Title: Ysbrydnos
Author: Emma
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones
Rating: For once, I think they’ll behave!
Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?
Author’s Note: It was meant to be a simple Halloween story…. Really! *repeated headdesk*

The doorway appears and he steps through. It’s a cold night; if he had breath it would frost in mid-air. He doesn’t feel the cold, of course, but he does make a note of it, storing away the memory in a mental box labeled Nos Calan Gaeaf 2011. He also notes the rustling of dry leaves and pine needles as the wind swirls and eddies, the smell of wood blazing merrily away in thousands of fireplaces, and even the loud hum of traffic on the M4. Every piece of reality is valuable down to the dog shite he would have stepped on if his feet were solid. He knows this, although he doesn’t know how he knows.

As soon as he crosses the boundary of the cemetery wall, he knows Jack isn’t on Earth. He looks up into the brilliant field of stars even the city lights can’t dim, willing the Universe to give him a hint. A few agonizing moments later he hears it: one voice, crying his name. And with it comes the knowledge of what to do.

If he has the strength.

If he dares.

**********

The Hub is still under construction, but the main areas are already up and running. He gets there in time to see Gwen, Rhys, and another woman – Lois, he remembers vaguely – leave for the night. Andy Davidson is settling in on the couch with a cup of tea and some old files. The part of his mind that is still Torchwood approves of what Gwen is doing. But that was Gwen’s business now.

He walks to the control panel for the Rift engines. Once upon a time the idea of opening the Rift on purpose had terrified him. Now, he studies the readouts, trying to calculate exactly how much and how long he needs. He has no mass, so technically all he should need is a few seconds, but the moment he touches the controls – if he can but he does not allow himself to think about that – the alarm will go off and Andy will rush into action.

He will take the chance.

He uses his hands as a visual guide to channel his energy, pushing again the control valve. Nothing happens at first, then he feels it move very slowly. If he’s lucky, the alarm won’t go off quite yet.

And then he sees it. A living river of fire and energy flowing through thousands of dimensions, so immense, so magnificent, that he can’t encompass it, yet somehow as familiar to him as his own thoughts. It takes him a while to identify it and when he finally does it makes him chuckle: it feels like Jack, as if It were a part of him, or he a part of It. The knowledge settles the butterflies in his stomach and he is suddenly certain of his choice.

The alarm goes off as he steps into the current. Andy is running towards the engines, but he skids to a stop, mouth dropping open as he glimpses the faint shape of a man he once counted in some ways a friend disappearing into thin air.

**********

It takes him several centuries to negotiate with the Vortex. It has its own plans for Jack and will not tolerate interference. But he is patient, and persistent, and finally It grudgingly admits Jack would be much happier with an enduring relationship rather than a series of ephemeral adventures. But It doesn’t like the taste of capitulation, so it imposes a restriction and requires a promise. He agrees to it immediately.

After all, he knows what it is like to be lonely.

**********

When the doorway appears again, he steps into a large circular room domed in shatterproof glass and lit only by the light radiating from the vast arc of stars overhead. The décor obviously means to suggest a Terran graveyard of the more gothic kind. The dance band is wearing Bela Lugosi-style capes and white makeup. The clientele, ranging from a standard human to something that looks like a winged snake with six arms, have all made a valiant effort at dressing up.

It amuses him to see Halloween parties are still in fashion nine hundred years into the future.

He locates Jack almost immediately, sitting alone at a table nearly hidden by a weeping willow. He watches as Jack turns down several offers with a grin and a cheeky comment, but he also notices the sadness that never quite leaves Jack's eyes. Suddenly he feels uncertain; it's been so long, perhaps Jack has, not forgotten him, Jack had promised he would never do that and he keeps his word, but come to terms with his losses. Perhaps it's not fair of him to upset whatever serenity Jack has gained in nine hundred years.

No. He won't doubt himself at this stage.

He crosses the room, cutting across the dance floor in the most direct route to Jack. The interested looks he gets are enough to tell him he had become solid and visible. Someone makes a comment about his costume, and he looks down at his three-piece suit and grins. It is a costume, but not of the sort they think.

When he gets to Jack's table Jack has turned away to watch the star field. He wonders why Jack feels the need to attend a party when it is perfectly obvious he's not enjoying himself.

“Hello, Jack.”

Jack stiffens but does not turn around immediately. He can sense Jack's fear and grief, still fresh as if it were new, but filled with centuries of pain.

“No. You're not going insane.” He rests his hand on Jack's shoulder. “Turn around, cariad. Look at me.”

Jack turns, and he's horrified to see tears spilling down Jack's cheeks. He gropes for a chair and sits down. Now both his hands cradle Jack's face, pulling him close. He brushes his lips over Jack's features from forehead to chin, then returns to Jack's mouth to nip and lick.

“Ianto.” Jack's whisper makes it all worthwhile. “How?”

“Sometimes even Death and the Vortex have to give way.”

Now Jack's arms come around to grip at his upper arms. “How long do we have?”

“Until Calan Mai. Six months.” He puts his fingers on Jack's lips. “Every year. Every year from Calan Gaeaf to Calan Mai. Until the end.”

The joy blazes in Jack's eyes and Ianto is fiercely glad to have done what he did, no matter what promises he had to make.

**********
They run into the Doctor several times in the next two millennia. Surprisingly, the Time Lord accepts Ianto's existence without a murmur. Once, when Jack is spending time with him during the summer months, he asks the Doctor why.

“Even Death and the Vortex have to give way sometimes.” Then, in a nonchalant tone, not looking at Jack, “and he makes you happy.”

Jack smiles.

Six hundred years later, they are summoned by the Ood. The last of the Time Lords is dying his true death. They spend time with him, listening to his stories, telling him theirs, and reminiscing about their lives together.The Doctor asks the TARDIS to remain with Jack, and she agrees, even as she grieves for her beloved.

When the end comes, they are holding his hands. A circle of Ood surround them, singing softly. As the Doctor takes his last breath, the song soars, and a Rift opens overhead. Ianto makes a simple gesture, and Jack is astounded to see a glittering blue and silver orb rise and enter the Vortex.

They take the Doctor's ashes back to Earth and scatter them high above Britain.

**********
A few million years later, there's an accident and the Face of Boe is born. It doesn't really change anything, except that Ianto cares for the TARDIS until she too decides to join the Vortex. And at the end of the Universe, when the Face of Boe gives the Doctor his warning and dies, Ianto is there to take Jack's spirit back with him.

**********
The stars wink out slowly until nothing remains but darkness. Space itself begins to contract until the only thing left is a possibility. The Vortex chuckles to Itself as It plans the next Creation. This one will be different. For the first time, a new Universe will have at its center the undying power of love.