Chapter Four: Starved Lips in the Gloam

I don't like to be alone. There has to be somebody else, even if it's someone who hates my guts.

John, trapped with me time loop. The Doctor and Rose chancing upon me, changing me for the better in the TARDIS. Ianto, the team and Torchwood.

This is me going full circle now. I only need Gray to come and kick me up the ass and I'll feel complete.

For a given value of complete, anyway.

***

"What is it with you and roofs?"

John leant against the chimney, picking at his teeth. I ignored him.

"I mean it was only after... you know, that you started doing it."

I was ignoring him, I was ignoring him...

"Jack, stay away from the edge would you? I didn't quite manage to secure all the guttering and—"

I just about heard John's faint "Bollocks, not again" as I plummeted to the ground.

***

He needs to see that I'm serious. That's why I can't be there. I can't stay with him in the darkness.

Maybe I'll watch from a distance: just to be sure.

***

Empty.

I was alone again with my death.

"Ianto?" I called with my non-mouth, hearing the not-echo in the endless space, knowing he wouldn't reply. "Ianto, please. Not like this."

Life dragged at my limbs, pulling me back and scorching me with the intensity of it all. I gasped, my throat hoarse as the flesh knitted itself together again. John glared down at me in a strange way.

I flexed my fingers gingerly, feeling the soft leather of the sofa underneath. That meant I was inside and indoors – John must have moved me. Maybe the neighbours would have taken fright at the sight of a mottled, broken body lying across the lawn...

Then I remembered that there weren't any neighbours.

Oh, John. Under all your anger and machismo, you still care.

"He— he's gone," I told his glaring eyes. "Ianto isn't there."

"Good! I'm fed up of bloodstains, do you have any idea how much money it cost to buy this furniture?"

I gave John about as level a stare as I could manage sprawled across the sofa.

"Do you have idea how energy it took to steal this furniture?"

I snorted. "Better."

"Jack, I don't think you should try again." He came to sit beside me, rearranging my stiff and uncooperative limbs so that there was space. "It isn't right," John continued. "You're only hurting yourself."

My brows furrowed. His words were almost a mirror of Ianto's, back in the dark space. Turning my head away from John's painfully compassionate expression, my eyes caught a flash reflected in the 3D television screen.

Ianto's mournful twist of lip was no better than John's. I shuddered.

"John, I'm going crazy."

At my words, Ianto gave a small, sad smile.

"Going?"

"Ha. Ha."

***

You know, it's one thing to hear voices...

Be safe, Jack. Love you. Goodbye.

... it's another entirely to try and shout back.

Yet still I do. In my dreams and nightmares, I can't help but cry out for him. Am I being haunted, or am I haunting myself?

***

I walked into the living room a few days later only to stop and stare. "John?"

"Uh, yeah?" came a muffled voice.

I blinked. "What's going on?"

"Packing." He grunted, trying to squash his suitcase down. There's a point, I thought to myself, since when did John become a suitcase man?

"Can I ask why?"

He met my eyes then, a lidded stormy grey staring out with an intensity that caught me off guard. "We're going away, Jack."

News to me. "We are?"

"Yep." John stood up to kick the suitcase, admitting defeat. "Nice little vacation. Do us all some good."

"Isn't this like your vacation?" I asked. "The domesticity, the normality, the gingham?"

He laughed at me. "Come on, Jack. We need an adventure."

"Oh really?"

"Yes." John stared me down. I resisted the urge to back away. "Really." Walking over to where I stood, bewildered in the doorway, he said, "Cooped up was never good for us, Jack. It did damage, and you know it. We need to be out there!" John pointed to the badly plastered ceiling. "We need to be hitting the stars!"

I ignored the fact that his spiel seemed to be working, replying instead with what I hoped was an uninterested "How long are you planning this little vay-cay for?"

"Until we can find a star that'll hit back! Come on, Jackie. You know you're itching to be out there, you know you want to taste it, you know you want to live it again."

I hate him. I hate him. Sweet merciful heavens, how did I ever last five years the the man?!

"It'll bring some meaning back, Jack. You could do with more of that."

Yeah, so I caved. "Let me go pack."

He seemed shocked. "What?"

"Didn't expect me to say yes?" I asked lightly.

John grinned. "Well, there was always a chance: it just seemed like a slim one at the time."

Surprising myself, I patted him on the shoulder and went off to pack up my things. I hadn't amassed all that much since John found me drowning my sorrows, and now even the Coat Ianto had loved so much was gone.

I packed the pinnacle of my meagre existence into a depressingly small satchel and then John and I left the safe haven I'd found in the tiny two-up, two-down house. Yet again I was exchanging comfort and security for danger and intrigue.

And I think I secretly hoped I could leave Ianto behind, too.

***

I'm like a lovesick puppy. It's kind of pathetic the way I follow after him like a lovesick puppy. I think I'd follow Jack to the ends of the Earth, and I have the horrible feeling that's exactly what will happen.

It isn't much fun in the dark space. I watch Jack interact with the world and get my kicks, never mind the hurt my non-presence inflicts on him. I'm trying to outlive my death through him and I don't even have the words to be sorry and actually mean it.

I can't seem to let go.

***

The cabin of the freighter was small and cramped. I couldn't help complaining. "Hit the stars, he said. Glitter of the galaxy, he said. What do I end up with? A foot in my ear."

"We could face the other way," said John, his voice drifting from somewhere around my ankles, "if you like."

He laughed at me when I shuddered.

"Am I that repulsive?"

I bent my head to see his expression. The wry smile plastered there made me say, "On occasions." When the smile turned into a grin I felt one of my own appearing in response.

"So, Jack," said John. "Enclosed space, trapped for weeks on end... Just like old times."

"Oh yeah," I said, not bothering to stifle my sarcasm. "I'm really getting that reminiscing vibe—hey!"

"Sorry."

I sniffed, saying, "I feel violated."

"Already? I didn't press that hard."

"Put a sock in it, John."

"Well, if you're asking..."

We scuffled for about half an hour. It was surprisingly innocent, by John's standards.

***

I don't want to admit it, but I'm having fun. I mean, you can't spend five years with a person and not make an impression. And that goes both ways.

Somewhere in my twisted mind, body and soul, John Hart has his place.

I just don't want to let that place become Ianto.

I don't want to replace him. Not yet.

***

A familiar tune snapped out of my reverie. I stared at John with some horror before coughing quite meaningfully. He gave me a confused look and said, "What?"

"Just..." I searched for the right sentiment. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"It's not our song."

"It could be our song!"

"Not while I live and breathe."

"Fine. Let me get my gun out, we'll see what's our song then!"

***

I want to be there. I want to be the one so close to him that there is no choice but to mingle limb, breath and body.

I want that contact so hard it hurts.

The pain gains a sort of physicality and suddenly I am there and he can see me and feel me and we're together and the pain keens in my non-chest but it's worth it because he's there and I'm there and we're us again.

It's worth it.

Author note: All getting a bit trippy, isn't it? Cookie if you know the song and, as ever, reviews are love!