I Will Follow You Into the Dark

It’s moments like these where the man who can never die really wishes he could. The pain is so fresh. Searing, unbearable guilt and anguish pouring out from his fragmented soul. He’s so exhausted. Another death. But for what? So more can die again? To continue this vicious cycle that always seems to follow him no matter how hard he tries to avoid it?

He stares at the pale gray cement floors of the dim hallway of the containment facility he was brought to, by copter and gunpoint no less, and can’t even muster up tears worthy of their demise. He’d killed his own grandson. He may not have pulled the metaphorical trigger but he’d loaded the gun and aimed. There was no other way. They were too secluded to find another child so soon. But deep in the back of his mind he knows he agreed to it without question because he wasn’t worthy of having a family anymore after what he’d done. He didn’t deserve the boy with the endearing blonde bowl cut, those bright blue eyes that look so much like his own and that smile that always appears on his face every time he sees his ‘Uncle’ Jack.

There’s that ache again. In his chest. In his arms. In his lungs. It’s everywhere. He’s felt it before, oh yes, but not quite so fierce and he suspects it’s due to the other loss that occurred. The death that had been his own fault. The death of his lover.

Ianto Jones. Witty, brilliant, gorgeous and impeccable Ianto Jones. With the soft brown hair and those bright blues and those hands. Hands that’d brush against his with a warm mug of his perfectly blended dark brew. Hands that could do some very nice things when the lights went out. Hands that’d put his coat on without being asked. Hands that tidied everyone’s mess, put up with everyone’s problems. Hands that shouldn’t be as cold and lifeless as he felt earlier that day. His pale body even paler now. His little imperfections showing against that red tarp.

He hears the loud creak of one of the double doors down the hall open. Assuming it’s one of the MI5 agents for a second until he feels eyes piercing the back of his skull. Melissa. No, not Melissa. She hasn’t been that name for 32 years. Add her to the long list of things Jack Harkness has failed at.

He remembers the day they left vividly. His little girl, not even a decade old clutching her mothers hand. Curly, brown hair falling past her shoulders in waves, just like her mother. Pale purple overcoat adorning her small shoulders and a look of confusion as she witnessed her parents talking in hushed tones. It was a bright clear day. Valentine’s Day. Should’ve been a happy time. He’d even planned to take them out to dinner that night but Lucia had made up her mind. He was too dangerous. Their job was too dangerous. It was time for them to leave. She wouldn’t let him know where they were going and she knew he’d try and track her but the woman could hide anything if she wanted to. It was what made her such a good team member. So he let them leave. It hurt but why keep them there? Watch them die? Watch how his own daughter would react when she realizes Daddy isn’t aging?

Jack lifts his head as the memory fades back to that part of his mind where he buries everything that hurts and he looks over at his now grown child, staring right back into hazel eyes. He was going to say something. Apologize or beg her to shoot him. Anything to take at least a little of the utter heartbreak off his little girls face. But he says nothing. He knows he can’t and then she leaves without a word, her silence is enough to say he’s lost yet another person important to him.

This planet holds too many graves for him to endure anymore. And with that, the man rises from his spot on the bench, walking out through the double doors, greatcoat billowing behind him in a manner befitting a hero. He isn’t a hero, the young man who had bought him the coat was a hero. The little boy back in that room on the cold floor with the blood still drying from his nose and ears was a hero. No, he isn’t a hero. If anything, he’s the villain.

- - -

The rooftops won’t help him now. Sometimes standing atop buildings dotting the Cardiff skyline helped him after he’d done something deplorable. Now they contain too many memories. Ianto’s beautiful Welsh vowels wrapping around the faint joke, You’re good on roofs, in that office building a year ago. It feels like a lifetime ago. Things were easier then. Timidly asking him out for dinner and the pure school boy grin he sported when he’d received that surprising yes. No, building and rooftops have too many memories.

That is why Jack decided not to go to the roofs he frequented on his very long stay in Cardiff but left the country, the planet and he was pretty sure 2 full solar systems behind. He’s -well, he’s not quite sure exactly where he is- but it’s got a bar stocked with alcohol. Or what this planet considers alcohol. A lot more concentrated than Earth’s, that’s for sure. He had helped out two stragglers from the Entivon star system get their transport working again in exchange for a trip anywhere. At least that’s what he remembers of them before they had dropped him off here.

He downs another drink served in a faint blue orb and slumps over the bar. It’s also times like these when he wishes he could stay drunk. Maybe he can die of alcohol poisoning this time? It’s a thought he entertains for a while. What if, just for one moment, he could see him again instead of the ever present darkness that always greets him when he slips away? He deserves to choke on his own bile. Letting his lover die like that.

Why did he bring Ianto with him? It seemed safer, right? They’d surely be tracking them anyway and what better way to ensure his safety than to have him by his side? Apparently he’d been proved wrong, fatally wrong. He had died in his arms and there was nothing he could do about it. No way to transfer some of his life force to him, he’d just die of the toxins anyway. No way to get him out of the building, the doors and windows were deadlocked. His lover was dead and it was all his fault.

He chokes back a sob, his emotions coming to the forefront in his exceedingly inebriated state. He would never see him smile. Never hear him laugh or crack a joke or witness the transformation from Ianto Jones; Torchwood operative to Ianto Jones; laid back and happy lover again.

Jack was gaining more than a few looks from the patrons. It was time to go. He stands up on shaky legs, slapping down a few of the luminous credits used as currency here that he’d managed to get before entering the bar, and leaves.

Heavy boots stomping on the metallic, coloured terrain that covered the planet similar to Earth’s grass. He wraps his arms tighter around himself in an effort to keep warm. This planet’s temperature is a lot colder than Cardiff. He sticks to the shadows, at least wherever a shadow was available, and his thoughts continue to revolve around his former lover.

The quiet Welshman had been through so much, seen so much in his all too short life. It seemed as if everything was always taken from him. Even before they had become more than friends Jack had genuinely cared for him. He always looked so lost, from the first time he saw him in that park, in those jeans. He may have had a sarcastic tone and very attractive smirk but it was the way he carried himself. Especially when he stopped by the little tourist office the next day. His eyes were so scarred and helpless. Jack had tried to push the man away, he didn’t need to worry about anyone else on a personal level but in the end he couldn’t resist it. After that tumble with the pterodactyl, or pteranadon as Ianto called it, he knew he was sold. He wanted to keep an eye on that beautiful, broken man. He felt the indescribable urge to keep him safe and that urge had never gone away. Not even when he learned he had a hidden a Cyberwoman in the Hub. He’d always had to keep him safe.

It’s then during his somewhat sobering walk that he realizes what he has to do. He can’t just stand by and pity himself sick. This was the man that had kept him going the past 2 years. The man that would sacrifice himself for anyone. He has gone so long without anyone there to care for him, to make sure he was safe and Jack would be damned if he doesn’t at least try. That man will never be past tense, at least not yet. He’ll tear the heavens apart if he has to. Jack Harkness will do anything in his power to get his Ianto back.