And this is how I break apart when I finally hit the ground
And this is how it hurts when I pretend I don't feel any pain
And this is how I disappear when I throw myself away
Breathe your life into me
I can feel you
I'm falling, falling faster
Breathe your life into me
I still need you
Memories are all he has now to hold on to. Wispy threads like the ends of a fraying cloth. They’re all he has and he has to hold on to them. Tightly. Without them everything would be for nothing. Without /him/ he is nothing. He promised he wouldn’t forget. He’s going to make damn sure he doesn’t, not matter how much it hurts.
There’s a part of him isn’t sure if he wants to. The pain of it is almost unbearable. Why in the hell was he so stupid? So arrogant? So sure that his bluff would work? His confidence cost him the one thing left on this planet that truly mattered to him. What reason does he have to go on now? Jack’s hand trembles as he struggles to get the key in the door to the small flat that belonged to Ianto.
The tiny one bedroom apartment feels cold, empty and strangely welcoming as Jack stands at the front door looking around. He takes a deep breath and a sharp pang of grief threatens to overwhelm him.
No time for that now.
He has work to do.
The Welshman’s belongs have to be sorted and packed. What can be returned to his family must be collected.
Well, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with the rest now that the Hub is gone and there’s no place to take it.
He moves slowly across the room and sinks down on to the couch. A whiff of the younger man’s scent washes over him. This is going to be too hard. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I want to. I don’t want to do anything without you. I /can’t/ do this without you.” The immortal whispers to the empty apartment, and sighs heavily when he doesn’t receive a reassuring reply in that familiar accented voice.
The Welshman was always quick to reassure the captain. Now he didn’t have him. In the blink of an eye Jack had lost everything he’d worked so hard for. Everything he’d spend over a century and a half building.
He lays his head against the back of the sofa and stares up at the ceiling. He needs to get up and get to work. He wants to do this himself before he leaves. Because he is leaving. There’s nothing left for him here. There’s no reason to stay. Not anymore.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d live. You don’t need me. You’ll carry on and move forward, sir.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I’d be lost.”
“No you wouldn’t”
“How can you be so sure.”
“Because you’re Jack Harkness. You’re eternal. You’re a hero.”
“I’m no hero, Yan. I’m just a man.”
“You’re an extraordinary man.”
“No more than you.”
“So much more than me, Sir. “
“I don’t think so. You’re a better man than me.”
“Yes, you are. I don’t know how you put up with me sometimes.”
“It isn’t always easy.”
“I imagine. I’m not a very good at this.”
“You’re better than you think, sir.”
“You say that now. Wait until I find some pretty young thing to flirt with.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. You won’t as long as I’m around. Maybe when I’m not.”
“You sound so sure.”
“I’m not. I just trust you.”
“How the bloody hell do I know? I just do, Jack.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Well it’s the best I’ve got.”
“There has to be more to it than that.”
“Nope. I trust you. That’s all. Deal with it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Well that would be a terrible shame.”
The Jack turns on his side to face Ianto, resting his chin on the younger man’s chest. He looks up with a small thin smile. The Welshman gazes down at him his eyebrow arching slightly “Sir?”
“I guess I’ll have to make sure I do what’s right then. What you would want me to.”
He wakes with a start sitting alone on the younger man’s sofa in his empty apartment. The whispering voices of the memory fading in his head. The captain feels the sob, bubbling in his chest and does nothing to stop it. The sound is broken and mournful when it reaches his lips. Why him? He’d already lost nearly –everyone-. So why him too?
And in his anger, and grief and desperation he murdered his own flesh and blood. He severed all ties he had to his –own- family. There’s no turning back now. There is –nothing- he can do to fix what he did to Steven. Nothing he can do to make it up to Alice. He’s dead to her. They both died in that damn building that day in her mind.
This curse. This god damn curse. It’s the Doctor’s fault. All of it. Where was he? Where was he when Jack needed saving? Nowhere to be seen. After all Jack had done to help him in his time of need he gets cast aside. Again.
Right now the immortal hates him. He hates the Doctor, he hates himself, he hates what he is. Right now. He longs for death. He’s well passed his time, but there’s work to be done. Boxes to pack. He wipes the tears from his eyes and forces himself to get up and start working.
Moving slowly he starts in the living room packing things neatly the way he imagined Ianto would have done if the man had been here to do so himself. God. He wishes he was here to do this, but if he were it wouldn’t have to be done. He’s going to save the bedroom for last. He glances down the narrow hall way to the room. Too many memories there. Even the not so pleasant ones make his heart ache. Best to save that room for last.