Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. That honour belongs to RTD and the mighty and glorious BBC. The only thing I get out of this is pleasure!

Authors Note: I'm not sure why I wrote this. It certainly wasn't the story I intended to write, which as was funny and fluffy and a welcome change from all the angst. But this refused to let me write other things till it was out of my head. It's sad, actually downright miserable. If you haven't read Purpose In All Things it won't make a bit of sense (unless you view it as a character piece) and it is set two hundred and ninety years after the end of Purpose hence the misery. A tissue warning is given and a plea. I've love Ianto and Jack together I really do so please forgive me for what I am about to do.

Reviews make me happy. I clearly need happy thoughts. Have pity...

'When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you'

Friedrich Nietzsche

The freshly turned earth, piled high beside the hole, was peaty and black; reminding Jack of the hills which surrounded the small Welsh village where he now stood looking down into a grave, yet to be filled. The grave was deep, the fading light and the sullen sky cast the hole into shadow so that from his position Jack could not distinguish where the sides met the base. A bottomless abyss.

"Mr Harkness-Jones?"

The voice from beside him was tentative. A calm questioning tone, perfected over many decades, used to dealing with those lost and in pain.

"Mr Harkness-Jones?" the voice repeated again.

Jack raised his eyes from the abyss and turned slightly to look at the man who had spoken.

The vicar took an unconscious step backwards. Never in all his years had he seen such pain in the eyes of one of his parishioners. The eyes which held him in their gaze seemed almost black and lifeless as the turned earth beside them. He could see his own face reflected in them suddenly conscious of his shocked expression. With an effort he schooled his features back to their usual placid, unflustered countenance.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly, knowing this was the hardest moment, the moment when the man in front of him would have to let go.

Jack didn't speak. He allowed his gaze to slip past the vicar to the plain wooden coffin which stood on a stand beyond the mounds of earth.

He knew this was what Ianto had wanted, to be buried in the Earth, not holed up in the Vault of the Hub. Buried in the churchyard of the small Welsh village that had been their home for the last twenty years of his life. He had been adamant. In his usual efficient way he had organised the final details of his life; refusing to go to hospital when the short illness which had finally claimed him struck so that he could die peacefully at home in Jack's arms without intrusion; making arrangements with the funeral director about his coffin, the church, even the hymn sung by one of their great-grandchildren. And on the final day he had asked Jack to carry him into the garden, despite of the cold, so he could see the sky and had told Jack how much he loved him, what their time together had meant to him and how he would always be waiting for Jack to join him. By burying him in the ground Jack would always know where to find him.

Jack pushed the memory aside, he knew what Ianto wanted but part of him, the bigger part, couldn't bear to let go. To consign Ianto to the earth. How could he live now? His reason for living was gone, and suddenly the two hundred and ninety-three years they had loved together seemed like a mere second of his existence. How was he to bear the seconds to come?

A gentle cough at his elbow made him look up sharply. Beside him a young girl with flaming red hair looked expectantly at him her eyes bright with tears she was fighting to keep back.

"Papa," she said quietly, almost inaudibly. "It's time."

Jack's hand searched for hers in a desperate gesture. He became aware of fifty other pairs of eyes watching him, filled with love and pity. His family. Their family. His and Ianto's; the decendents of Siân and Ianto, and Tosh and David. And beside him his daughter and grand-daughter whose hand he now held. His daughter Elen, a miracle of 24th century science, a child of their union; Cassie, the light of Ianto's life in his fading years. They needed this closure, a line drawn under Ianto Harkness-Jones's amazing life so they could grieve and say goodbye. It didn't matter that for him this would be a gaping wound that would never heal. Their daughter needed to say goodbye. Blindly he squeezed his grand-daughter's hand hoping that she would understand that he could not say the words.

He felt the hand squeeze back and, sensed more than saw, the quick nod of the head Cassie directed to the vicar.

The vicar started to speak but Jack couldn't hear the words; all he could see was the stark wooden box being lifted from its stand by strong arms belonging to faceless people and being lowered slowly and reverently into the abyss before him. He clenched his free hand into a tight fist gouging deep crescents into his palms willing himself not to scream.

There was a hollow sound as the box came to rest at the bottom of the grave. It was only a faint sound, hardly audible over the murmur of the vicar's ritual words, but to Jack is seemed to echo in his mind like a repeating clap of thunder trapped between the high hills which surrounded them. He knew he would never forget that sound. There would never be enough sound to drive it out.

At that moment he knew he had to find a way. Find a way to end this curse his life had become. And soon.

There was a tug on his hand. Cassie was now looking at him, her tears flowing unchecked and with a start Jack realised that his own cheeks were now wet. He tried to form a small smile of comfort but knew by the unchanged look of misery on Cassie's small face that she wasn't fooled, or comforted.

The vicar was looking at him expectantly, his hand holding a wooden tray containing the black earth and Jack realised that the moment of the ritual had come. With a shaking hand he reached past Cassie and took a handful of the peaty earth, letting it trickle through his fingers into the abyss. There was a skittering sound as it struck the wood of coffin and fell away. Jack shivered. With the same shaking hand he reached into the pocket of his greatcoat, another of Ianto's requests, and pulled out a red piece of material. Cassie looked in confusion as Jack tossed the red beret into the grave with a twisted smile.

Jack watched as one by one his family filed past the grave, tossing handfuls of dirt into the hole. Without exception, every one gave a sob of distress as the earth fell from their hands. It was, Jack realised, the most telling display of the love they had held for Ianto. Despite his misery, Jack felt a glow of pride.

As the last clod of earth hit the coffin, Jack gave a shudder. He couldn't watch was was to come. Covering the coffin with mounds of earth until Ianto was finally taken far from him. But he seemed rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from the abyss, from Ianto, for the last time.

"Come away, Papa," Cassie urged, tugging at his hand. "Grandpa wouldn't want you to watch."

A lump rose in Jack's throat threatening to choke him, but with a final glance at the red beret perched jauntily on top of the coffin, he allowed himself to be led away.

As they approached the churchyard gate Jack could see the vicar bidding farewell to each of the mourners in turn. Taking their hand between both of his own, alternating between a firm measured handshake and pressing a comforting squeeze, each accompanied by soft, well-chosen, oft-used words of comfort and faith. Jack didn't want them; not the reassuring handshake nor the meaningless salve of words. Even so he proffered his free hand, almost mechanically, and heard himself thank the vicar for his kind words in the church. Not that there had been many. The very nature of Ianto's existence, his resurrection, his longevity was, even now, not common knowledge outside of the Torchwood family circle. The vicar, briefed from Ianto's own notes, had merely spoken of him as a loving husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, brother and friend; honoured for his long service to the Government. By design it had been brief, generic and trite. Nothing of the real Ianto had really been alluded to. Ianto had wanted it that way. His family and friends, the people he loved, didn't need to be told about his life by some nameless church official. They knew him. The service had been for show. For the Government officials and UNIT representatives who saw it as their duty to attend.

Jack became aware that the vicar was still speaking, Cassie tugging at this hand to bring him back to attention.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr Harkness-Jones. I know how difficult it is to lose a parent, especially a father," the vicar was saying with a sympathetic smile.

Jack stared at him in amazement. The shock, for a moment, robbing him of speech. He felt Cassie tense by his side, heard Elen take a sharp breath. A knot of rage unfurled in his chest, rising up, burning like molten lava struggling to the surface. He loosed Cassie's hand and clenched his own into a tight fist, fighting the urge to strike the man before him down. Man of God or not. His hand twitched unbidden.

The vicar seeing the sudden darkening of Jack's eyes in rage let go of his hand and took a stumbling step backwards, knowing full well that if the man before him chose to strike the extra distance between them would make not one jot of difference. Only his many years of training, of handling the grief-stricken, allowed him to keep his face open and his expression calm.

Jack wasn't fooled. He could see the fear in the vicar's eyes and in his stance, tense, expecting the blow but doing nothing to avoid it. It was the man's calm acceptance of his fate which brought Jack up short. It wasn't the man's fault, he had just called the situation as he saw it. How could he know the truth. When Ianto had died he had looked like a man in his eighties, not his true age of three hundred and seventeen. A young man burying an old man. Of course the vicar would have thought he was his father. All the time they had lived in the village they had never paraded their relationship. They had kept themselves to themselves. They had been looking for peace, a place they could spend the rest of Ianto's life together without the constant interruption of Torchwood and Earth politics. Mr Jack Harkness-Jones and Mr Ianto Harkness-Jones had moved into the quiet village, and the village, and by extension the vicar, had drawn their own conclusions. Those conclusions had suited them whilst Ianto had been alive. They had kept the village at bay. There was no interest in a man looking after his elderly father. But now that Ianto was gone, Jack wanted them to know. To understand about the man they had just buried.

With a visible effort he swallowed the burgeoning rage and allowed his fist to relax once more. He took a deep breath before saying tightly, his voice barely more than a whisper,

"Ianto was my husband, not my father."

The vicar had the presence of mind and the grace not to show the surprise he no doubt felt. Jack saw his gaze flick to Elen and Cassie before returning to look at Jack, questions in his eyes. A million questions Jack was not about to answer.

"Forgive me, Mr Harkness-Jones...," the vicar began, his voice ringing with sincerity and just a touch of curiosity, then he fell silent, unsure of how to continue.

"You weren't to know," Jack acknowledged, his voice still strained.

"You clearly loved him a great deal," the vicar said finally falling back to familiar, safe, phrases. Jack blinked, forcing the tears which had suddenly rushed to the corners of his eyes away. Somewhere in the churchyard he could hear a song thrush begin it's lament.

"He was the love of my life," Jack replied honestly, his voice ringing loud in the sudden stillness as he turned and strode quickly away.

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question. Elen's tone was accusatory.

They were stood in the front room of the house Jack and Ianto had shared for the last twenty years. Jack could still smell the slight musky presence of Ianto's aftershave. He felt his stomach contract. The house seemed so unbelievably empty. Until a week ago it had been so full of life and laughter. Even knowing the end was near, Ianto had not allowed one second of his time with Jack to be coloured by his mortality. Now Jack could feel the chill of death creeping into the rooms, slowing driving out the warmth and happy memories. He could not live here again, not even for a single night.

"I can't stay here," he said helplessly, turning imploring eyes towards Elen.

"I didn't mean here," Elen retorted, her own grief making her voice harsh. She had already lost one father and now she could see her other father slipping away before her eyes, withdrawing into a cocoon of grief, forcing her away.

"You and Cassie don't need me," Jack said, hating the words as they fell from his lips, hardly able to believe he was about to drive another family away. He had to be honest this time, tell them why he had to go.

Elen looked at him shell-shocked. As he watched, a single tear ran down her cheek and clung to her chin for a moment before splashing unheeded to the floor.

"How can you say that? You're my father. I will always need you. Always love you. I can't lose you too." Her face crumpled.

Immediately Jack wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. He wished he didn't have to inflict this pain on her, that he didn't have to do what he was about to do. He drew her down onto the sofa beside him and taking her hands in his own looked into her eyes.

"I feel like I'm dying inside, sweetheart," he began, forcing himself not to react to the pain which clouded her gaze. "Every breath causes me pain. Every second without him seems like an eternity. I want to be with him. I need to be with him. And as much as I love you and Cassie, and don't ever doubt that I love you, I don't think I can go on without him."

"But we all have to," Elen interrupted. "We have to grieve and then go on. That's how it works dad. Cassie and I will help you. You know that."

"I know you would try, and I'd try, but nothing would change. I've lived a long time Elen. I've buried more people than I can remember. Can you imagine that? Living so long that the people you knew and loved become lost to you, half-remembered faces and names. I can't let that happen to Ianto, or you or Cassie, Siân, Donna, John, Gwen, Rhys, Tosh, Owen. I want to remember them for ever."

"But you couldn't forget us." Elen looked at him disbelievingly.

"Not now sweetheart, not for a thousand years, not for a million years. But ten million? A billion,? Five billion? Everyone I meet, every experience I have, all those memories have to go somewhere and as those memories are formed, old memories will be pushed out. I won't be able to stop it. I can't let that happen."

Elen gave a hysterical laugh. "You'll just have to evolve a head big enough to store them all. It's not like you haven't got a head start." She gave another hysterical giggle which almost immediately became a keening sob.

Jack face twisted in wry grimace. She couldn't understand. How could she. Apart from the amazing circumstances of her birth, she was a normal human. She could expect a normal human lifespan, maybe a hundred and ten years. How could she understand the prospect of living for eternity.

"Please don't," he pleaded, as he listened to her sob beside him. "Please try and understand. If I'd been a normal father then you would have been burying me beside him today believe me. You can understand that, can't you."

Through her tears Elen nodded. She'd seen that happen, knew that when one partner died, the other often followed in a matter of days. As if their life force had been inextricably linked together. Ianto had once told her that was what had happened when Gwen had passed away, a cantankerous old lady of ninety eight, phenomenally old for a Torchwood operative. Three days later Rhys had been found by their son Ianto, sat in his favourite chair, clutching a picture of the four of them when Tosh had been just a baby, a contented smile on his face. Happy to be reunited. She could see why that happened but it didn't mean she was willing to accept it now.

"I do understand dad, but it's selfish. Tad would never have wanted you to leave us alone."

"I know. And I'm sorry. More sorry than you'll ever know. But I can't stay." His voice was desperate but with a tinge of steel. With a sinking heart Elen realised this was a battle she couldn't win. Angrily she brushed her tears aside.

"So when are you leaving?"she said, hating the coldness in her voice.

Jack sighed at her tone, but nodded acceptingly.

"Right away," he said falteringly, expecting an argument. None came.

"You're not saying goodbye." Elen said, again not a question.

"No. Only to you."

"Not even Cassie?" The question was harsh and disbelieving.

"I don't need to tell her," Jack confessed, recalling Cassie's face at the graveside. "She already knows."

Elen nodded in understanding. Jack and Cassie had always been close, able to read each other's thoughts in an almost uncanny way.

"Bye, dad." The abruptness of the farewell took Jack by surprise. His eyes started to Elen's face and he saw the shuttered expression he knew so well, the one he used whenever the pain was too much to bear. The one that was on his own face now.

"Elen, please..." he pleaded horsely.

"Do you want my blessing, dad? Well I'm sorry, I can't. Tad would never forgive you for what you are doing; and neither will I." As she finished she turned away.

Jack got slowly to his feet, his eyes blinded by tears. He knew this was the way it had to be but he hadn't believed it would be this hard. He laid a hand on Elen's shoulder, comforted when she made no move to shrug it away. The he leaned over and placed a single kiss on her damp cheek.

"I love you, remember that," he said softly as he stood up and then, eyes fixed resolutely ahead, he stepped from the room.

For a second Elen held herself erect, waiting, hoping that he would return, eager to take his place as her father again. Then she heard the front door open and after a moment click shut and she realised she was alone.

Jack had made it all the way to the garden gate before he heard Cassie calling him. He hesitated, debating whether or not to pretend he hadn't heard her, but finally turned slowly to face the little girl standing by the door. She didn't speak, just gave a sad little smile, far too knowing for a girl of her age, and blew him a kiss. An old gesture, something just for the two of them. Instinctively Jack raised his hand and made to catch the kiss before clutching it to his heart. Cassie nodded once and turned to go through the door. Jack watched as she disappeared from view then turning he walked away keeping his hand clasped tight to his chest.

It's name was Heptacion Vilnox, an unimportant rock in the middle of an even less important galaxy, uninhabited except for the hundreds of tourists who flocked there daily to marvel at the sight. The Abyss. A geological fault which stretched halfway round the circumference of the planet; a crevasse, five miles wide at it's broadest which dropped from beneath their feet straight down, all the way to the core of the planet itself. Hovering viewing platforms which travelled out across the void from the Tourist centres bordering the drop allowed visitors to glimpse the molten core, a distant orange haze miles below. One of the Seven Wonders of the Universe, if you believed the advertisements posted around the surrounding planets on vidsceens and holographic projections.

It had taken Jack seven months to reach it. From the moment he had left the graveside this had always been his destination. With his Vortex manipulator consigned to the junk heap a decade before he'd had to travel the old fashioned way. Hitching lifts on freighters, working his passage on cruise liners and pleasure craft. Inexorably making his way to this very spot, the edge of the Abyss. His sure fire ticket to oblivion.

The transport craft which brought visitors down from the orbital platform complex, safely out of reach of the planets unstable geological nature, touched down with a bone-shuddering thump causing a few startled passengers to cry out in protest. For Jack there was just a sudden feeling of release, as if the breath that he had been holding for the past seven months could suddenly be let out. He was here. It was almost time. Unbuckling his seat belt, he leapt to his feet almost knocking over the pretty, pale blue skinned hostess who was standing beside his seat helping an elderly man with his belt. Without stopping he murmured an apology and headed for open door of the craft.

Outside he saw more blue skinned attendants, natives of this solar system, directing the new arrivals towards waiting viewing platforms. Belatedly he realised that given the unstable nature of the fault and the noxious gases wafting up from the planet's core there was no way they were going to let tourists wander about on their own. Glancing around he could see only one or two human faces. Although humans had made extraordinary leaps in moving out into space during the last two hundred years it was still unusual to see many this far out. No chance of blending in with the crowd then. In fact, he rather feared he stood out from the crowd, being a good foot and a half taller than the other species present. A plan quickly formulating in his mind, he hung back from the main body of tourists, edging backwards towards the 'rest room' facilities which lay just to the right of the landing pad. Once beside the door he slipped inside coming face to face with a scaly faced female lizard creature who, on being confronted by a large human merely stuck her snout in the air reminding Jack irresistibly of Sylvia Noble at her most indignant. He found he was almost smiling as he waved her past, slipping into the empty cubicle she had just vacated. He noticed the door shut automatically and soundlessly behind him. With a nod of satisfaction he locked the door and looked around him. The cubicle bore little resemblance to a toilet cubicle on Earth, the fixtures clearly meant to allow for the bodily functions of a range of different species. A number of panels were set into the wall each topped by a sensor. Jack waved his hand in front of each one. For a moment nothing happened, the sensors clearly not recognising a species match. Finally there was a low hiss and a panel opened revealing an approximation to an old fashioned human toilet which moved forward into the main floorspace of the cubicle. With a sigh he sat down and began to wait. It was something he was well practised at.

Four hours later he heard the rumble of transport craft starting their engines. Almost immediately an internal comms system asked that all tourists board one of the craft for immediate return to the orbital platform. The message was repeated in several different languages. Jack stood up and stretched his cramped legs, allowing the toilet to retreat behind its panel. As he expected he heard footsteps enter the rest room and begin to check each cubicle in turn. Carefully he emptied his pockets of all the loose change he carried, a mixture of at least twelve different currencies and allowed it to drop onto the floor with a resounding clatter. Immediately the footsteps approached his cubicle, Jack pushed the door release button and it slid open revealing the concerned face of an attendant.

"I'm am sorry," Jack said immediately, gesturing to the floor. The attendant immediately bent down to help him retrieve the money. Jack did not bend down to assist him.

"Please, there is no need, " Jack said genially. "It's not worth the effort. I must go catch my shuttle. Please keep it." Then with a broad smile he turned and walked towards the exit. At the doorway he glanced back and as he expected saw the attendant frantically trying retrieve all the coins. With a knowing smile he slipped backwards into one of the cubicles the attendant had already checked and locked the door behind him.

He stood silently back braced against the door, listening as the attendant finished scooping up the coins, chattering to himself as he did so. Jack couldn't tell from his tone whether he was berating Jack for his clumsiness, or congratulating himself on scoring a big tip. After a couple on minutes he heard the attendant stand and try the last cubicle door. He held his breath as the attendant walked back towards the exit, desperately hoping his luck would hold and the man wouldn't think to recheck the other cubicles. His luck held and he released the breath as he heard the outer door of the rest room hiss closed. He stayed motionless until he heard the roaring sound of the transport craft lifting away from the pad. If all his research was correct, he was now alone on Heptacion Vilnox; the planet deserted until the next load of tourists arrived the following day.

Cautious, Jack opened the door into the rest room and crossed to the main door. To his relief it opened. He had thought that the building wouldn't be secured at night; after all, what was the point. Still it would have been bloody inconvenient if he had been wrong. He stepped out onto the landing pad, now cast into shadow by the rapidly fading light. In the darkness beyond the circle of the pad he could see a faint orange glow marking the crevasse. Quickly he ran across to one of the viewing platforms, now moored securely, but a cursory inspection revealed that a key card was needed to activate the propulsion units. Jack shrugged. He would walk. Now he was here, the end so close, the driving sense of urgency had dissipated. Now there was just the hollow, welcoming ache of inevitability.

The ground beyond the landing pad was remarkably smooth, although miniature crevasses pitted the surface every few yards. After stumbling into one for the fourth time, sharply twisting his ankle as he fell, Jack cursed and paused searching in his greatcoat pocket for a torch or glow stick. The only thing he found was his phone. An invaluable antique that could call anywhere in the universe. Looking at the glowing display (did the damn thing ever lose its charge) Jack was suddenly back on Chiswick High Street the Doctor pushing it into his hand, wishing him luck, starting him on the whole crazy journey that had led him to Ianto and finally here. The Doctor, another friend lost to him. Although he had no doubt that a Doctor was out there somewhere, it was not his Doctor, his friend. Jack shook his head angrily, now even more convinced that he was right in his actions. That Jack Harkness had lived in this Universe long enough. Using the phone display as a feeble torch he pushed on towards the orange glow.

And now here he was, toes projecting over the crumbling edge of the rock, looking down into the blackness, breathing in the sulphurous fumes, his head starting to spin. All he needed to do was take a step. Plunge into the molten core where his body would continually be destroyed, would never reform long enough for him to take that first breath of life. He would be dead, Ianto would be waiting. He would finally be at peace. All he had to do was take a step.

His foot twitched in anticipation but still he didn't move. What was he waiting for? This was what he wanted. What he had been waiting for for seven long months. His chance to defy the Universe and join his lover on the other side. And in a instant he knew what was the niggling doubt he been forcing to the back of his mind. He was defying the Universe. The Universe had gone to an inordinate amount of trouble to make him the way he was. Would he be able to cheat his fate so easily? Was this death a loophole they had overlooked or would he be consigning himself to an endless fiery torment? A true hell. Ianto had been so sure that they would be reunited. That one day the Universe would release Jack from his torment and allow them to be together. He had reminded Jack of that on the last day, out in the garden, watching the sun sink slowly below the line of the hills.

"I don't know why you were made immortal, Jack," he had said, resting his hand on Jack's cheek. "You think of it as a punishment I know, for some sin committed in that past you fight so hard to keep hidden. But I think, no I know, that you have been chosen because the Universe needs you. It's your fate Jack. Just as mine was to spend the last two hundred and ninety-three years with you. And when you've achieved whatever it is you were brought here to do, you'll be released. And I'll be waiting, just like before. And believe me it taught me to be a patient man."

"I don't think I can do this alone," Jack had replied, his arms unconsciously tightening around his husband.

Ianto had smiled. One of those knowing, patient smiles guaranteed to drive Jack insane but which he loved just the same.

"You're an idiot, Jack...You aren't alone. You will never be alone. I don't think you realise the power you have. People will always follow you, Jack. Love you."

"I'm a very lovable guy," Jack quipped uncomfortably.

"Yes, you are Cariad. And don't you ever forget it." Ianto's tone was suddenly serious. "Promise me you won't let this destroy you."

Jack lifted his head, startled out of his memory. Had Ianto really said that? Made him promise to carry on. He'd remembered it, so it must have happened. But right up to that moment, the point of reliving the conversation it was if that request had never existed.

"Promise me, Cariad." The voice seemed to drift across the abyss, carried up from far below. "It's not your time. People to save, places to go, people to love."

As he looked into the darkness, images of Ianto swam before his eyes. In the Hub dashing in a tailored suit, teasingly brandishing his stopwatch; asleep, his head resting on Jack's chest looking much younger than his years; simultaneously crying and grinning inanely as Jack placed Elen in his arms for the first time; looking up at him, the love shining from his eyes as they danced at their wedding; his blue eyes darkening as the life faded from them, his face blissfully content knowing he was dying in Jack's arms, the only place he had ever really wanted to be. Those images would never fade, he realised in wonderment. Every time he closed his eyes the images would be there for as long as he chose to keep them there. And when the day came, the day the Universe finally let him rest in peace, those images would guide him home. Unexpectedly they gave him something he thought he had lost for ever. Hope.

"I promise. I love you," he murmured, kissing his wedding ring to seal the bargain, knowing it's twin remained on his lovers hand. And then just in case the Universe hadn't heard him he shouted it again, down into the abyss.

And then he stepped back.

When the transport craft arrived the following day the attendants were surprised to find a tall, human man in a long blue-grey coat, sat leaning against the rest room door, asleep, a peaceful smile on his face.

Back on the orbital platform, Jack looked for a quiet corner. In the end the only peace he could find was in a storage room which, if appearances were anything to go by, was the local venue for unscheduled romantic trysts. Locking the door Jack extracted the mobile phone from his pocket and, hesitating for only a moment, dialled a number. Almost immediately the call was answered. Jack closed his eyes as he drank in the sound. He had thought he would never hear the voice again. He had nearly thrown it all away. Now all he could hope was that she would forgive him.

"Elen? I'm coming home. It might take me while, I'm pretty far out. But I'm coming home."

He smiled as the voice at the other end broke into sobs of joy.

Later he sat in the orbital platform bar. There were eight hours before the next shuttle headed out in the general direction of Earth and, for the first time since leaving his home, he didn't want to be on his own. Species from right across the galaxy rubbed shoulder to shoulder here in perfect harmony. Judoon, Hoth, Raxicoricofallapatorians (not Slitheen judging by the lack of death and destruction), a Grask, even an Adipose child which tap danced across the bar in front of him before falling to the floor in a tinkle of broken glass. Ianto would have loved it, Jack thought sadly as he nursed his drink. It was much easier to say he would carry on than to actually do it.

The bartender stopped in front of him, pushing a folded piece of paper across the bar under his nose.

"From the man over there," he said, indicating over his shoulder with his thumb. Jack looked up in surprise, following the direction of the barman's gesture. He straightened in shock. Stood on the far side of the bar was the Doctor, his Doctor, brown pinstripe suit, long brown coat, hands thrust deep in his pockets, eyes wide. Catching Jack's eye the Doctor nodded once indicating the paper in Jack's hand.

Curious Jack lowered his gaze and unfolded it. There in familiar handwriting were the words, 'His name is Alonso'.

He looked up again, half afraid that the vision would be gone, but the Doctor was still there. He nodded to Jack's left raising his eyebrows, clearly willing him to turn and look. Once again his curiosity got the better of him and he complied.

A young man was just leaning on the bar, wearily tossing his cap down onto the polished surface. He was dressed in an old Earth style Officers uniform, something that would not have looked out of place on an Edwardian cruise liner. He was handsome, boyish and, Jack had to reluctantly admit, very much his type. In bewilderment he looked back at the Doctor, wondering why he had not simply come up to talk to him, why he was introducing him to some stranger. The Doctor gave him a half salute, his index finger touched to his forehead in a gesture of respect. In return Jack stood and offered him a full military salute. He knew, he realised. He knew about Ianto, about what he had tried to do, what he had promised. He didn't know how he knew but he did, and he trying to help him, show him there was still a life to be had. The Doctor turned and walked away, but not before Jack saw the bleakness in his eyes and knew that he was dying, that this visit had been his farewell.

Taking a deep breath Jack turned to face the man beside him, who lounged on the bar, his face averted, deep in thought.

"So, Alonso," he said casually. The young man turned to face him, his eyes filled with confusion.

"Going my way?" Jack continued, turning on his most charming smile. It felt like his cheeks were cracking under the strain. Forgive me, Yan, he thought anxiously. Please understand. This is me carrying on the only way I know how. By not being alone.

"How do you know my name?" Alonso replied, the confusion now evident in his voice.

"Kinda psychic," Jack admitted, turning his smile up to the thousand megawatt setting while bobbing his head depreciatingly for effect.

"Really?" Alonso queried with a laugh, his eyes lighting up with interest.

"Yeah," Jack confirmed.

"Do you know what I'm thinking right now?" Alonso looked Jack down and and then up appraisingly, he locked eyes clearly happy with what he saw.

"Oh, yeah," Jack said suggestively nodding his head, turning the smile more intimate.

Alonso's face broke into a grin as he nodded his agreement.

Jack threw his head back and laughed, draining his drink in a single gulp.

"Shall we?" he said, proffering his hand. Alonso picked up the cap from the counter and set it on his head then stood clasping the offered hand in a firm, warm grip.

"Have you ever visited Earth, Alonso?" Jack asked.

"I've seen Buckingham Palace once," he replied with a sly smile. "Mind you, it was only from the air."

"How do you fancy visiting Cardiff?" He had to go home. He had promised and besides for the moment it was where he needed to be. Until we meet again, Ianto Harkness-Jones. Wait for me. I'm coming.

Alonso cocked his head and looked at him intently as if weighing up his invitation. Finally he shrugged.

"Seems as good a place as any."

Jack led the young man from the bar, heading in the direction of the storage room.

Into the abyss.

I promise the next story will be happier. Please consign this to the Abyss of Heptacion Vilnox if you find it too hard to take. I won't hold it against you.