300 Torchwood Drabbles (Set 3)

[nothing_rhymes_with_ianto]

Title: 300 Torchwood Drabbles (Set 3)
Pairings/Characters: Any and all pairings, any and all characters
Spoilers/Warnings: Basically, proceed with caution. Lots of spoilers, not many warnings.
Summary: 50 out of my 300 drabbles of either 100, 150, or 200 words. All drabbles are 100 words unless otherwise indicated. Each drabble was inspired by a single word prompt given to me by random followers on Tumblr.

101 Appoint

It bothered Ianto. Owen should have been appointed second in command after Suzie’s death. Instead, no one really was, until finally Gwen was. Gwen, the new girl, the one who had no idea the brutality you’d see with Torchwood, the things you’d become used to.

Ianto liked Owen, despite their cutting relationship, and knew how intelligent and experienced he was. Smart enough to be second in command. He wanted that. This new girl wasn’t right, wasn’t good enough. She thought only with her heart, instead of with her heart and mind the way Owen would.

She just wasn’t like Owen.



102 Grateful (Double-drabble)

They all had so much to be thankful for. Jack had saved them all.

Owen often wondered if he’d even be alive still if Jack hadn’t found him. He guessed not. He’d probably have killed himself or something years ago.

Tosh knew what would’ve happened to her had Jack never rescued her. She’d have gone mad, there in that cell, and wasted away, shivering and afraid.

Gwen didn’t think about it, didn’t feel the need to. She’d have gone on happily in the police, married Rhys, had a kid. Maybe an affair. She’d have been normal and content.

Ianto often wondered what would have happened if Jack hadn’t let him in. He knew Lisa would have died. And he’d have probably gone not much later, with nothing left to him and no one left to live for, he’d have died too damaged and too young.

Jack often wondered what might have happened if he hadn’t found this perfect team. He would have kept going alone, kept dying too much. He’d have felt alone, unfamiliar, displaced, and found some way to leave earth as early as possible. He would have run.

He had so much to be thankful for. His team had saved him.



103 Hover (Drabble and a half)

It had been just days since the funeral. Jack had taken to holing up inside his office, or sleeping too long inside his bunker, or not sleeping at all, spending day after day up on rooftops.

Ianto hated to see him hurting. But he could do nothing. Jack’s walls were more solid than ever, and he didn’t have the emotional strength to climb them. He was devastated from Tosh and Owen’s deaths, too. And he could do nothing for either of them.

After going to Flat Holm, Jack returned and stayed in his office for hours. When Ianto came up to check on him, Jack tugged him down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him, hard. Ianto stroked his shoulders gently.

“Jack…”

“Hm?” The Captain sounded distracted.

“Jack, I…” They hovered, balancing on the precipice, on the edge of a knife. Broke. “Do you want some coffee?”

Crashed.

Shattered.



104 Steered

Ianto steered the SUV towards the water. Jack groaned.

“This again? You already tried it. It definitely didn’t work.”

“I looked at the blueprints, made some changes, added things. I just want to give it a test drive.”

“Please don’t start that Top Gear jabber again.”

“Where’s your sense of fun?”

“I left in the sea the last time you almost drowned us.”

“Really.”

“Fine. Go, then.”

“Now hold on, Scaredy Cat. You can hold on to my arm, if you like.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

“Shut up. Just go.”

Twenty minutes later they were flagging down a fishing boat.



105 Laced

Ianto stared at the glass of water being handed to him. It looked cool, inviting, relieving. He eyed it suspiciously.

“There’s no retcon.” Owen looked honest. Ianto took the water and drank. The cool liquid felt wonderful. Then he felt ashamed. He shouldn’t be feeling good. He didn’t deserve it. He put the water down quickly.

“Why don’t you get it over with, then?”

“What?”

“Clearly Jack sent you here to do his dirty work.”

Owen stared, confused. “No, Ianto, no. We talked. We all want you to stay. All of us do. We understand. And you need to stay.”



106 Slated

“Is this Jack Harkness?”

“Speaking.”

“My…my name is Rhiannon Davies. I’m Ianto Jones’ sister. Ianto told me to call you if I needed anything.”

Jack’s breath catches in his throat at the mention of Ianto. His gorgeous Ianto. It’s been twelve years for him, only five and a half for her. She still sounds better than him.

“Yes, he was right.”

“My estate is slated to be demolished in a month. We still haven’t found anywhere to go.”

“I will do everything I can, Rhiannon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harkness.”

“Call me Jack, please. I owe Ianto everything.”

“So do I.”



107 Cello

Normally Owen could compartmentalize this stuff, push it away. But this, this was bad. This was worse than bad and he couldn’t get the images, the pain, the fear, out of his head. The aliens had captured him and tortured him until the rest of the team had come to his aid.

Now Ianto sat at his bedside as he curled into himself against the onslaught of pain memory.

“Do you want anything?” Ianto asked.

“Just…talk to me. Make me forget.”

Ianto nodded and began to speak, low and monotonous, allowing Owen to drown in the soft, soothing cello sounds of his baritone.



108 Faith

Faith watched from her cards. Watched from the connections she’d developed in six hundred years. She watched as the immortal one, the Captain, wandered the earth. He was wrecked, raw. She watched his regret grow stronger, his sadness grow larger, his hurt grow more painful. She watched as he broke further, shattered even more. And for once, she wished she could change the past, or bring someone back from death.

Because she knew what would happen to the Captain in years to come. She knew the pain he was due to suffer. She knew what horrors he’d have to endure.



109 Hopeful (Drabble and a half)

Ianto is dreaming.

He can hear it. He can hear life, feel it pulsing all around him. It’s a great big thudding thing, a giant purring kitten, and it surrounds him, embraces him. He can feel its warmth round his shoulders like a coat. He knows if he opens his eyes, it will be bright and warm like fire and also cold and dark, nighttime under thick ice. It will press on him like weights. It will blind him like stars too close.

Ianto is dreaming.

He knows life is there. He knows it. He watches from above as the Jack stands, rebuilds, as Cardiff stands, rebuilds, as the world stands, rebuilds. The Universe. Stand. Rebuild. The Cycle. Life.

He hovers on the precipice.

Life pulses around him. Hope. Eagerness. Optimism. Creation. Life again. Hope again. Life once more.

Ianto isn’t dreaming. Ianto is watching. Ianto is waiting. Ianto is Living.



110 Macerate

Jack sometimes looks across the Hub at Ianto, who is refilling mugs of coffee, or clearing off Gwen’s workstation, or fixing yet another broken wire on the sub-etheric resonator, and wants desperately to reveal him.

He wants to dump the young man into a flood of adoration and passion and devotion and love until he breaks apart into all his individual components so Jack can put them together right again and fix this mismatched, broken man that wanders the Hub overqualified and under-appreciated.

He wants to pull Ianto’s pieces apart and hold them close before he gives him to completion.



111 Pyroclastic (Note: taking inspiration from the literal translation)

John bumps into him in a bar in the Yggbrixa galaxy. It’s not planned, or expected, and neither know what to say, so they simply order their drinks and get down to business.

Jack’s sucking them down faster than John’s ever seen him, well on his way to under-the-table status. The energy, the light, the spark John is used to, is dulled, gone. There are cracks and fragments and gaps where he used to be whole.

Jack’s fire is gone, he’s been broken into pieces, bits of him falling to earth, falling to the ground, smoldering. A smoking crater.



112 Chicanery

Owen could remember the day Jack hired Ianto. He’d come back into the Hub late, dirty, grumbling, but smiling. He’d actually been whistling.

“What happened?” Owen had asked, curious as to why his normally happy boss was even happier, despite his disheveled state.

Jack beamed. “A new recruit has just tricked me into employing him.”

“And you’re going to anyway?”

“Oh, yes. He may have been Torchwood One, but he’s smart, he’s gorgeous, he’s got a great accent, and he comes with a pterodactyl.”

“Whatever the hell that means,” Owen rolled his eyes and went back to his computer game.



113 Christmas (Drabble and a half)

Owen felt like a black tar ball had fallen from the sky, from Diane’s plane when she left him, and dropped into his body. He felt weighed down. He slouched over his desk.

What a goddamn week.

“Merry Christmas!” Jack crowed when he finally came out of the office. He looked a little off-kilter, if Owen looked hard enough, and for a moment he wondered what had become of John. There were dark circles around Jack’s eyes.

Then Tosh called back, “And you, Jack!” and Owen shook his head and scoffed. Some Christmas.

The black tar ball was roiling in his gut. It was getting bigger, hungrier, pulling everything in. He could feel it consuming him. He was getting twitchy. He wanted to rage and scream and hit things. He wanted to take off his skin.

Diane was gone and he was filled with black tar and empty.

Some Christmas.



114 Teddy Bear

Jack doesn’t remember having a teddy bear. The fifty-first century isn’t like the twenty-first.

Jack remembers sleeping in a large bed with other young ones, not just his family, but others. He remembers learning to communicate with them purely through touch, and little humming sounds at the back of the throat, fragments of their home language, a child’s imagination language.

He remembers how they would speak to each other in the night in this way, him and the others, when they were supposed to be asleep. They would tell stories, ask questions of the Universe.

He was the only one who left to find the answers.



115 Bach

Ianto entered the Hub to find his ears assaulted with sounds so harmonic they were nearly dissonant.

“What are you doing?” He yelled over the thunder of the organ.

“It’s Halloween, I’m getting in the mood.” Owen harrumphed at him. Ianto crossed to the speakers and turned down the volume. He raised an eyebrow at the medic.

“You are aware that Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky is featured as credit music or background in more old horror movies than Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, right?”

“You spend too much time reading, Jones.”

“At least I know more than everyone else.”



116 Dinosaur

It was only as they were going home from the Valiant that the Doctor told Jack the meteor was not actually a meteor. Jack wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. He shouldn’t be.

“So I was stuck eating dino meat because of a freighter and a poor oblivious kid?”

“A kid who was trying to do the right thing.”

“All of us try to do the right thing, Doctor. It’s just hard for you to see sometimes.”

The Doctor hung his head. He knew a reprimand when he heard one.

Jack smiled again, forgiving. “At least I got to eat something new.”



117 Egg

Often Jack thinks of his adventures with the Doctor, and remembers Margaret Blon Fel Fotch the Slitheen, her strange fate. He wonders what became of her, and how she navigated her second chance.

He wishes he could find the TARDIS now, after all that’s happened. He wishes he could look into its heart and go back to the beginning, to childhood on the Boeshane Peninsula, start all over again and do everything differently this time.

Gray won’t leave. He won’t leave. He won’t die. Owen, Tosh, Ianto won’t die. He’ll never meet the Doctor. He’ll never meet Ianto.

He’ll never meet Ianto.



118 Flute

Toshiko knows how to play the flute. Owen knows this because there was once an alien in the cells (“Residents,” his inner Ianto corrects) who responded well to slow classical music and calmed from its bloodthirsty raging. He’d come down to the cells to find her serenading it one morning. She’d shrugged sheepishly and said she’d needed practice. He’d said nothing.

When he finds her the next morning, playing again for the resident, he leaves her to it. The third time he finds her, he sits on the stairs, just out of her line of vision, and listens, eyes closed.



119 Garden

Ianto remembers a tree. Remembers a forest fantasyland behind his father’s tiny flat. Remembered small creatures speaking to him, playing with him. Remembers refusing to go to them. Remembers the plants could talk and smile, but not like humans. Remembers saving a sapling from the bulldozer men, its young leaves curling around his fingers in thanks as he replanted it in a yard far away from his crushed estate.

He visited the garden until logic got the better of him and the tree’s leaves no longer curled around his in thanks, its grown branches no longer bent to meet him.



120 Anomia

Ianto is there when Jack appears at his door at night, terrified to sleep in the enclosed tomb that his bunker has become to him.

He is there when Jack breaks down at the realization that he can’t remember this or that person or event that he knows occurred, but has no memory of.

And he is there every time to pick up the pieces of rage and sadness and frustration when Jack can’t remember a word and has to fight his way around the language foreign-clumsy on his tongue to find it.

Ianto knows that Jack is lost.



121 Effervescent

Even just talking to her in the Hub that first day, he felt something sparking and bubbling inside him, an energy he had not felt in a long, long time. The way her lips curled around the cigarette, the strength in her sad eyes, the musical quality of her voice. Energy fizzed inside him, a buzzing in his heart. Warning bells went off inside his head; No, no, you can’t, not after this long, not after all the walls you’ve put up, don’t let her hurt you, you can’t, you do this again and you’ll break.

But he didn’t listen.



122 Benediction (Double-drabble)

The Doctor finds Ianto in a drycleaners.

“Jack’s a bit careless with his coat,” Ianto says, running his hands lovingly over the wool. The Doctor tells him no time, and rushes him, protesting, into the TARDIS.

As they fly through the Vortex, he explains that he’s taking Ianto to see an old friend, it’s very important. Ianto doesn’t ask questions.

He is silent the Doctor takes him to a beautiful temple, silent as the monks bathe him and dress him in dark red robes, silent as he sits through a service and is blessed. Silent as he is led by the Doctor and a monk to a large room. The chamber is ornate and echoing, beautiful and warm and smells of something oh so familiar.

A voice rumbles his name inside his head, and Ianto is awash with familiar sensations of comfort and love. A scent fills his nose, a memory smell of wool and musk and sex and something uniquely alien. So familiar. He looks to the far end of the room, where a head sits blinking at him from its jar, eyes old and sad and full of affection and mirth and very, very familiar.

“Jack?” Ianto asks.



123 Pentimento

If you look close enough, you can see the man Mr. Hark used to be. They say his name was Jack Harkness, and before that, Jaiikve Yavel, and before that, Little Jaii. His parents called him that. And then he joined the Time Agency and became the famous Jaiikve. And after that he came to Earth, never to die, and became Jack Harkness, the man who saved Earth. They say he left when he lost everything.

If you look close into Hark’s sad, tired eyes, his anguished traveler’s face, his false smile, you can see the man he once was.



124 Rue

There was too much regret in Owen’s life for someone so young. He wasn’t even thirty and already he felt like he regretted enough to be an old man. He couldn’t go to sleep at night without dreaming of something he wished he could do over.

He hated that he hadn’t left his mother earlier; she’d fucked him over, life with her had made him like this. He wished he’d studied harder at uni. He wished more than anything that he’d told Katie he loved her sooner, proposed sooner, loved her more, longer, kept her close.

Regret filled too much of his young life.



125 Limitless

Owen hated it. This never ending pain. It had only increased in his living death, and he couldn’t stand it.

He could do nothing to relieve the pressure of emotions inside him. He couldn’t fight, for fear of being irreparably damaged. He couldn’t shag or drink. He couldn’t cry. Even that first day when Jack made him hand over his gun and badge, he’d been on the verge of tears that would not come.

He wanted to break himself, to scream to the farthest planet, to reach inside that bullet wound and pull out his own unbeating heart, if it would just stop the pain.



126 Wishful

Sometimes, when it’s dark, and all he can hear is the whish-whirr-clank of Lisa’s respirator and the steady drip of water along the ancient stone walls, Ianto wishes she’d died back there. He wishes he’d died back there. He wishes things weren’t so hard or complicated, and that his emotions weren’t torn between his love for Lisa and his growing love for his Captain.

He lies in the night, dents of crescent moons pressed into his palms, puddles of nerves in his stomach, his teeth on edge, and wishes for something, anything to change, just so the waiting is over.



127 Forlorn (Characters are purposefully vague)

He watches the desolate figure out on the Plass from the CCTV. The man’s shoulders are hunched, and he looks wearily up to the stars for a long moment before staring down at his feet again.

He can see from here that the man feels grounded, a sparrow with its wings clipped, a creature tethered to the ground, cement shoes beneath the sea. His face is dark.

He wants to care for the man, tell him he is everything. But he knows it will just weigh him down more, sink him faster.

He doesn’t know how to set him free.



128 Inescapable (Double-drabble)

When he gets back from the Crucible, you are standing out on the Plass, looking over the bay. A gentle hand on your shoulder tells you he’s there, and that he hasn’t been inside yet.

“Sorry I had to leave like that.”

“It’s all right,” you answer, even though it really isn’t. You know it’s impossible for him to stay away from the Doctor, that his leaving you for the stars is inescapable. He pats you again on the shoulder and you stay there on the pier as he enters the Hub. Gwen’s gone home to Rhys hours ago. You were too weary from the adrenaline finally seeping out of your bones to clean up, and just went to sit out in the fresh, cold air. No dead Daleks up there.

He comes back out some minutes later, white, eyes wide. Faces you. He’s seen the wreckage.

“You knew there was a Dalek coming to the Hub and you didn’t tell me?” There’s fear and fury in his eyes.

“You had to go. You had to.”

You let him put his arms around you as you stare out at the water. You won’t ever tell him that you know you’re second best.



129 Cessation

Owen Harper stopped when Katie did.

Yes, he was alive. He was breathing. He was working, crying, grieving. But that’s where Owen Harper, her Owen Harper, stopped.

When Jack helped him off the ground, a new Owen Harper fell into place. An Owen with a shield, walls, always looking with a wary and critical eye, always ready with a spiky personality and acidic remarks to keep others at bay.

This was not the Owen she knew. This Owen Harper had been created so that the heart he wore so open and vulnerable in his chest could not be further broken.



130 Excision (Drabble and a half)

There was a part of him, back there in the dark, hiding. Sometimes, when it was quiet enough, when he was still enough, he could hear it beeping away in his mind, still functioning. He knew what it was, but refused to admit it. He wanted to cut it out.

It helped him, he knew. He knew he couldn’t have half the knowledge he did without it, he couldn’t be half as clever if it was gone. It blinked away back there in his brain, filing, organizing, storing.

He’d been chosen for his loyalty, intelligence, eidetic memory and speed of recall. It didn’t mean he wanted it.

Torchwood One’s emergency archive storage. That’s what he was. A section of his mind stuffed full and locked away, brimming with every Torchwood secret there was. It was his burden.

He could feel it. He knew what it was. He wanted to cut it out.



131 Absolution (Drabble and a half)

“You want forgiveness?” The voice asks.

If he could incline his head, he would. But he’s paralyzed in this between-world and he can’t move, so he heaves his walls down and projects the answer to the voice.

Yes. If I could find it, if I could be absolved, I want it.

It chuckles for a moment, then takes on a tone like an annoyed teenager talking to someone who didn’t understand the first time, or the fiftieth.

“You don’t need to go looking for it, Jack Harkness. You stopped having to look for it when you hand picked them, before it all changed.”

What do you mean?

“They forgave you, Jack Harkness. They knew what you were and what you’ve done and they loved you anyway. They absolved you thousands of years ago. You didn’t need to look so far.”

A sob of grief and relief catches in his throat.



132 Memory

There was something caught there, in his head, like a bit of dust caught in a cobweb in a corner. If only he could grasp it.

He’d lost so many memories over the millions of years and it hurt, badly. He could feel them slipping away. He knew many of them were simply locked in a psychic storeroom too deep and hidden for him to access. But there was one there; its presence felt sweet and warm, old and familiar and he wanted badly to know what it was.

He just wanted a bit of his past, to see the old him again, to feel that happiness and content once more.



133 Cilice

Owen wore the necklace like a cilice. Its constant cool metal against his chest, the weight of it, was a constant reminder of things he’d done, people he’d lost, his past. It hurt. And that was the point.

It reminded him of all the things he’d done wrong. Of all the things he’d never done and wished he did. Of all the things he regretted. Of the people he’d lost or pushed away. Of the pain and loneliness and aching. It hurt. And that was the point.

It made him vulnerable and protected at once. It hurt. And that was the point.



134 Reason

More than once you’ve been accused of being wrong, inhuman, incomplete, broken, fragmented. You know this about yourself. You did it on purpose. You have your reasons.

Most people would find it appalling, insulting, impossible. But you have to. You have to. You couldn’t survive if you didn’t. You’d be empty. You’d be dead inside.

You look into the swirling glass orb containing those too-fragile emotions of yours, the ones you’ve been hiding away for years so you can survive without breaking completely. Without heartbreak.

You have your reasons. Plenty of them. You don’t need to explain yourself to anyone.



135 Suspicion (Double-drabble)

Ianto stomped angrily about the Hub. He and Jack had been arguing for weeks, each conflict blending into the next, until all they had between them was anger and suspicion and hurt.

Now Ianto was fuming. Jack had been dozing on his desk when Ianto had come in to ask him something, and he’d just stared blankly as he talked, as if he understood nothing.

Ianto stopped in realization.

“Jack?”

“What?”

Ianto gestured to the Captain’s hand. Jack held it out obediently. Ianto took his wrist gently and examined the leather strap.

“English isn’t your first language, is it?” he questioned. Jack shook his head. “Do you even understand it without this thing on?”

Jack looked at him, then sighed. “Some. I understand if people talk slowly. I…English is so different from my native language. We have words, concepts, descriptions for things that don’t even exist yet, and you have words for things that no longer exist where I grew up. I can’t understand it when people speak quickly. I can’t understand dialects or thick accents without this,” he tapped his Vortex Manipulator. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s…okay.” Ianto glanced at him. “Maybe I can help teach you?”

“I’d like that, very much.”



136 Triptych (Drabble and a half)

Owen sat in his car, black despair heavy in his gut, the ache of loss throbbing through him. Katie was gone, his life was empty, he had nothing left. He didn’t want to go on.

Ianto sat in his car, wondering why he felt no grief. It had only been days since Lisa was killed and already he felt lighter, like weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Guilt no longer sat heavy on his chest. He was still angry at the Captain, but part of him felt ready to move on.

Jack sat in his car, body still aching from the three deaths he’d suffered from the lingering gas. He looked over at John’s body slumped in the driver’s seat, and wished with everything he had that he could go wherever he was, even if it was nothingness. He sighed and straightened his shoulders. He had to carry on.



137 Lies

Jack tells lies. Owen and Ianto know this better than anyone. They lie, too. Jack hides behind a mask. Owen and Ianto know this just as well. They too know how to hide behind a mask and keep everyone arm’s length or a greater distance away. They know Jack lies to protect himself, and to protect them. They know how the truths can come back to hurt him.

And even when they know the truth, they lie for him, too. To protect him. To protect their Captain from them, and from himself. They lie for him because they love him.



138 Poetry (Drabble and a half)

Owen let Ianto in without comment. He got them both a brandy, though he could do nothing with his, and they sat together on the couch in silent companionship. After a while, Owen spoke.

“I’m sorry about…you know…back there…”

“It’s alright. I understand.”

“Can I show you something?”

Ianto nodded. Gently, Owen pulled the glowing alien message from his pack and held it out. Pink tendrils of energy stretched from it and it began to sing. They both stood, transfixed by its beauty.

“This reminded me that I had something to live for. That there’s still life left to live and things left to see. That there’s hope.”

“Do not go gentle into that good night; rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Ianto recited, solemn.

Owen nodded, reaching a hand into the luminous waving strands. “It showed me a glimmer of light.”

“I’m glad you stayed.”

“Me, too.”



139 Transitions

Ianto slumped into the chair at Gwen’s empty workstation and sighed.

“How do you do it?” Owen asked, swivelling his chair to face the Welshman.

“Do what?”

“Constantly switch between being the Hub’s general caretaker, his lover, out on the field, his babysitter, his psychiatrist, our psychiatrist, an archivist, his second, and our mediator? How do you do it and not go mad?”

“Survival skill. You learn to deal. It’s just another fact of life.”

“Yeah, well, it shouldn’t be. He should treat you better. You do everything for him.”

“Thanks for looking out for me, Owen.”

“It’s my job.”



140 Mokuso

Before Tosh died, she and Ianto had been learning Judo together. And with it, the meditative state of mokuso. Ianto already knew a bit about meditation, after the classes in psychic shielding he’d had to take at Torchwood One, and the tests he’d taken after the professor had discovered he had a knack for empathy and a ninety-seven percent on the telepathy test.

Now he sank into the mokuso meditative state. It was usually used to prepare for battle, but tonight, Ianto was not battling any physical form. Tonight he was warring against his own grief and Jack’s, his own loss and Jack’s, his own guilt and Jack’s. He was fighting for them both.



141 Violin (Double-drabble)

Gwen was still back at the Hub, and comm links could easily be tapped. They had still had to catch the fuckers and get out without outside interference. Ianto had finally told Jack about his psychic abilities. Jack had grudgingly agreed.

They were communicating telepathically now, and Ianto was inching along a darkening hallway, Jack across the building in another room. Ianto could feel the vastness of Jack’s presence in his mind and kept the shields on his emotions tightly sealed. He didn’t know if he wanted Jack to see all of him.

You need to grab the box that was on our tracker and get out of there. I’ll follow you in a bit. I’ll-

Suddenly there was nothingness.

Jack?

Ianto cast about for Jack’s mindspace and found blankness. It was like being in a sensory deprivation chamber. He groped about the nothing for a spark, anything.

Jack?

Pain seared through his mind like the violent sudden scraping of violin chords and fire. His body became lightning and he curled in on himself, stifling a groan. Spots danced in front of his eyes.

Ianto?

You died.

Yes. I’m sorry.

Is that what it’s like? The nothing?

Yes.

I’m sorry.



142 Unforgettable (Double-drabble)

Owen will never forget the sensation of warm tears soaking his thin shirt as he held Katie in his arms, crying desperately alongside her as they realized what this meant.

Tosh will never forget the relief she felt when the Captain led hear out into the light and she felt the cool breeze on her skin again, saw sun, heard birds. She will never forget the incredible feeling of freedom.

Gwen will never forget the terror of Suzie’s jaded gaze, her pistol shaking in a frightened hand. She’ll never forget the frenzied sound of the gun. Or Jack standing, alive again, as she sank to the ground.

Ianto will never forget the prickling of tears behind his eyes as his father called him things he didn’t even understand, the feeling of resentment he could feel pouring from his father’s tongue. He’ll never forget how he was always blamed.

Jack will never forget his feelings for them. He may forget their faces, their names, how they smelled or sounded or tasted, the colour of their eyes. But he will never, ever forget how he felt for them, the emotions that cloaked him when he looked at them. He won’t ever forget.



143 Irreconcilability (Drabble and a half)

Rhiannon stares at the man on her doorstep. The age and weariness in his eyes wars with the youthfulness of his face and she wonders who he really is.

She doesn’t know what to do. She wants to hug him, to keep a hold on him as the last close thing to her brother; she wants to scream at him and hit him, tell him to leave because it’s his fault Ianto’s gone. She doesn’t know which one to act on.

But she can see in his eyes, despite the attempt at impassiveness, that he is broken and hurting, and she can’t help but empathize with him. They are connected by their loss. Their only common link is now gone.

She beckons him inside, watching him from the kitchen as he stands there, takes out a pocket watch from his coat, caresses it, smiles sadly, and drops it back inside.



144 Ephemeral

You were always aware of the dangers of existence. It came with growing up where you did.

But you never fully grasped it, you were never as hyperaware of it as you are now.

After that first time, you just wanted to hide away and sleep forever, to never let the truth of the fleeting moments of life reach you. You never again wanted to feel that rush of pain as someone left you forever, and you could not follow.

And yet, it continues to happen, and you know you cannot stop it. You know that even your constancy cannot compete with the transience of living.



145 Diffident

Tosh peered at him from under her lashes, uncertain. He put a hand on hers and she smiled at him shyly.

“I…uh, thank you.”

“For what?”

“Back there. I could hear you. You were thinking, ‘Not again. Please, god, not again.’ It’s…I’m glad someone thinks I’m valuable.”

“Tosh, you’re the most important part of the team. Without you, they wouldn’t be able to do half the things they do.”

“Thanks, Ianto.”

He patted her hand again. “It’s the truth. Believe me. I see how inept they are when you’re not around. You’re important.”

He smiled at her, then pulled her into a hug.



146 Petulant (Drabble and a half)

Jack wants to swallow his words the moment they come from his mouth, the moment he sees Ianto’s face change from that of apology and sorrow to intense grief and a simmering rage that’s probably been there for days.

“Childish? You think I’m being childish?” Ianto pokes at his chest with a finger. Jack has to consciously resist flinching. “My two best friends are dead, Jack. They died, not even a month ago. I want to grieve them properly, on my own time. I miss them, like a fucking part of me has been ripped out. It hurts like hell. So don’t tell me I’m being childish and don’t tell me to lighten up. Leave me alone so I can grieve in peace, if you’re not going to be doing it.”

He turns, expression dark and clouded, and goes downstairs. Jack sits down heavily, pale with shame and remorse.



147 Capitulation

Ianto sees the parallels as soon as Beth steps onto the gantry, alien weapon to Gwen’s neck. Lisa flashes in front of his eyes, in place of the woman hosting a sleeper agent.

He can see now that surrender is the only difference between them. Lisa surrendered to the pain, to the Cybermind holding her hostage. Beth refuses to; he can see it in her face, though he cannot hear her words. She’s fighting it, she doesn’t want to survive long enough to be taken over.

He understands. He will give her mercy when she asks for it. He knows he can do for her what he didn’t for his Lisa.



148 Myopic

Buroaan, his best friend, was a thin, lanky, freckled kid with slight myopia in his left eye that almost prevented him from joining the army. But he took direction well and never forgot a thing, so they let him.

Jaiikve and Buroaan were the top of their class. They’d met in Old Earth History, bonded over a love for all things old and interesting, and never parted ways.

Then they were captured. Jaiikve hung limp in his chains, wishing history could be changed if it could only stop his friend from screaming in pain, dying, tortured because he was the weak one and they were only trying to break him.



149 Picturesque

Owen thinks they must make a striking tableau standing there at the top of the hill, the picturesque scenery of Brecon Beacons splayed out behind them, the group standing in a staggered line, Jack’s coat billowing heroically behind him. But the dark clouds looming overhead make Owen wary. The dark village before them makes him nervous. And the image of the body they found is seared into the back of his eyelids. He shoves down the fear rising in his gut.

What did they always say about looks being deceiving?

He hopes to hell it’s something better this time, easier.



150 Celestial (Double-drabble)

It is August 2nd when the Doctor whirls in, grabbing them both by the arm and insisting they come with him. Jack isn’t about to refuse, and Ianto isn’t about let him out of his sight, so they both board the TARDIS to go to the celestial heavens.

The Doctor is calmer, more gentle, nearly sympathetic as he goes about his work on the spaceship. He has regenerated since Ianto last saw him, but judging by the bow tie, this one is just as wild. Must be another reason, then.

After about an hour of floating in the Vortex, the Doctor swans off to someplace deep inside the TARDIS and it’s just Jack and Ianto. Jack presses a button on the console and the doors pop open. Ianto knows about the forcefield, and is unafraid. He stands in front of the open doors, Jack at his back, Time singing before him. It’s glorious. Their hands entwine on the doorframe. Ianto feels his chest tighten, and his grip on Jack’s hand tightens.

Jack barely twitches when he finally realizes, but Ianto feels it anyway. He’s known for about 45 minutes, when the Doctor gave him a sad, dark-eyed look and glanced at Jack in concern.

“Ianto…”

Ianto feels the tears sting his eyes and doesn’t wipe them away as they stream down his face. Jack’s cheek is heavy on his head; his breath is hot and trembling across his ear.

Ianto smiles through his tears, a bright true grin.

“It’s okay, Jack. It’s brilliant. I’m brilliant.” And he means it.




Go To Set 4

Comments

[sandysan2013.livejournal.com]

You are brilliant. You made me laugh, cry, and huff in outrage. Not at you, of course, but at the thing happening in your vignette. I'm really enjoying these different perspectives on my favorite characters.