A/N: It is half past two in the morning. This is spoiler-tastic, probably badly written, and longer than it ever needed to be, but I had to. So read, review, laugh, cry, whatever you want. I just wanted to show my appreciation for a great character!
Italics – rambling inner monologue
"Italics" - flashback to quotes from 'Dead Line' radio play.
Believe me, this would have been far different had I owned the rights to Torchwood!
Protocol of Final Goodbyes.
The very last moments in the life of Ianto Jones were, to his own recollection, a cacophony of indescribable joy and immeasurable pain. Granted, this was no great surprise, seeing as every bloody day at Torchwood Three was a stomach-turning mixture of soaring highs and miserable lows, interspersed with great coffee and even better sex. It was only right he should die the way he lived, weak-limbed and sweaty in Jack's arms, covered in his Captain's bodily fluids.
Tears went slightly against the norm, but he still enjoyed the irony of the situation. Hell, if it isn't appropriate to have a little black humour at your own death, when is it?
I don't want to die. Please don't let me die. I'm scared, Jack!
He found himself wondering if Lisa had been this frightened, whether Tosh and Owen had wept and fought and screamed inside their own heads. Then he copped onto himself; Owen and Tosh had been heroes.
He was just Ianto Jones.
Over the sound of his own struggling lungs, Ianto heard Jack speak, his voice crowded and choking with sobs.
"Its all my fault..."
Typical Jack. The world's about to end, and its still all on your shoulders.
He opened his mouth, the urge to soothe his Captain's grief overriding the pain.
"No its not." I don't blame you. Was bound to happen sooner or later.
"D...don't talk, save your breath..."
A hand, warm and heavy, trembling and yet so familiar, stroked his cheek, ghosting over wounds both old and new. Ianto focused his fading vision on Jack's face and wondered, not for the first time, whether he truly meant something to his boss.
I was a lot of different things to a lot of different people. Archivist, receptionist, tea-boy. Son, brother, best friend. Boyfriend, part-time shag...lover.
"I love you," he choked, because he couldn't not say it. He couldn't die without letting Jack know, couldn't let his death be as docile as his role in life.
I made a lot of mistakes.
Jack's voice hitched as he shook his head. "Don't."
It wasn't the answer he longed to hear, but it was the one he had anticipated. Ianto closed his eyes, lost for a moment in sweet agony as he imagined what could have been. If they hadn't gone into Thames House, if the Hub hadn't blown up, if the 456 didn't exist...
No-one in Torchwood lives to get a pension.
He was brought back to reality by Jack's pleading litany, spoken in soft, keening whines, broken by sobbing and sounding disturbingly unnatural.
"-nto! Ianto, stay with me, please...please stay with me, please..."
Please don't cry like that, it really doesn't suit you, Sir.
He struggled to open his eyes, needing to see, needing to know.
I did make mistakes...but I helped saved the world.
"Hey..."
That means something, I know it does...
Jack blinked, his relieved surprise palpable, and inexplicably sad.
"It was...good, yeah?"
I meant something.
Jack's eyes softened, his frantic grip changing to something infinitely more gentle. "Yeah."
I meant something to you.
There was only one thing left to find out, and the mere thought tore into his sense of impending peace with a force that was impossible to ignore.
"D...don't forget me..."
"I'm just a blip in time for you..."
The simple request of a dying man, and yet he saw the raw pain on Jack's face double at his quaking statement. His attempt at a reassuring smile just made it worse.
"Never could."
Ianto was nothing if not a man of proper order, and he would be damned if Jack weaselled out of giving him an answer worthy of the archivist's need for true clarification (to be filed under the category 'Employees', sub-category – 'Protocol of Final Goodbye'). With a tremendous force of will, ignoring the tremors and sighs of his failing body, he drew a last, gasping breath in order to try one more time.
"In a thousand years' time...you won't...remember me..."
It hurt to say, to be his last words to the man he loved. Jack clutched him harder, perhaps in an attempt to anchor him to the world of the living, or maybe just to gain his wandering attention.
"I will. I promise."
"You will never be a blip in time for me, Ianto Jones."
Those words, filled with fierce resolve, would be the last he heard. Oblivious to his beloved Captain's pleading sobs and frantic hands, Ianto Jones slipped away.
I helped. I mattered. I was here.
There was a fleeting impression of sweet, familiar pressure on his lips, and then only dark.
I was Ianto Jones.
And with you, I was happy.
A/N: Oh man, that...that was tough. I haven't cried so much for a fictional character in forever. So there you have it. A fan's outpouring of grief. I hope it helped.
The ball's in your court, RTD.