Title: Something of His Legacy
- Characters: Gwen, Rhiannon Davies
Rating: PG
Summary: Gwen thought she knew something about him. She's upset because she knew nothing at all.
Notes: Blatant spoilers for CoE - Days One-Five, and a vague reference to The Dead Line radio drama. 2nd person POV.

- b - e - g - i - n -

You hadn't the heart to tell Jack.

To Rhiannon, you often returned, with a look of bereavement and despair, and asked if you could cross the threshold and waited for a cup of tea. It wasn't like you hadn't the time these days. You didn't work--like anyone would be fool to take on a pregnant woman, though it was less that than you were set for years, even in the new house.

You would trade stories, and they weren't like Jack's stories. Jack didn't have a timeline to work on; who knew where his stories fit in his life, with no time stamp on most anecdotes (they didn't want to hear about the 70s, Jack). No, you gave her stories of his now, and she gave you stories of his then, and each was like a knife to the heart because it really seemed he made up his own stories, his own tall tales sized down to being believable. You never questioned him on it, not like Jack.

Ianto died a liar.

You have no answers, and neither does Rhiannon. Looking back, he made more sense which each of Rhiannon's recollections: why he worked much harder than the others did, how he knew to handle practically everything (a forklift? Really?), the suits on every day except maybe three, the clever quips, the silences, the diligence, the responsibility, his beyond adequacy, the pride in his knowledge and understandings.

You had believed it was because he worked for Torchwood London. You flinched to know it had started long before that.

"Broke his leg once," Rhiannon said, glancing at the refrigerator and the cards and photos and drawings littered on its door, her eyes distant, "when he was younger. Dad was pushing him on the swings, accidentally pushed too hard, and he flew right out of the seat onto the ground."

You don't know why she's telling you this; a broke leg had never affected Ianto's mobility. But then you note that all the cards on the fridge door are held open with magnets, and one simple one is closed. You don't know what to think. Maybe you don't want to think.

Ianto died lying to them.

Not about Lisa. He loved her. Not about Jack. He loved him.

Was it everything else? Was there anything that matched up with what you knew about him?

You hope there might be time to ask Jack something about Ianto, when he was done wandering the world from pole to pole.

But then you hand over his wrist strap, and you realize you need to hold onto what you know. If Jack didn't know before...he would never need to, now.

Because you can't make a liar out of Ianto. You can't simplify him down to what he was before Torchwood, or after. It wouldn't have mattered if he was a "chav" or a lower-class noble before, and only a corpse who died helpless against his killer after. He was Ianto Jones.

Something of his legacy needs to remain.