Summary: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

Rating: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-15ish?

Warnings for this chapter: Profanity, violence, angst… and that's it for now?

Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

Author's note: Thanks to all of the wonderful reviewers who gave me feedback on this story—I love you guys!

I wasn't sure if I was going to add John in this ficlet, but he asked so nicely that I couldn't help it ^_^. Plus, we all know that Jack needs a firm kick in the arse to get back to Earth… and John's going to supply the foot, hehe. So plenty of Jack/John interaction in this chapter. And not like that you pervs!

Btw, thanks to Vittani for being the wonderful Beta that she is and for encouraging me with this fic.

A few of you may be mad with what I'm going to do with John's character, but this is a fanfiction, and I promise that whatever I do is because of plot. Not just because I want to. Okay, maybe a little because I want to.

Enjoy!

Chapter Two: One, Two, Three Immortals

John still punched with the force the three Weevils, and Jack hit the wall before he was able to stop himself. His responding hit was just as hard, a vicious uppercut to John's chin that sent the smaller man flying in a heap. John stood slowly, careless, thumbing a bit of blood that had leaked out of the corner of his mouth with a bemused expression he knew all too well.

Then Jack got a good look at John and gaped.

"What in the hell did you do," Jack growled out harshly, unable to believe his eyes. Maybe one too many blows to the head in such a short amount of time was actually doing him some damage. Because there was no way, no way, that John Hart was standing in front of him looking so young, younger than Jack had known him to be in years, dressed his jeans, black shirt, and customary coat. Because that would mean something that Jack couldn't accept. So he snarked. "Went under the 51st century knife and got yourself a facelift?" But they both knew that wasn't the case—there was no surgery that could reverse aging so drastically, leaving behind a face that couldn't be more than 26 years old.

"What, Jackie? Think you've got the corner market on eternal youth?"

Jack resisted the urge to smash John's pretty head into a wall, because honestly, he wasn't sure he could win a fight with the man right now. Though the thought of bludgeoning the smug look off the ex-Time Agent's face was unbelievably tempting.

"What are you talking about? We both know that whatever trick you're playing now is just a pretty illusion. You're not like me, John," Jack said rather nastily, knowing that the other man's aging while Jack remained young was a sore point. Not that Jack could have ever understood why—John had always been remarkably attractive, and the small signs of aging that began to crop up over the years did little to ruin that attractiveness. Jack sometimes wished he could age.

To his surprise, John merely preened, looking at Jack from underneath long eyelashes while he purred, "No, Jackie, I'm much better." He then turned his body just so, so that the light from the planet's three moons cast an ethereal glow over the man's sharp cheekbones.

Show off.

Jack rolled his eyes. And John wondered why they could never work—as if Jack could be with someone who thought he was prettier than Jack was.

Though John was rather pretty, but not like Ian—and he was not thinking of that right now.

After seeing that Jack wasn't going to take the bait, John quickly adopted a petulant expression. "Well? Aren't you going to ask? Can't say you aren't curious," John prodded like an annoying child.

"No. I'm not going to give you that much attention." Jack took a seat on one of the only standing stools in the barroom where the skank's brothers had dragged him, crossing his arms and giving John a rather exhausted look. "I don't have a team for you to threaten, I don't really give a damn if you blow this planet up, and you couldn't kill me if you tried. So why don't you run along and go torture someone who can actually die?"

John always, always lost his cool when Jack refused to give him any attention. He was like a spoiled child being refused his favorite toy, and always threw a tantrum. A tantrum that usually ended with blood and body parts flying, but a tantrum nonetheless.

But not this time. Now the other man merely smirked lightly as if Jack's words had no effect. It was maddening, and Jack had to wonder once more what in the hell John had done to himself. "Aw, you're no fun anymore. Can't even get a rise out of you now that Eyecandy's met his end." And before the sentence fully left John's mouth, Jack was on him, slamming the smaller man against the wall and choking him with a well-placed forearm.

"You don't get to talk about him, you hear me? You don't even get to think about Ianto!" Jack was pressing onto John's neck so hard that he knew he had completely cut off the other man's breathing, but John merely stared at him calmly, an eyebrow raised.

And Jack had forgotten how flexible John could be when the man kicked out viciously, kneeing him in a very sensitive place. As he curled up, gasping out curses, John took a hand to message his bruised throat. "See, that's the problem with you, Jack. Always so quick to jump to your lover's defense, not knowing that you were the one to do the most damage." And before Jack could began to figure out that statement, John sighed explosively.

"Look, Jackie, I'm not here to fight with you."

Straightening as the pain in his groin subsided, Jack snorted in disbelief. When had John ever showed up to do anything but fight? "And that punch you threw was what? A lover's tap?"

"Just a little smack for old times sake, eh? Can't say that hurt you… but after the way those Nyaridds laid you out, which you had better be ashamed of, mate, your ego should be the only thing that's hurting you," John murmured slyly, looking so damn young that Jack was momentarily blinded by his curiosity.

"John, what did you do?"

John stared at Jack for a moment, blue/grey eyes more mature than Jack had ever remembered them being despite his younger appearance. "I searched all over the universe, through time and space, to become immortal so that I could be a match for you. So that you have no choice but to be with me, once you realized that I was the only person you knew who would be around forever."

Perhaps he should be in shock or even horrified that John managed to find a way to become eternally young (because lets face it, John wasn't the most stable of men and few things were worse than anything that was both insane and immortal), but the man was one of the most stubborn fools he'd ever met. In the back of his mind, he always knew John would find a way to live forever—or die trying.

And now Jack only felt slightly sad for the other man, who, despite being a psychotic mass-murderer and an unrepentant loose cannon that always managed to kill Jack at least once every time they met, was probably the best friend he'd ever had. Not that that said anything good about Jack.

Those five years in the time loop…

Jack shook his head. "I'm sorry, John… I can't." he said softly, feeling a brotherly affection for his ex-partner that he hadn't felt in years. Jack couldn't see himself in a relationship. Ever. Because even after a thousand years, he would still remember what he lost.

He promised to, after all.

To his surprise (yet again), John merely snickered. "Oh, don't worry, mate," he said, hand waving dismissively. "I don't want you, at least not anymore."

To say Jack was flabbergasted was an understatement. "W-What?"

John had never looked more amused. "See, the thing about immortality is this: I have forever now. And no offense mate, but I couldn't spend forever with you. Fifty years, sure. A hundred years, well that's a bit of a stretch. Forever? Not bloody likely." And disturbingly enough, something in John's eyes told Jack that he was telling the truth.

Jack shook his head in disbelief. Then he got angry. "You figure out that you don't want me now? After being the biggest fucking pain in my back for ten years? After you showed up on Earth with an explosive strapped to you. Twice. After you help my brother bury me alive for hundreds of years! What… what the hell, John!" He exploded, rage making him see red.

"You have really got to work on your anger management."

Jack snarled and slugged the smug man in the jaw, but John knew how to take a hit, and Jack wasn't gratified by the crunch of a broken jaw. Though he did split the man's full bottom lip, and Jack nearly rolled his eyes on how John made everything, even lapping up blood from a cut lip, obscene.

"And I'm supposed to believe that you just what? Decided to track me down to this septic tank of a planet to tell me that you don't want me anymore?"

"Well… yes and no." John gave a put-upon sigh and took a seat on the edge of an overturned table. "After getting the gift of eternal youth, I decided to go back to Earth. And—"

"What for," Jack interrupted. "Wanted to make a nuisance of yourself again?"

"And," John continued pointedly, as if Jack hadn't spoken. "Then I found out about the near miss with—what were you calling the buggers—oh, yeah the 456. And that Ey—" Jack growled and stood threateningly, he wouldn't take his ex insulting Ianto, and was a hairsbreadth away from putting the other man's newfound immortality to the test.

. "—Ianto was dead. Didn't believe it at first, Jack. The little bugger had always seemed so stubborn. But I saw the grave myself and—"

"Grave?" Jack asked in confusion. No Torchwood member ever had a grave. They got a drawer in the Hub (or other headquarters), but no grave.

John quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, grave. As in buried, six feet under. Ring any bells? You mean to say that you didn't even stick around for the funeral? Poor form, love."

"Shut up! You don't get to judge me, you bastard! You don't know—"

"Don't know what, Jackie? The way you always run away from your problems like a child? The way you sweep in and save the day, but make sure to never stick around for the aftermath? Yeah, I wouldn't know anything about," John replied with heavy sarcasm.

"You… don't have the right to judge me," Jack repeated through gritted teeth, his mind racing. Ianto had a funeral? They buried him? How could they do that? Ianto was Torchwood—Torchwood always got drawers.

He had a funeral. And Jack wasn't there.

Jack refused to show John the tears the prickled in the back of his eyes, and continued to stare down his ex with hard, flinty eyes. It hurt to think of the Welshman for even a second, and it was somehow impossible to suppress grief like he usually did. It hurt even more to think that he wasn't there when Ianto was laid to rest—that he wasn't there to prevent them from putting Ianto somewhere where he would rot and become part of the soil, where Jack could never see him again. And wasn't it morbid that, in the back of his mind, Jack had always thought that Ianto's preserved body would be at Torchwood for his viewing? It certainly wasn't healthy, to think he could gain comfort from staring at his lover's dead body, but it was all Jack had.

And now he didn't even have that.

All because Jack left before Ianto had time to get cold.

Jack didn't realize tears were sliding down his face until he heard John's astonished voice. "You actually loved him, didn't you?"

For once, Jack couldn't think of a snide comment, couldn't laugh it off, couldn't help be respond to John's question. "So… so much," he choked out hoarsely.

In his grief, he never noticed that John's split up had yet to heal.

When Gwen arrived at the Hub around noon, she immediately knew something was wrong.

The first clue was that the security system showed someone logging in around two o'clock in the morning. With Ianto's code, no less.

Then there were the dirty shoe prints leading through the headquarters. And the fact that Gwen, just by being a part of Torchwood, had developed a sixth sense about people being not where they should be, even when nothing appeared any different. And someone was here now who didn't belong.

She pulled out her gun, raising it and slowly turning as she attempted to be silent while walking on metal grating. A mental voice that sounded remarkably like Rhys scolded her for not taking her 'condition' into consideration. Gwen crushed the small voice relentlessly. She followed the remnants of dirty footsteps down to the showers, noting that whatever it was hadn't really cared much for being discovered.

Then she saw the pile of clothes. The muddy mess at the bottom of one of the stalls. But it was the clothes that caused her to freeze, her insides turning to ice. It was, underneath all of the grime and filth, a suit. A suit that she was familiar with, as suit that she had see a member of the team wear once or twice. It was Ianto's suit.

Ianto's suit was covered in dirt, and on the shower floor.

Gwen had to use all of her training, both from Torchwood and the police office, to stop herself from screaming and running for the hills. She almost frantically recalled seeing Dawn of the Dead and 28 Days Later, two movies she still hated Rhys for making her watch. But she mentally slapped herself around the head for even thinking the word 'zombie.' Zombies don't often take showers, do they?

But that was no reason to let down her guard—for all she knew, some thing (alien, most like) found a way to animate Ianto's body as a means of transportation. There were such aliens, though she had been grateful enough to never encounter them. Gwen shuddered at the thought, and steeled herself as she began to make her way back into the main part of the Hub. She couldn't imagine shooting something that was wearing Ianto's body, didn't even know if she could, but Gwen had done many things in the past year that she would have never thought she could do.

And she would make whatever this son-of-a-bitch was pay for using Ianto like this.

Gwen slowly and systematically searched every inch of the Hub, from the basement to the archives, but there was no sign of anyone—or anything—being there. The only place she hadn't checked was the place she had yet to step one foot in since the Hub had been rebuilt.

Jack's office.

Reluctantly, Gwen sighed and braced herself for the memories she would rather forget as she carefully made her way up to Jack's office, gun cocked and ready to be fired. She thought memories of Jack would overcome her the moment she walked into his 'personal space,' but there was nothing of Jack's here. The office was completely empty, a file cabinet in the corner and a barren desk in the middle of the room. Neither were the ones that Jack used, and Gwen was perhaps more disturbed that this room failed to remind her of Jack at all. As if Jack had never been there. As if he had never existed.

A faint sound came from underneath and Gwen flinched, hands tightening on her gun as she focused on Jack's bunker. Something was clearly in there, but she knew it would be a bad idea to confront anything there. For one, there was only one entrance/exit and whatever it was would most likely see her the moment she descended down the small steps. Then there was the fact that the place was completely tiny with metal walls, and the last thing Gwen needed were ricocheted bullets.

Knowing all of this, Gwen still made her way to the small entrance, where she could see a small amount of light. Bad idea. This is such a bad idea, the small, intelligent part of her hissed in warning. It was a voice Gwen grew used to ignoring.

When Gwen began to descend into the bunker, an amazing site greeted her there.

A young man was on the small cot, sleeping deeply face-down without any covering other than a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. The bunker was largely empty, with only the undressed cot and a small automatic light aiding to the dingy feel of the tiny room. But Gwen kept her eyes on the young man, who was fairly tall with a discernibly toned body underneath the clothes he was practically swimming in. His hair was dark, only a shade or so from black, and was cut in what must have once been a short cut with slightly longer hair on the top. The hair seemed to have grown out of the style, however, hanging over the young man's ears. His skin was pale, from what Gwen could see, and the hand that hung over the side of the tiny cot was fine-boned and graceful.

Gwen was not in a position to see his face, but she was fairly certain it was a face she knew.

The grip on her gun was sweaty, and she went a bit closer to the bed, heart pounding. The young man gave a small sighing noise, and turned his head towards her, still asleep.

Despite the fact that she was expecting it, Gwen nearly dropped her gun in shock.

It was… Ianto.

Ianto, with hair an inch or so longer than she'd ever known him to have that fell over his forehead. Ianto, with one of the cutest button noses she'd ever seen, Ianto with his pouty bottom lip. Ianto, with his face relaxed and he looked so young that Gwen wanted to weep. She always forgot, with his suits and adorable attempts at professionalism in Torchwood Three's madness, that Ianto was the youngest of them. The baby of the team.

Gwen didn't even know his birthday.

But she was getting ahead of herself. This couldn't be Ianto. She was there when he was put in the ground, was there to sob over his body. This thing certainly looked like Ianto, but it couldn't be. Because if Ianto was going to miraculously come back to life, it would have been weeks ago.

The not-Ianto gave another small sigh in its sleep and Gwen lost her patience, throwing a plastic container to wake him up. He immediately shot up, almost as if he hadn't been sleep at all, staring at her blearily before his eyes widened at the sight of her gun.

"Up, against the wall." Not-Ianto didn't move, mouth open slightly. "Now!" She gestured with the gun and he quick moved towards the wall, putting up his hand in the universal 'no harm' sign.

"Gwen," not-Ianto murmured, voice thick with sleep. "What… what—"

"Quiet! Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Not-Ianto's eyebrows furrowed in a very Ianto-like expression. "Gwen," he started again tentatively. "Don't you remember me? It's Ian—"

She snarled, tears coming to her eyes. "Don't play me, don't you dare play me! Ianto is dead. Whatever you are, you're not him. So you better start explaining why I shouldn't empty a round in you."

"Gwen, it's me. I—I woke up and I was in a grave, but—"

"Stop! Just, stop," she gasped out. This couldn't be Ianto, because that meant she made him dug his way out of his own grave. And she couldn't handle that. But something in his eyes, his earnest, haunted and yet somehow innocent blue eyes, told her that this was Ianto.

But it couldn't be.

Gwen wanted it to be.

"Prove you're you," Gwen nearly whispered, tears streaming out of here eyes and down her freckled cheeks.

"And how do you want me to go about that?"

She didn't respond, cocking her gun.

Not-Ianto raised a hand in acquiesce. "Alright then. Lets see… You like your coffee extra sweet, and with lots of crème, but you pretended to drink it black so that Jack would take you seriously when you first started. Until you found out that his first cup of black coffee is for show, and that he likes it even sweater than you, that is."

She gasped out, shaking her head in denial.

Not-Ianto must have taken her gasp and encouragement, because he continued to speak. "And one time you put a 'kick me' sign on the back of Owen's chair, only to have him retaliate with an 'ask me to blow you' one on the back of your shirt. Which wouldn't have been so bad if you hadn't left the Hub to go visit Rhys at work that day."

The hands on her gun began to shake, and the tears completely clouded her vision. "I-Ianto?"

He stared at her for a moment, blue eyes far too solemn. "Gwen, I—"

She nearly knocked him over as she launched herself at him, gun dropping to the floor with a clatter. She squeeze her arms around him as tight they would go, and felt him gasp slightly at the pressure, but she couldn't find the power to ease up. Ianto was here, and he felt warm and alive and breathing in her arms as she sobbed. Oh, this was real, Ianto was real.

How could this be real?

"It's alright Gwen," Ianto murmured into her hair, clearly trying to sooth her.

Gwen just cried harder.

"But… but how?" She asked finally, taking her head away from his chest and grimacing at the mess she made his shirt.

Ianto frowned. "I'm guessing you didn't have anything to do with it, then?"

Gwen shook her head dumbly.

"Then I am as in the dark as you."

"I don't understand, Ianto. How could this… how could you…"

"I'm not sure, but maybe we'll be able to find out if there was a rift spike last night. Let's go up."

Gwen followed silently, feeling as if a giant pressure had suddenly been lifted off of her. For once in the past couple of weeks, someone was telling her what to do, and it felt wonderful. And yes, Gwen was aware of the irony in that.

She couldn't help but notice how Ianto stared as he walked into the main part of the Hub. "What is it?"

He shook his head, turning back slightly to give her a small smile. "Nothing, it's just… it's all so shiny now. I could never make it look this new." Gwen smiled back tentatively at the self-depreciation in his voice.

"You were working with decades worth of grime. Besides, the fact that you stopped Owen's coffee from growing mold was more than impressive."

Ianto flashed her another smile. "True."

Ianto finally took a seat at what used to be Tosh's working station, quickly looking over the new components added to the super computer before pulling up the rift activity from last night. The nonexistent rift activity, it would seem. "This is unbelievable," he muttered. "There was absolutely no rift activity last night, not even miniscule spikes… it was still, abnormally so."

"So that means whatever brought you back has nothing to do with the rift."

"It would appear so," Ianto murmured with a slight frown. He stared blankly at the screen for several moments, and Gwen gathered her nerve.

"What… what happened? How did you… get back here?"

Ianto turned towards her and spared her a glance before looking away. "The detail are rather, well, grim. You probably don't want to know."

"Please," she almost whispered, reaching over to take one of his hands, eyes earnest. "I need to know."

So Ianto told her, watching as she blanched when he glossed over not being able to breathe and having to fight his way to the surface. And when he explained how he'd walked to the Hub, Ianto asked the question that had been plaguing him since he arrived at the new looking headquarters. "How is it that the Hub is repaired?"

Gwen didn't answer, her eyes on the floor and wide with horror.

"Gwen?" He asked kindly.

She stared up at him for a moment before choking down a sob. "It's… it's all my fault. The reason you were buried, it was because I allowed your family to have your body. Rhiannon called me, she wanted a proper… proper burial and I couldn't refuse. I'm so sorry! I didn't know." Gwen began to cry again, and Ianto gave her a light hug.

"It's alright. You couldn't have anticipated this."

"I know," she finally whispered, somewhat reluctantly. "But I can't help but feel a bit guilty."

The sat in silence for a long while, Ianto covertly yawning as Gwen stared down at her feet. "Gwen," Ianto began hesitantly, not really wanting to ask, but knowing he had to know.

"Yes?" she murmured.

"How did we manage to win against the 456?" Ianto didn't even ask where Jack was, because it was a question that didn't even merit an answer.

Gwen groaned slightly, running a hand through her hair roughly. "I was really hoping you wouldn't ask that."

There were reasons why Jack didn't drink, John thought as he watched his ex sobbing into the pint, whispering 'Ianto' repeatedly. John would have called him a pathetic tosser twenty minutes ago if it weren't for the fact that Jack had just lost the man his loved and clearly wasn't dealing.

And who said he was heartless?

Instead, he dragged the crying man to the space ship's shower unit (which was considered obsolete, but John had been taught a thing or two about comfort on primitive Earth, and much preferred a shower to Cryo-Clean chambers). He then put the shower on full blast, watching with almost sadistic glee as Jack shrieked and sputtered as the icy water soaked him. Needless to say, Jack was far more sober after that, though he glared at John balefully and pouted like a sulking child.

"Asshole," Jack muttered from chattering teeth. He was fucking freezing.

John handed him a towel, looking awfully amused. "I try, Jackie."

"Don't call me that," he snapped out, beginning to change out of the drenched clothes, uncaring of his nakedness. John forcibly turned his head in the other direction, unwilling to let himself be tempted. A quick screw with Jack would be lovely, but the consequences weren't worth it.

Even if Jack did have a lovely arse.

John left Jack to his changing, walking back to the front of the ship and taking a sip from Jack's mug. Urgh, tastes like Weevil piss, he thought in disgust. The drink had so much alcohol concentration it nearly burned off his tongue. Jack must have really been looking for oblivion to pick this—most types of liquor would be out of his system before an hour was over. This would last quite a bit longer.

All the more reason to pour the bottle down the drain.

Dressing slowly in the shower, Jack fought against tears again, not wanting to give John any more ammunition than he already had. Though the other man was being awfully nice, so nice that it was becoming disturbing and making Jack wait for the other shoe drop. Things were never so simple with that damn man… Although some of it might be genuine. John was reminding Jack of the man he'd been when they first met on another, before the Time Agency warped him and his obsession with Jack reached dangerous heights. Not that John hadn't already been psychotic when he began working as a Time Agent. No, the Agency only helped him perfect his mental instability. But John didn't seem unstable now, and Jack was beginning to wonder what John was getting out of all of this besides some really great insult material.

He was still a bit under the influence, although John's 'cure' for his hysterical crying seemed to have worked.

They were on their way out of the galaxy, to a spot Jack can hardly remember visiting due to all the drugs he'd taken on the planet. And that was just fine. A bit of oblivion was exactly what he needed right now.

Yes, because he didn't want to think about the light going out of Ianto's eyes. He didn't want to think about the young man's utter faith him, faith in Jack that had gotten him killed. He didn't want to think about what he would have sacrificed to have Ianto here with him now. Jack wiped away an errant tear, making his way to the front of the small ship.

Seeing John sitting there so composed, Jack couldn't help but snipe. "This ship is small as shit and just as fast."

John shrugged uncaringly. "It was the fastest one I could steal."

"And how many people did you have to kill to get it?"

John raised an eyebrow and Jack suddenly hated him. Only Ianto was allowed to do the Eyebrow. "Would you believe me if I said no one?"

"No," Jack said flatly, arms crossing as he sat down.

John shrugged. "Oh, well, make sure to avoid the bloodstain near the sink." As much as Jack should have been disgusted, he couldn't help but snicker. That was just so… John. The snicker turned into chuckles, the chuckles turning into belly deep laugh until tears started to stream down his face and he began to sob again, shudders wracking his body.

Oh, God, how he could he even think about laughing when Ianto was turning to dust in some grave?

"Dear gods, you are pathetic man! If I hadn't had my tear ducts removed, I would be crying out of shame. Eyecandy must have had an arse of gold to leave you that hard up. Makes me wish I would have sampled it myself!"

Jack growled like an angry beast and hit John with everything in inebriated and tear-ridden body, making the slighter man slam into the console of controls. Almost immediately, red lights began to flash as an alarm sounded, bouncing off of the small walls of the cabin. Then the ship beginning to speak in a language Jack didn't understand. Though he was pretty sure whatever it was saying had to be bad.

John began to curse loudly, and pressed a few buttons in succession, urgency in every move. As the red lights stopped flashing and the alarm ceased to sound, John turned to him in fury.

"What the bloody fuck, Jack! Try to refrain from hitting me two feet away from the bloody consoles! You trying to kill us, you idiot?!"

Jack's stare was hard. "I already told you to never speak of Ianto like that. I don't give a fuck if you call me everything under the stars, just don't open that mouth of yours to insult Ianto or I swear you'll be spitting out teeth!"

John rolled his eyes dramatically, muttering "Drama queen," before turning back to the console, trying to make sure they wouldn't crash.

Jack snarled in frustration and turned around, beginning to pace. "This is fucking insane! What in the hell am I doing here, with you of all people? I can't stand you, you've tried to either kill me or fuck me every time we meet, and you nearly killed everyone on the team. Not to mention what happened to Tosh and Owen, and I still haven't bashed in your fucking head for that. I must be out of my mind, trapped in a ship with you. This has got to be some corner of hell, I must be dead! No, because I can't believe dying would be so fucking annoying! Plus I know you're lying to me about the whole immortality thing, because hello, your lip is still busted and I really don't want to be a part of you twisted little plans again! And you—" Jack snapped with sudden fury, only to gasp and stare in confusion at the sword sticking out of his chest. Then in keeled over, and John signed in relief.

"Bloody hell, thought you would never shut up."

He returned to the controls, setting the destination to Earth while Jack was… indisposed. He changed the coordinates from Planet 142 to Earth. He wasn't dealing with a grieving Jack for much longer, and would force the man into closure if he had to.

Plus, John had… business on Earth.

TBC