My first fic, un-betaed, so please be kind!
Disclaimer: If I owned Torchwood, do you really think I would let Gwen keep on pining after Jack when they both have someone they should be really happy to have? No. So, quite obviously, I don't own it. And I don't get any money for this, either, so don't sue.
Ianto is gone. Gone gone gone. Dead gone deadgonedead. Oh my god heisdead. Jack choked on his tears as the words kept screaming in his head, over and over again.
Ianto is dead. With an anguished cry he threw his empty coffee mug at the wall, only to feel his soul shatter in terror at the same pace the shards of the mug fell to the floor. Ianto had held that mug. Ianto had brewed his magical coffee and poured it into that mug for him mere hours ago, their hands touching briefly as the gentle Welshman handed the steaming beverage over to the immortal captain, hearts beating faster with emotions too deep to fully understand.
With tears streaming down his face Jack slowly sunk down to the floor, picking up the shards not caring if he cut himself while doing it. Softly, almost gentle he held the shards in his hands and carried them to his desk, where he rummaged around for the super glue, desperately trying to mend the broken mug, almost as if everything would be better again if he did, nothing would be broken, Ianto wouldn't be gone, Ianto wouldn't be dead.
Unbroken. Yes. He would make everything unbroken. He didn't even know if it was a real word, but he didn't care, if only he managed to mend the broken mug everything would be unbroken, Ianto wouldn't be gone, he wouldn't lie so still with those loving, caring eyes staring unseeing at the sky, his body so twisted, so broken, so ohmygodheisbroken! And as the pieces crumbled beneath his fingers into a heap completely unrecognisable as a mug he felt himself crumble with it. It was broken. Broken, and no power on earth could mend it again.
Broken, like Ianto, shattered, barely recognisable pieces of a life lived, memories fleeing the lifeless bodylike the glue seeping out of the cracks of the crumbled mug, and Jack felt himself frantically trying to grasp those fleeing memories, a laugh, a joke, his warm, tender smile and those eyes, looking at him that way.
But even as he struggled to remember the way Iantos voice sounded when he made him come, how his face looked all flushed and just that oh so incredibly sexy and innocent way he would gaze up at him, eyes darkened with passion and love, he knew that only fragments of the young man would remain, shards embedded in the hearts of those around him, stinging in such a painful way every time his name was mentioned. But sooner or later those last pieces would be lost, too, when years became decades and people carrying the shards died or time just started to blur everything, and even Jack would forget eventually, when the last photos had faded away, memorabilias lost in time and space, and no one to remind him of a love so long ago lost.
Because Ianto was broken, and only shards remained.
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