AN: So it's a really short chapter...sorry! But this isn't something I wanted to drag out. But it took me less than three weeks to write it, so, hey-progress! Thanks so much to all of your continued support!

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

A look of surprise flittered over Jack's eyes, but he instantly recovered and entered the flat, closing the door behind him. He found Ian on the sofa, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. Jack sat in one of the less than inviting chairs opposite him, and took in his brother's appearance while he attempted to formulate his own thoughts into words. It was blatantly obvious that Ian was more than a tad fatigued. His features were gaunt and there was a vacancy to his eyes that was familiar, yet at the same time, foreign.

"Jack," Ian sighed, "It's rather late for a staring contest. So unless you have an actual purpose for coming here, could we take a rain check on th-…"

"Tell me what I did wrong," Jack suddenly requested, his tone free of anger or accusation.

Immediately Ian ceased his moving his hand, and focused intently on his brother. "What?"

"Tell me what I did wrong," Jack reiterated. "I must have done something for you to think I've been blaming you all these years. I've been wrackin' my brain, and it's the only explanation I can come up with. So, please...," he implored, "Just tell me what I did so I can fix it."

Ian could only silently stare at him. His mind was unable to process Jack's statement. Jack thought he had done something wrong?

"Wh-…why would you think that?" he stuttered confusedly.

His eyes widening at the question, Jack leant back into his chair. "'Why?'" he repeated incredulously. He suddenly stood and started pacing, running his hand through his hair and sighing. "Six years, Ian. Six years!" he replied, his tone gruff but pained. "We went from being nearly inseparable to absolutely nothing in one day! The only time we see or speak to each other is when we're arguing a case. Do you know how hard that is for me?"

At that, Ian was on his feet, taking a few steps towards him. "You think that it has been a walk in the park for me? That I don't wish things could be different? Th-…"

"There's no reason to wish for any of that, Ian. They didn't have to change in the first place!"

"Yes they did, Jack!" Ian insisted, grabbing at his hair as he paced. He could feel his lungs screaming for air, the fire of emotions he was trying to keep at bay setting his mind ablaze. Ian berated himself for his idiocy. He wasn't ready for this, should never have opened the bloody door.

"Why, Ian? Explain to me w-…"

"Because, Jack," Ian cried, "I saw it!"

Jack furrowed his brow. "I know that, Ian, and I know you tried to save him. But that d-..."

"I'm not talking about just that," Ian answered, his breathing rapidly becoming labored as the images of his father's bleeding body were dredged up. He tugged harder at his hair, almost if the action would somehow reinforce the slipping grip on his emotions. Each minute in his brother's presence was a blow to his defenses, and he was fracturing.

Now it was Jack's turn to pull at his hair, the lack of directness starting to get to him. They were going around in circles, the desired destination continuing to be just out of reach.

"Then what?" he shouted as he threw his hands up, his words uttered with a mixture of frustration and desperation.

"The look in your eyes, Jack! The look in Sarah Jane's!" Ian howled, finally losing his grip. "It was blame. Disgust. It was everything I felt! How could anything stay the same after that? How could I stay a part of your lives, when I was the one that destroyed them? Ian Smith, 'The Destroyer,'" he spat in disdain and mockery, "and who was his first victim? His own bloody family!"

For that moment, Jack ceased breathing. Ian's mentality was so vastly different from reality, that it was almost incomprehensible to Jack.

"How can you think that we could ever look at you that way? The only one we blamed or were disgusted with was the blackguard who pulled the godforsaken trigger!"

Word after word thundered in his ears, and Ian felt as if he was standing on a glass ceiling, one that was quickly splintering beneath him. That deeply ingrained sense of avoidance, of self-preservation, was fighting to take control; but it was finally too weak. Pain, guilt, and self-loathing took dominance.

"It might as well have b-…"

"No!" Jack shouted, "Stop that! Stop taking blame that isn't yours to take! It wasn't you! It was never you! It was Harry, Ian. Harry attacked Lucy. Harry stole her it was Harry who murdered our father. Not you!"

"But I put it all in motion, Jack!" Ian cried out in desperation. "I was so bloody blind, so naïve thinking I could fix it. I didn't just think I could, I believed that I could! And I promised him, Jack; I promised Harry that I would make things better. I didn't look hard enough at Rassilon, assumed he was helping. Instead. he used Harry as a bloody guinea pig, screwed with his meds until he finally went off the edge. He attacked Lucy, Jack; she barely fought him off, and now she lives with a bloody scar across her throat! And then, instead of choosing me, he puts a bullet through our father!"

"Listen to what you just said," Jack ordered, "Rassilon screwed with Harry's meds; Harry attacked Lucy; Harry put a bullet through Dad. None of that was you!"

Ian felt his throat closing, emotions strangling him as Jack's words began to make headway. "But I-…"

"Went out of your way to help your friend," Jack interjected. "I remember coming into work, only to find you passed out on your desk from exhaustion. You spent day after day, week after week, doing everything possible to help Harry, nearly killing yourself in the process."

"But I didn't listen," Ian said, his words strained and cracking, "You told me to step away from it, but I didn't listen. I just kept on."

Jack looked away in thought. Sighing, he turned back to his brother, taking a few steps towards him. "Remember Elton Pope, that guy I defended about seven years ago? Police suspected him of killing his girlfriend—what was her name?"

"Ursula," Ian answered softly, easily recalling the case in question.

"Right. Ursula," Jack nodded in recollection. "It looked like a pretty hopeless case. Elton had virtually no alibi, no one could corroborate his statement. He kept saying he didn't do it, that he loved her; but I convinced him to take a deal, that the prosecution had too strong of a case against him. Poor guy insisted he was innocent, but he was so scared out of his wits, he took it."

"Why are we talking about this, Jack?" Ian asked, confused as to why this anecdote had any value.

"I came in one morning a couple days after that and found you in one of the conference rooms, papers scattered everywhere, file boxes piled high. I asked you what you were doing, and you said that somethin' about the case didn't set right. You were focused on a statement some homeless man made about seeing her outside a church with some guy who had a cane. The police didn't take him seriously 'cause he was drunk off his rear and Ursula didn't belong to any church. I didn't think twice about it, but you said it was too specific to just be some drunken ramble. And what did I say to you?"

Ian sniffed and looked away, beginning to see where Jack was headed with the tale. "That it was probably nothing, and that I should let it go."

"But it wasn't nothing," Jack chuckled somewhat bitterly. "You didn't listen to me, but followed that homeless lead. Turned out the church was a meeting place for Ursula's support group, and the guy with the cane was the therapist running it. When they questioned him, they found out he was obsessed with her. Searched his place, and found her in the basement—alive."

"What's your point Jack?" Ian asked, still unable to meet his brother's eyes.

"Ursula's alive because you didn't listen to me," Jack said with quiet conviction. "Elton spent almost a year in prison because of the deal I made him take. It doesn't make me evil; it makes me human. I don't know if Harry would have come after you or Dad if you'd let someone else handle the case. There's no way to ever know that. But just because you didn't take my advice, does not make you evil, and it does not make you a murderer!"

Ian could feel the glass beneath him continue to splinter, ready to break any second. He still couldn't meet Jack's eyes, fearful of what he would find. He wasn't afraid of seeing resentment or blame; no, now he was afraid of seeing forgiveness—something he'd yet to grant to himself. Ian felt his strength beginning to dissipate, and he stumbled back to the sofa. He braced his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

A moment passed before he felt a dip in the cushion and a presence beside him; it was familiar and comforting. He remembered all the times past when he'd turned to his brother, or vice versa; each always looking out for the other no matter what. Ian felt the pull to look at him, but the fear and uncertainty kept his eyes downward.

"No matter what, Ian, you are my brother. Have been since we first met, and nothing will ever change that. It doesn't matter how hard you try to push me away, I'm never going to give up on you."

With those uttered words, the glass finally shattered, plummeting Ian into the emotional sea he'd shunned for years.

"I tried to save him, Jack," he croaked, his body beginning to tremble. "I swear I tried, but I couldn't. There was so much blood. No matter how hard I tried, it wouldn't stop. It kept coming. And I begged him to stay, but he just smiled and squeezed my hand. When the ambulance came, I tried to go with him, but they wouldn't let me follow. We never g-…."

Sobs choked his words, wracked his body. Jack immediately put a consoling arm around his brother, Ian's sobs now causing them both to tremble.

"We never got to say goodbye, and now he's gone, Jack. Dad's… gone," Ian finished, a heart-wrenching cry of anguish breaking forth as he collapsed in on himself; hot tears, so long restrained, finally poured from his pained heart. At seeing his brother's agony, Jack pulled Ian close, his own tears now falling.

"I know, Ian. I know," Jack soothe, his voice heavy with emotion. "But me and Sarah…we're still here…you're not alone."

Finally choosing to accept the truth of those words, Ian grasped his brother tightly, holding on so as not to lose himself in the cascade of emotion that he had finally allowed himself to feel.