"Did I get a funeral?" Ianto asked, after taking a breath and seeming calm once again.

"I don't know. I wasn't here." Jack rolled his eyes upwards and blew out a breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I had to leave," he continued when he was sure that the tears wouldn't fall, but the moisture still blurred his vision.

Running away hadn't helped in the slightest. Missing seeing the final resting place of Ianto Jones hadn't meant that he could pretend any better that he was still alive. "I am sorry."

"You couldn't leave me to rest in peace! You've done this to me," Ianto scowled at him, jabbing a finger out accusingly as he stepped towards him. "Dragged me back just to say goodbye!"

Jack looked back down at his boots in shame.

"This," Ianto said as he took another step forward, his black polished shoes, flakes of plaster dirtying their usually immaculate appearance, coming into Jack's line of vision. He stared at them for a moment then drew his gaze back up the long line of Ianto's body to his face, cheeks flushed with anger, and his eyebrows furrowed. "This isn't about closing the Rift, destroying that creature, or even your bloody stones!" he spat, gesturing around the pub before thrusting the battered shoebox back at him.

Jack stumbled to catch it, knowing that despite its almost comical contents – rocks from the hills, coal from the cellar, and a tiny detonator – it was the only weapon he had tonight. For once, the holster at his hip was empty. Bullets were useless against beings that were already dead. Tonight, when the time was right, he'd detonate the device. The rocks were filled with harmless energy that seeped from the Rift. And as Syriath opened the Rift and this world collided with another, Jack would detonate it, releasing the battery of energy stored within the stones. The force of the two types of strong energy would cause the Rift to implode, sealing it and trapping Syriath within it forever.

He thought of the words written in the steel of Wales Millennium Centre. Words he'd read daily for over five years. Words he would never read again.

'In these stones horizons sing.'

Jack cradled the box to his chest.

As quick as Ianto's anger came, it seemed to fade back to grief. Ianto looked away. "It's not even about me. This…" he sighed. Jack caught his gaze in the mirror which was rattling on the wall behind the bar. It was the wrong thing to do. Ianto's anger flared back up again. He staked the remaining few paces between them, and Jack found himself backing away until his back was pressed up against one of the tables. "This is all about you, Jack," he said, pushing him roughly.

"Ianto, this isn't how I planned it," he pleaded, still clutching the shoebox to his chest.

"What were you hoping for?" he hissed, shaking his head disparagingly. "That I'd say a few nice words? That I'd be grateful?"

"I just wanted to see you one more time!" he said, his anger rising higher than before. He stuffed the shoebox back into the deceptively large pocket of his greatcoat, then folded his arms back over his chest and gripped his biceps. "That's all. It's- it's why I came here." He clenched his jaw and jutted out his chin, trying not to rise to the bate.

"Well, isn't that lovely," Ianto said in a mocking tone as he turned and walked away.

But Jack wasn't having that. "Ianto, all the people I've lost… don't you understand? The only one I wanted to see was you!"

"Thanks," came the hollow reply. "At least you didn't forget me."

"How could I?" he cried.

Did Ianto truly believe that Jack was so fickle that he would forget him in just six months? Or did he believe that he meant so little to him that he wasn't worth remembering? Even if Ianto couldn't remember the promise Jack had made to him as he died, Jack knew he never would. He would remember Ianto Jones not just for a thousand years but for the rest of his life, however long that might be. "I may be immortal, but I don't forget."

He remembered Steven, the grandchild he'd chosen to brutally murder to kill the 456 and end their reign of terror. He remembered Tosh and Owen, killed by the hands of his brother just over a year ago. He remembered Suzie who'd died because Jack had not cared about her enough to see that she was slipping too deep into the darkest depths of Torchwood. They were just three of the countless number of people whom he had once known, loved, and lost.

In his mind's eye, he could see them all, their faces blurring as they swam in his watery vision. He could see the smiles and hear the laughter of his lost friends, lovers, and families, his children and grandchildren forever young in his mind. He remembered those peaceful moments when time stood still with acquaintances, colleagues, and those he'd lost before they had the chance to become anything more. There were the memories tinged in pain of those he fought with and those he fought against, and those lost somewhere in between. There would always be people he lost before he was ready, the people he clung to unwilling to let them go, and the people whom he should have let go sooner than he did. He would always remember the moments when everything seemed perfect, the days he felt on top of the world, and those times that still hurt no regard to the passing of time, the weeks and months when everything was wrong.

One day, he feared that he would run out of space in his head. He dreaded the day that might come when those memories, however painful, would fade. Perhaps one day all those emotions would drift out of reach forever.

But today wasn't that day.

"I lose everyone, but I don't forget any of you! I work so hard to remember," he admitted, taking a faltering step back towards Ianto.

Over the years he'd told so many stories of the people he'd once known. He often didn't mention their name – that didn't matter to him for those names had been burned into his heart forever; he would never forget them – but he always told those around him the most important parts: who they were to him and why he remembered them. Most of the time, those stories were full of details that would seem trivial to anyone else – the way someone walked through the door looking to pick a fight, the laughter of someone else that sounded just like someone he once loved, the smell of the perfect cup of coffee – but they forced him to remember every aspect of their lives. Those were the parts of them that made them who they were, but they were also the parts that were so easy to lose to time. It was so important to him, especially now some were gone from every other living memory and others had yet to be born.

"You make it sound like charity work," Ianto said with a look of disgust.

"Don't say that! Never say that!" he snapped.

It was never like that! He wasn't torturing himself with the memories of those he couldn't save. It was never out of self-pity, nor was it his penance for his ongoing life in a world of mortals. He remembered every single one of them and would fight to remember them for eternity. His memories were what defined him. They were what still made him human. And one day, he feared that would be all he had left.

At least Ianto had the decency to look ashamed, turning his head away and lowering his gaze. He picked up a fallen chair and sat it next to a table, dusting it off before he sank into it.

"Jack?" he said, not looking up. "I didn't think the last thing I'd ever say to you would be this…"

Jack's breath caught his throat as Ianto looked up at him, possibly for the last time, with eyes full of unshed tears. Whatever he was about to say – and Jack hoped he was wrong – he knew it would be infinitely worse than Ianto's deathbed confession of love.

"J-just go away."

Jack felt the unconscious shaking of his head as Ianto finally said the words that he had been dreading since the start of their undefined relationship. Just because Jack had been expecting those words, just as he had from every other person he'd loved, it didn't mean that they hurt any less. In fact, they hurt even more. Ianto was right. Jack had selfishly dragged him back to life and now he'd said those words to him, the words that he had never said whilst he'd been alive.

"Please," Ianto begged, turning his head back to the floor. "This is horrible."

But even now, knowing just how much pain he was causing Ianto, Jack couldn't bear to let him go. "I had to see you again. You have no idea what it felt like coming back to life and knowing the world was empty because you'd be gone."

'because I had led you by your hand to your death, because I made you trust me so much that you were willing to die for me, because the 456 were only here because I didn't stop them the first time, because I walked in there with no weapons or plan, because I aggravated them, because I caused them to release the gas, because your death achieved nothing, because I still had to kill Steven, because no one else could ever understand what it was like'

Jack took another step towards him. "No matter how many times I die, I always come back alone."

"I didn't ask to come back," Ianto said with a voice thick with the tears he also refused to shed.

"Neither did I!" Jack shot back.

And there it was. He should have died hundreds of thousands of years in the future. He should never have been here. He never asked to be saved. He never asked to be a leader. He never asked to keep coming back no matter how many mistakes he made, how many lives he took, how many sacrifices he was forced to make.

Ianto still refused to look at him.