Chapter Eight
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If I go away
What would still remain of me?
The ghost within your eyes? The whisper in your sighs?
You see...Believe and I'm always there.
- Jon Oliva
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Choking back the tears, not wanting them to touch the paining, Jack watched the image come into view as he unrolled the canvas with shaky hands, taking in the details slowly, one at a time.
A wooden boardwalk. Trainers… Tight black jeans clinging to slender legs. A red cotton short sleeved shirt over top of a black t-shirt. Both were tucked in…even on his days off, he prided himself on a neat appearance.
A thin black belt hugged the waist Jack wrapped his arms around so many times... he could almost feel Ianto's body against him... it was that memory that had kept him sane through two thousand years underground... oh God, I miss you so much...
It was a casual pose with Ianto leaning against the railing, grey-blue waves in the background… Jack didn't know if he'd ever posed for Henry or if Henry had created the backdrop of an ocean front from memory. It could be Cardiff Bay… it could be anywhere… It amazed him that someone who hadn't seen the sun or a daylight sky with his own eyes in so many centuries could paint one so well.
And Jack couldn't help the smirk that played across his lips when he realized that one of Ianto's hands was holding that red UNIT cap. A wedding present from Martha Jones, he remembered suddenly, almost able to see her face in the dark.
Henry had said he had done other paintings of Ianto, but he had seemed to hunt for this one specifically. He'd heard a few stories about the cap.
Jack finally let his gaze fall on his Welshman's face. Ianto was looking towards the sea, the wind blowing his hair just a little. His eyes were the same colour as the shadows on the water… and that smile… Jack had completely forgotten how much he loved that smile. Most of the time Ianto looked so serious, but sometimes there was this mischief about him…
For a moment he was back there too. The morning after the Weevil incident in the park… Ianto met him on the boardwalk outside the tourist office with a cup of coffee… he probably shouldn't have accepted coffee from a stranger, but what was the worst that would happen? It would be poisoned? He'd have to retcon the kid after he saw him come back? He'd already run a background check, he knew that Jones, Ianto Jones had worked for Torchwood, London.
There is no job…
So you're not going to help me with the pterodactyl, then?
I still love the coat…
Jack had lost the coat years ago, of course. Like that red cap, the stopwatch… coffee cups… time ate away at everything, caused it to crumble to dust… it had even robbed him of his most precious memories, at least for a while…they came rushing back at him now, so hard and fast he felt he might fall over.
I will love you forever, Cariad. I know you don't want to hear it, but I promise, when the last star goes out you'll find me there waiting for you in the dark. His voice… those beautiful Welsh vowels…
One might even say I'm getting on with my life… I've loved you for a long time, Jack…
I want this… I want you…
You might need a birth certificate…
Haven't you ever heard of a proper clothes hamper?
Honestly, Jack, would it KILL you to squeeze the toothpaste from the end? And even if it would it's not like you won't come back…
She's the last of her species, you're not going to make me feel guilty for spoiling her…
That's what I love about Torchwood… by day chasing the scum of the Universe, come midnight, you're the wedding fairies…
Meeting you changed my life. You gave my life meaning again. You gave me a purpose. You made me whole…
The memories were jumbled, all out of sequence, but he could hear that voice again… he could see his face… that smile…his laugh...
Keep it up and you will find a Weevil in your wardrobe...
Good thing it's your wardrobe too...
I love the life you've shown me, as completely mad as it can get around here... I love going to bed next to you and waking up next to you… or at least your pillow…
You don't have to remember every detail, but every once in a while just think of me. Remember that Ianto Jones existed and the he loved you more than anything…
Promise me you'll love again. Promise me, Jack! Don't close yourself off in grief. I love you too much to think about you not loving somebody else, not being happy…
"I promise," he barely recognized the sound of is own voice.
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Henry looked up from his desk when Jack finally emerged from the other room, his eyes red-rimmed, the painting rolled back up, held gingerly in his hands. "I have a frame…"
Jack shook his head. "I don't need to hang it up. I just need to be able to look at it once in a while, so I don't forget again." So I won't ever forget.
The artist nodded; he found a metal canister in his workspace that the painting would fit into and handed it over.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Jack opened his mouth and then closed it again. He got the words to come out on the second try. "How will I know…? Not saying I even believe it's possible… but if is… how will I know if…?" he couldn't quite finish the sentence.
"You may never figure it out. But is it really that important? Jack, your life is too long for you not to allow yourself every possible chance at love… real love."
"I have…"
Henry shook his head. "I know you. You have only loved that way once," he nodded at the canister, now safely housing the painting he'd done almost a century ago of Ianto Jones. He'd used its predecessors as guides as even his own memory of Earth had faded over the years. "You deserve to love that way again… if it's him… if it isn't him… all that matters is being open to the possibility of loving… of being loved, just as deeply as you can."
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Kam rolled down the sleeves of his sweater so that they covered not only his wrists and the leather bracelets, but his hands as well, all the way down to his fingertips. The shirt, like the rest of his clothing, was second, third, or maybe even fourth-hand. It was faded olive green - not his best colour. It was threadbare in spots and patched. Of coures he never wore this sweater on the bridge. This was his comfortable sweater, something he put on when he was alone… or when he wanted to be alone.
But alone wasn't what he wanted to be right now, it was just that this was the only shirt he had with sleeves long enough to cover his wrists.
He'd done his best to look presentable otherwise, at least. He owned one vest. Some sort of animal hide, but he would have hesitated to call it leather. It fit him well enough, though. The lacing up the front might even be considered a little sexy.
Most importantly, it made the shirt – which hung almost to his knees – look a little less awkward on his body.
He tried to tell himself it didn't matter what he looked like, what he wore. No one on Omega Station was likely to care. But it wasn't the opinions of anyone on Omega Station he cared about. After the Captain had left him, he hadn't been able to get back into the book. He'd tried, but his mind kept wandering back to those blue eyes. That kiss… what he wouldn't give for a chance at another kiss… he knew he didn't look like somebody anybody would want to kiss in sweater that was three sizes too big.
He told himself he was being stupid. The Captain's invitation to have a drink with him was just him being polite… but why would someone like him be polite to someone like me? I'm nobody.
The most he would ever be to Jack Harkness was something to pass the time, a bed warmer, and becoming the Captain's pet would kill his chances at any kind of real position… but it was just a drink and he didn't even drink. He would have a cup of tea or coffee, maybe. Some sort of juice. Water.
If anyone asked, he could say the Captain was briefing him on… on something. The night shift.
How untoward could it possibly seem?
Of course he knew the answer to that.
His hands began sweating profusely the instant he stepped out of the relative safety of the Bonny Welshman and onto the landing deck.
It took Kam almost an hour to find Bessie's; when the Captain had said it was out of the way, he hadn't been kidding.
Taking a deep breath he stepped inside, telling himself he had every right to be here.
He surveyed the crowd, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting… but he didn't see the familiar dark hair and blue shirt. He didn't hear the Captain's laugh booming over the conversation.
"Can I getcha somethin', Luv?" a server asked.
"I… erm…" he found himself fidgeting with the bracelets under his sleeves. "I'm looking for a man…"
"Aren't we all?" she teased good naturedly.
His cheeks grew flush. "No… I mean… my Captain came in here a while ago… that is… the Captain of the ship I'm contracted to," he floundered. "He's… about this tall… "
She waved him off before he got any further. "We don't get many 'tourists'. You mean Captain Harkness, am I right?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Is he here?" he tried not to sound too hopeful.
"Sorry, Love. He took off with Henry ages ago." Her smile suggested that she might not have minded taking off with Henry as well.
"Henry?" asked Kam.
"Henry Fitzroy… this is his place."
"Oh. Yes. Of course. I… I'm sorry to have bothered you." He turned and left as quickly as he could, his cheeks on fire with embarrassment.
Henry Fitzroy. Whoever he was, he wasn't a nobody.
What was I really expecting was going to happen anyway? Kam asked himself. Just because the Jack… Captain Harkness… had shown him a little kindness... all it meant was that he was a good man.
And the last thing a good man would want is something like me hanging around. He might use him to warm his bed, it might even be pleasant… oh God, that kiss… nobody had ever kissed him like that before…
"Well look what we have here."
Kam froze in his tracks at the sound of Fletcher's voice; a knot tightened in his gut like a fist closing.
He'd managed to wander back to one of the larger corridors but was still well off the main arcade. It looked like Fletcher, Leese, and two other crewmen had just stumbled out of the tavern behind them.
The corridor wasn't deserted, but in Kam's experience people in places like this tended to mind their own business.
"Come out to play, little whore?" his cabin mate inquired, his tone full of menace. Leese and the other two snickered at Kam's discomfort. "Oh, I'm sorry," Fletcher drawled. Even from ten feet away, Kam could smell the whisky on his breath. "Would you prefer I didn't say that word too loud? Tell you what, you can come a little closer and ask me real nice to keep my voice down..."
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After checking the upper decks and then Kam's cabin, Jack did a quick sweep of the ship… he was the only crew member aboard. "Guess he decided to blow off a little steam like the rest of them after all," he sighed. Oh well, having brought back dinner for two would at least guarantee that he wouldn't have to eat in the mess for a couple of days.