Chapter Six
If man were immortal he could be perfectly sure of seeing the day when everything in which he had trusted should betray his trust, and, in short, of coming eventually to hopeless misery.
He would break down, at last, as every good fortune, as every dynasty, as every civilization does.
In place of this we have death.
~Charles Sanders Peirce
One hundred and sixty five years ago…
Jack was roused from a deep and dreamless sleep by a sound he hadn't heard in… in longer than his sleep addled brain cared to try calculating. Outside the bedroom window, the sky was still dark...
"Jack…?" queried one of his bedmates. He rolled over and eyed the Captain sleepily, a lazy smile drawing its way slowly across his soft features. "What's got you up Handsome?" his tone was an echo of the one Jack often used himself. Despite his own sleep deprivation, it would take little to coax the younger man into round… five? four? Six?
"Go back to sleep, it's nothing," Jack lied quickly. Easily.
Too easily.
He leant in and gave the other man a long languorous kiss before getting himself out of bed and into the bathroom as quickly as he could without arousing further suspicion.
The couple in the other room had no idea about… well, about much of anything, even though Jack had been occupying their bed for the better part of the last three months.
More than their bed. He'd become a part of their lives. They liked him. It was mutual. For the first time in a long time, he was involved in something that was more than just passing time… but maybe that's because they don't know who you are, he said silently to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. No one knew who he was any more.
He locked the bathroom door before flipping open his wrist strap. He turned on the faucet to further muffle the message that had just come through. There were very, very few people who could contact him through the vortex manipulator…
Fully aware that he was holding his breath, he hit the button and watched as a nearly life sized image of John Hart shot out of it.
"I know, I know, I'm the last person you expected to hear from in this god forsaken century. Gawd. And I thought the twenty first century was bad… my own fault really," his laugh was bitter. "I always was rubbish at history, should have remembered how dismal things got.
"So," the man who may or may not still be using the name John Hart went on, "I'm sure you're wondering what this is all about… oh and yes, I've still got your little box," he held it up as proof.
The box was exactly as Jack remembered it. It was about the size and shape as a shoe box, made of some sort of stone… it wasn't a mineral indigenous to Earth… In fact, it wasn't something either Jack or his fellow former Time Agent had ever seen before. Or at least Hart had claimed as much when he first brought the box to Jack's attention, some three hundred years ago… the twenty first century.
Cardiff…
Torchwood.
Jack closed his eyes a moment as faces long forgotten swam to the surface memory. He couldn't see them in detail any more, but they were still there. They would always be there.
Please let them always be there… he didn't want to forget any of them.
He recited their names, one by one, hanging onto every little detail that his brain allowed him to conjure up. It got harder and harder with each passing year…
Gwen… dark hair… sassy attitude…that lummox of a boyfriend… husband… Rhys… a good man, really… but still a bit of a lummox….
Tim… Abby... God, that music of hers… Plastic Death… what kind of a name was that for a band, anyway?
Sara, quiet… intense…
Mickey. He felt the flicker of a smile work its way across his lips. Mickey Mouse…
Toshiko Sato… Owen Harper.
He always saw them when he thought of his team, that team, even though they had been long dead before…
You finally went and got yourself a blond, I see, John smirked when he met Bobby Chase for the first time.
The Australian rolled his eyes. Jack couldn't remember what he'd said, but knew it had been good. Three centuries later, he could almost still hear the twang of the medic's accent… almost see his blue eyes...
Bobby had been the first of them to leave. Die. He should have known that no matter how hard he tried, the life of a Torchwood operative was short. He should never have…
No regrets, Jack… no regrets and no apologies… the Australian's voice echoed in his memory, the ghost of a man long dead. You showed me the Universe. I don't regret a single moment of that… of the life I've had here. Wendy...meeting her... falling in love... Look after her, will you…? I know Ianto will, but she looks up to you more than you realize…
Jack swallowed back the deep pang of hurt… loss…
Longing.
Ianto Jones.
His Welshman.
A quiet man with a wicked sense of humour who had stalked his way into his life and turned it upside down…
Chocolate chip cookies.
Orange jasmine tea.
Pineapples.
Grey blue eyes.
Beautiful Welsh vowels.
He made himself repeat the list of things he associated with the man he'd loved and buried so long ago, determined not to break his promise, determined to never forget that Ianto Jones had lived. That he loved me more than anything.
A stopwatch… a red UNIT cap.
Coffee.
… he looks good in a suit too… careful, that's harassment, Sir…
"Don't forget to empty the bins," he spoke aloud without meaning to, his fingers grasping onto the rings he still wore on a chain around his neck.
A rose garden.
A birth certificate.
Their wedding day…
He wiped the moisture from his cheeks and realized he was going to have to replay John's message.
Three centuries Ianto had been gone and he still missed him so much… but with each passing decade he forgot things… the sound of his voice… his laugh… his smile.
Jack could remember loving his smile, loving the way he looked at him when they were curled up in bed together enjoying a rare moment of quiet when they could sleep in… not that they usually got a whole lot of sleeping done… But he couldn't see the young Welshman's smile any more, no matter how hard he tried.
Would he really be able to keep his promise, he wondered… would he really be able to remember Ianto forever?
The thought of forgetting him made him ache deep inside… and yet if he forgot it wouldn't hurt… but if he forgot, what would he have to hang onto in the long cold nights ahead? What would he have to keep him warm…?
"Jack? Are you all right in there?" called a female voice from the bedroom.
Shit. How long had he been standing there silently crying? He had no idea. He turned off the faucet. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he lied.
There was a long pause on the other side of the door. "I'm going to put on some coffee and send Euwan out for a few things… do you want anything in particular for breakfast?"
"No… No, wait, pineapples…?" he asked. He was sure it was probably a little like cheating… a lot like cheating… but pineapples reminded him of Ianto and as sad as those memories made him, they made him happy too… it didn't make any sense, but there it was. He was officially screwed up and he knew it.
Oblivious to her lover's thoughts, Mari laughed; it was a beautiful sound… Jack was sure that in a century or two he wouldn't even remember her name. He wouldn't even try. "You and your pineapples. Ok. Just holler if you need anything, will you, Sweetie?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I will. Thanks." He listened carefully for the sound of Euwan and Mari's footsteps as they padded out of the bedroom…
Jack re-wound the message.
"….and yes, I've still got your little box."
He swallowed hard. The lump in his throat and the pit of his stomach didn't go away. Neither did the hurt. That box had been the source of a lot of pain for a lot of people. Ianto had been one of them… he'd looked into it...
Jack pushed back the memories before they overwhelmed him again. They'd gotten through it. Barely. Ianto had had nightmares for weeks… months… afterwards, even after John and that damned box vanished. In a way he was glad to be rid of it even though he knew deep down that he hadn't seen the last of John Hart. Or the box. He was just glad they hadn't reappeared in Ianto's lifetime.
The image of John was still talking at him.
"Now, before you decide to track me down," he continued, his voice drawling in a way Jack reckoned the other man thought others found charming, "let me assure you that you won't be able to. But don't worry, I'm about to tell you where I am, so it's not necessary. I wouldn't go through all the bother of tracking you down if I didn't honestly want to see you, Jack.
"When I looked into this thing," he laid his hand over the box. "When I looked into it… you were right. But it wasn't a mistake. I saw… I saw who I could be. Who I might have been if I'd made other choices… I didn't like what I saw… or maybe I liked it a little too much. Either way, that's why I borrowed it. I figure you're probably still pissed at me about that; you never were very good at sharing your toys. Just… try to trust me a little bit… yeah. Right. Ok. So I know that's not likely to happen." John sighed.
He went on: "At any rate, I'm on a ship called the Janus and Hestia and the reason you won't be able to track me is that I'm a very clever fellow," he smirked. "The Janus and Hestia's a research and exploration vessel. She left port seven years ago. That means that in about six days she'll be back. I'll see you at the Vargadoon Research station," he pronounced the name slowly and carefully.
"And Jack…I…" his tone faltered… softened. It rang with sincerity that was unusual… but not impossible to believe. "I do still love you. I always will. It's only been a couple of years for me… you know, when I recorded this… since the last time I saw you. I know it's been… what… three hundred years for you? And…look… I… I know… I imagine… I'm sorry I wasn't around… not that I would have been welcome or anything… but I know that unless you found some miracle cure for death or something that by now they're all gone – that team of yours – and I am sorry. I know they meant the world to you. That he meant the world to you. I'm sorry for that. For your loss. I honestly can't imagine… well… you know. I… just… I've got to go. See you in a week. Oh… before I forget… just let me state for the record that if I get one single comment from you about grey hair or going bald or fucking laugh lines and I'll shoot you dead. Twice! It's hardly my fault you get to spend forever looking as gorgeous as ever while the rest of us keep getting older. Take care of yourself, Jack. I'll see you soon."
Jack chuckled despite the tumult of conflicting emotions churning around inside him… John for all his faults wasn't really a bad guy… not unredeemably so… He was a thief. He'd vanished into time and space with the box. But he hadn't sold it… he still had it. That meant he understood something about it… maybe something that Jack hadn't understood because when he'd looked inside he had seen Nothing...
Darkness… the cold dark empty vacuum of space… not even a single star to illuminate his way through the dark… the memory of all that nothingness was enough to chill Jack to the very core of his being.
He shook it off and accessed the main computer system. A new chill came over him. Six months out of port, almost seven years ago by now, the Janus and Hestia had gone missing. She was presumed lost and everyone onboard dead…