Author's Notes: This one has been bothering me for a few days until I finally decided to write it, then it got out of control.

Before you ask, yes, I did shamelessly steal the summary from 'The Snowmen'.

Now, there's an important thing for everyone who hasn't read The Twilight Streets (one of the Torchwood novels and also my hands-down favourite one). Greg Bishop was a character there and even though he died in the first two chapters, he and Jack were (on the brink of) having a thing and he was so much like Ianto in both looks and behavior that I immediately decided that they were the same person reincarnated or something. Which explains where this whole madness (a.k.a. story) came from.

The… thing in the beginning is from The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot.

Anyway, it's my first Torchwood fanfic and I'm sort of throwing myself headfirst into it with a bloody character study and I'm really nervous about it, so any feedback would be really appreciated. And, as always, enjoy. :)

Yet when we came back, late, from Hyacinth garden

Your arms full, your hair wet, I could not

Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither

Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,

Looking into the heart of light, the silence

Jack could hardly believe that the place was still here at all as he kneeled on the ground near the still shiny gravestone with the simple words Ianto Jones, 1983-2009; words that had been chosen by his sister – probably the only person who had truly known him at all.

In the thirty-first century graveyards were out of the question for about two hundred years already – the Earth was overpopulated enough even without wasting space for the dead as well.

By the time it had happened, Jack had made sure to come and buy the place, just for the hell of it; just because he could still remember the look on Ianto's face in the House of the Dead when he had said, "At least you didn't forget me" – something between anger and relief that had sealed itself in Jack's mind. It often reminded him that even the ghosts sometimes needed comfort.

After that, Jack had paid a visit to his grave every year to keep it clean and as new as it had been all those years ago. He had built a small house about a hundred feet away from it – houses were a rare thing by that time as well, since everyone was trying to built blocks that were as tall as possible while barely taking any place at all. As far as he knew, most of the people who lived on that street thought that it had once been some kind of family mansion that was now abandoned.

"Well, here I am," he murmured as he sat down, right in front of the grave. "You would have loved that – a house on the name of Ianto Jones in 3009. Or you would have laughed at me for being an old sentimental fool; I'm not sure which one. But hey! Here I am. A thousand years later. Just as I promised."

A thousand years. Even he could barely grasp the idea. He had lived and died so many times, had loved and lost so many people, and each of them had been brilliant and special in their own way, and they all shone so brightly, tirelessly in his mind that sometimes he didn't think he could take it.

It was impossible to tell which one Jack had loved the most – love was something he either did or didn't feel – but he had taken special care to remember every little detail he could about Ianto. No matter how painful it had been, he had felt the need to do it and even now, a millennium later, Jack could still remember the way Ianto kissed, or the way his touch felt when he tentatively took Jack's hand in his when they were out on a so-called date (which almost every time ended up in trying to save the world from an alien invasion), or the way he had sometimes smiled in his sleep; all the ghosts that seemed to haunt him through the day gone for once as he subconsciously snuggled closer to his lover. Even the way he smelled freshly out of the shower took a place in the immortal's mind.

He had built the house after Rhiannon's death and had moved each of Ianto's possessions he could find and, when he came to visit Earth at all, Jack stayed there for a few days. Ianto had always wanted so much to leave a mark behind and his actual flat had been destroyed years ago, and Jack had decided, just for once, to let the ghost of someone he loved linger. The least he could do was keep here, on Earth, something that resembled Ianto's home.

"'S been a long year," he said with a sigh. This place was pretty much the only one where he could tell someone everything that had happened to him – absolutely everything, no matter if it was the silliest thing in the world or his darkest secrets. "Remember Layla? I told you about her last year. We got married six months ago. Naturally, she's dead now." He took in a trembling breath. "Explosion. Our ship blew up and guess who turned up twelve hours later. Unlike her." His voice broke. "Unlike anyone."

"Excuse me, are you by any chance my landlord?" A soft, too familiar voice asked and Jack froze where he was.

"Sorry?" Disbelief – not provoked only by the voice, but the absurdity of the question as well – pouring out of that word, he turned around and looked up.

A young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, was staring down at him, carefully arranged black hair surrounding the pale face and the clear blue eyes. He was most likely over six feet tall – taller than Jack himself – and had cheekbones that many people would commit a crime for.

Yep, Jack though, he was finally losing it. He was rather intrigued that it had taken so long. After all, while his body was not impressed by the years passing by, no human brain was designed for going through two thousand years buried alive and more than one thousand apart from that, especially with the nice dressing of all sorts of emotional traumas. There was no way he wasn't going to go insane at some point, and now was as good a time as any.

The man's face went white and his cheeks flared red and Jack instinctively knew what was the matter – he was embarrassed for interrupting someone in the middle of something so personal.

"God, I'm so sorry!" He stammered, eyes going wide. "I didn't know."

"It's alright." Jack's mouth seemed to be working solely on its own.

"Was that his house?" The young man asked and Jack found himself nodding.

"You could say that."

"Oh. Did you know him?" Calm blue eyes glanced at the dates graved in the stone and he laughed softly in a way that made Jack's heart ache. He couldn't explain why someone in year 3009 would know someone born in the twentieth century, but then again, he couldn't explain anything even to himself right now, so he kept quiet. "Sorry, of course you didn't. James, by the way. James Wikam."

"Captain Jack Harkness." The latter had finally stood up to shake the man's hand while his mind worked on full power.

First of all: if he was making this up, then why did his hallucination have a different name? Second, the man's touch felt steady and real and Jack was pretty sure that his insanity couldn't have gone that far. And third, there was the distinct feeling that this was not the first time this was happening.

Not seeing Ianto while sitting near the man's grave, of course. But seemingly meeting the same person many years later when said person was supposed to be dead? Someone who had turned up out of the blue when they had died in his arms? Yes.

He remembered seeing Ianto for the first time in that forest with the Weevil. After the first initial shock that some guy had come out of nowhere and beaten the alien with a stick, Jack had seen his face and had desperately started trying to avoid him.

Because, almost seven decades earlier, he had known a man called Greg Bishop who had had the same smile and quiet façade that hid a deep, passionate nature and a brilliant mind and he had lost him.

Jack had been quite certain back then as well that his own mind was playing tricks on him. Just a while after that, when he hired Ianto and said man came to work on his first day, Jack had been mildly surprised that his employees could see their new co-worker as well.

And here he was again - Greg, Ianto or whatever else he liked to call him - looking at him patiently.

"Nice to meet you, Captain Harkness." A small smile was playing on James's lips that, Jack knew from the man's both predecessors, meant that he thought the immortal had not completely come to his senses yet/was drunk/both and he needed to be spoken to slowly and with a bit of fond tiredness - a patronising, gentle smile that took his breath away.

And those eyes. No wonder they looked, always had looked, so old - extremely old for such a young face.

James held up some newspaper and that finally took Jack out of the trap of his own memories. "It was in here." He pointed at the photo which indeed contained the house and its precise address, neither of which Jack had actually posted anywhere. "Suppose it was a mistake, though. Mind you, don't you look surprised to see me."

Don't I indeed, Jack thought as he desperately tried to chase away the idea that was starting to form in his mind. The feeling was long-forgotten and he vaguely remembered repeating stubbornly that there were no vacancies and that he wasn't hiring. James was much easier to avoid. He could simply tell him that there'd been a mistake and chances were they would never see each other again.

But suddenly, he realised that he didn't want that. It'd been four months since Layla's death; four months of pain and guilt and loneliness and he wasn't sure how much more of it he would be able to live through.

James wasn't Ianto and/or Greg. The logical part of Jack's brain was well aware of that. His clothes were different and suitable for this century; Greg would have been awed from the recycled fabric and Ianto would have probably studied it for hours. His whole being radiated natural confidence that both men had lacked. Even the way he talked was slightly different – the rules of the English language had changed and simplified several times for the last couple of centuries.

And yet, there was the same little spark in his eyes; something clever and determined and so, so familiar.

This was a bad idea, he was sure of it.

It was probably the worst idea he had ever had.

It was irresistible.

"The house." Jack cleared his throat. "Yes! Of course. No, it's not a mistake."

James's smile grew wider.

"Great. You know, 've always wanted a house. Everyone told me that nobody's had one in ages, especially in the middle of Cardiff, y'know, so I couldn't believe when I saw it."

Jack decided it wasn't the best idea to tell him that he couldn't believe it too.

Well. James was certainly more talkative than Greg and Ianto (Jack's common sense made a desperate attempt to tell him that reincarnation was something non-existent and that it was just a coincidence. Pity he didn't really believe in those anymore) and yet quiet, considering the age he lived in – people in the thirty-first century were much more open to everyone and everything in general.

"Is that all you've got?" Jack asked, looking at the relatively small trunk that James was carrying.

The man nodded distractedly as he kept taking in the house and its surroundings. "Yeah. It's my job. I travel a lot."

"Really?" Jack wasn't sure what a landlord was supposed to act like and if it was okay to ask a lot of questions, but then again, it was 3009. Basically everything was okay. "What are you working on?"

James's eyes suddenly lit up with excitement. "One of the new spaceships. More like a starship, y'know? Not for scientific discoveries and such. It's smaller and there're windows all over. Bit expensive, but worth it. Everything's worth it for that, I'd say."

"Worth for what?"

"Seeing it all." The thought seemed to be almost overwhelming to the young man and Jack was delighted to note that he wasn't blushing and stuttering as he was just a few minutes ago. "Just going up there to see the stars. The planets. Everything there is."

"Then yes." Jack suddenly felt as if something heavy was stuck in his throat; he could hardly breathe. "It is worth it." He tried to force himself to get back the matter at hand. "So. Would you like the grand tour?"

"Of course. Anything you want me not to touch?"

Jack shook his head. "Not really. All yours. Except for the spare room on the second floor. When I come around, I use it sometimes."

"How often is sometimes?" James's eyes widened as he apparently realised how his words could be taken. "I meant– D'you stick around? I wouldn't mind."

"Are you seriously asking me if I come here often?" Jack wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He was in front of the house that was meant for his lover a thousand years after his death and was flirting with a guy who acted and looked just like him and had turned up here God knows how. And half of it wasn't even happening for the first time. He was getting more and more certain each year that the Universe had a really twisted sense of humour when it came to him.

Then James laughed exasperatedly at Jack's words and the look on his face was one he had seen way too many times to be considered an accident and, as he took James's hand and leaded him into the house to show him around, he thought that maybe, just maybe, the Universe had finally decided that she owed him a miracle or two.