere near me!"
The Doctor stopped, and sat back on his haunches for a moment. "I know what happened," said the Doctor simply. "I looked at UNIT's files. And Government files, news reports, blogs, everything. Conspiracy rumours, demands for the Prime Minister to be investigated… the whole world's talking about it."
"Where were you?" Jack repeated, his voice hardly more than a murmer. The burst of adrenalin he'd just experienced had faded quickly, and left him feeling even more exhausted and miserable.
"I can't be here all the time, Jack," said the Doctor, a little brusquely.
"You were supposed to save us," Jack whispered. "And you never came."
The Doctor didn’t reply.
"Do you realise what I had to do?" said Jack, his voice breaking. "Do you know what I've lost?"
"Yes," said the Doctor. "And I'm sorry."
Jack laughed harshly and humourlessly. "You're sorry? Yeah. Bit too late for that, isn't it?"
"Right. So that's it, is it? I'm not here to hold your hand twenty four hours a day, so now everything that happened is my fault?" The Doctor glared at Jack.
Jack set his mouth into a straight, defiant line, and looked away.
"Jack, look at me."
There was a painful pause. "I can't," Jack whispered, at last. "I can't bear to. I'm too ashamed. I've done so many bad things, Doctor… what am I supposed to do now?"
There was another pause, but after a moment, Jack did look back at the Time Lord. And the Doctor looked back at Jack. He was blinking slowly in that intense way of his. His face was lined with sadness and compassion.
Jack's face crumpled. "Take me into the TARDIS, Doctor. Take me back in time, before it all happened!"
The Doctor was already shaking his head.
"Doctor… please. Take me back to 1965… help me! If we fight them then, they might not come back. We can save everyone!"
"You know I can't do that."
Jack held his hands out, like a child seeking comfort. "Please. I've lost them all. Alice… Stephen… Ianto. I lost Ianto, Doctor." Jack was almost babbling, more distraught than the Doctor had ever seen him.
"Bring Ianto back. I need him! I miss him so much… Bring him back to me, Doctor… please!"
The Doctor stared at Jack, the Time Lord's eyes red-rimmed with pity and sorrow.
And Jack knew then that any more pleas for the Doctor to help him rewrite the past were futile.
Jack started to cry again, uncontrollably. He squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face in his hands. He didn't know how there could be any fluid left in his battered body to release as tears, but there they were; hot and salted, stinging at his already-raw cheeks.
Jack felt long, thin arms enfold themselves around him; comforting, shushing noises in his ear. Jack fought weakly against the Doctor's embrace for a moment, but the Doctor held him tightly and wouldn't be dislodged, until Jack surrendered and let himself be held. Just as he'd longed for, all these lonely weeks.
The Doctor pressed his cheek against the top of Jack's head and cuddled him close, rocking him back and forth in a soothing motion. "I'm sorry," he murmured into his friend's sweat-soaked hair. "I'm so sorry."
And the Doctor held on to Jack until his wracking sobs had ceased.
Jack was perched on the edge of the lumpy couch. He sipped at his third glass of water and worked his way slowly through the two slices of buttered toast that the Doctor had made for him under the little grill of the ancient oven.
Jack was touched that the Doctor had turned up with food supplies, as though anticipating what he might have been determined to do to himself all this time.
The Doctor had made Jack take a shower while he made him something to eat, and for the sake of his delicate sensibilities, had asked him to at least put his t-shirt and trousers back on, which Jack had done. He didn't like to admit to himself that it was a huge relief to feel warm and clean again.
When Jack had emerged from the bathroom, shaking strands of clean, wet hair out of his face, he found that the Doctor had mopped up all traces of blood from the floor, and the gun had been placed neatly back onto the top shelf of the bookcase, along with his mobile phone.
In his mind's eye, he imagined that the Doctor had picked up the revolver with the tips of his thumb and forefinger and a disgusted look on his face, as though handling something truly odious.
"Nice place you've got here," said the Doctor dryly, looking round the horrible bed-sit from his viewpoint atop the rickety stool. At least the floor looked clean.
"I've paid for six months' worth of rent, you can move in whenever you like," said Jack tiredly. It hurt to eat, his throat felt like it had been stripped out, but he persevered with the toast.
The Doctor, not surprisingly, didn't jump at the chance, but merely raised an eyebrow in response.
Jack chewed thoughtfully. "How did you find me, Doctor? How did you know where I was?"
Wordlessly, the Doctor reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small brown leather wallet. He opened it, glanced inside at the psychic paper, and then turned it around to show Jack.
On the paper, there were two words, apparently written in shaky, copperplate script:
help me
"It's your handwriting, Jack," said the Doctor softly. Jack stared at it, a mush of half-chewed toast lying forgotten in his mouth.
After a moment, he swallowed, unconsciously wincing at the pain in his throat.
"Yeah. It is," said Jack, his voice croaking.
The Doctor closed the wallet and pushed it back into his pocket. "Thought things must be pretty bad. You've never done that before, no matter what you've had to face in the past."
"So you came to my rescue." Jack's voice was a monotone.
"I know you're still angry at me. For not getting here sooner."
Jack shook his head. "I'm sorry about earlier. You're right. I shouldn't expect you to be on call twenty four-seven."
The Doctor shrugged. "It's natural. We all try to find someone else to blame when something terrible happens."
Jack blinked. "That’s what Ianto…" He shook his head. "Never mind."
He thought about it some more. "So you got my… subconscious cry for help. That doesn't explain how you found me."
The Doctor smiled gently. "You're a fixed point in time and space, Jack. You're like a… big… red… flashing beacon on a map of the universe. I just pressed the button on the console marked "Find Impossible Thing", and the TARDIS did the rest."
Jack stared at the Doctor as he ate the final corner of toast. He wasn't sure whether the Doctor was kidding about having such a button on the console.
"When I got here, I thought you were dead," said the Doctor quietly. "But then you started twitching and muttering and… I realised you were in some sort of unconscious dream state."
"The thirst… it was making me delirious," said Jack. "I was talking to Ianto. Well… a hallucination of him. It was kinda nice. He always did talk a lot of sense."
The Doctor nodded sympathetically.
Jack looked sideways at the Doctor. "He was cradling me in his lap. I felt him stroking my hair, my face… I felt him kiss me on the forehead."
The Doctor cleared his throat. "Hmm. Well… some hallucinations can be very realistic," he said solemnly, but Jack didn't miss the twinkle in his eye.
Jack afforded the Doctor a small, grateful smile, and the Doctor smiled back, a little bashfully.
After a moment, Jack picked up the tumbler and drained the remaining water in it.
"Feeling better?"
Jack shrugged. "Physically, yeah."
The Doctor nodded. "It's going to take a while, Jack. For you to get over this."
"I'll never get over it."
The Doctor smiled wryly. "Maybe not completely. But life goes on. You of all people should know that."
Jack flashed the Doctor an angry look. "Yeah. Onwards and upwards, right? Busy life, move on? It's not that easy for some of us."
The Doctor looked at Jack with darkened eyes. "I can feel… something… closing in around me, Jack. Something's coming for me. From out of the darkness."
Jack looked up at the Doctor, but didn't speak.
"I don't think I've got long left."
Jack stood up from the couch. "What…?"
The Doctor looked down at the worn lino. "I've been told… that my song is going to end soon. And I think it's true."
Jack shook his head. "What the hell does that mean?"
The Doctor chuckled darkly. "I don't really know, to be honest. But… I think I might need your help. I don't know how, and I don't know when. But you're no good to me like this…"
Jack set his jaw. "So that's why you came here? Big, almighty Time Lord, dusting me down and telling me to pull myself together. And why? Because you need me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed so that I can be at your beck and call?"
The Doctor frowned. "Captain…"
Jack folded his arms. "Yeah. 'Captain' when it's business, 'Jack' when you pretend to give a shit about me. And I just fall for it over and over again."
The Doctor stood up. "Is that really what you think of me?"
Jack turned away.
The Doctor looked into the middle distance, blinking slowly. He took a breath. "Maybe I shouldn't blame you for that. I know I've… let you down, in the past. More than once."
Jack didn't reply, but the Doctor saw a nerve twitch in his cheek.
"And you just keep forgiving me. Every time I need you, you're there."
Jack bit his lip, but he couldn't stop the tear from rolling down his cheek. God, but he was sick of crying.
The Doctor reached out and squeezed Jack's shoulder. "I'm here because you're my good friend. And I do care about you. More than you seem to think. I don't want you to do this to yourself any more. It's going to end up destroying you on the inside, Jack, and I don't want that for you. Ianto wouldn't want you to keep hurting yourself like this, would he?"
Jack shook his head, blinking and swallowing desperately. His voice shook when he spoke. "He loved me. He was a good man."
The Doctor nodded. "Yeah. I know he was. And so are you. You've had to make some tough decisions, that's all."
Jack turned to look at the Time Lord. "You would have done things differently, wouldn't you? You wouldn't have sacrificed Stephen. You’d have said no to the 456, right from the start."
The Doctor stared at Jack, his eyes a little reddened. "I don't know. I don't know what I would have done. I've had to make a few tough decisions myself, over the years." Jack couldn't be sure, but he thought he'd seen the Time Lord's lip tremble, just for a second.
Jack took a deep breath, and then nodded. He could never be angry at the Time Lord for long. The Doctor withdrew his hand from Jack's shoulder. He looked a little twitchy on his feet. Jack recognised the signs.
"You're leaving again, aren't you?"
The Doctor ran the tip of his tongue over the roof of his mouth. "I can't take you with me. Not yet. Whatever I need to do… I need to do it alone. For now."
Jack stuck his hands in his pockets. "And I have to work through this on my own, too."
"You don't have to be alone, Jack. There are others left behind too."
Jack smiled bitterly. "Gwen and Rhys… they're having a baby. They have enough to worry about. My daughter, Alice… I've lost her forever. And after what I did, I don't blame her."
"What about Ianto's family?"
Jack shook his head, his face creased. "I don't even know them."
"But you met them, surely. At Ianto's funeral."
Jack closed his eyes. "I… don't know. I don't remember." He opened his eyes again, to see the bemused expression on the Doctor's face. "I… just blocked it all out. I know I was there, but…" he shrugged, helplessly.
"Try to remember," insisted the Doctor. "It'll help."
Jack started to shake his head, but then he found himself focussing on the Doctor's brown eyes. He lost himself in them. Began to drown in them… Jack's eyelids started drooping. He felt so drowsy…
"That's right," whispered the Doctor. "Just let it all come back…"
Jack stands alone by the side of the open grave, staring down at the coffin lying at the bottom of the dark pit at his feet. There is a scant collection of flowers and clumps of earth littering the lid.
The Reverend is mumbling something, but Jack isn't listening. It's just a generic minister saying generic things about someone he's never met.
This cleric didn't know Ianto. He has no idea what sort of a man he was when he was alive. He doesn't know what made him tick, what made him laugh, what made him feel sad. What he believed in, what his favourite movie was. How he liked his coffee. What toppings he preferred on his pizza. Where he liked to be touched, how he liked to be kissed, what made him come harder. What good deeds he'd done, what courage he'd had.
This man knows nothing about Ianto Jones, and so he has nothing valid to say about him, as far as Jack is concerned.
It's a cold, grey Thursday. The day before, the sun had been shining. But today… it's as though the world is grieving alongside them. Jack lets his eyes flick upwards, towards Gwen and Rhys, who are both standing on the other side of the grave.
Gwen is crying silently, held tightly by a grim-faced Rhys, her hands cradling her still-flat belly.
He moves his gaze over to the only other three people present. Rhiannon and Johnny, he remembers they are called. And the boy… David, is it? They have a daughter too, Mica, but she's absent. They must have deemed her too young to attend an occasion as upsetting as this.
Rhiannon is sobbing uncontrollably, and her husband has a tear running down his cheek. The boy stares, slightly fascinated, into the dark pit. Ianto's flesh and blood. The only ones left in the world. Ianto will never have his own children, nobody to carry on the family name of Jones.
Maybe… maybe he and Ianto could have had children together, one day.
Jack banishes that foolish thought as soon as it enters his head. As if he could ever let himself be responsible for bringing another helpless, ephemeral human into this brutal, merciless world. He almost feels sorry for Gwen's child.
Jack stands there alone, staring down at the coffin, silent and motionless, for a long time. Everything around him seems to fade into obscurity.
Then he feels somebody tap him on the shoulder. It's all over, and he hadn't realised.
"We were going to ask everyone back to the pub. You know… for a wake, sort of thing." Gwen wipes at her reddened face and sniffles. "But I don't think anybody's up to it. We can still go, if you like. You, me and Rhys?"
Jack just shakes his head.
"No. Well… I've got your new mobile number. I'll give you a ring, yeah?"
Jack blinks. He seems distant. "I've got to get back to UNIT HQ this afternoon. They only let me out for… this. Still got stuff to sort out. Might not be able to take your call."
Gwen nods. "Give me a ring, then, when they let you go. Promise me, Jack."
Jack nods. "Yeah. Sure."
She leans up on tiptoes and kisses his cool cheek. Jack doesn't react, and so after a moment, Gwen takes Rhys' outstretched hand, and they leave him by the graveside.
"Excuse me…" says a small, tremulous voice close to Jack's ear, a few moments later.
Jack looks up, started out of his reverie.
"You're… Jack, aren't you? Ianto's boss?"
Jack turns to see the dark haired young woman, her eyes red and her face blotchy from long days of frequent crying.
He nods.
"I'm Rhiannon Davies. Ianto's sister."
"Oh. I… yeah. I knew that. How…" He stops, and shakes his head. "I was going to say 'how are you', but I don't really need you to answer that."
She smiles weakly. "Yeah… well. We're all a bit…" She takes a breath. "You were Ianto's boyfriend, weren't you?"
Jack seems a little taken aback at the blunt question. He swallows. "We were a couple," Jack says quietly, looking back down at the coffin.
"Yeah. He told me… just a few days before…" she presses a well-worn tissue to her mouth to banish further tears.
"I'm sorry," whispers Jack, still staring down into the grave.
"Did you… I mean… you treated him well, didn't you?" Rhiannon is crying again. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack can see her husband and son waiting for her by the gate to the graveyard, looking tense.
Jack sighs. "I… could have treated him better. But he was very special to me, Rhiannon. He was… very special."
Rhiannon wipes her face. "I just want to know… what did Ianto tell you our father did for a job?"
Jack turns and looks at her, surprise in his eyes. "He said that his father was a master tailor," he says quietly.
Rhiannon's face creases with something like disappointment, for a second. "I see." She turns to go.
"But…" says Jack. He reaches out a hand and touches her arm. She turns back to him. "I'm not sure why he told everyone that, because it wasn't true. He told me… well, he told me everything. Your father worked at Debenhams, didn’t he? Always wanted to do more than sell off-the-peg shirts over the counter, but they'd never let him carry a tape measure. They said that bespoke tailoring wasn't commercially viable any more."
Rhiannon laughs through her tears. She seems oddly comforted. "Oh… yeah. Dad always had ideas above his station. He always pushed Ianto so hard. Told him he could do better than he had."
Jack speaks passionately, through gritted teeth. "Then it worked. Because Ianto was so much better than a hell of a lot of other people on this godforsaken planet."
Rhiannon reaches out and touches Jack briefly on the cheek. "When he talked about you, his eyes shone. I've never known anyone make him look like that. Not since Lisa. You must have made him happy, and for that… thank you."
Jack nods, and feels the first tear of many begin to roll down his cheek.
"I'm going to come and put flowers on his grave every week. Well, as often as I can. You'll come too, won't you? To visit him?"
Jack looks across at the headstone, already in place. He doesn't have the heart to tell Rhiannon that it is highly unlikely that the coffin in the grave at their feet actually contains Ianto's body.
Ianto had worked for Torchwood. He'd been in contact with countless alien species and artefacts throughout his working life. His body would have been deemed "potentially hazardous."
Ianto's corpse would be in a freezer, filed away in some faceless UNIT base somewhere in England. All that would be left to mark his body there would be a small, handwritten index card.
"Yes," whispers Jack. "I'll never forget him."
Rhiannon nods, and then makes her way over to her family. She glances at Jack one more time as they step through the gate and leave.
Jack stares down at the empty coffin, with an incredible realisation in his head: they don't blame him.
But Jack blames himself. He wipes at his face angrily and walks towards the graveyard exit. He doesn't look back. He doesn't want to remember Ianto as a gravestone and an empty wooden box. That hurts.
Jack feels a sharp twist of pain and anger go through his guts. He almost relishes it. It makes him feel more focussed.
And anyway… the pain. It feels like it's all he deserves.
Jack opened his eyes. "Ianto's family… they don't blame me for his death…" He could hardly believe it.
"Because it wasn't your fault," said the Doctor gently. "But you've been so intent on blaming yourself for everything that's happened, you blocked out the memory."
"I don't want to remember Ianto like that," muttered Jack.
"No," said the Doctor. "Of course you don't. But you have to take something positive from this. Rhiannon doesn't blame you, and you're not alone. You can use that to build on…"
"You think I can just step back out there, carry on living my life, like none of this happened?"
"No… of course not. It's going to take time. But you have to let go of all this anger and self-hate…"
Jack looked like a lost child. "I don't know what to do, Doctor…"
"I can help," said the Doctor gently. He took a step towards Jack, and in turn Jack took a step backwards, a faint look of panic on his face.
"No, Doctor. No! I don't need you to fix me!" Jack glared at the Time Lord. "I can't forget any of them…"
"I wouldn't do that. I can help you," said the Doctor. "I want to." He reached out a hand, towards Jack's face, and Jack flinched. The Doctor put his arm down and stuck his hand awkwardly into his trouser pocket.
There was a tense pause.
"Do you trust me?" asked the Doctor, at last.
"Yes… I trust you. I love you," Jack whispered, helplessly.
The Doctor smiled a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Quite right, too."
Jack didn't return the smile as the Doctor reached out and gently placed the outspread fingers of each hand on either side of his face.
"Until I see you again, Jack," he heard the Doctor murmur, and then everything went black.
TO BE CONTINUED
<< Chapter One
<< Chapter Two
>> Chapter Four
...
Word count: This chapter: 4,047
Characters/Pairings: Captain Jack Harkness, Tenth Doctor, references to Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13
Spoiler: Torchwood: Children of Earth
Disclaimer: The BBC are the cruel masters of Torchwood and Doctor Who.
Warnings: This fiction as a whole is very dark and contains scenes that some may find disturbing/upsetting. This Chapter: hurt/comfort and angst.
A/N: This is set post-Children of Earth, and follows the canon therein.
What did Jack do in the first few weeks that followed Children of Earth: Day Five? And how can the Doctor help him now?
"Where were you?" Jack repeated, his voice hardly more than a murmur. The burst of adrenalin he'd just experienced had faded quickly, and had left him feeling even more exhausted and miserable.
"I can't be here all the time, Jack," said the Doctor, a little brusquely.
"You were supposed to save us," Jack whispered. "And you never came."
The Doctor didn’t reply.
"Do you realise what I had to do?" said Jack, his voice breaking. "Do you know what I've lost?"
Jack could hardly lift his head. He felt the cold rim of a glass tumbler being pressed against his cracked lips.
"Drink," said the Doctor softly, but as commandingly as he always had. Jack obeyed without thinking. He couldn't think; his head was filled with a dense fog. All Jack knew was that he was thirsty. Very thirsty. He gulped desperately at the cool water, until the glass was purposely moved away from his mouth, and Jack whimpered.
"Slowly," the Doctor muttered. "Don't want you throwing up all over my best brown suit," he scolded, but his voice was kind.
Jack panted a little, but when the glass was pushed against his lips again, he drank more sedately. After a moment, he pushed the glass away from himself with numbed fingers.
"That's right. Not too much at once," the Doctor said approvingly.
Jack rolled over, away from the Doctor's lap and braced himself on his elbow. He felt cold lino beneath his body. He was completely naked. Not that he cared.
Jack turned his head and looked at the Doctor for a long time. Then he managed to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position and shuffled away from the Time Lord on his bare arse, pushing against the floor with his feet like a toddler that hadn't quite learned to crawl on his hands and knees yet.
Jack shuffled away until his back touched the wooden bookcase. He looked into the Doctor's soulful eyes, unaware of how red-rimmed and bloodshot his own were.
Then Jack opened his mouth and took a deep breath.
"Where the hell were you?" Jack screamed, his cracking voice filled with hurt and rage. To the Doctor's dismay, Jack tucked his knees up against his stomach and buried his face in his arms like a distraught child.
The Doctor moved towards Jack, and Jack suddenly raised his reddened, damp face. "Don’t touch me," he hissed. "Don't come anywhere near me!"
The Doctor stopped, and sat back on his haunches for a moment. "I know what happened," said the Doctor simply. "I looked at UNIT's files. And Government files, news reports, blogs, everything. Conspiracy rumours, demands for the Prime Minister to be investigated… the whole world's talking about it."
"Where were you?" Jack repeated, his voice hardly more than a murmer. The burst of adrenalin he'd just experienced had faded quickly, and left him feeling even more exhausted and miserable.
"I can't be here all the time, Jack," said the Doctor, a little brusquely.
"You were supposed to save us," Jack whispered. "And you never came."
The Doctor didn’t reply.
"Do you realise what I had to do?" said Jack, his voice breaking. "Do you know what I've lost?"
"Yes," said the Doctor. "And I'm sorry."
Jack laughed harshly and humourlessly. "You're sorry? Yeah. Bit too late for that, isn't it?"
"Right. So that's it, is it? I'm not here to hold your hand twenty four hours a day, so now everything that happened is my fault?" The Doctor glared at Jack.
Jack set his mouth into a straight, defiant line, and looked away.
"Jack, look at me."
There was a painful pause. "I can't," Jack whispered, at last. "I can't bear to. I'm too ashamed. I've done so many bad things, Doctor… what am I supposed to do now?"
There was another pause, but after a moment, Jack did look back at the Time Lord. And the Doctor looked back at Jack. He was blinking slowly in that intense way of his. His face was lined with sadness and compassion.
Jack's face crumpled. "Take me into the TARDIS, Doctor. Take me back in time, before it all happened!"
The Doctor was already shaking his head.
"Doctor… please. Take me back to 1965… help me! If we fight them then, they might not come back. We can save everyone!"
"You know I can't do that."
Jack held his hands out, like a child seeking comfort. "Please. I've lost them all. Alice… Stephen… Ianto. I lost Ianto, Doctor." Jack was almost babbling, more distraught than the Doctor had ever seen him.
"Bring Ianto back. I need him! I miss him so much… Bring him back to me, Doctor… please!"
The Doctor stared at Jack, the Time Lord's eyes red-rimmed with pity and sorrow.
And Jack knew then that any more pleas for the Doctor to help him rewrite the past were futile.
Jack started to cry again, uncontrollably. He squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face in his hands. He didn't know how there could be any fluid left in his battered body to release as tears, but there they were; hot and salted, stinging at his already-raw cheeks.
Jack felt long, thin arms enfold themselves around him; comforting, shushing noises in his ear. Jack fought weakly against the Doctor's embrace for a moment, but the Doctor held him tightly and wouldn't be dislodged, until Jack surrendered and let himself be held. Just as he'd longed for, all these lonely weeks.
The Doctor pressed his cheek against the top of Jack's head and cuddled him close, rocking him back and forth in a soothing motion. "I'm sorry," he murmured into his friend's sweat-soaked hair. "I'm so sorry."
And the Doctor held on to Jack until his wracking sobs had ceased.
Jack was perched on the edge of the lumpy couch. He sipped at his third glass of water and worked his way slowly through the two slices of buttered toast that the Doctor had made for him under the little grill of the ancient oven.
Jack was touched that the Doctor had turned up with food supplies, as though anticipating what he might have been determined to do to himself all this time.
The Doctor had made Jack take a shower while he made him something to eat, and for the sake of his delicate sensibilities, had asked him to at least put his t-shirt and trousers back on, which Jack had done. He didn't like to admit to himself that it was a huge relief to feel warm and clean again.
When Jack had emerged from the bathroom, shaking strands of clean, wet hair out of his face, he found that the Doctor had mopped up all traces of blood from the floor, and the gun had been placed neatly back onto the top shelf of the bookcase, along with his mobile phone.
In his mind's eye, he imagined that the Doctor had picked up the revolver with the tips of his thumb and forefinger and a disgusted look on his face, as though handling something truly odious.
"Nice place you've got here," said the Doctor dryly, looking round the horrible bed-sit from his viewpoint atop the rickety stool. At least the floor looked clean.
"I've paid for six months' worth of rent, you can move in whenever you like," said Jack tiredly. It hurt to eat, his throat felt like it had been stripped out, but he persevered with the toast.
The Doctor, not surprisingly, didn't jump at the chance, but merely raised an eyebrow in response.
Jack chewed thoughtfully. "How did you find me, Doctor? How did you know where I was?"
Wordlessly, the Doctor reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small brown leather wallet. He opened it, glanced inside at the psychic paper, and then turned it around to show Jack.
On the paper, there were two words, apparently written in shaky, copperplate script:
help me
"It's your handwriting, Jack," said the Doctor softly. Jack stared at it, a mush of half-chewed toast lying forgotten in his mouth.
After a moment, he swallowed, unconsciously wincing at the pain in his throat.
"Yeah. It is," said Jack, his voice croaking.
The Doctor closed the wallet and pushed it back into his pocket. "Thought things must be pretty bad. You've never done that before, no matter what you've had to face in the past."
"So you came to my rescue." Jack's voice was a monotone.
"I know you're still angry at me. For not getting here sooner."
Jack shook his head. "I'm sorry about earlier. You're right. I shouldn't expect you to be on call twenty four-seven."
The Doctor shrugged. "It's natural. We all try to find someone else to blame when something terrible happens."
Jack blinked. "That’s what Ianto…" He shook his head. "Never mind."
He thought about it some more. "So you got my… subconscious cry for help. That doesn't explain how you found me."
The Doctor smiled gently. "You're a fixed point in time and space, Jack. You're like a… big… red… flashing beacon on a map of the universe. I just pressed the button on the console marked "Find Impossible Thing", and the TARDIS did the rest."
Jack stared at the Doctor as he ate the final corner of toast. He wasn't sure whether the Doctor was kidding about having such a button on the console.
"When I got here, I thought you were dead," said the Doctor quietly. "But then you started twitching and muttering and… I realised you were in some sort of unconscious dream state."
"The thirst… it was making me delirious," said Jack. "I was talking to Ianto. Well… a hallucination of him. It was kinda nice. He always did talk a lot of sense."
The Doctor nodded sympathetically.
Jack looked sideways at the Doctor. "He was cradling me in his lap. I felt him stroking my hair, my face… I felt him kiss me on the forehead."
The Doctor cleared his throat. "Hmm. Well… some hallucinations can be very realistic," he said solemnly, but Jack didn't miss the twinkle in his eye.
Jack afforded the Doctor a small, grateful smile, and the Doctor smiled back, a little bashfully.
After a moment, Jack picked up the tumbler and drained the remaining water in it.
"Feeling better?"
Jack shrugged. "Physically, yeah."
The Doctor nodded. "It's going to take a while, Jack. For you to get over this."
"I'll never get over it."
The Doctor smiled wryly. "Maybe not completely. But life goes on. You of all people should know that."
Jack flashed the Doctor an angry look. "Yeah. Onwards and upwards, right? Busy life, move on? It's not that easy for some of us."
The Doctor looked at Jack with darkened eyes. "I can feel… something… closing in around me, Jack. Something's coming for me. From out of the darkness."
Jack looked up at the Doctor, but didn't speak.
"I don't think I've got long left."
Jack stood up from the couch. "What…?"
The Doctor looked down at the worn lino. "I've been told… that my song is going to end soon. And I think it's true."
Jack shook his head. "What the hell does that mean?"
The Doctor chuckled darkly. "I don't really know, to be honest. But… I think I might need your help. I don't know how, and I don't know when. But you're no good to me like this…"
Jack set his jaw. "So that's why you came here? Big, almighty Time Lord, dusting me down and telling me to pull myself together. And why? Because you need me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed so that I can be at your beck and call?"
The Doctor frowned. "Captain…"
Jack folded his arms. "Yeah. 'Captain' when it's business, 'Jack' when you pretend to give a shit about me. And I just fall for it over and over again."
The Doctor stood up. "Is that really what you think of me?"
Jack turned away.
The Doctor looked into the middle distance, blinking slowly. He took a breath. "Maybe I shouldn't blame you for that. I know I've… let you down, in the past. More than once."
Jack didn't reply, but the Doctor saw a nerve twitch in his cheek.
"And you just keep forgiving me. Every time I need you, you're there."
Jack bit his lip, but he couldn't stop the tear from rolling down his cheek. God, but he was sick of crying.
The Doctor reached out and squeezed Jack's shoulder. "I'm here because you're my good friend. And I do care about you. More than you seem to think. I don't want you to do this to yourself any more. It's going to end up destroying you on the inside, Jack, and I don't want that for you. Ianto wouldn't want you to keep hurting yourself like this, would he?"
Jack shook his head, blinking and swallowing desperately. His voice shook when he spoke. "He loved me. He was a good man."
The Doctor nodded. "Yeah. I know he was. And so are you. You've had to make some tough decisions, that's all."
Jack turned to look at the Time Lord. "You would have done things differently, wouldn't you? You wouldn't have sacrificed Stephen. You’d have said no to the 456, right from the start."
The Doctor stared at Jack, his eyes a little reddened. "I don't know. I don't know what I would have done. I've had to make a few tough decisions myself, over the years." Jack couldn't be sure, but he thought he'd seen the Time Lord's lip tremble, just for a second.
Jack took a deep breath, and then nodded. He could never be angry at the Time Lord for long. The Doctor withdrew his hand from Jack's shoulder. He looked a little twitchy on his feet. Jack recognised the signs.
"You're leaving again, aren't you?"
The Doctor ran the tip of his tongue over the roof of his mouth. "I can't take you with me. Not yet. Whatever I need to do… I need to do it alone. For now."
Jack stuck his hands in his pockets. "And I have to work through this on my own, too."
"You don't have to be alone, Jack. There are others left behind too."
Jack smiled bitterly. "Gwen and Rhys… they're having a baby. They have enough to worry about. My daughter, Alice… I've lost her forever. And after what I did, I don't blame her."
"What about Ianto's family?"
Jack shook his head, his face creased. "I don't even know them."
"But you met them, surely. At Ianto's funeral."
Jack closed his eyes. "I… don't know. I don't remember." He opened his eyes again, to see the bemused expression on the Doctor's face. "I… just blocked it all out. I know I was there, but…" he shrugged, helplessly.
"Try to remember," insisted the Doctor. "It'll help."
Jack started to shake his head, but then he found himself focussing on the Doctor's brown eyes. He lost himself in them. Began to drown in them… Jack's eyelids started drooping. He felt so drowsy…
"That's right," whispered the Doctor. "Just let it all come back…"
Jack stands alone by the side of the open grave, staring down at the coffin lying at the bottom of the dark pit at his feet. There is a scant collection of flowers and clumps of earth littering the lid.
The Reverend is mumbling something, but Jack isn't listening. It's just a generic minister saying generic things about someone he's never met.
This cleric didn't know Ianto. He has no idea what sort of a man he was when he was alive. He doesn't know what made him tick, what made him laugh, what made him feel sad. What he believed in, what his favourite movie was. How he liked his coffee. What toppings he preferred on his pizza. Where he liked to be touched, how he liked to be kissed, what made him come harder. What good deeds he'd done, what courage he'd had.
This man knows nothing about Ianto Jones, and so he has nothing valid to say about him, as far as Jack is concerned.
It's a cold, grey Thursday. The day before, the sun had been shining. But today… it's as though the world is grieving alongside them. Jack lets his eyes flick upwards, towards Gwen and Rhys, who are both standing on the other side of the grave.
Gwen is crying silently, held tightly by a grim-faced Rhys, her hands cradling her still-flat belly.
He moves his gaze over to the only other three people present. Rhiannon and Johnny, he remembers they are called. And the boy… David, is it? They have a daughter too, Mica, but she's absent. They must have deemed her too young to attend an occasion as upsetting as this.
Rhiannon is sobbing uncontrollably, and her husband has a tear running down his cheek. The boy stares, slightly fascinated, into the dark pit. Ianto's flesh and blood. The only ones left in the world. Ianto will never have his own children, nobody to carry on the family name of Jones.
Maybe… maybe he and Ianto could have had children together, one day.
Jack banishes that foolish thought as soon as it enters his head. As if he could ever let himself be responsible for bringing another helpless, ephemeral human into this brutal, merciless world. He almost feels sorry for Gwen's child.
Jack stands there alone, staring down at the coffin, silent and motionless, for a long time. Everything around him seems to fade into obscurity.
Then he feels somebody tap him on the shoulder. It's all over, and he hadn't realised.
"We were going to ask everyone back to the pub. You know… for a wake, sort of thing." Gwen wipes at her reddened face and sniffles. "But I don't think anybody's up to it. We can still go, if you like. You, me and Rhys?"
Jack just shakes his head.
"No. Well… I've got your new mobile number. I'll give you a ring, yeah?"
Jack blinks. He seems distant. "I've got to get back to UNIT HQ this afternoon. They only let me out for… this. Still got stuff to sort out. Might not be able to take your call."
Gwen nods. "Give me a ring, then, when they let you go. Promise me, Jack."
Jack nods. "Yeah. Sure."
She leans up on tiptoes and kisses his cool cheek. Jack doesn't react, and so after a moment, Gwen takes Rhys' outstretched hand, and they leave him by the graveside.
"Excuse me…" says a small, tremulous voice close to Jack's ear, a few moments later.
Jack looks up, started out of his reverie.
"You're… Jack, aren't you? Ianto's boss?"
Jack turns to see the dark haired young woman, her eyes red and her face blotchy from long days of frequent crying.
He nods.
"I'm Rhiannon Davies. Ianto's sister."
"Oh. I… yeah. I knew that. How…" He stops, and shakes his head. "I was going to say 'how are you', but I don't really need you to answer that."
She smiles weakly. "Yeah… well. We're all a bit…" She takes a breath. "You were Ianto's boyfriend, weren't you?"
Jack seems a little taken aback at the blunt question. He swallows. "We were a couple," Jack says quietly, looking back down at the coffin.
"Yeah. He told me… just a few days before…" she presses a well-worn tissue to her mouth to banish further tears.
"I'm sorry," whispers Jack, still staring down into the grave.
"Did you… I mean… you treated him well, didn't you?" Rhiannon is crying again. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack can see her husband and son waiting for her by the gate to the graveyard, looking tense.
Jack sighs. "I… could have treated him better. But he was very special to me, Rhiannon. He was… very special."
Rhiannon wipes her face. "I just want to know… what did Ianto tell you our father did for a job?"
Jack turns and looks at her, surprise in his eyes. "He said that his father was a master tailor," he says quietly.
Rhiannon's face creases with something like disappointment, for a second. "I see." She turns to go.
"But…" says Jack. He reaches out a hand and touches her arm. She turns back to him. "I'm not sure why he told everyone that, because it wasn't true. He told me… well, he told me everything. Your father worked at Debenhams, didn’t he? Always wanted to do more than sell off-the-peg shirts over the counter, but they'd never let him carry a tape measure. They said that bespoke tailoring wasn't commercially viable any more."
Rhiannon laughs through her tears. She seems oddly comforted. "Oh… yeah. Dad always had ideas above his station. He always pushed Ianto so hard. Told him he could do better than he had."
Jack speaks passionately, through gritted teeth. "Then it worked. Because Ianto was so much better than a hell of a lot of other people on this godforsaken planet."
Rhiannon reaches out and touches Jack briefly on the cheek. "When he talked about you, his eyes shone. I've never known anyone make him look like that. Not since Lisa. You must have made him happy, and for that… thank you."
Jack nods, and feels the first tear of many begin to roll down his cheek.
"I'm going to come and put flowers on his grave every week. Well, as often as I can. You'll come too, won't you? To visit him?"
Jack looks across at the headstone, already in place. He doesn't have the heart to tell Rhiannon that it is highly unlikely that the coffin in the grave at their feet actually contains Ianto's body.
Ianto had worked for Torchwood. He'd been in contact with countless alien species and artefacts throughout his working life. His body would have been deemed "potentially hazardous."
Ianto's corpse would be in a freezer, filed away in some faceless UNIT base somewhere in England. All that would be left to mark his body there would be a small, handwritten index card.
"Yes," whispers Jack. "I'll never forget him."
Rhiannon nods, and then makes her way over to her family. She glances at Jack one more time as they step through the gate and leave.
Jack stares down at the empty coffin, with an incredible realisation in his head: they don't blame him.
But Jack blames himself. He wipes at his face angrily and walks towards the graveyard exit. He doesn't look back. He doesn't want to remember Ianto as a gravestone and an empty wooden box. That hurts.
Jack feels a sharp twist of pain and anger go through his guts. He almost relishes it. It makes him feel more focussed.
And anyway… the pain. It feels like it's all he deserves.
Jack opened his eyes. "Ianto's family… they don't blame me for his death…" He could hardly believe it.
"Because it wasn't your fault," said the Doctor gently. "But you've been so intent on blaming yourself for everything that's happened, you blocked out the memory."
"I don't want to remember Ianto like that," muttered Jack.
"No," said the Doctor. "Of course you don't. But you have to take something positive from this. Rhiannon doesn't blame you, and you're not alone. You can use that to build on…"
"You think I can just step back out there, carry on living my life, like none of this happened?"
"No… of course not. It's going to take time. But you have to let go of all this anger and self-hate…"
Jack looked like a lost child. "I don't know what to do, Doctor…"
"I can help," said the Doctor gently. He took a step towards Jack, and in turn Jack took a step backwards, a faint look of panic on his face.
"No, Doctor. No! I don't need you to fix me!" Jack glared at the Time Lord. "I can't forget any of them…"
"I wouldn't do that. I can help you," said the Doctor. "I want to." He reached out a hand, towards Jack's face, and Jack flinched. The Doctor put his arm down and stuck his hand awkwardly into his trouser pocket.
There was a tense pause.
"Do you trust me?" asked the Doctor, at last.
"Yes… I trust you. I love you," Jack whispered, helplessly.
The Doctor smiled a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Quite right, too."
Jack didn't return the smile as the Doctor reached out and gently placed the outspread fingers of each hand on either side of his face.
"Until I see you again, Jack," he heard the Doctor murmur, and then everything went black.
TO BE CONTINUED
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>> Chapter Four
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