Red is the colour of my eyes
Timeline: Set between CofE and Miracle Day
Warnings: Tincy wincy spoiler for Miracle Day but probably unnoticeable, particularly not an issue if you've been reading the promotional stuff and interviews. It also contains a massive spoiler for CofE but surely everyone has seen that! This fic contains mentions of death, in its many forms and touches on religion, I won't go into detail, but if you are a sensitive soul perhaps it's best not to read.
Inspired by Xrai's fic, "Waiting for a Train" and by Being Human. Thank you Xrai.
I'm in a waiting room, a hospital? Jobcentre? I'm not sure. The walls are pale green and there are rows of orange bucket seats with people in them. No one is talking.
I don't know where I am, I don't know why I'm here. It feels familiar, but I don't remember. But that doesn't really matter, because the real problem, when I think about it, is I don't even know my own name.
A woman comes up to me, she's wearing a tight fitted white dress and a white peaked cap. "Here," she says handing me a white plastic square, the number 3075 printed on it in large black numerals. "Sit." She points to the chair behind me and turns to go.
"Wait, what?" I call and she turns back.
"You're dead," she says and pushes me back into the chair.
My head is spinning so I close my eyes. And all I see is red.
"Hello Jack."
There is a man sat next to me. My height, young, mid to late twenties, dark hair, blue eyes, pale skin. He looks familiar too.
"Do I know you?" I ask.
"You used to," he says, "A long time ago." His voice is like a song.
Jack preferred a Webley Revolver. He thought he'd picked up his first in the Boer War, or perhaps the First World War, it was hard to remember. But he'd had one for so long, and the one thing about growing old, or not growing old as the case may be, was that habits become hard to break.
It was a good gun for its time, one of the most powerful top-break revolvers ever produced. But it was still laughable compared to the weapons he'd used at the time agency, even the weapons Torchwood had. But he liked it. He knew it. It did what he wanted at the times when it mattered most.
So it was a Webley he'd taken with him when he left.
But it wasn't much use now, Jack flicked open the cylinder and slipped in the last bullet. Over thirty light years to get another, this one was going to have to count. Jack raised the gun and aimed.
"Two thousand, one hundred and forty eight." a disembodied voice intones. I look at my number again, it's going to be a long wait. I turn back to the man beside me.
"I've missed you," I say even though I can't remember his name. I know I've missed him, it shudders through me like broken glass. "I've missed you.." and I follow him as he mouths the words, "Jones, Ianto Jones."
"I've missed you too," he says looking down at the floor, "It's been a while since you've come... that's good."
"I've been here before?" I feel like I've been here before.
"You never remember," he says. He picks up my hand but he's still looking at the floor. I see his long eyelashes flutter on his cheek. "You told me once Jack. You told me there was nothing, only darkness. I don't know why you told me. I didn't believe you, I couldn't believe you. All those times you died, all those times, and I still couldn't believe you. Because then what's the point of it Jack? If there's nothing? Why fight? You said, life is all. But what about when life is over?"
Jack holds the gun in position, ready. A tremble ripples down his right arm and the muzzle shakes slightly. Jack curses and raises his left hand to hold it steady. One bullet, he has to get this right. But something has shifted, something has changed, sweat drips off his forehead. One bullet he thinks over and over again. Like a mantra.
"Then what's this?" I ask pointing at the room, at the silent people waiting with numbers.
"Just the end, or perhaps the start. They're just waiting." Ianto looks up at me, blue eyes fixed, "Jack, there's something I need to tell you before you go, you won't be back for a while."
"I can always come back," I say. It's not that hard.
"No Jack, not anymore. You need to listen, you need to remember, because soon Jack, soon - everything changes. Life is all for you Jack, life is everything. You've got to hold it close to you. Protect it."
"But I want to be here with you." I reach up and rub my thumb across his chin, skin remembering skin.
"No, go home Jack. We're all still here for you, we always will be, we're just... waiting."
I try keep my eyes fixed on his, take the blue into me, but I feel him pulling from me, "Ianto," I call but my eyes close. And all I see is red.
Jack's finger is on the Webley's trigger, the cold hard metal of the muzzle is pressed into his chin. One last bullet, he thinks and then it will all be over, one last bullet. "Ianto," he whispers and then pulls the trigger. The last bullet travels up, up through his mouth, up through his eyes, out the top of his head and up towards the distant glow of an abandoned sun. And all he sees is red.