Jack wiped his face with his hand, walking toward the apparition. Ianto looked around at the journals, strewn on the floor. His face was a mask of pain.
"I am sorry. So sorry. I didn't bring him here. He followed. You know it's true."
Ianto shook his head.
"You read my journals. All my thoughts. Why?"
Jack wrung his hands, getting closer.
"I didn't mean to. I found them. By accident."
Ianto crossed his arms.
"Quite the fortuitous accident."
Jack stopped in his tracks.
"If I try to touch you, you'll vanish."
Ianto nodded.
"You seem to think so. And so it shall be."
As it had appeared, the shadow was gone. Jack slumped to his knees. He covered his face with his hands and leaned forward, as if in prayer. He let out a moan. How long would his mind plague him. Or was it really his mind? He didn't get to ponder the question further. He felt a heavy blow on the back of his head. The world went black.
John stood over his once lover's limp body.
"Enough already with the histrionics."
His eyes went from the man to the blue kettle he held in his hand. Surprisingly it was barely whistled in appreciation. He cast the kitchen implement aside and lifted Jack off the floor not without some difficulty.
"You're getting fat, old man." He smirked. "Let's go home."
Jump starting the car had been the easy part. Dragging Jack down the stairs - the elevator had suddenly lost power - all the way to the vehicle had been another story altogether. On the one hand he was glad he hadn't seen anyone on his way out, on the other hand, he kind of wished he had. He wouldn't have minded a fight. He needed release. Regardless of its nature.
The street lights flashed over them as he sped on the highway, lighting Jack's face at regular interval. The man had fallen in a deep sleep. Or coma. It was always hard to tell. A relief he couldn't die, though. John had underestimated that kettle. He glanced at his passenger. These kinds of events always took a toll on people. Yet Jack looked the same. The perks of being an immortal. Keeping a distracted eye on the road, John observed his companion. His coat had slipped off slightly, revealing the shadow of his throat, only kept at bay by the rigid unbotonned collar. He could see his vein pumping at the base of his jaw. His lips were parted ever so slightly, following the slow rhythm of his breath. His eyelashes glistened in the intermittent light. A strand of his hair rested on his forehead smoothed in relaxation. John looked away.
"Focus." His words were but a whisper. He pulled at the collar of his stiff military jacket. He took a deep breath. He turned to Jack. He hadn't moved.
Maybe. Just... Just a little bit.
He lifted his hand from the steering wheel, flexing his fingers for a split second. Then, slowly, he extended his arm. Just a little bit. Hesitantly. He moved back slightly as a lorry illuminated the cabin. In the semi-darkness that followed, he finally made up his mind. He reached for Jack's face.
"Touch me and I'll kill you."
The car veered sharply to the left, coming dangerously close to hitting the small sedan coming in the opposite direction. John steadied the car at the last minute. The other driver's horn echoed in the night. John stopped the car on the curb, his heart racing.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?"
Jack stared at him.
"You may stay with me if you want. I can't - won't - stop you. But know that you're not welcome."
John glared at Jack, stung.
"Fine. I'll disappear then!"
John swung the door open and made a show of banging it as loudly as possible. He stomped away from the car. The nerve! Who did he think he was? How did he think he'd survive in the past? It was all thanks to him. Without him Jack would never have gotten back on his feet after his wife's death. Or his sons' death or... John stopped and yelled. He clenched his hands into fists and turned around, walking in the blinding light of the headlights. He struggled with the door handle but managed to get back in the driver's seat.
"Back so soon?"
"Shut up!"
He turned to Jack. The man's eyes were closed but he could have sworn he saw a smirk on his lips. That was something, at least. He turned the key in the ignition.