"Jack."

"Ger. Hello. Long time. What brings you out here? Siloportem still don't tend to venture much beyond their enclaves, do they? Incidentally, if it's something urgent, I'm off-duty. Might want to try another contact."

The Siloportem gave Jack a tired look. "It is urgent, Jack. And you are the only contact who can take this one."

Jack sighed. "Whatever it is, Ger -"

"Ianto Jones."

Jack's glare darkened. "Ianto Jones left me half a century ago. I've had no contact with him since. Whatever it is, it's nothing to do with me."

"He's dying, Jack."

Jack forced his features to remain neutral. "Sorry to hear that," he said evenly, pushing his coffee cup away and standing up from the café table, intending to close the conversation immediately.

"I don't think he's got days, Jack. This is your last chance to say goodbye."

"You've been to see him?" Jack asked incredulously, despite his plan to ignore anything further from the alien.

"He was always good to me. Despite that time I left him waiting in what he felt he was sub-freezing weather."

"What did he say to you?" Jack instantly regretted inviting more of this.

"Nothing, actually. He was asleep when I visited."

"In other words, you have no reason to believe he wants to see me now, after all these years. Goodbye, Ger."

"No reason other than the photo of you beside his hospital bed."

"If he wanted to get in touch with me, he could have. He left me, asked that I respect his decision and I did. He moved on. Found a nice girl, got married, had kids. Perfect, normal life. Kind of thing I could never offer. He had nothing to miss."

Ger was quiet for a moment. "It may have been good, but I think perfect may be a stretch. There's a reason I've been a contact for you all this time – I notice the little things others overlook. Your photo was closest to his bedside. And the only photo of Caryn was the group wedding photo."

"It's still none of my business. Not anymore," Jack growled.

"Right, Jack. Very well. St. Helen's," the Siloportem said, then turned and walked away.

Jack glared after him for a moment, then stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and stalked away. It was nothing to do with him. Ianto made his decision years ago. And probably lived to go grey because of it. There was nothing to regret.

He was able to convince himself of that within the armour of annoyance the whole way back to his flat. The moment he opened the door and walked into the utter chaos that he'd been perfectly comfortable inhabiting for decades, he felt almost physically shoved backward, as if the mess of random junk scattered about the place had been storing energy to mount an invisible rebellion. The thought came to him for the first time since 2009 that Ianto Jones would have stayed up all night tidying the place because he couldn't sleep knowing that things were out of place even in another room.

That awful, raw weight that had been in his chest since hearing that name again began to spread until Jack ended up sitting there on the floor of his untidy foyer, willing himself to breathe evenly and not let the memories resurface.

Dying.

That wasn't possible. He'd only be… 76. It was more than 130 years since Jack was that age.

"He left me, damnit!" Jack shouted at no one. "If he wanted to see me now, he could have called. He didn't want me then and doesn't want me now," he reasoned fiercely against the overwhelming voice that he had done everything in his power to kill 50 years ago. The voice housed south of his mind but north of his libido.

Days.

"He hurt me!" Jack shouted again, hating how shaky his voice sounded. "It's his deathbed, not my confession. I'm not going."

Jack pushed himself up and threw his coat at the couch. It skidded on newspapers and adverts and unopened post and pulled the lot down to the floor. Jack decided he didn't give a damn and walked into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable. He threw his wrinkled shirt at the basket, missing left, where the shirt joined his clothes from the day before, and the day before that, and at least two weeks ago when it was cold enough to need that fleece jacket.

He reached for a t-shirt in the closet, but somehow his gaze was drawn upward to an old World War 1 army valise on a shelf. He knew what was inside and had no reason to pull it down and examine the contents, yet that was exactly what he found himself doing. The things in there were more than vintage by now. And on the bottom… that coat. The one with all the barely visible, expertly, lovingly stitched battle scars.

Last chance.

And what good would it do, Jack asked himself. What could possibly be accomplished, seeing another lover dying, another who'd decided – rightly – that they were better off without him?

Jack lifted the old coat out of the suitcase. He'd forgotten the weight of it. Slipping it on, the anger and hurt vanished and sadness washed over Jack. He stood like that for a long moment before pulling the coat off again and laying it gently on the unmade bed, plucking a condom wrapper out of the sheets and flinging it away. He took a dark blue shirt from the case and put it on, then a waistcoat. He fixed airplane cufflinks at the wrists and slipped the watch into his pocket before putting the coat back on and going back out to the living room to go through his other coat's pockets for keys.

No more than 15 minutes later, Jack walked up to the front desk at St. Helen's and asked for the room number for Ianto Jones. He took the stairs up to the fourth floor, unable to fathom that much time stuck in a lift at that moment. He almost turned back half a dozen times on his way down the hall to room 456. Trying to calm his thundering heartrate, Jack stood just outside the room for a few moments before taking that last step.

Jack stopped breathing for several seconds. Ianto still had that little pout when he slept. He'd gone grey, there were wrinkles. But he still had that little pout. That beautiful, cherubic countenance that hid a will of tempered titanium.

"Who's there, please?"

Jack couldn't answer. His throat was stuck dry.

"Lighting in here is shit. Can't make you out over there. Is that Ieuan?"

That name wasn't lost on Jack for a second. It had to be Ianto's son. Jack told himself to pick a different accent, mutter an apology about a wrong room, and get the hell out of there. It was every bit the mistake he'd known it would be.

"Only… I know it's not cold enough out there for a coat like that. I've seen the weather report."

Caught. As always.

"Those vowels haven't changed," Jack whispered.

"Some things never do, eh?"

"Yeah."

"How'd you know?"

"Ger. Came to visit, but you were sleeping, apparently." Jack glanced at the table beside Ianto's bed and saw that it was just as Ger had observed: a photo of Jack – looking relaxed and laughing - was situated closest to the bed, with other family photos close by.

"Sorry to have missed him."

"Yeah. Well, look, can't stay long. Just wanted to say hi. Hope you're feeling better soon -"

"I don't have that power, Jack. They're saying any day."

"What do doctors know?"

"Depends on the doctor. But I don't need telling. Glad to be lucid enough to know what's going on with me. I'd hate going into it raving about my mam being late picking me up from school or something."

Jack was silent for a long while, just looking at Ianto lying there in red pajamas, all tucked in and tidy, even at the last.

"I can't do this," he whispered hollowly. "I'm sorry. I have to go… I can't…." Jack started to turn slowly, as if his body were unwilling to cooperate with what his head demanded.

"Can I at least give you my apology?"

"Apology? For what?" Jack breathed. He felt like he was being run alive through a massive shredder. Except he was certain that the literal shredder had been less painful.

"For a lot of things. Primarily for my cowardice 50 years ago, and ever since. And for whatever hurt I caused. I'm glad you came, you know, because that was the one thing that's been really difficult about all this. Figured I'd never get the chance to get that off my chest."

Finally, Jack walked into the hospital room, dropping into a chair beside Ianto. "What you did was sense, not cowardice. You got the hell out of danger. You lived. You had a beautiful life that I could never…."

"It was an easy out. I did love Caryn, really, and I could never regret having Ieuan and Catrin. But I knew all along I'd taken the easy way. I could have stayed."

Jack shook his head. "Yeah, right. We both know how that would have turned out. I'd lose you either way. This way… at least I knew you were alright. Happy."

"I was happy. But I never really got over you."

Jack hated the anger and regret that he felt building up in him. He shoved away from the bed and went to the window, needing a distraction and needing to not feel Ianto looking at him for a minute.

There was one question that had haunted Jack for the last 17 years. "And what about after Caryn?" he asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"I missed her, terribly. I grieved, of course. I carried on, though, in the end. Her death wasn't sudden, we knew what was coming. In some ways, that made it easier, I think."

"But you still didn't…. Never mind. Look, I do have to go. Maybe I can -"

"I still didn't come back to you? Jack, I was over 60. Old. Slowing down. How could I have kept up? I was young when we were together. I was still… good-looking. By the time I was a widower, I wasn't like that anymore."

Jack turned from the window abruptly. "That is not true," he said fiercely. "There hasn't been a moment that you haven't been gorgeous. Look at you, right now. You're beautiful," Jack finished a choked whisper.

"Jack…."

"And for the record," Jack pressed on, deciding that if this was his last chance, he was damn well going to spill the lot, "that was never the only thing I loved about you. And I did love you. I still do. I still do."

"I left so it would hurt less for you," Ianto whispered. "I never wanted to hurt you, Jack. But I knew I had no choice. I would eventually. And my only option was to mitigate that pain as best I could. After Caryn died, I didn't want to find you again only for you to still have to go through the end of my life."

"But we could've had so much more. Something, anything!" Jack no longer bothered swiping away his tears. It was useless to try. "And who the hell says you're dying now, anyway? You're young. You can get better. Medicine is incredible, and there's a lot of willpower involved, too, you know. There's a chance – we could still have a chance…."

"I knew this would happen, too. Just like when my nain was dying and I was so sure she'd get better and everything would go back to how it was before. I know you, Jack. If you couldn't accept Owen's death 50 years ago, after thousands of your own deaths, I knew you'd never be able to accept mine, no matter how old I was. It would always be too soon. You always want to save everybody. Unless that Doctor of yours shows up and makes the same mistake with me, we'll never have enough time, Jack."

Jack slumped down into the bedside chair again. "I know. I know. But it feels worse to believe it. Loss has been the only constant thing in my life, in two centuries. But not you; how can I accept it with you?"

Ianto shook his head. "I don't know. I just know I'm sorry that I have to leave you. Maybe it was a mistake leaving you, maybe it was a mistake not finding you again. But it's leaving you for good that I hate."

"Can I stay?" Jack sobbed. "Please? Here, with you, until… until whatever happens."

Ianto reached out for Jack's hand and Jack took it like he was holding the most precious thing in the local supercluster. "Ok. You'll probably have to use some psychic paper or something to have them arrange a bed for you as well. Or just flash that smile."

"I was kinda thinking, maybe I could just…. Unless you wouldn't be comfortable, though, because that's all…."

Ianto shifted over a bit and tugged on Jack's hand.

Jack didn't need any more encouragement than that. He kicked off his boots and lie down beside Ianto, wrapping his arms around a thinner frame than he remembered. "I love you so much, Ianto Jones."

"I love you, too, Jack," Ianto said, his fingers tracing a repair he'd made to Jack's coat so long ago, the time some alien stabbed Jack's chest and ripped out his heart. They stayed like that for hours, talking about things neither of them had ever said out loud before. Eventually, they fell asleep in one another's arms, both wondering if it would be for the last time.

When Jack woke, his arms were still around Ianto, but the room was bright and he could hear birds singing outside. He was reluctant to open his eyes. Ianto felt warm in his arms, so Jack was sure he was still alive. Jack didn't remember getting undressed, though, and he was definitely quite naked under the sheets.

"Hey," Ianto murmured sleepily, stroking Jack's cheek. "What's wrong, Jack?"

Jack opened his eyes, looking for those beautiful blue eyes to reassure him. "Ianto?" Jack pulled away enough to sit up. How had… Ianto didn't look a day over 27…. And they were definitely in their flat.

"Yep. Who were you expecting?"

Jack almost laughed in relief. A damned dream! "No one else, Ianto. No one but you," he said, pulling Ianto back into his arms.