(Originally posted 21/07/13)
A/N I don't even know where to begin. Just brace yourselves.
-OOO-
It was cold in there.
Jack wrapped his greatcoat around his shoulders and thought of Ianto's warm arms.
It was dark too. Darker than Jack had expected.
He seemed to be at the crossroads of Ianto's soul. Many many routes veered off in all directions, from the spot where he was standing. He was puzzled as to what he was actually standing on, it looked like yellow brick.
Strange.
Jack knew that making the right choice, choosing the right path now was vital, even at this early stage of the proceedings.
He needed guidance.
He looked for Ianto, for some sign of his presence. He needed to taste his essence.
He turned himself into a lighthouse to search for Ianto's aura. He hated to do this. It always caused him pain. His bones melted while his new shape took form. His eyes widened and lengthened and started to revolve. Jack had to think non-migraine thoughts.
All seemed bleak, at first. Jack's search beam was revealing nothing. The low hanging fog was shielding the truth from Jack. Thick, dense, ominous clouds surrounded him. They buffeted him from every side, almost as though they were trying to push him away; as though they were trying to envelope him completely into nothingness. To remove him from this bitter landscape.
Then he thought he felt something.
He sensed rather than saw Ianto.
He wasn't close but he was in here - somewhere.
That was a good sign.
That was a very good sign.
His quest was about to begin.
-O-
Jack had to change back into his original packaging, in order to move. He tried to keep the sound of bones slotting back into place, out of his head.
He placed an eye bath on his personal wish list.
With slightly shaky legs, he made a start. Ianto's heat drew him on.
He turned right. All things right, were right.
Even though he had no evidence to the contrary, Jack felt it prudent to move at a pace. His feet confidently carried him forwards, almost as though they knew the way. His heels clicked loudly against their new brick friends. Each step heralding his approach, piercing the dead-calm with his intent.
After what seemed like miles, Jack Harkness happened across a door.
Correction, a drawbridge.
The huge monolithic structure stood alone.
Completely alone.
There did not appear to be a castle attached to it. Even so, Jack was unable to just walk around it. He tried; but however many steps he'd take to the right or left, the portal seemed to always be directly in front of him.
Strange.
Again, as if he had prior knowledge, the notion of a secret password came to Jack's mind. Not accustomed to thinking along these lines, Jack remembered what Rhiannon had told him.
"I'd often run past him hidden away in the smallest nook of the house, reading Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys."
The memory brought a smile to Jack's lips, what would Nancy Drew do? He pondered. The female sleuth would use brains not brawn, that's for sure.
Detection 101: What can I see? An obstruction. Can I get around it? No. Over it? No. Under it? No.
Can I appease it in any way? Make friends with it? Flatter it maybe? Possibly.
Jack recalled a refrain from an old Sunday school song.
"….. so high, you can't get over it. So low, you can't get under it. So wide, you can't get 'round it.
Oh wonderful love."
He hummed it initially, the drawbridge wobbled. He sang it again, tentatively. The bridge lowered a little bit. He raised his voice and sang with gusto. The gangway completed its maiden voyage. Jack entered at speed, who knew how long his good fortune would last?
Jack had a feeling this would not be the last time he would be tested today.
He was right.
-O-
Jack found himself inside a large interior.
A great hall.
The high vaulted ceiling reminded him of previous school trips to modern art galleries. The Sistine Chapel sprang to mind, viewing that on its opening day had taken his breath away.
As he continued to walk with purpose, he heard a faint rhythmic sound.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Jack knew when to take a hint.
He climbed the stairs to the interior's interior.
He found his own gallery.
Inside the slightly smaller sanctum, Jack discovered a shy exhibition. This hall's walls were decorated with huge hanging picture-frames. All of which were curiously facing the wall.
Why?
Jack approached the first frame on his left with some trepidation. It took some effort to turn it. It was dusty. Jack choked, he felt like he was dining on dormant debris. Clearly no-one had looked at these paintings in a long while. Once turned, it took Jack's eyes a few moments to acclimatise to the brushstrokes below. The paint used was bright. Radiant. Mostly yellow shades. The frame itself began to heat up beneath Jack's fingertips. Abruptly he let go, allowing it to bump back against the wall. This jostled the contents.
The recently revealed picture began to move.
Jack took a step back.
Before his eyes was a happy scene, bathed in sunlight. A young boy of about six years, wreathed in smiles played happily with a young mother. The game they played was dressing up. The laughing boy was dressed as a spaceman. Silver foil had been pressed around his body. A colander had been pressed into service as his helmet. The boy strode about the garden which housed them, with wooden jagged steps; a stranger to his new world. A happy visitor. The youthful mum screamed joyously, mock-afraid of the monster in her midst. After much chasing and growling (a pre-requisite for all spacemen surely?), the young alien fell into his mother's arms, willing to trade world domination for a kiss. The painting shook silently with mirth.
Jack smiled too.
This was clearly a happy memory for Ianto, but he had given it detention and made it face the wall, there had to be a reason for this. Why would you not want to remember such love and affection?
Jack pressed on.
-O-
The next picture Jack turned over was very different indeed. The lights of summer had been switched off.
The tableau was dark and dank.
It had been raining.
As before, once the picture was aware it had Jack's full attention, it sprang to life.
There were more people within this frame, which was also situated outside.
They were dressed in black. Tears stained their faces.
Two small children took up much of the foreground. A little girl of around five years, clung to her father's hand. A bigger boy of around eight clung to her's.
It was obvious that they were leaving one ceremony, en route to another. The upset party wound its way down a country lane, towards a cemetery. The surrounding scenery was picturesque.
No-one noticed.
Graveside, prayers were said. Earth was thrown. Final farewells given.
The little girl was lifted into her father's arms. Comfort was administered.
The boy was left to stand alone.
Suddenly as the cedar casket swayed its way to its eventual resting place, a mad dash was made.
The young boy lunged forwards, kicking and biting and scratching the pallbearer nearest to him.
Wailing all the while.
Shock, confusion, disbelief and panic reigned momentarily, before order was restored.
Family members looked aghast. The father looked embarrassed. The boy - distraught. The sun was setting on his world. His heart was bleeding on the outside of his body, with no-one to administer tender loving care to it. His crying reached God's ears.
If ever there was a soul in need of a hug, it was this boy; and yet the only contact he received from his father that day, was a slap.
Tears welled up in Jack's eyes. He reached out a hand to offer delayed comfort, but he was more than a decade too late.
Jack replaced the painting carefully. He was almost too fearful to uncover the next.
Almost.
-O-
With less confidence now, Jack slowly turned the adjacent painting.
This offering was busy. Frantic almost. Movement swirled across it, touching all four corners.
There were workmen, boxes and crates everywhere.
Someone was moving house.
Jack had to bob and weave his head around, to try to catch a glimpse of Ianto. Eventually he found him. Sitting on a back stair that led down to the basement.
Hiding.
Now nine, he was taller, stronger but no less unhappy. While his sister skipped around before him, young Master Jones contemplated the world from underneath his cloak of sorrow.
The world sucked.
Loathe to lend a hand; Ianto wilfully ignored all pleas to help. All his comforting sights and smells were being re-packaged and removed and he wanted no part of it.
Soon the pleas became suggestions, became demands, became orders. Ianto was press-ganged into service.
Pleasure was not evident on his face.
As the sands of time rapidly slipped through his juvenile fingers, Ianto became rushed, stressed. He tried to pack his box with mature care, but his palms refused to grow-up. He was missing things, overlooking things, forgetting. He began to shake with future rage.
Soon it was the witching hour, the time to leave. Ianto was half-led, half-dragged to the outbound departure gate. The hand-luggage stipulation was strict, just one piece allowed. Ianto had chosen a beloved photo of himself and his mum.
It was carried with care; but then he tripped, climbing into the car.
Tripped and let go of his precious cargo.
The wind was quick to step in and help with transportation. It picked the Polaroid up, and carried it aloft,
in the opposite direction.
Ianto scrambled to leave, but was held fast by his father. They had run out of time. They had to leave,
now.
The tears that Jack had been safeguarding, began to slide down his face. For the first time in two hundred years, he had the sniffles. He leant forwards to kiss the sobbing child Ianto in the frame, praying that his kindness would reach him. He then returned this latest painting to its original position.
-O-
Captain Jack Harkness wasn't sure he wanted to continue with his day trip. He would've been quite happy to return his art-pass and proceed directly to the gift-shop, however he knew that would be a cop-out. He was here for a reason.
That reason was Jones, Ianto Jones.
The next frame he turned over was lighter, in all respects. Gentle shards of light fell in what appeared to be a large playroom. It was late afternoon. Various toys littered the floor; castles of books took up space also.
An eleven year old boy played by himself. His mind filled with all of his favourite things, space, travel, aliens and the possibility of other worlds. He was dressed as the greatest space-explorer of all time.
He was happy - almost.
Trainee-happy.
Happy-lite.
Even at this young age, Ianto knew he had to be responsible for his own good moods. So he was.
He lived mainly in the realms of fantasy. Nothing could touch him there.
It was safer.
Calmer.
He was sure of himself there.
Striding through un-chartered galaxies, he was the mighty conqueror. He just longed for a companion.
One day.
Something caught Jack's eye.
Someone was approaching.
Conquistador Jones noticed too.
In a split second he had spirited himself away. Even Jack had trouble spotting him and his eyes hadn't left the canvas.
Ianto's father entered the room. He stopped. He listened. He sniffed the air trying to ascertain whether there had ever been any sign of his son there. He squinted his eyes, distrusting the information they relayed to him.
He left.
Well versed in avoidance, Ianto retained his hidden position for a while.
His father burst into the room again.
This time he growled, but again had to leave empty-handed.
A semi-minute later, Ianto revealed himself.
Jack began to breathe more easily. He watched as Ianto moved towards the open window. He watched as the growing boy looked up wistfully at the sky which held the gathering sunset.
"Wait for me" he heard the boy say "Don't leave without me."
Jack looked on - speechless.
-O-
It was with very mixed feelings that Jack revealed the next picture. Immediately his ears were assaulted.
Shouting, screaming, demands and counter-demands could be heard. An adolescent boy, who hadn't lost the lanky-limbness of youth and a middle-aged man who seemed to be fraying with grey, were locked in an age-old battle of the generations.
Whenever this occurs in the world, the basic premise remains the same.
After watching for a minute or two, Jack Harkness noticed something. This appeared to be the same fight, taking place over and over again.
Jack sought confirmation.
He found it. On the kitchen cabinet was a calendar, with tear-away dates. Every time a new argumentative refrain re-started, a date of the calendar flew away.
It was Groundhog Day.
It was relentless.
It was like watching a fixed moment in time and space.
Neither one was ready to give way.
This could be never-ending.
Jack stepped away. He knew a situation like this could be heart-rending. It could shatter whatever fledging personality was trying to emerge. What was needed was a clear rational head to rectify things. Something neither appeared to possess.
He couldn't watch the damage taking place any longer.
He couldn't watch the ribbons of Ianto's soul, being shredded beyond repair any longer.
He replaced the painting.
-O-
With closed eyes, Jack reached for the next offering. His initial tug yielded nothing. Thinking that he had mis-applied his effort, Jack tugged at the frame again.
Nothing.
Using two hands now, he tried to prise the painting away from the wall.
To no avail.
Maybe this was an unresolved memory. Jack moved on to the next.
The same thing occurred.
Applying every technique known to physics, Jack could not divorce the painting from the wall. There was still one last picture. Jack re-doubled his efforts, it moved,
not one inch.
Now Jack knew that the definition of madness is to do the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result. Jack knew he wasn't mad.
He moved on.
-O-
There was no gift-shop, instead as he left the gallery, Jack Harkness found himself walking on what looked and sounded like eggshells. Each fragile flesh-coloured semi-circle, imploded under his feet with a faint melancholy sigh. Upon closer inspection he discovered that he was treading on Ianto's broken dreams.
His other choices.
Possible possibilities.
Literally the paths not chosen.
This caused Jack to run. He didn't want to inflict more pain on the man he sought. He remembered an oath.
First do no harm.
He aimed to stick to this.
-O-
Without warning Jack found himself outside again. Facing him was a turbulent river. A sulphuric poisonous turbulent river judging by the smell. To test his theory, Jack pulled out a stick of PH chewing gum from the inner pocket of his greatcoat, and threw it into the rapids. It fell below the surface pink and quickly reappeared black. Jack daren't risk swimming across.
He was at an impasse.
"so wide you can't get 'round it. Oh wonderful love."
Jack re-grouped and re-thought. W.W.N.D.D?
He studied the river closely. He noticed that it was actually studded with little wooden stepping stones.
A clue surely?
Unfortunately Jack also noted that they were longer than a man's stride apart. He thought again.
Inspiration flashed.
Taking off his greatcoat, he spoke to his fibres. He reminded them of how they were warriors, selected, stitched and trained for war. Sacrifice was woven into their very fabric.
He called them to arms.
To action.
For the greater good.
Having always been a little bit besotted with Jack, they all agreed to his plan.
Stiffening so they resembled a board, Jack used his greatcoat as a plank, so that he could successfully navigate his way across the waters. Step by precariously slippery step. Great devotion married to great faith resulted in great success.
Jack was several steps nearer to his goal.
-O-
He ran ahead straight into a forest. The prolific overgrowth that surrounded him, made for a hot and humid environment. Over hanging branches snagged at his exhausted clothing. Troublesome ground roots teased his faltering feet. He longed to leave.
As he ran he heard a faint rhythmic sound.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
He did.
As abruptly as the forest started, it ended, leaving Jack standing on the edge of a precipice. In front of him lay a deep gorge, spanned only by a thinning rope bridge. A bridge that had seen better days. Inching forwards Jack tested the sturdiness of bridge with his toes. It crumbled on contact.
Not necessarily a good sign.
Jack pulled on the guidance rope. Its toughness gave him more hope. Heading back into the forest, Jack looked around for a branch, the straighter the better.
"so high you can't get over it."
He found what he was looking for. Returning to the edge of his opportunity, he slowly mounted the guidance rope as though he were a gymnast, using his foraged pole for balance. Jack had always enjoyed displaying his strength through gymnastics; a certain sunny French acrobatics company had previously asked him to join their ranks, but Jack hated to share the limelight. He wondered what had happened to them.
As Jack inched his way along the high-placed rope, which was reminding itself how to unravel; he chanted the tightrope walker's mantra to himself.
Do not lose faith in yourself.
Do not lose faith in yourself.
He knew success was really just a case of mind over matter, but his mind kept thinking of falling matters.
Not helpful.
Taking slightly longer than his personal best, Jack reached the other side in one piece. Jumping down nimbly, he turned and kissed his travelling companion, the rope.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome" she replied.
-O-
Twilight was beginning to take over the sky, Jack realised his minutes were numbered. He picked up the pace. Just ahead of him lay an opening to a cave; Jack tentatively stepped inside, checking the flooring was firm first. As soon as he had entered fully the cave closed completely behind him.
Jack was trapped.
Entombed.
Jack pencilled in panic for later, right now he needed to escape.
Running his hands over the cave walls, Jack found a solution. There appeared to be a hidden door, practically rusted shut. Jack pushed. It refused to budge.
He tried again.
Same thing.
He tried one last time, with all the strength he could muster. This time the door swivelled around, with a speed that took Jack by surprise.
He stumbled.
He tripped.
He fell over his own feet and rolled down the incline, which the other side of the door had been hiding from him.
He landed in an ungracious heap on the ground. He spat out some dirt that had thought his mouth, was as good as any place to relocate.
Dusting himself down and looking ahead into the distance, Jack thought he saw the glimmer of bright lights.
A beacon maybe?
As he walked towards them, he heard a faint rhythmic sound.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
So he did.
He soon discovered that his beacon was actually an entire field, ablaze.
Correction: an entire assault course on a field ablaze.
It took a second or two for all the chambers of his brain to agree that this was actually the case.
"so low you can't get under it."
His former training quickly came to the fore. Jack dropped to the ground and scrambled under the burning barbed wire that lay in front of him. Progress was unsteady and slow, Jack's greatcoat caught frequently on the moxibustion smouldering above him. He tried not to think of the last time he was on his hands and knees.
Breathing was becoming a bit of a problem. Jack's nostrils filled with the burnt-scented aroma of his clothing. He knew he had back-up gills but he really only wanted to pull these out, in an absolute emergency.
Soon, but not yet.
He made short work of the footwork challenge. Rubber tyres spiked with glass only annoyed his socks.
Gathering speed, he swung gracefully along the monkey bars before vaulting over his final obstacle, the wall.
The wall that had him falling, flailing into an unexpected reservoir. Splashing down into the water Jack bobbed up quickly, buoyed up by a notion that something was wrong. Very wrong.
Treading water Jack looked about him. The water looked resigned rather than calm. The levels were still rising, fed by several standpipes just out of reach.
That's when Jack heard it.
Overlapping whispers.
Each insistent on their individual message.
I'm worthless.
I'm dirty.
I'm shameful.
I don't matter.
I'm undeserving.
I've no right to be here.
Jack turned his head in alarm. These incantations were gushing forth from the taps.
He was swimming in Ianto's internal lake of negativity.
Shaken and stirred, Jack paddled over to the pipes. He started to turn them off. It was tough; some of these taps had been stuck in this position for years.
Jack fought hard to twist these taps to his will. He felt that he was fighting more than metal.
Despite his best efforts he only managed to shut off four pipes.
He had been a help but not the solution.
Immediately the waters started to drain away. Jack was able to make out the causeway that lay beneath. He followed it, towards the light. It wasn't long before he spotted another figure ahead of him. Someone else who seemed intent on walking towards the light.
Ianto.
Jack had a flashback.
I've no right to be here.
"IANTO STOP!"
Ianto continued to move forward, as though sleep-walking.
"Ianto, you don't have to do this. This doesn't have to be the end. Please stop."
Ianto wavered for the first time. Considering.
Jack sensed a glimmer of hope. He grabbed at it.
"I know that you believe all is lost Yan, but it's not. Today is just a dark day, not the end of all days. People would miss you if you were gone. Your sister, she loves you very much Ianto. She loves the true you, she really does. She told me to tell you that. What would she do without her big brother? Tosh would be devastated if you left her. You're her talisman, you bring her comfort; and I … I'd miss you too, so very much. So think again, if you only do one thing today Ianto Jones, follow me.
I've come to take you home."
Unused to such searing honesty, Ianto took a step towards Jack. He wanted to believe his ears, but he was afraid to trust his heart.
Jack turned on his heel and walked towards real world.
Ianto silently followed, completing the first truly brave action of his life.
As he walked Jack canted his own mantra for Ianto's benefit.
"You're charming.
You're cherished.
You're worthy.
You're adorable.
You're magnificent.
You're of value."
Jack wasn't sure if Ianto was aware of his words, but he hoped that an echo may linger.
Finally Jack reached the edge of consciousness, he stopped.
He was exhausted, he dripped with sweat and elation. His greatcoat was in tatters but he didn't care.
He had Ianto.
He had his man.
He cautiously clicked his heels three times, stepped out of Ianto's coma and took a seat at his bedside.
He tried to calm his breathing. He was still panting haphazardly. Still trying to co-ordinate all his hearts into one single rhythm.
Reaching over he attempted to embed his lips into Ianto's cool temple.
"Don't ever leave me again."
A tear came to rest in the inner corner of his eye.
Contained within it was the elixir of fifty-first century life. It splashed down onto Ianto's right eyelid.
It crept inside.
Jack shook as he watched Ianto slowly change colour. The beeps on the machine beside him became louder, stronger, more determined, more insistent.
He thought he saw movement, a barely perceptible flicker of a hand.
Sirens went off.
Doctors, nurses and attendants suddenly flooded the room.
Jack was washed aside.
Flattened by a whirlpool of activity.
His needs forgotten.
Anxious faces followed monitors. Drips were re-set. Tubes were re-arranged. The collective murmur of voices changed key.
Hope sang out - quietly.
Despite his best efforts, Jack was unceremoniously ushered from the room. He was dumped in the family room, like rubbish in a bin. Dismissed and discarded.
Ever the optimist, Jack reasoned that Ianto's prognosis must've improved; otherwise they would not require medical privacy.
This thought provided a soothing balm to the wound of his current septic-like emotions.
Miffed and relieved, Jack reluctantly made his way home.
-OOO-
A/N2 W.W.N.D.D? = What Would Nancy Drew Do?
A/N3 I have to apologise for the lateness of this chapter, RL has been kicking me from all sides recently and my time available for writing all but disappeared. However I promise you that the next chapter will be with you, much much sooner. Thanks for your support.
Comments are always appreciated