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2019
It’s September, and Jack remembers.
It’s hard not to; even now, ten years later, he's everywhere.
Sometimes, Jack sees him – in the corner of his eyes, in a flash of movement.
Just passing strangers.
It’s been ten years. Ten years, and he still catches him in the reflection of windows. Still thinks that if he revisits his flat, the key would fit and Ianto would be there, his tie loose, his smile long-suffering, just as he was that last night before the 4—
Before everything.
It had been raining, that night, and Ianto had taken one look at him before deciding that he needed something warm.
“Made some soup while you were out.”
He should’ve said it then.
He didn’t. Only smiled and thanked him.
His life has been too long to hold on to many regrets, but that night is one of them – their last night of normalcy, relatively speaking, only remarkable in what came after. If he had known … if he had known, he would’ve done more. Perhaps it was better that he didn’t.
It’s the details that are the most clear. Ianto’s sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, his collar undone, they had sprawled onto the sofa together, Ianto curling up beside him. The pizza he brought had mushrooms, and it was slightly cold by the time they got around to it. Not that they had minded.
But most of all, though, he remembers being so very warm. It had felt like eternity, then, that in this brief moment, it could last forever; that nothing could smother this heat. What he wouldn’t give to get that back. It had always been nights like those where Torchwood and all that came with it slipped his mind, and for a few hours, he could pretend that this is all there was. Sometimes, it was all he wanted.
They didn’t talk about work that night, didn’t talk about much, actually.
He should’ve said more.
Should have, would have, could have. They’re all he has, now.
He lies awake in a spartan room, alone, staring at the ceiling.
It's still raining.
2109
The twenty-first century was when everything changed, and Jack still hasn’t recovered. He's travelling, now, searching.
(For what, though? he asks himself. He won’t admit it, but he certainly knows.)
Sometimes, they will ask him, too. “A firebird,” he'll say.
Because he was, wasn’t he? The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Once—
A century ago—
It was four in the morning and Ianto was asleep. Jack was not.
He didn’t know what woke him, but he also didn’t mind – at least, not when he could see Ianto beside him. He looked almost serene, completely unguarded in his sleep. There was something about seeing Ianto like this that Jack loved, this peace that was rarely present when he was awake. And so, Jack tried to remember; he didn’t know when he might see this again. It was also the least he could do.
But he must have shifted when he woke, as moments later, Ianto was looking over at him.
“Jack.”
“Hm?”
“Go back to sleep.”
“You first.”
Ianto smiled into the pillow and shifted towards him, closing his eyes when Jack pressed a kiss against his forehead. Before long, his breathing evened out, and Jack ran his fingers through Ianto’s hair, catches himself thinking it, three words.
He never did manage to see him like this again.
3009
A thousand year’s time, Jack remembers him.
He’s in Cardiff, involuntarily. Well. He says involuntarily, but it’s not like he would have said no. The city has changed, but also, it hasn’t quite – the people stay the same, moving from place to place, purposeful, purposeless, running errands, idle gossip, having lunch, thinking, worrying, laughing.
In other words, it’s achingly beautiful, yet so so empty.
Or rather—
Once upon a time, a short walk away, there lived an immortal and his lover. They were doomed from the start, and in their own way, they both understood. It didn’t stop them from trying. Trying to make it work. Trying to make the most of it.
They should have known better; as a matter of fact, they did. And yet, despite it all, they loved with all their hearts and then some, they filled the days with smiles and kisses and warmth; with tears and anger and grief. Then there was the pain, oh, there was so much pain, but there was also light and beauty and lazy mornings and late nights, the excitement of the day to day, and they—
They lived.
In their own way, they both had hope.
It was that last night when Jack stayed awake, not wanting the morning to arrive. And when it did, there was this moment, just after dawn, when the light filtered through the curtains and swept over Ianto's sleeping form, rippling across his features.
Like an angel passing through my room, Jack had thought, reminded of one of Ianto's songs. He had felt an overwhelming sense of hope, that maybe, just maybe, it could be okay. But what good did that do? It only lived for a minute.
Was it foolish, then? To look the eyes of his lover, knowing that each day might be the last, and to keep looking anyway?
If it was, Jack didn’t want to know.
12009
Jack wakes in a stranger’s bed; some things never change.
But didn't they, once, long, long ago?
He leaves without another word; starts walking.
This planet is gorgeous – the way starlight plays off the mirrored ground, shattering into colours he scarcely has words to describe, pinks that are a touch sour, flitting blues, trickling violets, he only wishes he could share them with someone.
A someone. He would’ve loved this. Also would’ve insisted on categorising them, probably.
I’ll take you out there, someday. Into the stars, Jack had said, long ago. It was a statement carelessly cast in morning optimism, with the allure of a new day, the sentiment true but the promise, empty. He’d known it then, and he knows it now. Ianto did too, and he knew it immediately. When he had smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
His eyes, they had told a different story, one of You won’t and I wish. Jack didn’t blame him. He was right, in the end.
But, he was also wrong – Jack carries him in his heart as he travels.
102009
The music stabs him in the chest. He hasn’t heard that melody in—
Shit. Has it been that long?
Take your time, make it slow.
It has. It’s been ten thousand years since that morning.
When Ianto woke, he did so quietly, so much so that Jack almost didn’t notice. And after, they stayed in bed, ignored the ticking of the clock, and he had let Ianto kiss him, slowly.
I’m your music; I’m your song.
Unspoken words had filled the air. He’d thought—
But he was wrong, and he realised too late. All that’s left, now, is to hope that Ianto knew.
Oh please, don't let me down.
He must have.
1002009
By now, Jack has witnessed the ends of many worlds. Even participated in a few. Tonight, though, at the controls of his ship, gazing out at the spectacle far ahead, he watches a birth. He could wait it out if he wanted to, wait the millions and millions of years to see the star emerge. It’s not like he doesn’t have the time – in fact, if there was one thing he had too much of, it was time. And so, he chooses to call it a day, watches it pan out.
He forgot how bright it could be, these swirling clouds of gas and dust, coalescing through eons, forming something more marvellous than the sum of its parts – and it would only get brighter, if he was patient enough. He’s done enough waiting to last several lifetimes. A little longer wouldn’t hurt.
Somewhere, somewhen, he’ll find what he’s looking for. In the meantime, he'll clean up the ship’s archive. Ianto would be proud, if he was here, probably have a quip to go with it.
Later, he’s combing through the backups when—
Voicemail | 2009
Ianto Jones (4)
Gwen Cooper (56)
Unknown (11)
14 May 2009
Jack, there’s a – never mind, I’ll text you.
The next two are in the same vein, brief and straightforward. He doesn’t remember the last one, though.
5 September 2009
I don’t know why I’m doing this. It always takes you forever to listen to voicemails, I know this – Gwen definitely knows this – but I guess I’m counting on it.
Ianto doesn’t sound fully sober. Jack doesn’t think he can be.
If you never hear this, Jack, that’s okay. And if you do, well.
There’s a long pause, and it’s so long that it almost seems like it’s over.
I just thought, once I’m gone, you won’t remember the sound of my voice, anymore. I can’t remember Lisa’s, it was one of the first things that faded. And I … I wish I could. So, Jack. I love you. Always will. It’s … and it’s fine if you don’t. I’ll understand.
S’pose … on the off chance you do hear this, bring some of that wine again. I don’t know when or where you got it from but it’s divine.
And just like that, it’s over.
Ianto was right – he has forgotten.
5,000,000,053
He closes his eyes for the last time.
Are you there, Ianto?
The stars, however, have no answer for him.