Jack was still rooted to the spot when he heard the late arrival calling him again. He didn't listen. He needed to go. He didn't know where, only that he needed to get away from here. He needed to leave.
But he couldn't.
Not without Ianto.
Then he heard her call out more urgently. "Please, you've got to help me!"
He closed his eyes and sighed. No matter how much he hurt, he couldn't ignore someone in need. Ianto wouldn't want him to. He'd want to help.
He couldn't see her well in the dim light from the streetlight, but he could just about make out her silhouette crouched on the ground some way away on the other side of the crater. She'd probably just fallen and twisted her ankle trying to navigate the uneven ground in the dark. It couldn't have been easy stumbling around on the grass where the beer garden had been in a pair of black stilettos.
He'd already saved the world tonight, but it seemed there was no rest for the wicked. He couldn't just leave her out here alone in the dark.
He found her crouched by a large chunk of broken masonry, still on the grass rather than in the hole below with most of the rubble. She was using her phone as a torch to peer down into the crater. When she saw him, she frantically beckoned him over. "I think there's someone down here!"
Fuck. Not just a twisted ankle then. Jack cursed himself as he rushed to her side. He'd been so wrapped up in his grief that he hadn't even considered the clean-up operation that would need to be completed. There had been a few cars still sat in the car park – he'd presumed that they'd belonged to those lost to Syriath – but he thought everyone else had left after he revealed he had a bomb. Some of them would have called the police too.
It was stupid mistakes like these that had cost Ianto his life. God, he wished he were still here. He wanted him back. He needed him back.
"Stand back please, madam," Jack said as he flashed his fake ID at her.
She looked up at him but didn't move. "I was just having a look around," she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth, "you know, for that pub you said was closed. My sat-nav says it's here, but you say it's gone. But I checked that post on Facebook before I left, and it said it was closing tonight: March 21st. I checked the date, I did, because it's a long drive from Abercorran and I've never been to a Séance before. But my dad, he died last year, and I don't know, I don't really believe in all that stuff – well, maybe I do a bit, now that he's gone – but I couldn't help thinking that what if this is my only chance to see him again and I didn't because I didn't believe in it. But the traffic was a nightmare, and I didn't know if that was a sign or something-"
"Woah, okay. Just take a deep breath for me," he instructed, cutting her off before she could continue. "What's your name."
"Beth. Sorry, Bethan. Bethan Morgan," she replied shakily.
"Good. Okay, Beth, I'm Jack," he said, slipping on the reassuring smile that he'd mastered so many years ago and crouching down next to her. "Now, can you show me what you've found?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure. They're right here. I, uh, I don't know but-"
Beth continued to speak, but Jack was no longer listening. He couldn't hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears. He'd followed her hand and saw what she'd seen.
A shoe.
A black Oxford dress shoe.
Peeking out of the rubble about half a metre away from where he was crouched was a black Oxford dress shoe. Not far from that, he thought he could see was a scrap of white material. He leant forward, not quite believing his eyes.
"-a body," Beth concluded.
"Oh god," he breathed. "Oh god, He's-" Jack choked back a sob and scrabbled down the edge of the creator. Luckily, it wasn't very steep and only five feet or so deep until he reached the uneven surface of the rubble.
He knelt next to the shoe, pulling it carefully out but it wasn't attached to anything. He cradled it to his chest for a moment before he started to pull away the rubble with his bare hands. He thought he could see a dark charcoal fabric with a thin grey pinstripe that almost seamlessly blended into the shadows.
Although the other patrons of the pub had been dressed smartly, there had only been one man dressed in a suit: Ianto Jones.
Beth called out questions above him as Jack pulled away chunks of stonework and splintered wood, but he ignored her for the most part. His hands were scuffed and bloody, the skin easily damaged by the shards of glass and the rough broken bricks, but he didn't care. He had to get to Ianto. She kept trying to ask questions about how he had ended up trapped in the debris of the old building, whether he'd been in it when it collapsed or if he had been climbing on it and disturbed the material, slipping and becoming stuck. She wanted to know how long had he been in there, why was he wearing a suit, was he alive or dead?
But Jack focused only on the body that was slowly emerging. He sent her away to bring her car around and put the headlights on full beam so he could see what he was doing better. It also brought him a couple of minutes alone with Ianto.
"Come on, Ianto. You're going to be okay; you hear me? You're going to be just fine. Just stay still for me, yeah? Just stay still and I'll get you out soon."
Not that Jack's pleas made any difference. Ianto hadn't moved. He hadn't made a sound.
But that didn't matter to Jack. Ianto was going to be fine. Ianto was going to be okay. He wasn't going to lose him all over again. That would be far more than a touch careless. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if that happened. So, Ianto was going to be okay. He was going to get him back.
He wasn't going to need an ambulance, despite what Bethan kept insisting. Deep down, Jack knew that she was just trying her best. She was just out of her depth and, to be completely honest, so was he. But his whole focus had to be on Ianto now. He was going to get him back.
When she returned, Beth was wearing a pair of flat ballet pumps. She carefully made her way down the edge of the crater to join him, insistent that if there wasn't anything she could do to help up there then at least she could help to uncover the body with him.
Within five minutes, they had uncovered his leg, his foot missing its shoe. Another few minutes passed, and Bethan, more by luck than judgement, found Ianto's arm. Jack came round and took the limp hand in his. He straightened Ianto's suit jacket which had ridden up to reveal his white cuff and silver watch which was barely attached to his wrist. The glass covering the watch face had been smashed and the wrist strap had broken.
"Ianto?" Jack said, voice cracking on the second syllable. "Ianto? Can you hear me? It's me, Jack. You don't need to speak, just squeeze my hand if you can hear me. Come on, Ianto. Please!"
But his hand remained cold and limp.
Jack reminded himself that this was okay. It was better this way. He didn't want Ianto to come round, buried alive in a destroyed building. There were too many bad memories attached to that for both of them.
"Can you feel a pulse?" Beth asked.
Jack immediately felt incredibly stupid for not thinking of this before. He pressed two fingers gently to Ianto's wrist. His hands were shaking. "I don't know, god, I don't know. He's so cold. Maybe, but I can't really tell. I don't know. I don't know." He sniffed. "Come on, help me move this bit, it must be over his chest. Careful! Don't lean on that!"
She startled back, stammering apologies.
"No, no, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. You're doing your best. Just… be careful, yeah?"
Beth once again asked if she should call 999 for the police and ambulance services, but Jack still refused. They were nearly there now. Soon Ianto would be back in his arms once more.
He barked orders at her, instructing her to be careful, to not jostle the rubble too much in case it caused him to become further trapped, but mostly he kept up a murmur of encouragement to Ianto, telling him that he was there, that he was going to be fine, that he just needed to stay still.
Jack remembered how when he was unconscious, placed in a coma-like trance after answering the phone call from the dead line, Ianto had stayed by his side the entire time. He'd talked to him, unsure if Jack had been able to hear him, and although it had been heart-breaking not being able to reply, Ianto's voice had soothed and calmed him. Just knowing he was not alone had helped remind him that he wasn't still buried alive for thousands of years under Cardiff. Jack hoped if this was the case for Ianto now, his voice might do the same.
With one final push, Jack rolled away the largest chunk of rubble.
Miraculously, sheltered by what looked like part of an upturned heavy wooden table, Ianto's head was uncovered. His skin was grey, and his eyes were closed. High on his right cheek, there was a smudge of red blood that trickled down to his ear.
"Ianto!" he cried. The tears that he'd been holding back since he'd awoken to find the pub gone streamed freely down his cheeks. "Ianto, It's okay. I'm here, Ianto. I'm here now. You're safe, I've got you. I've got you." He wiped his hands on his coat to try and get rid of some of the dirt and blood that covered them, then reached out with a trembling hand to touch his cold cheek. "Come on now, tiger. Open those gorgeous blue eyes for me. Please, Ianto. It's okay now. I'm here. I'm here."
But Ianto's eyes had remained closed. He lay cold and listless, still covered in the broken remains of The House of The Dead. When Jack took his limp hand in his again, he didn't respond.