Entry Wounds

Alternative title: The End Is Where We Stop

As another antidote to the enormous fluffiness of Jones and Harkness, I bring you heartache and nostalgia. The idea of Ianto recording his own farewell message came to me early this morning, and it's probably already been done, but I wanted to give it a go anyway.

It's set right at the end of Children of Earth, after Jack has left and Gwen is alone with the old Torchwood equipment. Warnings for general sadness and a subtle mention of suicide. As always, I'd love to hear what you think.

Note: Green & Black's is posh organic chocolate that's heavy on the cocoa, for anybody who doesn't understand the reference.

EDIT: Thank you to riftintime for pointing out that I had the CoE timeline wrong. I was using the broadcast dates but I've since been informed that a newspaper shown in the programme stated it to be set in September '09, not July. Sorry about that.

This feels far too familiar.

A sorrowful sigh escaped her lips, the light tap of computer keys seeming loud as a scream while a hauntingly familiar face glowed amidst darkness before her. Six months had passed and tonight, Jack Harkness left Earth for what could well be the final time. She told herself repeatedly not to think that way, but the look in his eyes... he had been utterly destroyed, his soul torn apart. "The whole world is like a graveyard" he'd murmured, that broad frame threatening to buckle under the weight of his guilt.

Gwen closed her eyes, fighting back fresh tears. It was goodbye; it had to be. Jack might not stay dead physically, but he was a shell of himself. Six months of wandering hadn't soothed his pain at all. In fact, knowing how the man could brood, it had probably caused all of that self-blame to merely bury itself deeper into his mind and swell like a tumour, poisoning his every thought.

She had waited, hoping Jack might help her with what remained of the Torchwood database, Rhiannon's laptop having sat untouched beneath her sofa for half a year. She didn't know what to do with that volume of information, that incredibly powerful weapon, and she'd held back for months only to have it confirmed by Jack's escape that Torchwood no longer existed. With her leader and friend gone, it felt time to log on to the system one last time.

The computer had started up without a hitch as if no time at all had passed and all was well, the Windows start-up tune shimmering with a cheerfulness that made her scowl. Then the hastily-installed Torchwood system booted itself, filling the screen with deep blues and intricate codes she wouldn't ever forget. She didn't know what she was looking for, but scrolling through page after page of the most recent data was a bittersweet comfort.

After several minutes of aimless roaming an unpleasant idea had struck Gwen hard, a reminder of a job that had been pushed aside amidst the mourning... and so it was that she found herself staring at the personnel file of Ianto Jones. God, he was barely even twenty-six she thought not for the first time, glancing at the well-known birthday. Reluctantly tapping in the hidden short-cut that Tosh had once taught her, a new box appeared beneath date of birth, grimly entitled date of death. Her fingers slowed on the number pad as if moving through water as she typed ina date she didn't have to look up on the calendar to remember, inhaling deeply through her nose before pressing Enter and leaning back in her seat.

The image began to fade, including the small photograph of Ianto's youthful face, and another box filled the screen: Final logout procedure – IANTO JONES – Are you sure you wish to continue?

"Course I'm bloody not" she mumbled, her throat tightening against a wave of renewed grief. But then she was clicking Yes before she lost her nerve, and Ianto's profile was pulled back through the ether, his existence stored away to somewhere almost impenetrable as if he had never been there at all.

As if he hadn't touched anybody's lives.

As if he hadn't saved the Earth more times than ordinary people had hot dinners.

The act of closing that one crucial file seemed too mundane. Gwen had felt it too after Tosh and Owen, as if the removal of their personal information should prompt the computer to say sorry for your loss and offer a tissue from the memory card slot. However, there was no ceremony for them and there would be none for Ianto. That was that.

Just as she closed her sore, moisture-filled eyes once more, a tinny sound startled her and her gaze was drawn directly back to the laptop screen. A video had opened itself but all she could see was folds of dark grey swaying slightly, then her breath caught as the image moved and an achingly familiar young man settled in front of the camera, straightening the waistcoat of his charcoal three-piece.

"Ianto" Gwen whispered, tears falling freely as she was faced with a small apologetic smile.

"Sorry, microphone wasn't plugged in properly" he explained in a deep rumble, shifting a little more until he was perfectly framed by the lens. He was wearing that baby pink shirt, the one Owen had half-heartedly mocked him for the first time he wore it, but the insult lacked venom because it was blatantly obvious how well the colour suited him. It made his sky-blue eyes sparkle and they sparkled now on the screen, full of a life which had been so swiftly taken.

She scanned the screen for a date stamp but there was none, the time of recording impossible to gauge. But it had been filmed in that little room to the side of the tourist centre, she could tell, despite the fact that it was very much Ianto's area and his colleagues rarely wandered in. Particularly once his relationship with Jack became apparent. Who knew what went on behind the beaded curtain...

"This is my seventh draft, you know" the young man said, one corner of his mouth curling upwards. "I kept having to change the message due to circumstance. First one was recorded before Lisa... it required a bit of alteration."

His words held an edge of the dry wit which came so naturally to him, but his expression was doleful just for a moment before he continued.

"I wasn't surprised to see that Tosh had done one of these... like her, I hope I died doing something heroic, not becoming buried under a hundred years' worth of alien artefacts in the archives, or being mistaken by Myfanwy for a six foot bar of Green & Black's."

Gwen almost giggled. But Myfanwy... what had happened to her when The Hub was destroyed? With any luck, she'd been out terrorising the locals at the time. She had the instinct to find a safe new home on her own. However, Janet – oh, Janet...

Ianto was smiling at Gwen through the screen – through time – and she wished she felt able to laugh at his sombre jokes.

"Gwen, listen to me" Ianto's image suddenly said, tilting his head downwards and immediately becoming sincere in a silent demand for attention. She leaned forward slightly in her seat, feeling an almost unbearable tension spread through her chest in reaction to being directly addressed by her deceased friend.

"Assuming you're still in one piece... just keep surviving, alright? Look after Rhys, and keep going, whatever happens to Torchwood. Maybe you'll be the one who breaks the cycle. You're bloody stubborn, and Welsh to boot. Make our people proud" he said, his smile returning and she couldn't help but chuckle then, sniffing against the hot tears which refused to end.

"Maybe I wasn't stubborn enough, or maybe I was too stubborn... it's strange, sitting here and knowing that by the time you see this, I'll be gone. I wonder how it happened" Ianto murmured, his accent seeming to thicken as his brows drew together. "The truth is, despite it all, I love working for Torchwood Three. At least, I tell myself I do... it's easier than admitting I'm so detached from reality that I couldn't even begin to fit in anywhere else. I barely fit in here" he said with a self-deprecating smirk, glancing about the surrounding space before his eyes settled back on the camera lens, that stare unerringly intense.

"You can try to be irreplaceable... but everybody gets replaced at Torchwood eventually. Just... please, whoever takes over from me, make sure they're trained in using a coffee machine before they touch mine."

Another choked sob rang out, Gwen's hands coming up to fan at her face. When Ianto paused and looked as if he wasn't going to continue, she stopped moving and stared unblinkingly back, watching as without words and with hardly any movement, he slowly seemed at once nervous and relaxed, the kind of posture one adopts when faced with somebody they fancy.

"Jack" he said in that deep, rich voice, and it all made sense. "No matter how hideously ironic this sounds... you're my safe place. You gave me meaning again. And I don't know if you want to hear this, but I do love you. Who knows, maybe I've dredged up the balls to say it to your face by the time you see this... maybe you even said it back" his gaze dropped to his hands on the desk in front of him, knotting and unknotting his fingers before he raised his eyes once more.

"I'm sure your ego enjoyed it, either way" he remarked, his soft smile becoming tight and slightly strained. "I wasn't meant to fall for you, Jack."

His voice was little more than a whisper now, the tone defeatist as if he'd tried and failed to fight it for a long time. Gwen couldn't blame him; Jack was easy to love, but he was fire and ice, destined to burn whoever came close. But Ianto had gotten close, closer than most; of that she was certain. There was a quiet trust between them, like a secret society of only two members, still tangible even in those final days where their relationship seemed so tense. It was there when the two of them stormed off to Thames House, looking and feeling like true crime-fighting partners with guns and mutual support at the ready... and it was there, though severed, the first time Jack leaned over Ianto's cooling corpse.

"Anyway" that melodic voice announced, stronger and lighter and reminding Gwen of just how disturbingly easily Ianto had always been able to switch between emotions, "I suppose all that's left is to say goodbye. If it was death by Torchwood – which seems more than likely – Jack? Please don't torture yourself over me. Like Tosh said, it... it really is okay." Ianto sighed, his smile widening in confirmation that he was completely at ease with the concept of death. Of all of them, Ianto truly deserved peace.

"I'm not idealistic enough to think that I'll somehow see either of you again, or anybody else we've lost, but if by some stretch of the imagination an afterlife does exist... Jack, it might take you a while, but if forever ever ends... I'll meet you there."

His smile, surprisingly, turned shy, the angles of his high cheekbones softening in a way that highlighted the memory of just how captivatingly handsome he had been.

"Gwen, you too. Maybe even the Welsh go to heaven."

She huffed out a giggle, watching as Ianto mumbled a final awkward "bye" and reached up to cut off the camera. For a jarring moment she thought she heard the muffled tones of Jack's voice in the background, sounding so jolly and carefree that it was like a different man... then it was gone, and Ianto's well-cut jacket was blocking the camera again. Remembering in those last seconds the way Tosh's message had disappeared after playing, Gwen worked quickly to utilise her slightly rusted skills and save a copy to the desktop.

Then she leaned back again and scrubbed her eyes, feeling somehow lighter for having a piece of Ianto's life saved and protected. She had no mementoes, no photographs of him, and if Jack had ever owned any, they were undoubtedly destroyed with The Hub alongside any other sentimental pieces he might have collected during his long life. Jack... Jack should see the video. Jack should hear his lover's goodbye.

Tucking her hair behind her ears and sitting up straight in a valiant attempt to collect herself, Gwen opened up her long-unused Torchwood messaging system and attached the video to a blank box, choosing the correct contact and hovering over the Send button. The Vortex Manipulator had always picked up inter-Torchwood messages before, and she had to hold hope that it still could no matter where Jack had run to, or how the device might have been affected by the blast. Jack might not thank her for reminding him of his most recent losses, but it would wound him deeply if he ever found out that she'd kept something so important from him. And even if she never saw him again... she would sleep easier, knowing he'd had the chance to see Ianto once more.

Your message has been received the screen told her, and Gwen chose to believe it was so. She then forwarded the video to her personal e-mail account and shut down the laptop, realising she hadn't really come much further in tying up the enormous loose ends of her former professional life. However, she felt an elusive sense of serenity soothe the edges of her anxieties, as if Ianto's simple, honest, surprisingly intimate message had posthumously calmed the trauma surrounding his death.

Gwen stroked the globe of her pregnant belly and felt the life within wriggle beneath her hands; a reminder when she needed it most that life goes on. Life is all.

Several hours later, on a blustery rooftop in a city he didn't know within a planet he'd never heard of, Jack Harkness closed the device that adorned his wrist and blinked hard against the twin onslaughts of the bright blue hologram and hot, bitter tears.

"Please don't torture yourself over me", the image had asked, those rich Welsh vowels agony in themselves.

"You know I can't make that promise, Ianto Jones" Jack whispered aloud, and when the wind caught his coat, he simply let himself fall.