It's ironic, painfully ironic.
The thing about immortality is how fast everything goes, how short life is when you live forever.
My life will go on, of course. There's nothing I can do about that. Even when I'd give anything to die, my life will go on. The hard part is, and I really don't want to quasi quote Celine Dion here, but the hard thing is the heart going on. The hard part is me going on, as anything but a drunken shell. Drunken, because it helps, it really does, and at the same time it's the worst thing I can do.
I've lived more my share of life, and known more than my share of loss even then. No one lives very long at Torchwood, and those who join up know it damn well. Ianto knew it better than most; he had seen things go as wrong as they possible could go.
There were only a handful of survivors of the Canary Warf incident, less if didn't count the ones who went insane or committed suicide later. It was love that kept Ianto going, I'm sure. He loved Lisa with everything he had, and probably the most loyal man anyone could have. What he did was stupid beyond belief, and I was tempted to shoot him then and there, but I can't say I didn't understand. That's probably why I let him come back and didn't retcon him so far into last year that he forgot Torchwood entirely.
That, and wouldn't be fair to make him forget Lisa.
So I stood by him, and helped with mourning process. It was something I understood all too well. I'd lost my whole team, more than once. I'd watched lovers die and wives grow old while I stayed the same. I have forever, and nothing lasts. At least I've learned, enough to help Ianto then.
But apparently not enough to help myself now, dealing with losing him. The worst part is missing all the things we never had. We were just starting out, and there was so much more, more to do, and more to say.
I should have said I love you. Except, that would have been saying good bye, and I couldn't accept it. Not then, it was too sudden, and too soon. I couldn't let that be good bye, and there was nothing I could do. He died in my arms, and it was my fault.
My arrogance.
I've lived so long, trying to be a hero. Trying to be like the Doctor and failing, because I'm a better shot and not nearly as smart. If the Doctor had pulled what I did, well, maybe he'd have frightened the bastards off, because he's done a hell of a lot more than me. If not, he'd have thought of something, saved the day.
Immortal or not, at the end of the day, I'm human and so very flawed.
As evidenced by the fact I'm sitting in this bar as the far side of the universe drinking. I'm not drinking to forget. I will never forget Ianto Jones, not in a thousand years. It's a promise and a fact. Every detail I'll remember, his smile, that voice, his snarky sense of humor, and the way that he smelled when I held him close. The way he'd look at me sometimes with everything in his heart written all over his face.
I wish I could have died with him, but there was a job to do, and I did it. I hope he'd be happy, I avenged him, not that it means much. Nothing will bring him back. But, I killed those bastards, at the price of an innocent, or two loved ones. My daughter's as lost to me now as the grandson I killed.
It had to be done. Sometimes, the only way is through sacrifice.
But after the sacrifices have been made, where do you go from there. After losing everything, a lifetime over, because my life with Torchwood is over, what do you do? I've seen a lot of things, unbelievable things, but I don't think any guardian angel's going to show me the way. I'll have to figure it out on my own.
The bartender slips me a note, bringing me out of my thoughts. It's really quite a feat considering I've been able to pretty much block out the world, despite how crowded this place is.
"From the man over there," the bartender says motioning. There, across the room is the Doctor.
I'm shocked, of course, but glad to see him. I love the Doctor. As much as I hate what happened to me, I understand now it isn't anything he did. Besides, despite everything, if it was a choice between never meeting the Doctor and sparing myself all this grief, I wouldn't change a thing. Because of him, I became a better man.
I look down at the note, hopeful now. Maybe it's some new mission. Something to give me purpose now, and that's exactly what I need.
His name is Alonso, the note reads. The name underlined for emphasis. I have no idea what that means, or why the Doctor gave me that note. I look at the Doctor, and he gestures to the place beside me.
A man has sat down. I never would have noticed him. I was too busy thinking, brooding over guilt and grief. I look at the Doctor, and what he wants me to do is clear. I smile, and I think it's the first time in months.
So this is what I have to do.
I turn to him. Alonso is young, and pretty. Nice face and nice eyes. My pick up is cheesy, but it works. It always has for me, a few words and a smile.
It's nothing like it was with Ianto. That was instant chemistry, the kind of stuff songs are written about. This, it's a pick up, but it's something. This is living.
When you have to live forever, living is the only thing you can do.
The Doctor's gone, I don't have to even look up, but he's saved me. I think he knows he has, just like he somehow knew where to find me. Somehow, I know, I probably won't see him again, not for a while at least, and not like he is now. Oh well, he's not the first version I fell in love with. Things change, things are lost, and the song ends, but I've had a few dances that I'll never forget and my story isn't over. I'll go on living, one step at a time.
And the first step is stepping out with this young sailor, allons y.