Title: Star Dreaming
Rating: G
Disclaimers: Ianto Jones, Torchwood, and all recognizable characters do not belong to me. Rhiannon, Terynon, and any siblings and/or friends I name, however, do. I make no money off of this.
Notes: Written in a hurry right before work… It's read through, spell checked, and grammar checked. My first Torchwood story. J New fandom!
Summary: A tea-boy looks through some old photographs and remembers childhood dreams. Response to the prompt: glow in the dark stars above your bed.
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It was late when Ianto Jones entered the building containing his flat, the full moon hanging low in the dark Welsh sky. It had been a hellish day at work, again. The old adage that the crazies came out during the full moon, accepted by both hospital workers and law officers, was also true when it came to aliens. Just what it was about the moon being full that caused everyone and everything to go crazy, he wasn't sure.
Stopping in the lobby to collect his mail, he began the trek up the slightly worn stairs to his flat at the top of the building. It was an older building, not one of the modern monstrosities that one would think he lived in. The carpeting was slightly faded and the paint needed to be retouched, but it was homey and welcoming. His neighbors were all friendly, though he didn't see much of them, and it reminded him of the care-worn home he had lived in while he was a boy.
Speaking of which, there was a letter from his mam. He lifted it, inhaling the scent of her wildflower perfume. If he closed his eyes, he could just imagine he was catching a whiff of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee.
Cursing the organizational tendencies he had had drilled into him, he sat down at his kitchen table and began to methodically open each envelope he had carried up. He carefully placed each into three piles after skimming through them: bills, junk mail, and personal mail. The personal was by far the smallest, many of his friends having died at Canary Wharf and not having the inclination to find more in Cardiff. Working for a top secret organization and hiding your partially converted girlfriend in a new town wasn't that conducive to initiating lasting personal relationships. He opened the thick manila envelope from his mam last, running a finger over her elegant scrawl before breaking open the seal.
A smattering of faded Polaroid fell out onto the table, followed by a sheaf of papers with the same writing scrawled across them. Shifting the pictures so that they were in a neat pile, he read through his mother's letter, chuckling at parts of her rambling. Rhiannon Jones was slightly dotty and eccentric and had a love for all things of the past, her well-cared for home scattered with antiques that had stories of their own, kitchen always smelling of fresh baking. She had a gentle way about her, a way of times past, that all of her children protected as best they could. She didn't own a computer and complained incessantly about how email was taking away the pleasure of posting letters. Smiling, Ianto could picture it in his mind: his mother sitting down at the large carved wooden dining table as her latest creation baked in the oven, pages of old-fashioned paper to one side as she alternated between writing and looking out the large window at the scenery and garden she so adored.
Resolving to read the letter more thoroughly when he didn't want to just strip and collapse face down into bed and sleep for the next 15 hours, he placed it down carefully and picked up the faded photographs. They were copies, according to the letter. Copies of memories and emotions she thought he needed. He flipped through the first few, pictures of himself and his family laughing as they visited a farm and 4 year old Ianto was coaxed onto a horse, holding on for dear life as it trotted about obediently. The utter and absolute joy on his sister's face as she petted a day old foal, spindly legs looking like it could barely hold up its' own weight. His parents on their wedding day, Rhiannon laughing at the camera as Terynon looked down at her, his face stoic but with love and indulgence shining in eyes that matched Ianto's own.
There were pictures of his childhood home, fresh white paint, blooming flowers whose brilliance was still evident through the faded pictures; the kitchen, where he had spent so many hours doing school work and talking with his siblings; the living room, handmade cushions tossed around haphazardly as a group of rambunctious children did their best to wile away a lazy afternoon. There was even a photograph of his own childhood bedroom, which he knew was left unchanged since the last time he had been there. A promised welcome that beckoned him to come home, to return to a place where things were simpler, easier, and his biggest worry was the biology test that he had on Thursday.
A finger traced it, the perfectly made bed, shelves full of books. Posters of his favorite bands covered parts of the walls, interspersed with pictures that Ianto himself had drawn. The wardrobe door was open, clothes and shoes plainly viewed in cheerful disarray. The organizational obsession that Rhiannon had passed down to all of her children only extended so far when it came to teenage boys. The ceiling of the room, he knew, was covered with cheap plastic glow in the dark stars that could be bought almost anywhere. They were left from the phase when Ianto had dreamt of being an astronaut, flying off in his rocket ship to Worlds Unknown, meeting aliens and creatures no one else knew existed.
It was a dream he had kept until he learnt just how much schooling was required when one wished to be an astronaut. He enjoyed school, but was in no way considered a brain. He couldn't see voluntarily going for another ten years of schooling, dreams aside. At that point, of course, he had been exposed to the disdain others held for the very idea of aliens, beings from another world that had no way of communicating, no reason to want anything to do with the Human race. The stars, however, had stayed up on the ceiling, glowing through the night hours as Ianto continued to dream.
With a rueful laugh, Ianto shook his head and put the photographs down on the table to look at in the morning.
His mother had been right. He had needed the reminder of memories and emotions past.
His work at Torchwood, while nothing like what he had expected when he was young, was close to fulfilling his childhood dream.
Stripping down to his silk boxers and flopping down on his king-size bed, he pulled the cover over himself and could feel his muscles relaxing as the tension left them.
"G'night, mam," he mumbled as his eyes closed.
He fell asleep chuckling slightly, wondering just what Rhiannon would say if she knew her youngest worked regularly with aliens and dinosaurs, all without leaving Wales… and just what Jack's reaction would be if he decorated the Hub in glow in the dark stars one of these days.
The End
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