I wondered how, a man like me, the only man in the world, who could never die, from the thirtieth century, could fall in love with a man from the twentieth. A man who had one life to live, to work. One life to love. I wondered for months after I held him in my arms, his heart weakening, his pulse slowing down, his eyes threatening to close for good, as I pleaded with him to stay. Stay with me. It was days like these, that I wanted so very much to die. I hated what Rose Tyler and the Doctor had made me, despite his boyish charm, even if I was "wrong" according to him and her dashing personality. I knew I couldn't hate them, despite how much I wanted to blame them for his death. Ianto Jones.
My mind floated back to the day in the twentieth century when I returned to Earth, my first day at Torchwood. I'd tumbled through a rift in Cardiff, Wales. Lost, I started asking round, if anyone had seen a man called The Doctor. He was, then the only person who could help. Oh the irony of my words, considering that dashing man is from Gallifrey. Nevertheless, I asked the wrong person and was pulled into the back of a truck with blackened out windows and taken to Torchwood Three. They started interrogating me. "Who are you?" "How do you know the Doctor?" and so on. I wouldn't tell them anything but name, rank and serial number, as a good pilot of WW2 would've been instructed to do. That proved to be a bad idea, as my torturer decided it'd be a good idea to shoot me in the head. Unlucky for me, that unleashed my secret. I was the man who couldn't die. After the whole affair with the Doctor and Rose Tyler on the game station with the daleks, I couldn't die. I'd tried throwing myself off bridges, under trains, drowning myself and every other way imaginable. But I just kept on living. I can see why the Doctor was so against me living, my "wrongness". Instead, I tried to find a living. Being an ex time agent, I teleported myself into the twentieth century and on street corners would perform as the man who couldn't die, earning a penny or two here and there, in order to sustain a living. But then World War Two broke out, I met the real Captain Jack Harkness, who flew off to bomb Germany and was reported missing, presumed dead. I took on his identity and eventually ran into my Doctor again, along with Rose Tyler.
Anyway, my interrogators were shocked to see the man they'd just killed sit up on their autopsy table and decided to kill me in numerous ways before letting me go. I didn't return to Earth in the twentieth century. Instead, I found myself in the twenty first century, yet again in Cardiff, Wales. Breaking into Torchwood Three, I found it empty and decided to start it up again. After all, who better to run it, then the man who can never die and knows how to find the Doctor? I pulled together a motley crew of Toshiko Saito (my computer wizard), Owen Harper (the young, ingenious Doctor, whose charm and wit was the polar opposite of my kind of Doctor) and Suzie.
It had been a late night and we'd just finished a case and packed up. Instead of moping around the office, I decided to go out to a bar I knew I wouldn't run into Owen at, one I was well known at. In Cardiff's darkest streets, there is this small, dingy bar that's underneath a block of empty apartments. Their only occupants? Well, in that street, you'd find people, who for a couple of bucks and a few drinks are quite happy to spend the night with you, no matter who you are. At one am in the morning, the bar was nearly empty, except for a few men playing pool and me, sitting on a stool at the bar, downing my eighth shot of tequila for the night. I asked the bartender for yet another, but he just stared at me. That was when I turned on the charm, my eyes shining. "Oh come on buddy, another won't hurt and there could be something in it for you." He took the shot glass and filled it up, passing it back. "It's your funeral." He mumbled, shrugging. Laughing, I rose my glass in a mock salute and downed it. Meanwhile, I didn't notice the door open, shut and the men at the pool table look at the man who made the noise. The bartender passed me yet another shot and then turned to the young Welshman, who seemed tired and whose eyes look like they would crinkle at the sides when he smiled. "What'll it be?" The Bartender asked. "Just a cup of coffee would be great." The strange man replied, his voice soft. He seemed like a coffee drinker, he didn't seem like the type of man who drunk liquor that often, if not at all. The Bartender mumbled something about not doing coffee, but nevertheless made a steaming cup. I couldn't help but stare at this man. He seemed…completely the wrong type of person who would be walking around this neighbourhood at this time of night. He was the type of man who'd graduated university, top of his grade, go home to mum and wear fluffy little slippers. Academically strong, not overly into sports, more bookish, he'd make a great accountant. I gave him a once over, glancing from head to toe, eyes landing on his biceps, or at least where they should've been. Yup, definitely not into sports as a kid, I had decided. But looking at his eyes, I could see he was capable of having a fiery temper and if holding a firearm, he'd definitely stand a chance. Physically, I suppose I was also a tad attracted to him.
He noticed me watching him. "Umm, Sir…I saw you watching me…and couldn't help but wondering what're you staring at?" Definitely a Welshman, judging by his accent. I was pulled away from my thoughts. "Just you. I'm sorry. I'm, Jack, and you are…" "Slightly miserable." There was a silence, but he broke it. "I'm sorry. I'm Ianto." Ianto. Nice name. "What's wrong, Mr Ianto?" I asked, hoping he could trust me. "I hate my job. I hate the place I work at. The people I work with." He said it so bluntly, I nearly fell off my chair. Or maybe that was the tequila. Taking my chances, because I didn't want to loose sight of this Welshman in a hurry I said. "Well it just so happens, I've started a business and we have a position. So I say you quit your job and come join us." His eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought then surprisingly he pulled out a phone, hit speed dial and held it to his ear. "Mr Peterson. This is Ianto Jones. I'd like to inform you that I…" He hesitated on the word. "Quit." With that he hung up the phone. Looking at him in disbelief, I replied "Welcome aboard." "Why thank you, Sir." Such a gentleman too! "Believe me, the pleasure is all mine, Ianto."
I remember how, ever since that day, how quickly Ianto Jones adapted to his career, working his way into our ranks, our service, our very hearts, with his warm, delectable coffee, his obvious Welsh accent that made me weak at the knees and his very way of filing things. Such a master filer that man. Even the trouble with Lisa and when she died in our vaults. Such anger he had, Ianto, he detested me strongly because of the choice I forced him to make. I saw the pain in his eyes when I made him do that. I swore silently that day that I would never put him through that again. He came round eventually. But it did certainly take a while.
And then the 456 come along and somehow had the right to take him from me? Where's the justice in that? The only person, the only thing that kept me going, kept my heart ticking, because "oh Jack you're a guy from the 31st century who can't die ever and your way out of your time". Whose fault was it that I couldn't die? The Doctor and Rose. Particularly Rose, but she couldn't help it, she loved the Doctor and had to save him. Just like I loved and still love Ianto and would do anything in my power to save him and bring him back to the people he loves and who love him. It goes to show the brutality of the universe. When you've been around as long as I have, you don't really notice it, you just shut yourself off until something happens that drags…no rips away your only reason for existence.
One thing I can't help but wonder is where was the Doctor at the imminent destruction of most of the world's children? That kind, caring, loving man who wanted to protect Earth and everything it stood for under the Shadow Proclamation. Where was he? Why didn't he come? If he did, Ianto could be still alive and I would still have my reason for living. Its times like these, I look back at the Doctor in shame over admiration. For a planet that meant so much to him, for a group of people that meant everything to him, where was he, when one needed him? Gallivanting round time and space with another unfortunate companion most likely, in Earth's darkest hour. Ianto's darkest hour.
I remember the day that those I cared about were taken away: Suzie (twice), Owen, Toshiko and Ianto. Their faces flood my memory at night, making it impossible to sleep but Ianto was always the worst. I remember the night I lost him. I plead my heart out with the 456 to spare him, plead I did. But to no avail, he was taken from me. His last words would haunt my sleeping hours, my waking hours. I would never, never forget Ianto. I knew he had his insecurities. I knew he loved me with all his heart, I wouldn't...no…couldn't hold anything against him. I could still feel him in my arms when I held him as his breath dwindled. He asked me to never forget him. And I never would.