Ianto wasn't exactly sure how he had gotten home, how he had ended up on the floor of his kitchen, how he had managed to drink himself to sleep, nor was he sure of how long that all took. All Ianto Jones knew was that Lisa Hallet, the woman he was so deeply in love with, was dead.
When he woke Ianto was curled against the door of his fridge, his legs stretched out haphazardly in front of him while one of his hands was curled around a thigh, the other lay next to him, an empty Jim Bean bottle in it's loose grasp. He winced as he exhaled, the smell of his breath assaulting his senses and making him feel rather ill. Very slowly, Ianto opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times, moving his hands so they were flat on the floor, allowing him to push himself into a more comfortable position. He let out another deep breath, ensuring that he blew downwards as not to aggravate his hangover further. His head was spinning and it was taking a while for him to get his focus, when he did, and the radioactive green of his cooker clock came into view, Ianto was confused as to how long he had been sitting there. He had no recollection of the past 24 hours. The last thing he remembered was falling to his knees between the bodies of the woman he loved and the woman he unwittingly murdered. He let his head fall forward as he heaved, the memory coming with pretty vivid images of the basement where he had hidden Lisa. He bit his bottom lip and took few deep breaths; while he was hungover and had limited brain function, Ianto was not about to throw up on his kitchen floor.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
When he finally felt like he wasn't immediately going to let the alcohol in his stomach out through his mouth and onto the floor, Ianto pushed himself onto his knees, a hand going behind him to steady himself against the fridge door, before he bounced on his calves and stood up. He quickly regretted the move and had to take some more deep breaths, all the time clinging to a flat surface to keep himself up right. He finally staggered from the kitchen when he felt steady and navigated his way around a couple more empty bottles, leaning against the door frame, again, to catch his balance. He pushed off and walked around the sparse furniture in his living room and to his bedroom and en-suite. The walking wasn't exactly brilliant when his brain was currently swimming in pain and while his liver felt like it was being pickled in a concoction of vodka, whiskey, wine and beer, but he needed to shower and throw up. Although, not in that order. Or at the same time.
Weakly pushing the door of his bedroom open, Ianto steadied himself against the wooden frame, taking another couple of breaths. In, out. In, out. In, out. He was increasingly worried at the way that he started to get extremely light headed, and the way his body started not to listen to the few brain cells still active (he hadn't been this hungover since he was a teenager), but nonetheless he managed to get to the bathroom quick enough to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet, the more rational side of his mind was joyful that the lid was still up from the last time he had taken a piss.
He sat there for a while, contemplating moving towards the shower cubicle and bath, but unable to muster up the effort. After a while his arse started to really ache from the cold, hard floor, so he flushed the toilet and crawled over to the bath tub. Resting his forehead against the cool plastic of the tub, Ianto began to undress, pulling of the soiled suit and throwing it into the bath. The material was stiff with blood and vomit, and smelt of a mix of the two with a dangerously alcoholic punch. When he finally managed to work his fingers well enough to remove his shirt, he was surprised to see the state of his skin. He let his head loll forwards as he brushed his fingers lightly against the large bruise on his left shoulder and up his neck.
"Isn't that what love is?" Lisa asked, her eyes fixed on Ianto.
Ianto held back a sob and shook his head, "no."
"Then we are not compatible." she said coldly, her hand going for Ianto's neck, pulling him to her, before she flung him across the hub like a banana skin.
Forcing himself out of the memory, Ianto let out a choked sob, tears threatening to fall from his red eyes. Wiping a hand over his face he pulled himself up and stripped the rest of his ruined suit, walking the sink and opening the cupboard underneath, pulling out a bottle of bleach before he poured it's contents into the bath. The suit was already ruined so there was no need to try and save it, but he had to get rid of the smell. He stumbled to the shower once he had thrown the empty bottle in the bath, pushing open the door, turning the shower on scalding, before he sank to the floor, burying his head against his knees.
No, Ianto had no idea how he managed to get where he currently was, and he had no idea what was going to happen to him next.