This was the final scene in the life of Ianto Jones. It was an epilogue hidden on the last page of a book that had already finished its final chapter.

They only had a few seconds left. A few words to spare. The silent moment between one heartbeat and the last.

"And I love you too, Jack," Ianto said softly. A single tear fell from his eye as he smiled.

Ianto took a final slow breath in, and the outside world returned.

"Right then, let's get a move on," he bellowed as the tiled roof collapsed and the top level of the pub caved inward. "Goodbye, Jack!"

Ianto waved one last time before ducking under the fallen beam and scrambling back into the heart of the building.

Jack fell to his knees.

It was over.

The House of the Dead exploded.

A bright white light of pure Rift Energy burst from within The House of the Dead. The remaining windows on the ground floor shattered and the ancient wooden beams that had supported the building splintered with its force. The two floors above came crashing down.

Jack saw none of this. He'd already closed his eyes and his head hung heavy, bowed to the ground.

But he couldn't block out the noise.

He'd left Ianto inside there.

It wasn't meant to be like this. He was meant to be facing an everlasting death with Ianto back by his side once more. He wasn't meant to be slumped on his knees outside a pub in the pouring rain as the building collapsed with his lover inside.

Jones, Ianto Jones, defender of the Earth.

But here was Captain Jack Harkness, the man who'd killed his grandson and let his lover die twice. He was no hero, no noble man. He was a coward, through and through.

Twice had he been in a situation when Ianto, the man he loved, was about to die and twice had Jack failed to save him. Both times he'd given up. Both times he hadn't even tried.

Jack had killed him twice.

But he wasn't given long to ponder his failure.

He never managed to scramble to his feet and start to run to the building.

Once he was there, he'd have two choices: face eternal oblivion alongside Ianto and every other ghost from his past or drag Ianto back into the land of the living, not once looking back in fear that he'd lose him once more.

But it wasn't really a choice. He didn't have to decide. He knew what he wanted.

He wanted Ianto back. He wanted Ianto to live. He wanted Ianto back by his side again. He wanted them to be together again. He wanted Ianto back. He needed Ianto back.

He was going to get Ianto back.

He had to get Ianto out of there before he was crushed and buried in the ruins of the pub.

But he had left it too late.

The same shockwave that caused the pub to explode sent Jack flying backwards. He was knocked out cold when his head collided with the old black lamppost.

When he came to, seemingly having survived impact, The House of the Dead was gone.

His plan had worked.

His bomb in a shoebox had detonated when the Rift opened. The collision of the two worlds which had caused the initial explosion had been reversed. All of the energy had been sucked back in, causing an implosion. As he got unsteadily to his feet, Jack could see the gaping crater filled with rubble in the place where the pub once stood.

The rain had stopped. The night sky was clear. A few cars passed along the main road. No one had noticed that a building that had stood for six hundred years had vanished within seconds. The world continued to turn, but Jack's world had ended. Again.

He'd left Ianto in there to die.

He didn't know what to do now.

His plan hadn't worked at all.

He was still alive. Ianto was dead. Again.

But Syriath was gone. The Earth was safe. And Cardiff would be safe now that the Rift was closed.

So, what did he do?

He'd been planning to die, trapped in the void between worlds for the rest of his immortal life. He'd boxed up the few possessions he still owned in a security deposit box in case his past self had needed them in the future – he still had those two years missing from his memory and god knows what he had done or discovered in that period – along with some finances. He'd told Torchwood's bank manager to go underground now that Torchwood was gone, but to keep the accounts running just in case of any future problems. Torchwood was gone, but the archives in Torchwood House remained locked away.

With the rest of his personal funds, he had invested into a few different charities, both human and alien; It wasn't like he'd need money where he was going, and his daughter had stopped accepting anything from him. Gwen was already set for her new life, too, safe far away from him.

But Ianto had presented him with a new idea. They were going to leave together. What they would do next, they hadn't had the time to decide, but at least they would be together. That would have been all that mattered.

But now Jack was alone again.

He hadn't told anyone what he was planning to do. He hadn't spoken to Gwen in person since the day Ianto died. He'd kept an eye on her and Rhys, though. He'd seen that they were much better off without him.

So, what did he have left? Torchwood was gone, Captain Jack had left the lives of Gwen and Rhys, and Cardiff was safe. What did he have left to do?

He could leave.

That was the only thing he had left.

It was time for him to go, to start a new life far away from here, far away from this planet.

"Excuse me?" a voice called, bringing him out of his thoughts. Since Jack had awoken, a car had pulled up in the car park, but he had ignored it. He closed his eyes. "Excuse me?" the woman called again.

Jack turned to look at her. "Sorry?"

"Hello, I'm looking for ghosts?"

"What?"

"At 'The House of the Dead'? The most haunted pub in Wales, it is," she rambled in a soft Welsh accent. "They're holding a séance tonight; I hope I'm not late."

Jack looked over at the chalkboard sign that must have fallen over during the storm, advertising the event. From where the woman was stood, she wouldn't be able to see it. "It's closed," he sighed.

"Closed?"

"You missed the ghosts. The House of the Dead is gone."

"But it's on my sat-nav," she complained. "It's around here somewhere, I know it is."

But Jack had stopped listening to her.

He turned back to the crater where the pub had been only moments ago, where Ianto had stood only moments ago. He took a few hesitant steps towards the pile of broken brickwork and tangle of ivy, then stopped.

He hadn't visited Ianto's grave, couldn't bring himself even to look up where his final resting place was. He hadn't even looked if he'd had a funeral. He'd just run. This pile of stone wasn't his grave either. But it was the last place he'd seen him, the first and only place they'd confessed their love without denial, and the place where Ianto had said his final farewell. There was only one thing left to say.

But how could he say it? How could he possibly say goodbye to him? How could he turn and walk away again?

It was over.

He should call Gwen and see if she had found his Vortex Manipulator in the rubble of their former base. He should use it to signal a passing ship; there were plenty of ships that passed close enough to Earth for their teleport beam to reach him. If his wrist strap was gone then he should find alternative transport to leave the planet instead. He should see if he could find a shuttle ship to board. They weren't legal, but often harmless enough that UNIT and Torchwood had mostly ignored them over the years. He'd used shuttles before for short trips off-world, only this time he shouldn't have any intention of returning. He should run and run and run until he finally found somewhere far away where he could escape the memories.

This whole world was a graveyard. Everywhere he went the ghosts of the dead haunted him. He couldn't bear it any longer.

But he also couldn't move. He was stuck, rooted to the ground. He couldn't bring himself to walk away from Ianto again. He'd already done it twice before.

He wanted Ianto back.