Author's Notes: More angst here I'm afraid and tissues/handkerchiefs may be required again. Sincere thanks as always to Prothrombintime for invaluable feedback and encouragement. We're nearly at the end now - only three more chapters to go after this one...
Chapter Fifty-Seven
October 14th, 2008
It was nine days later when Jack arrived in London, disembarking from the train with his meagre possessions slung over his shoulder. Keeping his head down as he moved through the crowded station, he headed for a nearby hotel. He wasn't expecting to stay in London for long, but he'd needed to get away from Cardiff. It was too painful to stay there, where everything evoked bittersweet memories and reminded him of how much he'd lost. He'd needed to escape.
After his farewells with the Doctor and Martha, he'd thought he was going home. For the first time since the Doctor had abandoned him far off in the distant future, he'd actually felt like he had somewhere he truly belonged... more importantly, someone he belonged to... someone who accepted and loved him, despite his many gaping flaws, chequered past and tortured soul. But home wasn't merely a place, it was being with the man who owned his heart, the one person who was now beyond his reach. Once again, he didn't belong anywhere, and London was nothing more than a convenient pit stop. Here in the vast, sprawling city, he was just one more lonely person adrift in a sea of lost souls.
After leaving the Hub on the night of his return, he'd gone to their former apartment. He'd known it was a monumentally bad idea, but he'd needed to see it one final time. It had been the one place where he could relinquish the weight of his responsibilities, a place where he didn't have to be anyone or anything; a tiny haven from the darkness and myriad dangers of his daily life. With regret he'd realised that he had never thanked Ianto for that priceless gift. It had been Ianto's presence that had transformed the previously unwelcoming space into something special and precious. He'd never told the younger man how much it had meant to him to have that small slice of normality.
Finding the space empty and devoid of possessions had intensified his already overwhelming feelings of guilt and loss. Although the furniture remained, Ianto had left no other trace of himself behind. The handful of Jack's clothes at one end of the wardrobe and the small collection of his toiletries in the bathroom were the only evidence of the apartment having once been a home. He'd carefully retrieved the bespoke suit he'd worn for their first official date, reverently stroking the fine wool fabric as he'd recalled that amazing evening they'd shared. It was one of his favourite memories of their time together. He'd just got Ianto back and as he'd admired the stunning Welshman sitting across from him in the restaurant, blue eyes alight with humour and affection, Jack had felt like the luckiest man alive.
With thick tears streaming down his face, he'd crawled onto their bed and clung to the pillow that had once belonged to his lover. He'd tried to detect some infinitesimal residue of Ianto's unique scent, desperately aching for a tangible reminder of the younger man. Ianto had often joked about his inability to resist the allure of Jack's pheromones, but the younger man's own complex scent, while not as potent, was no less intoxicating.
Retrieving the worn leather journal from the inside pocket of his coat, he'd clutched it tightly against his chest. He'd found the diary on his desk the morning the TARDIS had appeared on the Plass, and he'd slipped it into his pocket, intending to return it to the younger man later that day. The diary was important to Ianto, and he'd known the Welshman would fret if he couldn't find it. Then the TARDIS had arrived, and in his frantic rush to reach the ship before it vanished again, he'd forgotten all about it. That innocuous leather-bound diary had journeyed with him to the end of the universe, and he'd later entrusted it to Martha Jones to keep safe. She hadn't disappointed him, and after walking the Earth for a year as she spread the Doctor's message, she'd returned the diary to him intact, albeit less pristine than it had once been.
Eventually he'd cried himself into a restless sleep. When a vivid nightmare had dragged him violently back to wakefulness, his trembling hands had reached reflexively for the warm, comforting body he'd known so well. The pain of finding only cold, empty space instead had made the horrors dredged up by his subconscious seem inconsequential in comparison.
He'd roamed the streets of Cardiff in the days that followed, dressed inconspicuously in casual clothes, and keeping his distance from the Hub. But everywhere he went, he'd found himself searching the faces of tall, dark-haired young men, even though he'd known the man he was searching for was already long gone. Every time he caught a glimpse of an attractive young man in a tailored suit, his heart ached with inconsolable pain.
Despite himself, he'd returned to the apartment each night, wandering aimlessly between the rooms as his memories continued to haunt him. When his recurrent nightmares refused him a reprieve from his anguished, guilt-ridden thoughts, he'd stood on the building's rooftop and stared up at the stars. But gazing to the heavens didn't provide the solace it once had, and he no longer yearned for distant worlds, excitement, adventure, and the thrill of new experiences. His needs had become far more fundamental, his yearning more specific and quantifiable. With a sense of tragic irony, he'd realised that what he'd been waiting for all those interminably long years hadn't been what he'd wanted at all.
Whenever he now looked up to the stars, his thoughts were instead consumed by an extraordinary and unassuming man. The man he loved was in some distant place, alone and confused, with no memory of Jack or their time together. With regret tearing at his shattered soul, Jack had bitterly imagined what might have been... of how for the first time, he'd almost had the hope of genuine, long-lasting happiness so tantalisingly within his grasp.
It had been late at night, a week after his return, when he'd finally gone back to the Hub. His wrist-strap hadn't recorded any Rift activity and he'd watched from the shadows as Tosh, Owen and Gwen had departed for the day. He'd entered via the invisible lift, using his wrist-strap to loop the CCTV feeds and temporarily disable the Hub's internal sensors so his presence would remain undetected.
The vast underground base that had once been his sanctuary had continued to feel oppressive and lifeless, serving only to heighten his sense of despair. He'd slowly made his way to the empty space that had been Myfanwy's nest, his eyes burning with tears as he'd imagined Ianto cradling the lifeless form of the creature they'd both adored in his arms. Pressing his eyes closed in a futile attempt to suppress the painful image, he'd turned away, clenching his fists as a fresh wave of self-loathing overtook him.
Once he'd managed to regain his composure, he'd determinedly set to work, creating a new identity for himself along with the necessary supporting documentation. Securing the documents in a worn satchel, he'd gathered up some clothing and possessions from his bunker, shoving them hastily into a battered rucksack. With a lingering look at the greatcoat hanging in his former office, he'd hung his temporary replacement next to it, saying a silent goodbye to the identity he'd inhabited for the past one-hundred and forty years. After a brief stop at the medical bay, he'd hastily exited the Hub for the final time.
He'd met Tosh and Owen at their flat the following morning, hugging them both and wishing them well. Owen had railed against him at first, needing an outlet for his hurt and anger, but then he'd become uncharacteristically subdued, and just as Jack had turned to leave, the medic had pulled him into a fierce embrace. Jack had hated saying goodbye to the two people he'd grown to love and regard not only as valued colleagues but as close friends, but he knew they'd be fine without him. Over time, the four of them had become an odd little family, and he regretted having to leave the remaining half of their close-knit team. He'd decided not to contact Gwen, knowing she'd only berate him for leaving and try to convince him to stay. Nothing she could have said would have changed his mind anyway. The former detective was the only member of the team who didn't know the truth about him, and she could never begin to comprehend the sacrifices he'd made during his long tenure with the clandestine organisation.
He'd stood on the rooftop of the Millennium Centre one last time, gazing out over the city he'd helped to protect for over one hundred years. Broken-hearted, but resigned to find a new life for himself, he'd boarded the next train to London, certain he'd never set foot in Cardiff again.
Sitting in the chair of his hotel room that evening, Jack finished narrating a succinct set of facts and instructions. He reached for his wrist-strap, manipulating the controls to turn off the holographic recording, placing the device, along with the note he'd written earlier, onto the bedside table.
He retrieved the battered metal tin containing his photographs from his bag, then carefully opened it and extracted the top-most image. Sitting on the bed, he stared down at the photograph for a long time, tracing his fingertip over Ianto's handsome, smiling features. He had his arms around the younger man, holding him close, and he was grinning at the camera, his expression one of undisputed happiness. They'd been celebrating Ianto's twenty-fourth birthday, and Tosh had insisted on taking some photographs to commemorate the occasion. This particular image of that carefree, unguarded moment had been his favourite. He'd slipped the photograph into his tin the following day, trying not to think about a time when it would be all he had left of Ianto Jones. That day had arrived far sooner than he'd hoped.
The only other loose end had been Ianto's diary. He couldn't keep it, but he couldn't bring himself to destroy it either. He'd considered giving it to Tosh for safekeeping, but instead he'd decided to entrust it to Martha Jones once more. He'd posted it to her London address before leaving Cardiff, with a brief note attached, asking her to keep it safe. He knew the journal would never find its way back into the hands of its owner, but he'd felt a little better knowing it still existed in the world.
With a heavy heart, he placed the tin back in his bag, then walked into the bathroom and extracted a matchbook from his trouser pocket. Lighting a match, he hesitated before igniting a corner of the photograph. Blinking back his tears, he dropped it into the basin and watched as the tendrils of flame quickly engulfed the image, destroying his final link to Ianto and his old life. Wiping roughly at his eyes, he washed the ashes away, ensuring no trace remained. Wherever Ianto was now, he just hoped the Welshman was safe and would eventually find the happiness he deserved.
He looked up and gazed at his reflection in the mirror, staring into dull, lifeless eyes. He'd barely eaten since his return, and with insomnia taking its toll on his mortal body, his features were gaunt and drawn. He looked like hell, not that it seemed to matter anymore.
But destroying that final, tenuous link had strengthened his resolve. He'd learned to live with a long list of regrets accumulated over his unnaturally prolonged life, but losing Ianto was the one regret he couldn't bear to add to that list. He couldn't spend the rest of his days searching nameless faces everywhere he went, pointlessly hoping to find a man who no longer knew who he was. He couldn't salvage the ruins of his life while the memories of what he'd endured aboard the Valiant plagued his waking and unconscious thoughts. He'd suffered enough for ten lifetimes, and the trauma was too much to cope with on his own.
Half-filling a glass with water, he returned to the bedroom and scooped up the five retcon tablets he'd left on the table into the palm of his hand. Not giving himself time to second-guess his decision, he tossed the tablets into his mouth, chasing them down with a hasty gulp of water.
He quickly undressed, haphazardly arranging his clothes over the nearby chair, then flicked off the light, slipped under the bed covers, and closed his eyes. He could already feel the sedative beginning to take effect as his thoughts began to grow hazy and indistinct.
Taking a slow, deep breath as his limbs grew heavy and his consciousness started to drift, the image of the beautiful, smiling face of the man he loved filled his mind. A single word escaped his lips in a whisper, before the darkness claimed him.
"Ianto..."