Confessions To A Darkened Room

[nothing_rhymes_with_ianto]

Title: Confessions To A Darkened Room
Author: qafkinnetic
Rating(s): PG
Pairing(s): Jack/Ianto
Warning(s): Spoilers for Children of Earth Day 4
Summary: Jack remembers as he stands at Ianto's bedroom window.

Jack stares off into Ianto’s darkened back yard. He’d been trying to sleep, but memories kept assaulting him, and he’d twisted and turned and thrashed in the sheets until he couldn’t take it anymore, and slipped on Ianto’s dark blue robe to stand at the window and stare down into the yard.

He remembers, now, the night after Estelle’s death, when the team had stormed out on him, betrayed and angry. He’d already been beating himself up over her loss, grieving the lover he missed already. He’d slumped at his desk, staring at her picture, ignoring the decanter of scotch he’d otherwise be drinking.

Ianto had knocked on the doorframe before entering, a pair of mugs in his hand. He put Jack’s down on the table in front of him, well above the photo in the center of the desk. For a moment, he looked uncertain. Then he sat down in the chair across the desk from Jack, cupping his mug in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, quietly.

Jack looked up. “For what?” His voice was hoarse with unshed tears.

“For saying those things to you. For accusing you of never having…loved…someone. I’ve seen the archives. I know you’ve loved.”

“I try not to. Love, I mean. You know as well as I do the pain it causes when you….lose them.”

“Don’t you try to make the most of it?”

“After too many losses, even trying to make the most is less than the pain. I just try not to get attached.”

“That’s bullshit, Jack, and you know it. Not getting attached means not feeling anything, and that’s worse than any pain. And anyway, I know you get attached. You love your team. You loved her,” he gestured to the photograph. “You’ve loved all those people preserved as memories down there in the archives. For you, it’s not about losing them. It’s about letting them know how you feel, giving them a part of yourself.”

“Ianto—”

“And I understand, Jack. I really do. You’ve lived— so long. Give a piece of yourself to every person who loves you, every person you feel affection for, and soon enough there’s nothing left of you. I get it. Just don’t forget that it’s okay. It’s something I realized after— after Lisa. It’s okay to love someone. It’s also okay to hurt when they’re gone. But to be empty, and to let be empty themselves when they leave you, that’s just not right.”

Jack stared at Ianto, whose words were too tired and too wise to be coming from a man so young. His gaze dropped to the photograph of Estelle, his fingers wisping over her smiling face.

“I…thank you, Ianto.”

“It’s not a problem. If that’s all, sir.” Ianto picked up his own coffee mug and the silver tray and turned to leave.

“Ah— Ianto?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you. Truly.”

“You’re welcome. Remember what I said.”

With a nod, Ianto slipped out of the room and left Jack to his memories and his mourning.

Jack turns from the window to face the dark, empty bed, trying his hardest not to feel just as empty inside. He knows it’s too little, too late when he stares hard at Ianto’s side of the bed, trying to imagine him lying there in slumber, smooth face lit blue by the moonlight.

He closes his eyes against the half-formed image. There are pieces missing that he can’t recall, can’t bring back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the silent room, feeling both accused and understood by the looming walls. “I love you.”