Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood.
*.*.*
In the days after Lisa…died, Ianto mostly slept. The only way to cope with the horrible, painful wakefulness was to simply not be awake.
It was temporary measure, like delaying a hangover with a hair of the dog. It only made for a worse hangover later.
It was how it felt, at least, when he'd wake up in a rush to get to the Hub to check on her. Sometimes he'd make it until he was halfway through shaving before it hit him, other times he'd remember when he was grinding his coffee beans. Each time was like a knife twisting in his gut and then he'd just crawl back under the duvet.
The early days of his suspension were a blur, but around the second week, it got surreal.
Owen started to show up first. The first two or three times, he was completely pissed, but Ianto was nothing if not happy to drink the whiskey the medic had brought along. They raged about aliens and dead girlfriends. In the mornings that followed, Ianto could never remember what they'd been bonding about, but he appreciated the numbness of alcohol anyway.
Gwen dropped by just a handful of times.
"I mentioned to Rhys that your girlfriend had passed on," she'd said. "And we wanted to make sure you were looking after yourself."
She never stayed, but his kitchen stayed stocked with lamb cawl, bakestones and spaghetti bolognese. Sometimes, he ate it. Other times, the grief churned so badly in the pit of his stomach that he tossed it in the rubbish, unable to bear the thought of eating.
When Toshiko started coming around, she gave off the air of a skittish, frightened animal. She mostly fussed with the kettle and made him milky, too-sweet tea, but some days she tried to get him to open up, to talk about his life with Lisa or how he was feeling. When it became apparent that wasn't going to happen—which took far longer than it should have for a girl of Tosh's cleverness—she started bringing distractions. Light-hearted books (and a collection of Dylan Thomas poems. Ianto wasn't sure if this was meant as some sort of therapy or if she just thought 'Hey, a Welsh poet. I bet Ianto would like that,' but he read "And Death Shall Have No Dominion" more times than was strictly healthy), Sudoku puzzles and cheesy American comedies on DVD.
"I don't know what to say, Ianto. But I want you to know that I care."
By far the strangest visitor was his boss. Jack didn't bother to knock or even announce his presence. He'd just saunter in with a box of pizza or a curry. He'd toss it on the coffee table and sprawl out on the sofa, usually going so far as to swipe the remote right out of Ianto's hands.
They never talked about Lisa or even her cybernetic replacement. They didn't talk about work or about the threats both of them had made that night. They didn't talk at all.
Jack was just there, just waiting to be needed, offering his silent support.
It felt like a waking dream. These people, his coworker, had pegged him as below their notice. In the months he'd worked there before all of this, none of them had shown the slightest interest in him, apart from the coffee. But here they were, each in their own way, trying to help him pick up the pieces and glue himself back together.
*.*.*
A/N: The word was "surreal." I like the idea of our team taking care of their own, but it doesn't quite fit into the feel of that first series, so I'll take it how I can get it. Thanks for reading.