Echo
I'm out on the edge,
And I'm sceamin' my name
Like a fool at the top of my lungs.
Sometimes when I close my eyes I,
Pretend I'm alright,
But it's never enough.
'Cause my,
Echo, echo,
Is the only voice coming back,
Shadow, shadow,
Is the only friend that I have.
~Echo, Jason Walker
Ianto Jones died silently. Quiet. The breath simply left his lungs. Though weaponry was firing and around the little room there was shouting, he died gently. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. And that fact killed Jack. Ianto. He said he loved Jack. And even in that moment of weakness, even though those were some of the poor man's last words, Jack reprimanded him. He told Ianto he shouldn't love him. He had told him not to. He had told a dying man no. And Ianto was no ordinary dying man. He was Jack's dying man. He was Ianto, the only man alive that Jack could say he loved. And the only man that loved Jack. Truly loved him. Against all warnings and against all common sense, Ianto Jones loved Jack Harkness. And now he was dead, and it was Jack's fault. Jack bent down mechanically. He was shaking uncontrollably. Sweetly, lovingly, he kissed Ianto's still lips. Jack had been holding him while he died. Ianto's blood stained his hands. With all his heart, Jack wished Ianto would kiss him back. But he wouldn't, and he couldn't, and wishing for something like that made Jack a fool. But thinking, wishing, dreaming was the only thing that was enabling Jack not to just shatter. Fall into a million pieces beside Ianto's body. He did fall though. He gently laid Ianto down on the ground, then he collapsed on his side by the corpse. Jack wrapped his arm around Ianto's waist. And slowly he drowned. Drowned in air and sorrow and Ianto's fading scent. Ianto Jones died silently. And just as noiselessly, Jack's heart did too.