Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood or any of the characters
As Ianto's fingers traced the photo, it suddenly came back to him, the memories breaking through the cloudy barrier in his mind; opening the rift, Jack dying and not coming back, Gwen sitting vigil at his side for so long they'd all given up hope – and then, miraculously, him waking up.
He remembered this as he sat with a scotch in his bedroom, the photo of the team folded in his one hand, the drink and a pill in the other. He remembered it just as clearly as if it were yesterday, although he know he shouldn't.
For a second, he peered down at the little pill clutched tightly against the glass and side. Taking retcon recreationally was possibly one of the stupidest things he could do – but it was all that kept him going, all he could do during these lonely nights when Jack wasn't around anymore.
He ached for his lover's touch, felt cold without his warmth. His bed felt empty, the nights felt long. At least the retcon helped him forget for a little while, helped him forget Jack, helped forget that he'd abandoned Ianto. The pain, some days, was just too much to bear.
Ianto felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He slid the picture under the pillow. "This has to stop," he muttered to himself, popping the pill in his mouth and knocking back the scotch.