I hate these days. Seriously, these trips are the worst time of the year for me and this day is certainly the longest. The only good thing about them is the celebrating afterwards, and thank God we've had something to celebrate every time.
Ianto handles it much better than I do and he gets a little impatient with me as this date approaches every fall. I can't blame him, but I also can't help myself. We've been trumping fate for so long that I always think that this time, it was going to catch up with us, that this time, we'd get the news that we'd always dreaded.
So about a week before we make the flight to London, I get a little extra touchy-feely. As in I don't let him out of my sight and try and work it so that he's out in the field as little as possible. Of course, he sees right through it, countermands my orders and does as he pleases, which leads to some loud discussions that make the others uncomfortable. You know, the "Dad and Dad are arguing again" kind of uncomfortable.
But he always forgives me, his beautiful grey-blue eyes going soft, his mouth turning up in that little smile that drives me nuts, and then my well-trained staff usually find an excuse to be some place else other than the Hub for a couple of hours.
He forgives me because he knows I'm terrified. He's probably terrified too, but he puts on a brave face, for my sake and the sake of the others. They're all concerned about him—they always are, no matter who they happen to be at the time—and so we present a united front, year after year, decade after decade, but every time we pack up and head to London, my stomach is in knots.
This year especially seemed to be hitting me hard. I'm not much for anniversaries or marking of certain occasions, but this was a milestone not even I could ignore. I obviously didn't do a great job of hiding it, since each of our eleven staff members made sure to stop by my office and wish us luck. The experienced crew had nothing but encouragement, telling me that this time would be like all the others and to stop worrying, while the newer members were wide-eyed and a little nervous, not quite understanding how Ianto and I worked but hell, they were Torchwood, and they'd learned to take it in stride.
We'd made it a point to tell every new recruit over the years that I couldn't die and that Ianto—well, Ianto was something different altogether. The only ones given the details were the successive heads of Torchwood Three's medical department so that they could be alert to anything unusual, as well as have access to the London records just in case. Of course that made every one of them want to poke and prod Ianto and he'd let them, but they never found anything useful and the subject would drop until the next doctor came along and tried to figure it out.
As usual, I tried to muscle my way into the exam room in London and as usual, I was shooed away and told to get lost. That's the trouble with dealing with family members—they have no respect for my rank. We've known Anna Sherman, née Jones-Mulligan, since she was born and she treats us like the old married couple that we are, even though she's now in her forties with grandkids of her own. Both of her parents are gone and we're one of the few that remember them, which is an absolute crime that I'd like to fix some day. I've never been able to tell Ianto about that terrible year and he stopped asking a long time ago, but what Martha did deserves to be honoured.
So, once again kicked out while Ianto was subjected to the usual round of tests, I did what always did—I strolled along the river walk and tried to keep myself occupied. In previous years that meant going over staff reviews, who was working out and who wasn't, the latest technology or alien incursion—normal housekeeping stuff. I'd already planned our evening out so that was set, but like I said, this year was different. This year I couldn't stop remembering what had gotten us to this point in the first place.
It had started with a cough he couldn't shake. Not surprising—we do a lot of work in the rain and the damp, and illnesses among the team often lingered. At first he blew it off, annoyed both with himself for being sick and me for trying to coddle him. But there was something in his eyes, an uneasiness that he couldn't quite hide, and after the third week of listening to him wheeze in the night I ordered him to get a complete check-up and I wouldn't take no for an answer. When he agreed without complaint—that's when I started to get scared.
Our doctor at that time—we were still running with a staff of five fifty years ago—was a raw-boned, red-headed widow from Glasgow named Leslie Mackenzie, the first person I'd hired after we lost Owen and Toshiko. She had no children of her own so she more or less adopted the rest of us and over the years she truly became the anchor the crew needed. She taped up everyone's scrapes, picked the occasional foreign object out of me, delivered Gwen's kids (two boys and a girl), spoke prayers over our dead and became mother confessor to us all. Besides that, she was a brilliant doctor, amazingly adept at her job, and one of the few Torchwood staff that lived to retirement. Ianto and I visit her every couple of weeks, smuggling in bottles of whisky and chocolate chip cookies that the convalescent house staff ignores with a collective wink.
I'll never forget that night as long as I live, which is no small boast on my part. I know that every time I send out a team to investigate Rift activity, there's a hell of a good chance that some of them won't come back. When it's Ianto that I'm sending into the line of fire, I die inside and then come back to life when he walks back in the door, hopefully in one piece but often times not. I accept the phenomenal risks because I understand that this is the way it is. I've lost people before and will do so again, and it only gets harder.
But then there are the losses that cannot be borne.
Ianto and I were in the conference room, sipping sweet tea and discussing the idea of increasing the staff. I remember that he had dark circles beneath his eyes and that he'd lost weight and it was taking every ounce of will that I possessed not to wrap him up and take him to bed so I could cuddle him in private. He'd spent the day as ordered, letting Mac do her tests, and both of us were using this work-related conversation to keep our minds off waiting for the results.
When Mac walked into the conference room, my breath stuck in my chest. The look on her face was one I'd seen before, when she'd had bad news to deliver and didn't know where to start. Ianto had looked up at her and then straightened out of his tired slump, fussing with his tie and tugging at the bottom of his waistcoat.
"Okay," Mac sighed. She pulled out a chair and sat down, not looking at us but instead of the clipboard she held between shaking hands. "Just keep in mind that we have options."
Ianto looked at me, then back at Mac. "Options for what?"
"Treating cancer."
No.
Oh, no, this was so not happening.
Not to my Ianto.
"There must be some mistake."
Mac looked at me, compassion shining through the tears gathering in eyes already red from crying. "No mistake, Jack."
"I said it's a mistake." I pounded my fist onto the table and stood up. "Do the tests again."
Mac shook her head. "There's no point. I'm positive of my diagnosis. We need to start an aggressive regimen of treatments as soon as possible."
"So there's a rush then," Ianto muttered, forcing me to look at him. He seemed calm, as though he'd expected the news, but his already pale cheeks had turned waxen.
Me, I was nothing near calm. I started pacing, shooting Mac vicious glances, hating her in that moment for bringing this upon us.
"Somewhat," Mac replied. "Let's just say the sooner we begin, the better chance we have—"
"Don't say it." I jabbed a finger at her. "Do not say it and that's an order."
"Jack—"
I cut her off again. "Just—just let me think."
I walked around the table until I was behind Ianto, placing my hands on his shoulders and rubbing at the tense muscles.
"What does the treatment entail?" Ianto asked. His voice was as level as ever and while I admired his control, I knew what that control was costing him as I tried to sooth away the growing tremors.
Mac glanced at me before replying. "I have it all worked out and we can go over it now, if you like. But it might be better to wait until morning so we can get a fresh start."
Ianto shrugged and I took that as a reprieve. I nodded at Mac, who got the hint and rose to her feet.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she said in her soft burr. "We'll do everything we can."
Ianto nodded and Mac moved off, but not before giving me the look that said she needed to talk to me in private. I inclined my head to let her know that I understood, then forgot about her as I went down on one knee at Ianto's side.
"Now we know," he said with a small smile. "So much for dying in a blaze of world-saving glory."
"Hey," I said with mock severity, "no one's dying here, not for a long time, and I ain't just talking about yours truly. Mac has a plan and we'll go with that and if that doesn't work, we'll try something else."
Ianto's smile deepened as he placed his cold palm against my cheek. "Always the optimist. I hate to point out that we already possess the most cutting edge medical technology available, so there isn't a plan b."
I took his hand in mine and kissed his fingers. "There's always a plan b."
And then he'd given me that look, the one that said he knew I understood exactly what a weevil was, and I vowed I'd find a cure for Ianto if it killed me, because living without him would be nothing but a walking, breathing death anyway.
I'd never expected this kind of attack. Give me a pissed-off alien any day, not this, an enemy I can neither see nor fight. Later that night, after Ianto had gone to bed, I took a bottle of brandy and two glasses down to the medical bay. Mac was waiting for me and took her glass silently, downing its contents in two swallows before holding it out for more. I refilled her glass and set the bottle and my untouched glass aside before taking a seat on the steps.
"You okay?" she asked.
I stared at her. "No."
"Right. What I have to tell you now isn't going to make this any easier."
A tendril of ice wound through my gut. "Say it, Mac."
She scratched at her scraggly bun, loosening strands of coarse red hair. "We may be too late. What Ianto has—it's already very advanced. I've put out contacts to everyone I know to see if anyone has any ideas, but—"
"There has to be more you can do," I said harshly. "Cancer is eradicated in the future. You can get a fucking vaccine for it." Despite my effort to remain calm, my voice rose. "Tell me why it doesn't exist right now. Tell me why twenty-first century medicine is so fucking backward!"
Mac slapped the table, frustration in every line of her face. "I can't, you know that. Nothing in the future can help Ianto now and I only have conventional medicine to work with. If you have any ideas, I'd be happy to hear them, Captain."
I dropped my head into my hands. It was too soon, we'd had so little time together. I lived with the prospect of his death every day, but somehow, this was different. This was an obscenity. "Sorry," I muttered.
Mac plopped down beside me, giving me a nudge with her shoulder. "It's hard, I know. I'm not gonna tell you to be strong or any shite like that. You of all people know how fragile we are."
I stood up and shoved my fists into my pockets. "This isn't right. He's twenty-seven years old, Mac. Twenty—" My voice cracked and died.
"Doesn't make a difference. His youth and strength will help, but I don't know how much."
That's when I knew what I had to do. I don't remember the rest of that conversation with Mac. I returned to my office and started composing emails: one for Mac; one for Darryl, our tech guy; and one for Mkembe, who'd taken Gwen's place as police liaison after Gwen had resigned to raise her family. In those notes I left detailed instructions regarding ongoing investigations and what I expected each of them to do while I was gone. Posting them to send at six a.m. the next morning, I locked all the drawers and neatened up the workspace before descending down to our quarters to wake up Ianto.
He's adorable when he sleeps and even cuter when he wakes up grumpy. I love it when his hair is all tousled but I was diverted as he sat up, the sheet sliding down to reveal too-prominent ribs. I sat beside him and took his hand in mine.
"What's wrong?" he asked around a cough that he tried to stifle.
"Nothing. I have to leave."
He blinked at me, rubbing at one eye with the back of his other hand. "Leave? Where are you going?"
"Mac says that conventional medicine probably isn't going to work in this case."
He dropped his eyes our entwined fingers. "I thought as much. She doesn't exactly have a poker face, does she."
"Hey." I used my forefinger to tip his head up, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Doesn't matter. Remember when I said there's always a plan b? Guess what, it's time for plan b."
"And that is?"
I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his. "For me to know and you to be amazed."
And really, it is amazing what a guy with a little time-travelling experience and a handy wrist strap can do with the right motivation. And yeah, I know all about crossing timelines and keeping the sanctity of the time-space continuum or whatever the sci-fi wonks were calling it back then, but if I could buy Ianto just a little more time, and as long as I was careful, I knew this would work.
It took some doing, but in the long run, it wasn't that difficult. I had no qualms about bringing back medicine from the future; hell, we used alien technology all the time at Torchwood and that pretty much defines futuristic. What I didn't do was bring back more than I thought Ianto could use—not even I'm that stupid. So, not stupid, but definitely selfish. And I won't apologise for that.
And really, I didn't have to journey all that far, but that was strictly on a need to know basis.
What I hadn't expected was Mac to fight me.
"It could kill him, Jack!"
"It won't kill him. You won't let it."
"It's based on physiognomy that's years in the future. There could be all kinds of things in there that are toxic to a man of this time. It could contain antibodies for diseases that haven't been invented yet! God, it'll take months of study and testing before we know that it's safe."
"We don't have that much time. You said yourself that nothing exists in today's medicine that can cure Ianto. There. I've handed you the cure. Make it work."
She'd pulled at her hair and stared at the little vial on the metal table like it was a venomous snake. "I just don't see how—"
"Do I get a vote?"
Mac and I turned to look at Ianto, who'd been quiet as the doctor and I had butted heads.
"Sure," I said, "as long as you agree with me."
That got a smile out of him. "Some things never change," he muttered, appealing to the ceiling for patience before addressing Mac. "Are there tests you can do quickly, ones that will identify the majority of the risk?"
"I suppose," Mac frowned at him, "but I can't eliminate everything on short notice. Jesus Christ, Jack, you've handed me a cure for cancer! I mean, no offence, Ianto, but this could be the most important medical discovery of the twenty-first century."
"Nope, sorry," I replied brusquely, "it's a cure for Ianto, nothing more."
Mac glared at me. "God, you're a single-minded bastard, aren't you? Okay, if I do this, I can't do it alone. Surely you can suggest someone else who can help me out here. I need another doctor's opinion."
Ianto and I shared a glance. "How about two?"
I should've known that Martha and Tom would side with Mac about the whole "cure the world" thing. Even Ianto had trouble accepting that only he would benefit from futuristic medicine and that led to some pretty spirited discussions, too. I understood their concerns, but since I already knew the outcome, if not the exact details, I admit I was a little impatient with all the navel-gazing and hand wringing.
In the end, it worked out exactly as it should. Martha, Tom and Mac studied and tested and ignored me while I nagged them to speed it up. I didn't want Ianto to lose any more ground to this disease and every day they spent experimenting was a day counted against us.
Finally the moment came when Mac, Ianto and I gathered in the conference room, Tom and Martha joining us via satellite from London. All three doctors looked solemn but excited, and as I took Ianto's hand in mine, Mac began to talk.
"Right then. I think we're all agreed that we've done as much as we can to anticipate all the possible ramifications this will have on Ianto. We also agree that based on our studies, it is highly likely that there will be side effects that we cannot predict. However, taking all that into consideration, we have been able to identify certain components that do seem to have a vastly profound ability to renew the degrading cells at a highly accelerated rate."
"Yes," Martha said, "so knowing that, I believe that continuing to study the subject—sorry, Ianto, I know that sounds impersonal."
Ianto winked at her and they shared a smile. Those two had always had a certain bond that made me wonder what they talked about. Okay, not true, I'm sure they talked about me.
Martha continued, "So continuing to study the subject beyond what we assume will be complete remission will be key. Tom and I have set up a schedule of tests here in London that we'll require the subject to complete on a monthly, then possibly yearly basis—"
"Look," I cut in, "this is all fascinating, but I stopped paying attention after 'complete remission' since it's the only thing I care about right now. When do we administer the drug?"
Ianto squeezed my hand and gave me a look of reproof. "I'd rather you didn't annoy my doctors, if you don't mind."
"Hey!" I protested. "I'm just trying to move things along here. You know doctors, you get them talking doctor-y things and the next thing you know you've missed dinner."
"Dinner, is it?" Ianto shook his head. "Always thinking with some portion of your anatomy other than your head."
I patted my still thankfully flat stomach. "Gotta keep up my strength, because as soon as you're feeling better, I think we need to do a complete inventory of the archives—"
"Gentlemen, please." Martha was scowling at us, but her eyes were laughing. "Let's get back on point, shall we?"
They tore down the Eye almost thirty years ago and in its place they've put a restaurant, an art gallery, a park, another restaurant, another park, and now it was a park with a restaurant in it. It'd become our meeting place after first Martha, then Tom, and finally their daughter Anna had finished Ianto's yearly examination.
And this? Oh, now this is what I live for every year. This is what makes all the worry and the fear worthwhile—to see Ianto striding through the crowded tables, dressed in this year's version of a three-piece suit, hair slightly ruffled by England's clean autumn winds, his gorgeous face unmarked by the passing of the years.
So, yes, I've lived a hundred lifetimes and I'll live a hundred more. I've seen more death, I've caused more death than anyone could imagine, and I haven't always been on the side of the angels. I've sent brave men and women to die in order to save innocent lives and more than once I've played judge, jury, and executioner. But somewhere, somehow, I did something so right that the universe rewarded me with a love that only I could truly appreciate, and every day that I still have Ianto, I say a little prayer of thankfulness to anyone or anything that might be paying attention.
I stood up as he reached my side and kissed him soundly. "How'd it go, Patient X?" He always frowns when I call him that, but that's how the records listing the first patient with cancer immunity described him in all the research papers. In the forty or so years since they'd manage to synthesize a vaccine from Ianto's blood, the medical world had finally stopped speculating on his identity, so now Patient X was a nothing more than a private joke.
"Mmm, you taste like marmalade." He extracted himself from my embrace and sat down. "Typical, you started without me."
I took my seat and waved at the waiter, who gave me a nod. "Don't worry, yours is on the way."
"Good, I'm starving. So what over the top, sentimental musical are we seeing in the New West End tonight?"
I pretended to be offended. "I thought you liked those over the top, sentimental musicals."
He dropped his air of annoyance and smiled at me, a soft, sweet smile that turned my knees to water. "Only because you like to sing the romantic ballad to me afterwards. I quite look forward to that, you know."
"Sorry to disappoint you then. No musical tonight."
Ianto thanked the waiter for his tea before turning to me with an expression of surprise. "Really? Why not? Are we needed back home?"
"No, I checked in and everything's fine. Just thought we'd do something different this year, that's all."
That got me an "I'm an indulgent Welshman, but please talk sense" look. "Why?"
I took a sip of tea before replying. "So impatient, these kids today. First tell me what Anna said. Any idea why the hibernations are getting longer?"
Ianto shrugged. "Only that as I grow older, my body needs a little more time to regenerate. Considering that the hibernations are only a few hours more each time, she doesn't seem concerned. I have aged a bit, you know."
"Really? How much?"
"Apparently, I am now over thirty." He said it in such an aggrieved tone that I started to laugh, but his glare made me bite my lip.
"I'm sorry," I said meekly.
His mouth twitched as he fought an answering smile while attempting to remain stern with me. "Barely over thirty," he clarified before turning serious. "But I am also embarrassingly healthy for a man of my advanced years."
"Thank God," I sighed, and we shared a silent moment appreciating all that meant for us.
Ianto's version of immortality had its cost. The first time he'd fallen asleep for three days I'd panicked and hauled Martha down to Cardiff to help Mac figure out what was wrong. Eventually Ianto had awakened and been amused at all the fuss, but his energy levels had improved dramatically. After running a series of exhaustive tests, Mac and Martha had come to the conclusion that along with his remission, Ianto's ageing process had slowed to the point of almost being non-existent. It took years to actually see the proof, but careful records were kept, including plenty of images, and if I held up a picture of Ianto then and today, I'd hardly see any difference at all.
That first hibernation was the beginning of a pattern and the next time, about eighteen months later, I was a little more calm and Mac was pretty sure that this kind of deep, coma-like sleep was what allowed the ageing process to remain nearly static. It was a by-product of the cancer cure that no one had predicted, but it's what has granted me the miracle that was sitting beside me, studiously buttering every corner of his bread, the same beautiful man that had quietly stolen my heart more than fifty years ago.
Our lives weren't without risk. Ianto may have stopped the ageing process, but he wasn't immortal in the truest sense. Although his body healed more quickly when he was injured, he was just as susceptible to death as anyone else. Over the years I'd come close to losing him many times because our line of work was just that dangerous. I got a taste of what it felt like for him, watching me die time after time, but whereas he knew I'd always come back, I had no such comfort. That's why we made sure that there was nothing left unsaid between us and that there were no regrets about the life we'd chosen together.
But he is nothing if not stubborn, my Ianto, and we'd had fifty glorious, hell-raising years together. Watching him now as he perused the menu with a critical eye, I couldn't see a line, wrinkle, or grey hair. The funny thing is, it made no difference to me what he looked like. He was close to eighty now, and if he'd looked every day of those eighty years, I'd still love him. That's one of the perks of being ahead of my time, I guess—the package really doesn't matter at all.
Did I know, all those years ago, that the medicine I was bringing back would not only cure Ianto but extend his life? No, I didn't. Not even I could predict the fluke in his DNA that would have this one in a million result. Would I have made the same choice if I had known? That's a harder question to answer, and it haunts me sometimes late at night, when he's asleep in my arms. I think he wonders too, but he's never questioned the path we've taken to get here. The reality that death is still something within his grasp makes it easier somehow, and as much as the thought is personally agonizing to me, we both find comfort in knowing that we ultimately will never share the same fate.
Having apparently made his choice, Ianto set aside the menu and turned to me. "So, no musical, which means you've gotten creative, a concept that strikes terror into my soul."
I tried to look innocent and failed. "I thought we'd get out of town this time. Go some place quiet and private for a couple of days before we go back to work."
"A holiday?" he asked, his face brightening.
"Yeah. I think Brynn is ready to fly solo, don't you?" Brynn was our current second-in-command and the first non-human staff member in Torchwood's history.
Ianto nodded. "Definitely. It won't get a true feel of the place until it has a chance to make command decisions."
"Good, I agree. It's pretty excited—I could practically hear its colours changing over the phone."
That earned me a half-hearted glare. "So you assumed that I'd say yes?"
"Don't you always?"
I loved it when that perfect skin turns all rosy. "Some day I may surprise you."
Taking his hand in mine, I tucked a kiss into his palm. "You surprise me every day, Ianto Jones."
The blush deepened along with the glare as he yanked his hand away. "On the contrary, I can see I've become far too predictable."
I poured out more tea, not bothering to hide my grin. "Let's just say you've said yes to all the important questions and leave it at that."
He grumbled good-naturedly and from there the conversation went its own way. I was glad he was amenable to taking a few days for ourselves, away from the work that had become our life. Torchwood Three was no longer the ugly little bastard child of a larger organisation. So much had changed since the turn of the twenty-first century and now that aliens were a fact of every day life, as both threat and ally, our goals had changed as well. So had the attitude of the world, and where once Torchwood had stood alone against the onrushing tide, now we were part of a unified effort that spanned the globe.
And that was my true reason for wanting to get Ianto away from Cardiff. Everything was different and we'd been a part of it, but I was beginning to see that we'd reached a point where maybe the world didn't need us as desperately as it once had. There were dozens of brilliant, dedicated people doing what so few of us had done for over a hundred years, and a really big part of me said that we deserved a break. I was tired of seeing people I cared about die, and if it was selfish of me to want to spend a couple of decades walking in the sunshine with Ianto beside me, then I wouldn't apologise for that, either.
I had an idea that Ianto was ready. He didn't have my perspective to go along with his years and he felt each loss so deeply, especially the young ones. I did too, but there was something even more ravaging about watching someone you love suffer heartbreak like that time and time again. I had so much I wanted to show him, so many beautiful, wonderful things that I needed to share with him before it was too late. Now, admittedly, I'm not exactly shy and I've never wanted for company, but this was my only chance at something I never thought I'd have—an actual, honest-to-God love of my life, someone who's held me when I cried, stands by me when I screw up, and will dance with me among the stars.
So that was the plan, now that Ianto had been granted another clean bill of health. I figured somewhere in between making love, sleeping in late, and exploring the countryside, I'd suggest that we take a sabbatical from Torchwood. No doubt he'll come up with a couple of objections, because there are few things that Ianto enjoys more than playing devil's advocate. I was pretty sure I could sweet talk him into agreeing with me, and if he didn't, I'd just make love to him again and catch him in a vulnerable moment. He hates it when I do that—or so he says.
But I wasn't too concerned because after all, he really does say yes when it matters the most.
And all that is little is soon giant
All that is rare grows in common beauty
To rest with my mouth on your mouth
As somewhere a star falls
And the earth takes it softly, in natural love...
Exactly as we take each other...and go to sleep.
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