A/N: Written for the prompt 'waiting' then 'red' snuck in there and I ran with it.
Every time that Jack dies, provided there's no immediate threat to himself or the world, Ianto holds him tight and waits. He just waits, for as long as it takes.
He waits because he knows how much Jack is put through every time he dies and comes back. Jack had confided in Ianto about the torture which came hand-in-hand with his immortality, late one night, shortly following Jack's return after months away. Ianto had listened, silently horrified, as Jack described the way he feels each death twice; when he first dies and then he relives the experience all over again when he's dragged from the darkness of death and returned to life.
Ianto has been there for Jack, when he can, for most deaths since that night. He doesn't know if his presence even helps but he waits because he hates the thought of Jack going through it alone. So, he sits behind Jack, wraps his arms around the other man's chest, grips on tightly to his coat, and waits.
He doesn't let go, not even for a second, because he can't imagine losing Jack, he can't imagine ever letting him go. He knows, realistically, that he will never have to since the man can't die, not permanently, but in the minutes or hours it takes Jack to come back he is technically dead. Ianto holds his dead body in his arms. He hates it whenever that thought pops into his mind.
The only problem with waiting is that Ianto regularly winds up waiting alone. He sits in silence, just waiting, and that gives his mind time to wonder. He is left with nothing else to do but think.
He thinks about how much of a future he really has with Jack. The man he holds so tightly in his arms may never age, but he will. When he is old and grey, Jack will look just the same as he does now. Will Jack stand by his side in his old age, or will Jack be long gone by the time that day comes?
He thinks about his own death, should Jack still be with him then. He wonders how long it will take Jack to move on after. He wonders how long it will be before Jack forgets him completely. The man is destined to live forever, after all, and Ianto isn't naïve. He knows a time will come where Jack loses all recollection of him – the only question is how long it will take.
And if Jack still hasn't come back by the time his mind has wandered down those two rabbit holes, his thoughts set off down the worst track of all. They start to play 'what if' and it's always the same big question; what if Jack is wrong? What if he isn't immortal? What if, when he was first brought back, all those lifetimes ago, he was brought back with a predesignated number of lives. And what if the life he has just lost was his last?
What if he is gone for good?
What if he's not coming back.
It's an unbearable thought.
Ianto knows it's selfish, but he finds comfort in Jack's immortality because he's been the one left behind before, with Lisa, and it almost killed him. He doesn't know if he can go through that again.
He doesn't know if he can live without Jack.
And if Jack isn't back with him by the time his thought process gets that far, Ianto clutches Jack just that little bit tighter and buries his head into the side of Jack's neck. He blocks all the thoughts out, he feels the soft fabric of Jack's coat against his cheek, he takes in the scent of the natural fifty-first century pheromones Jack loves to boast about, and he waits.
And he waits.
And he waits.
For as long as it takes.
Jack always comes back to him in the end.
Darkness turns to grey. The grey grows lighter. Jack's throat is tight, suffocatingly tight, he can't breathe properly, like the oxygen is too thin.
The blinding white light hits and he's free from the grasp of the darkness. He bolts upright, gasping for air.
It takes his eyes a while to adjust to the light, and it takes his brain a while to catch up and recall what happened, but he knows immediately that something isn't right. He can't feel Ianto. He's normally there, arms wrapped around him, whispering comforts in his ear.
His eyes adjust and he discovers he wasn't alone in dying. He's in a large hall, one filled with rows of bodies, each one covered with a red sheet.
Red.
Red is Ianto's colour.
He looks good in red, and he knows it. Jack had once read somewhere that wearing red communicates to others a feeling of confidence and a readiness to take on the world. Upon reading it, he had instantly thought of Ianto. He thought of how the young Welshmen stuck to black and white when they first met and his early days at Torchwood Cardiff. On the odd occasion, he would surprise them with a pinch of colour, a red tie here or there. Mostly, it was the black and white, the void of colour almost apt for his somewhat distant and reserved personality. Then, from out of nowhere, came the more colourful shirts, his first colourful one worn on the very day he shot Owen in the shoulder in a last-ditch attempt to stop him opening the rift. Since then, the colour in Ianto's wardrobe only increased, as did his confidence. Red shirts became increasingly common and the confidence in Ianto was leaps and bounds ahead of what Jack saw in the Ianto who was so desperate for a job.
A lot of people on Earth associate red with danger, anger, violence, and blood. But not Jack. When Jack sees red, he immediately thinks of Ianto, his coffee, his dry one-liners, his touch, his smell, the way he always knows exactly what to say when Jack wakes up, drained after his latest demise.
His latest demise.
The memories flood back. It hits him like a brick. The 456. The poisoned air.
Ianto.
And then he sees Gwen and he knows immediately, just from the look on her face.
He turns his head slowly to the left and he sees him. His face is visible, the sheet pulled back to his neck. His eyes are closed; he could almost be mistaken for sleeping and oh, how Jack wishes that is the case. But he's marked dead. That's what the red sheet – the one covering Ianto from the neck down – stands for.
It's the first red thing that Jack has ever seen on Ianto that doesn't suit him. It's wrong. It's so wrong.
As Gwen hugs him, all Jack can think about is pulling the red sheet off Ianto and burning it until there's nothing left. Red is supposed to symbolise life, passion and love – Ianto's life, passion and love. Those three words don't belong in Thames House, not today.
The red sheet threatens to ruin Ianto's colour for Jack for good. And it's not just the one. They're everywhere. He is in a sea of red sheets. Any way he looks, all he can see is red. And he doesn't think of Ianto, he can only think of death.
Black was supposed to symbolise death. That is how it always goes. But not in Thames House, apparently. In Thames House, the colour of life and love in fact means death.
When Gwen's arms leave him, Jack goes straight for the sheet covering Ianto. He tosses it into the sea of red, as far away as possible. Under the red sheet, Ianto remains dressed in the same clothes Jack last saw him in; the white shirt and black waistcoat he was wearing at the moment of his death.
That's when Jack remembers. That's when it hits him. If red means death in Thames House, then black – black like Ianto's waistcoat – means life.
He just has to wait.
Just as Ianto always waits for him.
He moves behind Ianto, wraps his arms around the Welshman's chest and lifts him so he rests against his own chest. He holds him tight, holds him close, then he waits.
And he waits.
Gwen waits too.
She gives him time.
They wait in silence for fifteen minutes.
Gwen breaks the silence, gently prompting, "Jack. We need to move."
She stands up and takes some steps towards the door. She stops, looks back at him and seems surprised to see he hasn't moved.
"I'm waiting," Jack tells her, speaking for the first time since he came back.
She looks at him with her big, round eyes filled with sympathy and softly asks, "For what, Jack?"
"For Ianto," he tells her.
"They said we can make arrangements for his body to be transported back to Wales," she tells him in return.
She's mistaken him.
"We don't need arrangements," he says. "He's coming back and I'm waiting for him, like all those times he waited for me."
Jack didn't think she could look any more sympathetic than she had managed before, but she does. She takes the few steps back, sits down on the floor beside him and places a gentle hand on his arm.
"Jack, I wish he were coming back, I do but he's – he's gone," her voice wavers as she speaks.
"He'll come back," Jack insists. "This happened before. When Lisa tossed him across the hub. He was dead but I kissed him, and he came back. I don't know exactly how it works. If I had to guess I'd say whatever energy it is inside me that brings me back, it somehow transferred to him with that kiss. When we were dying earlier, I kissed him. If it worked once, it will work again."
Gwen looks at him and he sees pity in her eyes. She doesn't believe him. Jack can't blame her, he knows he sounds crazy, but she doesn't need to believe for it to work, and she will see soon enough.
They just have to wait.
And so, they wait.
They wait for five minutes.
"Jack, it's been hours. I don't think he's coming back," Gwen breaks the silence again. "The first time around – maybe, maybe in the moment you just mistook him for dead, there was a lot going on that day. Or maybe it really did happen but maybe it only works once."
"I'm waiting," Jack maintained. "He needs me."
He knows what it's like to come back to life, to relive the pain of death for a second time, and to wake up alone. He also knows what it's like to come back to life, to relive the pain of death for a second time, and to wake up to someone's arms wrapped around him, to cling onto them as breathing and vision and life restores. The latter makes it slightly more bearable than the former. He isn't leaving Ianto to go through it alone.
"Jack, the 456 is still out there and I don't know how to stop it. I can't do this alone. I need you. The whole world needs you," Gwen reminds him. "Ianto gave his life trying to stop them. Please, don't let it be in vain."
"I'm waiting," Jack persists.
He can't leave.
Ianto always waits for him.
As long as it takes.
"Okay, okay," Gwen concedes gently and runs her hand down his arm. "When you're ready, come find me and we'll sort these aliens out together. For Ianto."
Jack doesn't respond. He watches Gwen stand and walk out the door.
Left alone, surrounded by the silence of death, his mind starts to wander. He wonders whether Gwen is right. He wonders whether he is wrong about the incident in the hub so long ago. Did he miss a faint pulse back then? Or was it just a one-time deal? Did he already use it up saving Ianto from a death at the hands of his girlfriend?
Is Ianto permanently dead in his arms?
He can barely fathom the thought.
He knows the curse of immortality all too well, he knows everyone has their time and everyone dies. Everyone around him dies.
And of course, he knew from the start that Ianto wasn't forever, that he would die and leave him behind one day. He always chose not to think about it but, on the few occasions it wouldn't leave his head, he would imagine Ianto old and grey, having lived a full life with him by his side.
The Ianto he holds in his arms isn't old and grey.
He's young. He's far too young to die.
They are barely getting started, the pair of them. There are so many plans.
Jack doesn't know how he will go on without Ianto.
He can't envision going on – not when he is gone so soon.
He pushes the thoughts away. Ianto is not gone. He just needs to wait.
He rests his chin on Ianto's shoulder and murmurers into his ear, "Come back to me."
He waits.
And he waits.
Then Ianto bolts upright and gasps for air. Jack whispers reassuringly in his ear, repeating, "I'm here. You're safe now." as he clings onto the younger man.
In that moment, Jack doubts he'll ever let him go again.