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Who: Ianto Jones and Jack Harkness
Where: Their room,
When: Evening of October 21st
Rating: PG-13? (Will change if necessary)
Summary: There's something that Ianto's been meaning to tell Jack. Something he's been putting off for months now, because he just can't seem to find the right moment. How do you break the news that you're dead to someone you love, after all?
The Story:

Ianto has been meaning to tell Jack about his future for a while now. He knows that it's been over a month since he'd gone to Clara and Martha for advice on whether or not he should, and if so how. Over a month since he spoke to Owen and came to the conclusion that he would need to do it himself, or else risk something terrible happening with Wonderland itself breaking the news to him. Now it looks as though Wonderland isn't what he would need to worry about at all, but its inhabitants, what with the Doctor appearing. He knows that the Time Lord is from the future. He knows that he knows what happens, and whether he's promised to keep quiet on the matter or not, he doesn't trust it. It's now or never, he tells himself, and the thought of it slipping out in a conversation with the Doctor rather than coming from Ianto himself is the only thing that's keeping him from running for the hills as he sits on the sofa in their room and waits for Jack to return that evening.

He hasn't called Jack back early. The other man might still be out exploring with the Doctor, or perhaps he's off on some other adventure of his own making. He didn't want to cut off the other man's fun, not for this. Not with this news. But it means that he's been left waiting. Ianto's a pretty patient man, but he's starting to fidget in his seat, a million different 'what if' scenarios starting to play through his head as he does.

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He comes back to their shared room later than normal, but not any later than he's ever been in the past. He's smiling when he does, clearly happy, and he sweeps in with a swirl of his coat, sweeping it around and off to hang on the coat stand that's appeared there since he moved in. He doesn't immediately register the look on Ianto's face, because he's grinning, only catching sight of the younger man on the sofa in his peripheral vision as he moves further into the room, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves so he can roll them up, and talking.

"I noticed that you and the Doctor said a few words." And don't think he's going to easily believe that what was visible on the network is all that was said. He's smarter than that, Ianto. The Doctor just doesn't stop talking that quickly, especially not this regeneration. The sleeves are rolled, snug into place above his elbows, and then he turns with a, hopefully, devastating smirk, ready to pin his handsome Welshman in place with a look, continuing on as he does, "Did you-"

Except, when his eyes stop on the other man, it doesn't take but a second to realize that something's wrong. It pauses him in mid sentence, and his smirk falls away, his brows furrowing somewhat. Well, he hadn't exactly been expecting Ianto to be excited about the Time Lord's arrival- even with their brief interaction during the incident with the Daleks, he knew the younger man didn't have near the same high opinion of the Doctor as Jack himself did- but he hadn't expected this either. His hands, which had reached up to undo the top button of his shirt, fall as he steps to the sofa, his knees bending so he can be at eye level with Ianto, and he reaches out to him.

"Ianto?"

Ianto feels guilty that he's letting everything show on his face as boldly as he is, for Jack to be able to read him as fast as that, to be able to see that something is wrong, something needs to be said, and it's not something that Ianto's going to particularly enjoy sharing. Something inside of Ianto tightens at the look the other man gives him as he moves to crouch in front of him so that he can be close and at eye level, and he moves a hand to place it over the hand that Jack moves to rest on his arm, squeezing it gently for a moment. There's no easy way to do this. There's no good way to do this. He just hopes that he doesn't do this horribly. That he isn't making a giant mistake, here.

"Jack," he says, softly, "I..." He pauses, swallowing softly, trying to keep his eyes from giving everything away. "We need to talk."

'We need to talk.' They're words that are feared by couples all throughout time and space, in whatever incarnation or language is common for the couple in question. They strike no less fear in Jack's heart now, no matter how much he shies from words like 'couple,' or 'boyfriend,' or any other words that signify that kind of real relationship. Because no matter how much he focuses on not thinking about he and Ianto in terms of a 'relationship,' the other man is important to him, he ~~loves~~ cares for Ianto deeply, deeper than he wants to admit sometimes. He doesn't let that fear reflect in his eyes, though, doesn't let his touch on Ianto's arm flinch like he wants to, because surely the other man can't be that upset with Jack for disappearing for a few hours as soon as the Doctor appeared, can he? Even if it was the same thing Jack'd had done both of the times the Time Lord had appeared in the past. Surely Ianto's forgiven him for those times.

"Sure." He's careful to keep his tone easy, his gaze light. Beneath Ianto's hand, he rubs his thumb back and forth on his arm, comforting. As if his heart's not suddenly beating a million miles a minute with worry. "What's up?"

Ianto isn't sure how he's going to do this. He keeps trying to think of the best way, and that's where he keeps getting hung up. Jack looks worried - he's trying to act normal, but Ianto can tell that he's on edge, and he's already sorry for that. He knows that it's only going to get worse before it gets better. Assuming that it will get better. Ianto's certainly hoping that it will.

He motions for the other man to join him on the couch. Much as he enjoys having Jack right where he is, the position is just going to add to Jack's anxiety, and it's going to make him feel like he needs to rush the story along. "I..." he starts, and then tries again. He's hoping that even if Jack moves, he won't let go of his arm. It's the one solid thing that's anchoring him down right now. "There's. Something I have to tell you." Ianto's willing to suspect that Jack has figured out by now that there's something he's been keeping from him, after all. Jack's observant, especially, he's found, when it comes to people he cares for.

Jack's known since Day 1 that Ianto was keeping something from him, has quietly pushed to try and find out from every venue possible, and been promptly shot down. It hasn't kept him from continuing to try, though, and it hadn't even kept him from prodding the Doctor tonight, when it became clear his timeline was farther along than Jack's own. And again, of course, he'd learned nothing. When Ianto indicates the seat beside him, Jack rises, shifts, to take it; his hand slides down the other man's arm as he does, so that he ends up holding his hand instead, lacing their fingers together. His worry is only slightly abated by the younger man's words, and he runs his thumb over the back of his hand.

"I don't suppose this has anything to do with the difference in our timelines, hmmm?" He aims for a casual, playful tone, and mostly succeeds.

Any other time, Ianto would have welcomed the playfulness from Jack. But it just makes it harder to get the right words to come to him now, and for a moment, all he can do is nod in response to the other man's query, and hold on tightly to his hand. "...yeah," he says, finally speaking up again, and when he does, his voice is a little rough with all of the emotion that's building inside of him. "Yeah, it does."

He takes a deep breath before he continues, looking down at their hands because he can't quite look up at Jack's eyes, afraid of what he might see there. "Jack, I. I know that theoretically you're not supposed to hear about the future before it happens. Timelines and all. But. Knowing this place, you're going to find out eventually, and. I'd rather you find out from me."

The tightness of Ianto's grip, the look on his face, the tone of his voice... what the hell has he been keeping from Jack for so long, that it makes him react this way? Like it's a death sentence, almost? His brows furrow worriedly, and he keeps running his thumb back and forth, back and forth, over Ianto's skin. Aiming for soothing. With his other hand, he reaches up to cup Ianto's cheek for a moment, and gently he lifts his chin, to try and meet his gaze.

"What happened?"

Jack's being so sweet, stroking his hand and tilting his face up towards his. He's being so sweet, and it's making it that much harder for Ianto to have to go forward with this. It would be so much easier to give up, to back out, but the image of Owen accidentally making a comment phrased in just the right way to clue Jack in, or the Doctor giving him away in a moment of forgetfulness, at what that might do to Jack, if he were to find out that way... No. It has to be him. If anyone should be at fault for ruining his own life, it should be Ianto himself.

Ianto meets Jack's eyes for a long moment, his face cupped in the other man's hand, searching the other man's expression, taking in the worried lines on his face, at the way Jack's thumb keeps running itself back and forth across his hand. He wishes so much in those few breaths that he were from a different time, even if it were just a day before, so he wouldn't know what was coming either. But he can't erase his memories. And he can't keep this from the other man. Not for any longer. It's now or never, he knows, and he has to speak up before he loses his nerve.

Ianto doesn't have the words planned. He doesn't have the moment thought out, he doesn't have the series of events carefully charted through. All he has is here and now, Jack with that look on his face and himself with that rock of dread settling itself in his stomach, the question in the other man's eyes, written all over his body language, prompting him to open his mouth and answer in the most honest way that he can.

"...I died, Jack." Half a breath's pause, as he swallows slightly, and reiterates what he's sure will be some of the hardest news he'll ever have to share with the other man. "I'm dead."

There were a thousand things he'd imagined Ianto telling him, a million different confessions, because they were Torchwood, and god only knew what could have happened in the span of just a few short months. And yet, funnily enough, this had never entered his mind. And, truly, it didn't register now, either. Not yet, at least. The thumb on Ianto's hand froze, and for a split second, he stared. Just- stared. And then-

"Dead?" The word was an echo, and almost- empty. His gaze was moving then, searching the other man's face, seeking- what was he seeking? For a joke of some kind, because he knew damn well that this wasn't something Ianto would joke about. But he couldn't be serious. He didn't give a damn how high the mortality rate was with Torchwood, Ianto couldn't be-

"No." It was the only answer. Because Jack would be damned if he'd let Ianto die. His hand fell away, from Ianto's cheek, and he didn't notice the imperceptible shudder in the hand that still held Ianto's hand. His head shook, his lips pursed, and, as the shudder increased, he pinned the other man with his gaze. Because he didn't give a damn, if the Doctor thought that this was some kind of time trap, that if they escaped that they wouldn't remember, didn't give a damn that apparently he had left once before and then returned with no memory. He would not let Ianto die. "Not anymore."

Edited 2013-10-24 04:52 (UTC)

‪
The look in Jack's eyes chills Ianto to the core, and not because of any sort of negative emotion in them, directed at him or otherwise, but at how blank and distant they are, how quick the shutters go down, not just around Jack himself but also between the pair of them, subtly. The one sliver of hope, the lifeline that he could cling to in all of this was the fact that Jack was still holding his hand. He hadn't let go of that yet. Although he can feel the other man's hand shaking in his own. In that moment, he's not sure whether he should let him go, let him deal with this as best he can on his own, or hold on tighter than before, to anchor Jack in the here and now.

Jack's words hurt though, not a sharp stinging bite so much as a low ache that spreads through every part of him as he shakes his head in response to them. "No, Jack," he says, quietly. "It's already happened. There's no fixing this. Not this time." He already figures that it had to happen, for some reason. That his death had to have been important, for the solution with the 456. A fixed point in time, and that's why the Doctor must not have come. No changing what cannot be changed, and Time Lord or not, how could he possibly have stood to show up and tell Jack no.

"Time is fluid." It's said with a touch of command, an aura about him that would not normally come between them, not between he and Ianto. Not for a long time, not when it comes to just the two of them. But for this- for this he would command Time itself, if he had to. It owes him that much, at least, for everything he's been through, for everything he will go through in the never ending millenia stretched out before him. He remembers the date Ianto had given him, when he first arrived. Jack refuses to accept that, when he returns, it will only be that short a time he has left with the other man.

"How did it happen?" His hand still holds to Ianto, despite that aura, despite the firm tone in his voice, the look in his eyes that brooks no disagreement. That tolerates no refusal. He'll find out what happened, and he will change it. He will fix it. And Ianto is going to give him the knowledge to do so.

Ianto's quiet for a moment, his breath catching in response to the other man's tone, one that hasn't been directed at Ianto himself in a very long time. He doesn't want to argue with Jack, he would give anything for Jack to be able to save him, to be able to have more time with Jack back in their world, even if it were only a few months more, a few days even. He knows deep in his heart that it doesn't work like that. He's dead. And there's no coming back from that. Not this time. Not for him.

"Fast," Ianto says, his voice barely above a whisper. He's normally perfect at reading the other man's expression, but the wall that Jack threw up around himself once Ianto broke the news to him is near impenetrable, and Ianto half doesn't know what to do with himself. Jack's conviction that he's going to be able to save him hurts more than he's willing to admit. "I. There was a toxin. A virus. Released into the air. It killed everyone in the building we were in." He clutches Jack's hand, the contact feeling more and more like a life line with each passing moment. "There was nothing you could do," he says, shaking his head, as he holds Jack's gaze. "There was nothing anyone could do."

"'Could' do. Past tense, Ianto. But it's not in my past." No matter how many rules of time travel state that once you know something will happen it will, because there are just as many contradictory rules that say time can be changed. The only fixed thing in Time is a Fixed Point, and Jack won't let Ianto's death be a Fixed Point. And if it is, he'll break it himself, consequences be damned. It's irresponsible, stands against everything he ever learned with the Time Agency, everything the Doctor ever taught him about Time, but then again, so is Jack himself. Impossible, wrong, and if it takes two wrongs to make a right, he'll do it. His gaze fixes now, razor sharp, on Ianto's face, and his hand on the younger man's finally stills. "It's my future. And once I know what happens, I can stop it."

He can save Ianto. He will.

"What building? What were we doing there, and who released the toxin?" Because he hasn't missed the 'we' in Ianto's words. He knows what that means. That he and Ianto both died. That in some future, Ianto's future, he had to watch his lover die, and then die himself, with the knowledge that Ianto would be gone when he revived. That, too, he refuses. Denies.

"Jack," Ianto bites out, the word pleading with the other man. He's not as well-informed as Jack is on the matters of time and how one might possibly go about changing it, the rules behind it, but he knows that it's difficult, that there are rules behind it, and that there are consequences for breaking those rules. Dire ones. Part of him, a part buried deep inside, wants nothing more than to trust that Jack will be able to do this, that somehow, some way, he'll be able to save him. Jack's always been a hero to him, his hero. But the rest of him knows that fixing things, saving him. It's a pipe dream.

He shakes his head at the other man, his voice rough and low when he manages to speak again. "You can't," he says.

"I 'can't?'"

There's a disconnect. A flash of- something. And then- his voice is steel. Cold. And suddenly he's shaking, with some raw emotion he can't place, can't process, and his hand pulls back. He pushes up from the couch, smooth, and steps back, turns away.

"I can. I won't be trapped here forever; when I get back, I need to know what happened. It's the only way to prevent it. The only way to save you." There's a bite to his tone, something warm, no, hot building within him. For Ianto to refuse to tell him, to believe him... There's another shudder, that runs down the full length of his body, but it's the only visible movement. He remains facing away, statue still, and when he speaks again, it's an almost venomous command. "Tell me, and I can change the future."

The sound of Jack's voice, the fact that he's reacting the way he is, it's breaking Ianto's heart. He doesn't want to tell the other man no, doesn't want to have to sit there and try and convince him of how much of a bad idea it is, to change what's already happened, what might already be fixed, all because he can't stand the thought of losing him. If he were given the choice, of course he'd choose to come back to life with Jack and Torchwood in Cardiff. He'd take it in a heartbeat. But he hadn't, not by the 456, not by Wonderland, and not by Jack himself.

"Don't," Ianto says, sitting forward in his seat, running his hands over his face, feeling the loss of the other man's presence beside him like a void. "Stop. If you keep talking about saving me, I'll actually believe you, and then when you disappear again and forget about all of this and I'll have to go through it all over again, or worse, when you disappear and come back after the fact and blame yourself for my death, for not being able to save me, for not being able to change it, to stop anything..." He shakes his head. "It will kill me, Jack. I can't."

He looks back up to Jack, defiant against the other man's commanding tone. "You blamed yourself, last time. Why the hell do you think it took me so long to tell you now? You blamed yourself, it ate at you until you lost yourself to the guilt, and it wasn't your fault, Jack, it wasn't your fault. The Hub, the 456, my death. None of it." It isn't until the words are out of his mouth that Ianto realizes what he's said, how much he's said. An ice-cold dread settles in his stomach as he forces himself to meet the other man's eyes. Shit.

"I will save you," Jack hisses quickly in response, whirling back around to glare at the younger man, and this time there's no doubting the coloring of anger in his tone, or in his gaze. And then Ianto's words hit him like a freight train, and he tenses, his jaw tightening, hands gathering together at his sides. It feels like an attack; Ianto doesn't believe him, doesn't trust him, and it's for something Jack has no control over. For his supposed appearance in Wonderland before, the one he doesn't remember, can't defend his actions because he doesn't even know what they were, and the fact that that's why Ianto doesn't believe in him-

It's a white hot thrill. He fans it, lets it burst into full force flames, because anger- anger is better than the alternative. Especially when Ianto continues, and suddenly there's a name, an achingly familiar species, and the wash of terror that floods through him is matched only with the second flicker of fire at the reminder that this is the secret he's been harboring for three damn months.

"Don't you dare," Jack snarls in return, and his eyes are ablaze as he meets the other man's eyes dead on, "presume to lay this at my feet. Don't you dare try to pin this on something I can't even remember. I have no control over that, and you damn well know it, Ianto. And you sure as hell know that I would never leave you if I had a choice, would never erase one single memory of the time we've had together. If you're going to make judgement calls about me based on something I can't control or remember-"

He breaks off, just barely, because the next words out of his mouth- they aren't pretty. They are damning. Destructive. And he is seething, his chest rising and falling with his sudden anger, fists clenching, and behind the blaze in his eyes is something ice cold.

"I don't need you to tell me what happened to find out."

Ianto knows Jack well enough to be able to recognize that the other man is seething underneath his skin, his breathing catching in his throat and his fists clenching at his sides, his voice raised in barely-controlled snarls. It's been a long time since he's seen Jack like this, since the other man has addressed him in any form of the manner. Under normal circumstances, Ianto's own fight might have been quelled underneath the flame of Jack's anger. But this isn't normal circumstances, and Ianto isn't giving up his fight, not just because Jack Harkness decided that it made him upset that he had his own opinion on the matter of his own life.

Ianto can't help that last comment, the way it's aimed to sting. There are emotions fighting underneath their argument that Ianto's only just realizing he has. This isn't how he expected things to go in the least. He really hadn't prepared himself for anything even close to their current interaction. More than anything, Ianto just wants Jack to hold him, to be there for him now, not making promises about the future that may or may not happen in the long run. But there they are. And apparently he's reacting so badly that Jack's even threatening to go to other sources for the information. He can't help but laugh a little bitterly at that. "If you're talking about going to the Doctor, don't bother. Apparently beyond being your little 'tag-along', he doesn't even remember who I am, never mind what happened to me. Good to know that I have such a high standing, after everything." He bites back a comment about so much for not being able to forget him. He may be upset, and he may be a little angry, but he's not vindictive. Of course, that doesn't mean that he has a complete control on everything that's coming out of his mouth, right now.

"So what, Jack," Ianto bites out, continuing, "you're allowed to get upset at me for making a judgment call based on a memory of something that happened, but I'm not allowed to question a decision you make that could possibly erase everything I've done, everything I remember for the last 5 months? That could possibly erase my existence entirely, and or worse, create another version of myself to live the life that I'll never get? Is that what you want, Jack? God knows it's what you're headed for. I'd still be stuck here but you'd have him, happy and none-the-wiser, which I guess is all that matters in the end, is it?"

There was another, second, flare of anger; this one not at Ianto, but at the Doctor. His 'tag along?' The Time Lord damn well knew who Ianto was, Jack knew that for a fact, and calling him a 'tag along' could only be deliberately hurtful, something this regeneration seemed to be good at when he wanted. It was tabled though, lost beneath the much hotter flame of his anger at Ianto, and if he was honest, with himself. He wasn't honest with himself though, not now, because it was easier to lay it on Ianto's rebellion, his secret keeping, his judgement calls for something beyond control.

"The Doctor's not the only one who knows," he growled back coldly. Martha knew, Jack was certain of that, and he was willing to bet Owen would know too, possibly even Clara.

He stepped forward, then, closer to where Ianto sat still on the sofa, and stared down at him, something dark in his eyes. Because even as something within him flinched at the younger man's words, even knowing that changing his future could and would erase what Ianto had experienced after his death- Ianto wouldn't remember any of it, nothing of his time here, nothing about their time together in Wonderland, nothing about the horrors, and laughter, and Welsh puppies, and friends- at least he would be alive. Because the thought of a world with Ianto dead, no matter how much he knew it would happen eventually, the thought of it happening now, in such a short time...

"Do you want to die, Ianto?" he spit out as he towered over his seated form. "Because if you're done, if you have zero desire to live, if you'd rather be a cold corpse buried in the ground than living, and breathing, and alive..." Than be with Jack... He stopped. Inhaled deeply, shudderingly. And his jaw steeled, his lips thinned. "Then you damn well better tell me now."

It wouldn't stop him, but if Ianto would rather be dead than with Jack, he'd leave now. He would not let Ianto stop him.

Ianto's on his feet almost before the other man has finished talking. Jack's not the only one who can get angry, who's allowed to get angry. If anyone has the right to be upset about this situation, Ianto figures it should be him. The irony of the situation is that he kept it from the other man, waited to be able to tell him personally, because he was afraid of it all going horribly wrong when he found out through some other means, and instead here it was going horribly wrong even despite his best efforts.

"Do you honestly believe that I would ever choose death over more time with you? Over even getting one single bloody day more? Fuck, Jack...!" Ianto swore, spitting the anger and the pain he was feeling back in the other man's face. "I would give anything for things to have gone differently. But they didn't, and they won't, and I will not let you destroy the universe just to get me back! This place," he motions around to their room, indicating Wonderland itself, "the people I have here? They're all that I have left." He meets the other man's eyes from honestly not that far away, blue eyes full of ice and pain. "All that I'll ever have again, with any of them. With you. For something you supposedly value so highly, you're awfully eager to sacrifice it for a goal that you know that you can't achieve," he bites out.

"Then trust me!" It's a roar, in response to the heat of rage flaring between them. He hasn't been this angry at Ianto, this upset- since Lisa the cyberwoman. Except while that had been anger, and betrayal, this is far, far worse. This is the man he loves, whether he says it or not, turning his back on him. Choosing death, and a half existence of prison and terror in a bubble universe, over a future with Jack. He doesn't back down, even though it means he's almost nose to nose with Ianto, matched almost evenly in their fury, in pain, in a fire that threatens to consume them both completely. "You don't know a thing about the finer workings of time travel, not like I do. The future is not set in stone, your death is not fixed!"

And if it is... universe be damned, Jack will unfix it.

"I'm saving you, whether you like it or not." His eyes flash, meeting the look in Ianto's eyes unflinchingly, with a hard look of his own. "No matter what it takes. If it means I have to make some sacrifices to do that, then so be it."

He will sacrifice almost anything, anyone, to save the man before him.

Ianto doesn't flinch in the face of the other man's anger, in the face of the yelling or the fire burning in his eyes. But once he's done, when he pauses to take a breath, Ianto can't help the tears that are beginning to prick at his eyes, the swell of the sob threatening to work itself up from what feels like the very depths of his soul. Jack isn't listening to a word he's saying. He might as well be talking to a wall, for all that he's getting through to the other man. And it's frustrating, to know that his thoughts on the subject don't seem to matter at all. He has to get out of there. He has to leave, before he says something he regrets, before he hits the other man, or before Jack breaks his heart completely.

And so he shakes his head, the look in his eyes pained and raw, and there's probably no way he can mask the tears at this point. "You keep going down this path and you're as good as killing me yourself," he grinds out, his voice low and rough, with edges sharp as broken glass. And without another word, Ianto turns on his heel and walks out of the room, their room, the sound of the door shutting behind him loud in the void he leaves behind.

Back home, Owen wouldn't have given a damn about Ianto and Jack's arguments - would've cracked a few inappropriate jokes about it, in fact (though that particular tendency hasn't left him entirely). But here in Wonderland, there are a number of different factors leading Owen to play the mediator between them. He's not sure how he ended up in this state: counselling troubled socially awkward teenagers, being Ianto's shoulder to cry on, interceding in others' relationships. It's so messy, the utter opposite of everything he'd strived for back home, to keep himself at a distance from everyone, keep from caring about them. He hasn't entirely broken the habit of pushing everyone away by being a prick, but he chooses his words with a little more care these days, and he occasionally even apologises when he hurts people. He'd like to chalk it all up to Clara's influence - he's pretty sure that's what Ianto and Martha and maybe even Jack do - but that's not it, not completely. It's a metamorphosis that's been working at him for some time now, since Diane had cracked his facade, since he'd found that sleeping around wasn't as enjoyable as it had been. Since he died and came back and found himself clutching at everything he'd once scorned.

And that leaves him at Jack and Ianto's door, eyeing it darkly and muttering a few choice words that he doesn't really mean under his breath. Heaven help anyone who relies on Owen Harper to solve their fucking relationship problems, he thinks sourly. But next to Ianto, he's the one who knows Jack best - which is a laugh, because when it comes down to it, he doesn't really know Jack at all. He's spent enough time working with the other man to be familiar with his moods, though, and he reckons he can snap Jack out of it and back to seeing reason. Hopefully. If not, he's going to have to put up with both of them moping around and wallowing in self-pity and guilt, and that's hardly an appealing prospect. (That's why he's doing this, he tells himself, and not because Ianto's his best mate or anything like that. Not because Ianto came looking for him when Clara had died, not because they've spent nights drinking together and talking about their problems. It's still easier for him to deny things to himself, to pretend he's the same old Owen Harper, even when he knows he isn't.)

"Oi, Jack," he calls out, knocking on the door. "You in, or am I going to have to hike up to the bloody roof because you're pulling your best Batman imitation again?"

There's not an answer immediately. In fact, it's long enough that Owen probably has enough time to begin to think that Jack's not in, that he's already gone off elsewhere to brood, but he hasn't. He's inside still, and although the brooding has already begun, he hasn't run off. Not yet, at least, although it's sure to come later. Eventually, though, his voice rings out, deceptively cool and calm.

"It's not an imitation when I did it first."

It's not an invitation, but it's all Owen's going to get for the moment. The door's unlocked, as Jack hasn't bothered to go as far as the door since Ianto walked out. When it opens, Jack's settled at the sofa, sitting where Ianto had been when he first got in, and there's a bottle on the end table he's moved beside the thing. The tumblr in his hand is mostly empty, although it's anyone's guess if Jack just didn't fill it that full, or if he's already knocked that much back. He doesn't look up from it, though.

Owen's just about ready to give up when he hears Jack's response. He opens the door and slips inside, taking in the scene in front of him. He's willing to bet that Jack's probably had that much to drink already, and maybe more, because that's what he'd do in a similar situation. He finds a second tumbler somewhere before sitting down next to him on the sofa, picking up the bottle and helping himself.

"Guess you've got the chin to be Batman, at any rate," he remarks idly, swirling the alcohol inside the glass before he takes a sip. "And the dashing good looks, et cetera." Might as well banter for a few moments before they get down to business.

"And again," he answers, and despite the words, his voice is empty of its usual cheer, "I did it first."

He half looks up when Owen snags a glass for himself and plops down, and then he knocks back the rest of his drink and takes hold of the bottle to pour another. Unlike the younger man, he doesn't hesitate in taking another drink, and it's more than a sip, but- well, Jack's not exactly a lightweight, and at the moment, he's aiming for drink enough to take away a bit of the edge. Not all of it, though, because the next thing he does is turn, to pin a look on the other man.

"I take it you've talked to Ianto." It's not a question. He knows that here, in Wonderland, Owen and Ianto are closer than they had been in Cardiff. There's a pang of regret, that he'll be taking that memory away from Ianto when he changes his death, but it's not enough to make any kind of dent in his determination to do it regardless. Wiping out his memories and experiences in Wonderland means nothing compared to keeping the Welshman alive.

"Yeah, yeah. And you took impressionable boys under your bloody wing first, too. You can't tell me Batman and Robin didn't have something going on." Not unlike Tintin and the dog.

He doesn't really care how much Jack drinks; if things go poorly with him, after all, he knows Ianto's going to be getting pissed later, and that means Owen will be doing the same, and they'll all be horribly hungover tomorrow morning. (Or he and Ianto will, anyway; he hasn't the foggiest idea whether Jack can actually get hangovers.)

"If I'd known you were going to be a twat about it, I wouldn't have told him to tell you about it in the first place." Owen's next drink is larger, because he wants to fortify himself for this conversation. "But I, being the apparently foolish person I am, said that it would be fine, that it would be better to tell you before it somehow fucking managed to slip out, because that's what this place does sometimes. So thanks for proving me wrong, Harkness."

There's a sharp look at the other man, and a coloring of mild surprise, although he's not sure why. Not that Ianto had talked it over with Owen, but maybe that Owen had advised him to tell Jack. It's not a move he would have entirely expected. He drops the banter- it's meaningless anyway, void- and moves forward with the true subject instead. After a second drink.

"Is that what it's called when you decide to save someone's life?" To save the life of the person you love? The question isn't entirely without heat, but it's not directed at Owen himself but at- fuck if he knows who it's directed at. He's angry- at Ianto, at himself, at the world at large, and that anger simmers over a boil of another emotion he's determined to ignore. Ianto hasn't died yet, not in Jack's timeline, and he's not going to let him die. There's no need for any other emotion. "Because I thought that was a pretty logical reaction."

"What's the first thing we learn at Torchwood?" Owen retorts sharply. "The first thing you tell the lot of us? You can't fucking do that sort of thing, Jack, because it has consequences." He can't believe that after all the times he's had to hear that from Jack, the other man thinks he can just play silly buggers with timelines because he can't let go.

Except, of course, that he can believe it, because he's been the result of Jack's desperate clutching at straws before. "Good thing you don't have another sodding glove," he scoffs, topping off his own glass, "otherwise you'd be shagging Ianto's corpse. But no, instead you're just going to fuck up the timelines, 'cos I'm sure that won't do a bloody thing to the Rift, and if it does, who cares? You're Jack fucking Harkness, and you can obviously do whatever you like, unlike the rest of us."

"Time is fluid," he answers immediately, his voice razor sharp, but he doesn't stop there, because he's not anywhere near finished. "When you have the right experience and knowledge, the right training, you can recognize what can and can't be changed."

Not ever, if Jack has anything to say about it. The glare he pins on Owen, as he takes another swig of his drink before the tumbler is set heavily on the end table, is angrier than before, and this time it is directed at him. "The reason I told you otherwise is because you don't have the experience or training needed to make those kinds of decisions. I do. Ianto dying isn't set, not yet." Because he won't let it be.

"You'll forgive me if I'm a bit sceptical about your so-called experience and training," Owen drawls, "given my first-hand experience with what happened last time you tried to fuck with this sort of thing. But, hey, whatever, don't let me stop you from playing god, by all means. Create a temporal paradox, fuck up all of time and space, because you're obviously the only person who knows what it's like to lose someone."

Letting Owen intercede probably wasn't the wisest decision Ianto could have made, all things considered.

"It's not the same thing." A bitter edge of guilt sharpens his tone, but he's not apologizing, not now. Jack throws back a good portion of his drink, levels a glare at the younger man, because he'll be damned if he lets guilt get in the way of this. There's too much at stake. "I'm not bringing him back or changing the past, I'm saving his life. And you can't tell me you wouldn't do the same, given the chance, because I remember you trying to do worse for less."

And then Jack's up, pushing off the sofa, tumbler still in hand, as he stalks away from Owen. They're ugly words, and he's long forgiven Owen for what happened then, but in the heat of the moment, he doesn't give a damn, not when Owen of all people is accusing him of wrecking a timeline. He stops, his back to the sofa, the lines of his body tense.

"I know what I'm doing."

"Of course I fucking would," Owen spits, "but you've always pretended to be so much better than the rest of us lowly mortals, Jack Harkness. When it comes down to it, though, the rules never apply to the likes of you, just the rest of us. You couldn't leave Suzie, you couldn't leave me, and now you've got to save Ianto, because you can't stand to be hurt."

He drains the rest of his tumbler in one swift gulp, setting it back down on the table so forcefully that he's surprised it doesn't crack. "What even makes you think you'll remember when you go home? Shit, Jack, that's probably why this place makes us forget."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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don't mind me, just stealin' your log here...

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