Title: Some Were Born to Sing the Blues
Summary: Jack tries not to say goodbye. Not COE compliant.
Rating: T
Warnings: language and boy-kissing, but if that offends you, you've picked the wrong fandom. And angsty-angst.
Characters/Pairings: Jack, Ianto; Jack/Ianto
Genre: Slash, AU, angst
Length: ~1130 words
Author's notes: My opinion on COE changes with my mood, but quite frankly, it seems to me like the ending really screwed the pooch. And not the way John wanted to. I wouldn't have minded Ianto dying if he'd done so in a way that was... at all significant. And the serial still could have been saved, in my opinion, if Jack hadn't run away like he did. Because the Doctor made him not a coward. Anyway, this is me bitching.
Title is from the Journey song "Don't Stop Believin'". Not a songfic, don't worry. I just thought it was appropriate.
"Gwen says you're leaving."
Jack turns and manages to hold back a simultaneous groan of despair and sigh of relief. She hadn't been lying, after all. There stands Ianto, obviously alive and even ambulatory.
"I am," he replies. He tries not to inspect, but the hollows of Ianto's cheeks and eyes are too deep and he's even more drawn in on himself than ever. His eyes are strangely bright—Jack's not sure if he's high, about to cry, or both—and his expression reminds Jack of a beaten dog.
"So, what, you were just gonna go without saying goodbye? Again?"
Jack doesn't wince, but it's a close call. "I didn't want you to try to talk me out of it. I left a note." Ianto doesn't say anything. "I'm sorry; I can't stay here." Here, the planet Earth itself, it reminds him of Steven, and of Tosh and Owen and Estelle and everyone he ever loved and lost. He can't keep on going here, it just hurts too much. And for all his talents—'talents'—he's only human. He feels; he hurts; he bleeds.
"You could've at least stopped by," Ianto says, taking a few steps closer. Jack can see a scar on his cheek, remembers the wound that caused it and wants to touch it, but he doesn't. "I didn't expect you to be a coward, Jack."
"You have not fucking idea," Jack growls, surprising the both of them. "Don't you judge me."
"All I know is that running away from your problems doesn't work—"
"It won't work," he said. "I've been exposed."
"We can still try," Jack said. He wouldn't cry. He would not cry. "Come on."
He half dragged, half carried Ianto down the hall. The closet was open and missing a hazmat suit already. Jack pulled another out and put Ianto into it, holding the helmet for last.
"If it's in the air—" Ianto started. Jack put his mouth over Ianto's and breathed.
"Pocket knife," he demanded as he pulled back and shoved the helmet onto Ianto's head. Ianto blinked and the arm of the suit went limp. He pushed it out at the wrist.
"Why do you—" Jack cut his palm open.
"I have the antibodies already," he said. "Give me your hand."
"Let me see your hand."
If Ianto's surprised, he doesn't show it. He holds his hand out, palm up. There's a scar there, a physical one to go with the mental ones.
"Thanks for that, by the way," he says, not sounding at all sarcastic.
"Gwen said you were in a coma for two months."
"It's better than being dead," Ianto points out.
They stand there a while, at the top of a hill just outside Cardiff that Jack knows he ought to know the name of, but he never bothered to learn it.
"You don't need to go," Ianto says. Gwen had said the same thing when Jack said goodbye to her. "We can help you."
"Nothing can help me."
"Including swanning off into space." Jack can't look at Ianto anymore, focuses instead on a point just over his head. "Getting away from the source won't help you, Jack, it'll make things worse. If you just let it fester and ferment in your head, it won't help you. It'll only hurt you, and you know it."
He wasn't there while Ianto was in the coma. He can see the events Gwen described to him in his mind's eye very clearly, though.
Coppers guarding the room, making sure no one could get in or out.
Gwen spending all the time she could with him, begging him to wake up.
Ianto finally opening his eyes, the rehab he hated.
The nightmares and screaming for him, for Jack, and he wasn't there. She couldn't help.
"He misses you," she said. "I miss you. Please don't go."
But he can't stay.
"I'll help you."
"You can't," Jack tells him. He turns and then he feels a hand on his arm.
"What if it doesn't work?" Ianto asked, pulling the glove back on and ignoring his bleeding hand. Jack's had already healed.
"It will," he replied, trying to convey confidence he didn't feel.
Ianto swayed and Jack decided they should probably sit. He helped Ianto to the floor and held him close, trying to offer some modicum of comfort.
"Tired," Ianto mumbled.
"Stay awake," Jack instructed. No, no, no.
"Jus' a little nap…"
"Ianto, no. Don't sleep. You—I need you to stay awake for me."
"L'try, sir," Ianto murmured. "Need t'tell ya—"
"Don't."
"Love you." Jack could feel the other man's breathing, slow and shallow.
"You shouldn't."
Ianto choked a laugh. Jack knew both of them were crying, by now. "It's a little late for that warning, don't ya think?"
Jack put his chin on the top of Ianto's helmet and wished he could kiss the man in his arms one more time.
"You don't know that," Ianto says. "Please just try."
Jack isn't looking at him, but he can imagine the look on his face. Drawn brows, miserable frown, maybe crying but probably not.
"What d'you want me to tell you about, Ianto, huh? How I killed my grandson? How my daughter hates me? How I almost got you and Gwen killed? Or how about the fact that it was my fault that Tosh and Owen died?"
Ianto lets him scream, lets him let his fury out then says quietly, "That's exactly what I want you to tell me about. It'll help Jack. Unless you don't want to be helped."
"And psychoanalyzing me is going to make me want that?"
"Jack I—we—me and Gwen, we l-love you, OK? We want you around. We need you."
"Nobody needs me."
"Yeah, we do." If he turns, he'll see, and he doesn't want to know what Ianto's face looks like. He's come up with his own version and he's scared the real version is worse. "I needed you after Lisa. I needed you in Thames House. Gwen needed you to tell her about all of this—the aliens, after Tosh and Owen. Let us help you."
"Ianto, just don't. I'm not worth it."
"Yes, you are."
Jack turns, opens his mouth to deny it, to say something, but he can't make the words come out. Ianto doesn't speak either, just puts his arms around Jack's neck and holds on for all he's worth.
"It's OK," he murmurs.
Jack doesn't know why, but he starts to bawl, and there they stand, on top of a hill, Jack sobbing into the hood of Ianto's sweatshirt, Ianto's one fist clenching the greatcoat tightly, the other hand petting Jack's hair.
"It's OK," he repeats, louder, a little more strongly.
And maybe it will be.