Ianto has one day off every year. Not that he works for 364 days straight, even though it feels that way sometimes. But this one day, this one date, is his. Gwen hugs him the night before. Owen doesn't say anything, not even a snark. If the world were ending, Jack would still shove him through the cog. And Tosh would jam the mechanism so he couldn't get back in.

He is early, so he has the place to himself. Birds chatter sleepily to each other. There's nothing to disturb them here, yet, apart from the thin Cardiff sun that does nothing to warm the stone beneath his hand.

Thorns prick as he arranges the roses. Pink and yellow and creamy white roses, marked by the blood that beads on the tip of his finger. Blood on the roses, blood on the stone. Fitting. So much blood.

It's pointless, really, to come here. She's not here. Lisa's family buried an empty coffin, believing, along with all the others who will bring flowers today, that there was nothing to recover from the disaster.

Arms slide around his waist, lips press softly against his neck. No words. Jack knows when to be silent.

Ianto's hand strokes across the letters carved into the stone, pausing at the numbers.

"It's the wrong date," Ianto said, the words echoing in the silence, scaring the birds into flight.

"It's the right date," Jack answered.

They've said the same thing ever since the first time Jack followed him here.

Ianto doesn't argue anymore. He's not sure anymore. Did she die with all the others, as the stone says?

If he ever agrees, he'll have to admit it. Admit he was wrong. Admit that he'd lived and fought for a shell because he couldn't let go. Because the monster inside the body he loved looked at him with her eyes. Smiled her smile. Spoke with her voice.

Used her mouth to say words she'd never say. Used her body to do things she'd never do.

Perhaps it's best that her body doesn't lie beneath this grass, beneath this stone. Because that makes the stone right, makes the date right. Lisa died on the day written on the stone. Her body died later.

But it was her body. Her voice. Her smile.

And he'll never admit that wasn't worth fighting for.

I may have finally written a oneshot...or I may do a 'day' for each of the other characters, not sure yet.