Late Night Loss Chapter 17

[galadriel1010]

Jack stood in the prow of the boat with his arms wrapped around his torso. Few who knew the charismatic and garrulous captain would have believed it was him from his pose; never before had the Torchwood leader and saviour of the world looked so lost and helpless, so alone. He’d been alone most of his long, long life, but never like this. Ianto had been so close, just a day away from their being reunited, and he’d followed his duty to Aragorn, rather than his duty to his husband. Guilt wracked through him and he knew that he deserved every second of pain; he’d brought this on both of them. A secret, dark, suppressed part of him hoped that Ianto was as hurt by the prolonged separation as he was, but a considerably larger part of him knew that the young man was hurting and wanted to take all of the pain for him, hating himself for his stupid decision.

The darkness was impenetrable, only occasional fires along the riverbank and the burning city of Minas Tirith shedding any light and showing their way, but behind them a stiff wind was already blowing raggedly at the blanketing obscurity. He gripped his sword as a presence approached him and turned, relaxing and offering Aragorn a grim smile. The ranger returned it and joined him leaning on the rail as they looked towards the burning city, “Today is a good day to die.”

Jack shook his head and his face cleared as he looked towards his captain with almost his usual grin, “It’s a better day to live.” He looked forwards again and spoke to the darkness, “It’s always a better day to live.”

They stood together in a tense silence, both reflecting on past mistakes, present pains and future choices, destiny and narrativity. Before long they were joined by Legolas, Gimli and Halbarad who watched with them, all eager for the coming battle.

Jack shifted uncomfortably, his mind full of the same worries that plagued Ianto; the what ifs. What if he wasn’t immortal? What if he died and left Ianto stranded here? What if he survived and Ianto didn’t?

The wind blew them ever closer to the battle, so close now that even with the wind in the wrong direction they could hear the cries and clashing swords, smell the fires in the city and the blood on the field. They exchanged impatient and, from the original characters, bored glances and drew their swords; as soon as their ship touched solid ground, Aragorn leapt from it to lead the victory.

Ianto looked across at the burning city and felt a thrill of excitement and fear run through him, as powerful as any adrenaline rush he’d felt whilst working with Torchwood. In front of and behind him, the army of Rohan slipped through the fire pits and defences in a long line, as silently as they could; out there was a fierce battle, and before long he would be in the middle of it, fighting for his life as well as the future of this world. He had to concentrate on staying safe, on getting back to Jack. Jack…

“Bloody idiot.” He made a sound that was half laugh, half sob and brushed a couple of stray tears away angrily, trying to concentrate on what he had to do, putting thoughts of his absent lover as far from his mind as he could; not very far apparently. “And if I die in the battle to come let this be my good bye. Now that I know that you love me as well it is harder to die. I pray that God will bring me home to be with you, pray for your Marius, he prays for you.” The young man sang softly to himself, a smile lighting his lips as he remembered a trip to a local amateur youth theatre production with Jack, before everything with Gray, before two more chairs were added to his empty table. Without having to think about it he manoeuvred through the fires with the line, turning to face into the slight breeze that, he hoped, carried his lover ever closer to him.

He couldn’t be angry with Jack for choosing that road, he never had been. Jack was so used to being responsible, for carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, that he drew a distinct line between personal and important, to the extent that he often chose the option that hurt him the most, because experience had told him that doing the right thing hurt. Ianto knew, no matter how much he wanted Jack to be able to put them first, he couldn’t; he wouldn’t let him try even, even when there had been a gun pressed to his head.

He felt a stab of pain and guilt as he remembered that occasion; the aftermath of the Space Whale incident had been their first almost-argument, and it had been Ianto’s fault. After the intense emotion of the day, the highs and the lows and the gut-wrenching fear, Jack had let Rhys leave with his memories intact and Ianto had accused him of favouritism. Jack had been hurt and, even though he’d done nothing wrong, he’d been the one to apologise, to beg for a second chance, willing to do anything not to upset Ianto, the one to cry on the sofa in the Hub from the moment Ianto stormed out until he fell asleep wrapped in Ianto’s arms again many hours later. Looking back, Ianto could see that no matter what Jack had done he would have argued, because even though the lack of contact and concern he showed whilst they were at work was at his own instigation, it still hurt him when Jack stood by and did nothing when he was threatened, then just sent him into another potentially dangerous situation.

Later, he’d been able to see how much having to do that had hurt Jack.

It couldn’t be called a fight, because Jack didn’t fight back, just apologised and begged Ianto to listen to him. He’d refused, saying that he couldn’t hear him out when he was that upset and left to clear his head. When he returned he’d realised how thick and hurtful he was being and was all set to apologise, but the words were blown from his mind when he found Jack. The always strong, ever fearless captain had clung to him all night in the darkness of his bunker, crying all night with guilt and relief, and Ianto cried with him, clinging on just as tightly.

He realised he was crying again and shook the recollections from his mind, focussing instead on the muster and the battle and finding his way back into Jack’s arms.

Jack parried, sliced and cut through the Easterling army, getting as far away from Aragorn and the plot as possible. Out here the battle was a mass of seething, repeated mini-skirmishes, and somewhere out there was a young man who didn’t belong there. He skirted around a mild war going on between some Easterlings and orcs over (apparently) who stole whose stapler, then found what appeared to be a fierce game of rugby between some of the more developed rohiric warriors. After a couple of dubious tackles (he’d lived in Wales for over 100 years, there was no way he could have escaped the game for that long, especially not after he’d moved in with Ianto) they spotted him. One grinned in recognition and pointed towards the city, “Ianto went that way. He fights under the banner of the Westfold.”

He grinned back, “Care to tell me what that looks like?”

Ianto dodged a sword blow and returned with one of his own, killing his opponent with one blow. It was getting dangerous around here, the orcs had by now fled in the light, but Uruks and Easterling remained fighting, scared and dangerous. Like Jack, although he didn’t know it, he had distanced himself from the plot and was fighting his way towards the rugby game across the field. A sword came towards his head and he parried it, kicking out at the Easterling to get free again. Fighting for survival became his only priority as a squad of Haradrim warriors found him.

Jack’s eyes widened in horror as he spotted a familiar head of short, dark hair ahead of him, even as his heart skipped a familiar beat. Ianto was hard pressed but dealing well. He had the advantages of being on horseback and the spark of originality that written characters lacked. Jack surged forwards faster than before when Ianto’s horse fell beneath him and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when the young man rose again to dispatch his final opponent.

Their eyes locked, finally, and they took a long moment to get over the shock, waiting for their hearts to right themselves again, then they moved forwards again towards each other. Ianto had eyes only for Jack, but the captain, trained by years of combat, sensed more than saw the Uruk approaching his lover from behind. With a yell he threw himself the lest short distance and knocked Ianto out of the way, feeling the sword bite through his chest where Ianto had stood moments before.

Ianto was stunned as he hit the floor, but emotionally rather than physically. Clinging to his composure he rolled, reached up and killed the Uruk, then dropped his sword and turned back to Jack, cradling the older man in his arms and holding him close. Jack’s eyes were fading and his breath came in fast, painful busts, and Ianto knew he was beyond help. Hot tears poured down his cheeks and landed on Jack’s forehead, mingling with sweat as Ianto cradled his head in his lap and ran his fingers through his hair.

“You found me.” He sobbed, fear overtaking him.

Jack raised his hand weakly to Ianto’s cheek and smiled as the young man covered it with his own, moving it to his lips to kiss it tenderly, “Always.” He coughed painfully and Ianto’s fingers tightened around his own, “You’ll be waiting for me… when I get back?” His eyes closed and he clung on for Ianto’s answer

“Always, I’ll be here.”

Jack smiled, “Love you Yan.”

“I love you too.” Ianto gasped as Jack’s hand relaxed in his own and his chest stilled, blood pouring from it.