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It was late at night on an autumn evening when time stopped existing.
No. Time hadn’t stopped; the neverending running of time continued to tick forward, as unrelenting as ever. But for Jack Harkness, time seemed to shatter into pieces, the bullet that tore through the air taking the fabric of time with it, until it lodged into a warm chest and came to a heavy stop.
In the moments that followed, before anybody could react to what had happened, Jack was still. His head was empty save for the ringing noise that was getting louder and louder, consuming his thoughts. It was only when Ianto fell to the ground, body convulsing, that time caught up with itself again, and Jack allowed himself another breath of air.
“You’re next,” a voice spoke, words entering Jack’s ears but not being registered by his brain.
Another gunshot. Another body lying on the ground. And then motion.
Everybody around Jack moved, running towards Ianto, who was now lying in a pool of sickeningly dark red liquid.
“Ianto! Can you hear me, Ianto?” Martha asked, her voice barely holding a fraction of the panic that Jack felt raging inside him. And still his feet were tied to the ground, unable to move an inch as he watched life physically seep out of Ianto’s body.
He knew. He didn’t have to watch Martha reach for a pulse. Something deep down was telling Jack that there was nothing that could be done to save Ianto.
“You've got to help him!”
“Ianto, speak to me! Ianto - please!”
Jack looked down at Ianto, his head lolling to the side unnaturally, tipped backwards just enough that his eyes could meet Jack’s own.
There was far too much to be read in that one look. Regret, pain, desperation - the list went on, as neverending as the moment itself felt.
And Jack still couldn’t move any part of his body towards Ianto.
Instead, he watched. Watched as Martha gave him some sort of injection in his chest. Watched as Owen reached across and tried futilely to put pressure on the wound.
Watched as Ianto mouthed one word, before the light left his eyes and his body slouched.
‘Jack.’
Jack reeled backwards, the unspoken word hitting him like a sledgehammer.
“He's dead,” Martha proclaimed, and at long last, Jack finally felt movement coming from his limbs, far too late.
By the time Jack reached Ianto, he wasn't Ianto anymore. The man Jack held in his arms, was shaking out grotesque sobs over, was far from the man who refused to get out of Jack’s bed that morning, who brought him coffee and a kiss at eleven, who gave him a cheeky smile and sarcastic retort when Jack suggested a quick personal meeting in the archives over lunch.
This Ianto was lifeless and already a few degrees too cold for a normal, living human. The Ianto that Jack knew, had been beginning to let himself dare to think about falling in love with, wasn’t this man.
Jack was too late. He didn’t kid himself into thinking that if he’d got to Ianto’s side sooner, he’d have been able to stop him from dying. But he could’ve done something to ease his pain - held his cheek, given him one last kiss, just done something so that Ianto didn’t have to die alone, staring up at Jack where he was frozen to the spot.
God, what must Ianto have thought of him? Not even bothering to offer him the slightest comfort as he died - so much so that Ianto himself had had to raise his head to look at Jack.
Jack let out another hideous sob, burying his face deeper into Ianto’s neck, uncaring in the slightest of the blood that would be meeting his cheek. He tried to breathe in Ianto’s scent, but he could only smell the coppery tang of Ianto’s blood, permeating every sense.
By the time Torchwood Three returned to the Hub, the tears had dried up. Or at least, they must’ve done at some point, because Jack didn’t think he had more to shed. He couldn’t quite remember how they had got back to their headquarters. He couldn’t remember anything past collapsing at Ianto’s dead body, cradling his lifeless body to his chest, and yeah. He’d been wrong; there were still tears he hadn’t yet cried.
It was just all so entirely unfair. Jack had only just been back long enough for Ianto to have forgiven him for leaving for three months. They’d been on that date, many more afterwards - it was true - but Jack had only just started to see the rarest parts of Ianto’s personality, the small wisps of honest happiness that Ianto had been unguarded enough to show at last. Takeaway dinners were changing into romantic restaurant meals, sex was starting to feel more like making love, and the rarity of falling asleep next to each other was beginning to become their norm.
Jack had had a taste of what it was like to fall in love with Ianto Jones, enough to kid himself into thinking he might just have found himself some happiness at long last. But the universe had never been kind to Jack Harkness before, and it wasn’t going to start now.
“What do we do?”
From where he was sitting on the edge of the medical bay, Jack looked up at Martha, who was the one to have just spoken. He immediately looked back down as he caught sight of a human shape next to her, hidden by a thin blue sheet on top of the autopsy table. Jack felt tears swim to the front of his eyes again but blinked them away.
“What do you want us to do?” Gwen tried this time, wringing her hands together as her voice shook. Jack could see the red underneath her eyes and knew that he was selfish to only be focusing on his own hurt, but -
“Leave us,” he said, voice cracking. “Go home, come back tomorrow morning. I want- I need- I can’t -”
Jack broke off and brought his hands back up to his face, covering his mouth and eyes whilst he tried to collect himself together.
“I’m sorry; I know you all want to say… say goodbye, ” he managed, closing his eyes at the onslaught of emotions that hit him. “I just need tonight. Just us.”
Martha looked like she was two seconds away from either hugging Jack or bursting into tears, so Jack looked away. He made eye contact with the others, seeing Gwen’s painful acceptance, Tosh’s terrible sympathy, and Owen’s haunted understanding. They were his remaining team, all brought together in misery by the death of one man.
“I’m sorry,” were the first words Jack spoke to Ianto.
He’d moved his chair over, pulled back the sheet and came face to face with Ianto’s dead body. He was cold now, even colder than earlier, barely warmer than the metal table he was lying on. His eyes were closed, the bullet wound a garish blemish in his otherwise pristine suit. Jack had spent at least ten minutes leant over Ianto, his head pressed against the good side of his chest, blinking away tears as his hand ran patterns across Ianto’s cold palm.
“I’m sorry,” Jack repeated, stronger this time. “It’s all my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” Jack could imagine Ianto would insist, but reality gave him no response.
“It is,” Jack argued anyway. “It’s my fault for bringing you on the mission. My fault for leaving for three months and forcing you into becoming a field agent. It’s my fault for giving you a job in the first place.”
It would’ve been better if they’d never met, Jack decided. Ianto wouldn’t have been living in danger, not knowing whether each mission he went out on would be his last. He’d have been able to have a normal life, meet someone who wasn’t scared to admit they loved him - perhaps even start a family together. A desk job, two dogs to keep them company in the house.
Jack didn’t know when he’d replaced the mysterious, normal partner with himself, but suddenly, all he could think of was he and Ianto sharing that life. Settling down together, forgetting about Torchwood and aliens and being the hero, and instead just… existing. What would it have been like to share a normal life with Ianto?
He knew his musing was all futile. His life was the furthest thing from normal, and he knew he would never have been able to offer Ianto that kind of a life. Regardless, he wasn’t sure Ianto would’ve even wanted that for his future anyway. Even before he had met Jack, he had been stained by the trauma of his time at Torchwood One. Perhaps the kindest thing would have been Retconning Ianto instead of just suspending him after Lisa had been discovered and dealt with. If Jack could’ve taken away all the painful memories Torchwood had brought to Ianto, given him a new lease of life, a clean slate to start on, perhaps Ianto Jones might have gone on to live a fulfilling life.
But at the same time, Jack knew that Ianto would never have wanted to lose his memories of Lisa. And (a small part of him hoped) Ianto had appeared to be happy by Jack’s side in the far-too-short time they’d spent together. Privately, Jack liked to think that he’d helped contribute to Ianto’s happiness over the past few months.
Jack briefly wondered if, in a few hundred years' time, he might be thankful that Ianto hadn’t lived long enough for Jack to fall head over heels in love with. If the pain of losing Ianto now was this bad, he could only imagine what it might have been like ten, thirty, fifty years down the line.
But then he came to his senses and scolded his brain for even daring to think about positives right now when Ianto was lying cold as ice in front of him.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” Jack mumbled against his skin, falling onto his next regret. “I should’ve held you. You’re always there for me, always holding me and comforting me when I die. This was the one time I could repay you, and I didn’t do anything but stare.”
Jack let out another weak laugh, crossed with a heaving sob. “You deserved better. So much better. If I just had another minute with you, Ianto, I swear I -”
He froze. Another minute? Jack knew of something that could’ve helped, though it was long gone now.
But it was like Ianto had said, “That's the thing about gloves, sir. They come in pairs.”
Jack left Ianto on the autopsy table, racing away as quickly as the SUV would take him. Down to the basement bar, past the bouncer who tried to stop him, and straight to the little girl who seemed to hold all the answers in the universe, cryptic though she was when relating them.
“I have to warn you,” she spoke, soft voice twinkling with secrets. “This won’t work like you want it to.”
Jack fixed her a steel glare. “It has to. There’s no other option.”
“It’ll be difficult. The glove won’t bring you the happiness or forgiveness that you want to see.”
Jack swallowed down her words, because what did it matter if he didn’t get his own happiness from this? All that mattered anymore was Ianto .
A church full of nesting Weevils was no bother for a man as crazed as Jack felt. He entered the building on a mission, heedless of the hordes of aliens he faced inside. When he left, it was with an injured, limping leg, a slash in his chest dripping dark blood that was already beginning to heal - but most importantly, with a wooden chest tucked under his right arm.
By the time he made it back to the Hub, he’d been gone for only the better part of an hour. The lights hummed on, and he raced down to the autopsy bay once more, already pulling the glove on over his hand. The metal was cool against Jack’s fingers, fitting tight at the tips. But as he flexed his hand, he felt the glove snap, lightly thrumming with hidden, unassuming power. Jack found himself immensely relieved that he had sent the others home as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face their protests at what he was planning to do.
Jack reached for Ianto’s head, cradling it ever so gently in his gloved hand, and closed his eyes.
The glove worked off emotional connections, right? It had never worked for Jack in the past, but he’d also never felt this overwhelmed with emotion before, like he was about to burst at the seams with the tumultuous mix of everything that was swirling around his mind. Jack concentrated hard, honing in on the pure grief that was washing over him, willing the glove to work.
“Ianto,” Jack whispered, moving his spare hand to grab at Ianto’s hand. “Ianto, come back to me. Please.”
There was an electric shock, and suddenly, Ianto was screaming.
“Ianto! It’s okay, I’m here. You’re okay,” Jack crooned, cradling Ianto in his arms as Ianto so often did for him.
For a split second, Jack was overwhelmed. He’d been so focused on finding the glove and getting his second chance at a goodbye with Ianto that he hadn’t fully considered that he’d have two more minutes with Ianto.
“Jack. Where am I? What’s happening? I was shot - I was falling, it hurt, Jack, I -” Ianto babbled, evidently panicking.
Jack moved around, careful to keep the glove in contact with Ianto’s head. “It’s okay. I’ve brought you back, just like the others before, but we don’t have long.”
“You used the glove?” Ianto asked, looking mildly horrified. He sat up until he was facing Jack, their faces barely inches apart. “Jack, you know what happened -”
Jack kissed him.
He tried to pour every bit of emotion he was feeling into the kiss, curling his spare hand around the back of Ianto’s neck as he dragged him closer. He focused intensely on the physical sensations, trying to commit how Ianto kissed to his memory, whilst also trying to ignore how cold he felt against him.
But Ianto was suddenly pulling away, his eyes stricken. “What on Earth did you do this for, Jack? You know better than to -”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jack insisted, leaning back towards Ianto only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
“Jack. It does. You shouldn’t have done it.”
“It doesn’t matter now . You’re wasting our time!” Jack said, pulling Ianto back in desperately, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Which for Ianto, there really wasn’t.
It took Jack a few more seconds to realise that the wetness covering his face was his own tears. He pulled back, using his hands to fervently wipe them away. No. He wasn’t going to cry. This wasn’t about him - it was about Ianto and giving him the goodbye he deserved.
But Ianto saw the tears regardless.
“I’m sorry, Jack. You’re hurting, and I’m sorry, and I -”
“As long as I’ve been alive, no two minutes have ever been as important as these,” Jack murmured, cradling Ianto’s head in his hands as he peppered kisses all over his skin. “And I doubt anything in my life will ever be this important again. So let’s not waste this time apologizing for things that don’t even matter.”
“Okay,” Ianto agreed, leaning in to kiss Jack with all he had left inside him.
“You don’t deserve to die not knowing how loved you are, Ianto Jones,” Jack spoke in between kisses. “And I tried so hard not to give in, but it was all pointless. Nothing in the universe could’ve stopped me loving you, not even my own stubborn resolve.”
“Jack -”
“Don’t,” Jack begged. “Don’t say anything. I love you.”
Ianto let out a quiet whimper, eyes shining with both tears and adoration. “I love you too. Of course I love you, how could I not ?”
Jack laughed wetly. “You are so important to me, Ianto. I’m gonna miss you, more than words can describe.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” Ianto said, his voice cracking as his eyes began to spill over.
“Shh,” Jack whispered, pressing his lips up against Ianto’s cold ones. “I’ll survive.”
Jack held onto Ianto, as if the tighter he hugged him, the longer he’d stay alive.
“Tell my sister I love her?” Ianto asked timidly. “And her kids - I’ve set up funds, for university, and -”
“Of course,” Jack soothed, rubbing his thumb over Ianto’s cheek. “I’ll make sure they’re all looked after.”
“Thank you,” Ianto choked out, not being able to hold in his sobs any further. “Jack, I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”
“It’s okay,” Jack tried to reassure him, even as he could feel Ianto’s breath getting shallower and sense his heartbeat slowing. “It’ll all be fine, I promise. Be brave for me, Ianto.”
“Oh, God, oh, God,” Ianto muttered, turning to Jack to use the last of his strength to surge upwards and kiss him one last time.
Jack knew the second Ianto had gone. He felt the life leave Ianto’s body, his lips go slack against his own, his grip loosen on Jack’s coat.
He lay Ianto back down against the autopsy table and howled.
Everything came rushing to the surface that he’d been trying to hide away from Ianto. The true depth of his heartbreak, shattering as he bunched Ianto in his arms and screamed into his chest. He threw his hand against the metal table, hitting it in time with his sobs, unable to feel anything but the horror and agonising pain coursing through him.
From somewhere, he thought he heard his name being called.
“Jack. Jack. Jack! ”
Pulling back, Jack found that his vision was blurry with tears. He blinked them away, searching for the source of the voice.
“Jack,” Ianto Jones said, shifting his eyes to lock onto Jack, who was staring back at him in utter disbelief.
“Jack. I’m alive.”