Been listening to Bloodstream by Ed Sheeran, love it. Keep seeing this scene in my head, so here it goes.
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Ianto sat in the middle of the bed. He wasn't sure when it had occurred to him that he needed his old diaries, but now he had them he was finding it quite cathartic to tear each page out and turn it to confetti.
The lighter setting fire to the paper as is dies, names of old friends changing from blue on white to black. All black, like them now. Faded to black. Gone.
His time at Torchwood One reduced to ashes. Just like that day, fire and destruction. Ashes in his mouth.
He took another deep swallow of the red wine he had also acquired somewhere. The deep woody taste softening his anger. The taste of ash returned. Ianto thought of the irony of the red wine, Lisa's favorite and he snorted.
The two women had objected when he had turned them out at dawn, flinging the money down the stairwell along with their clothes and several random pages of torn diary. Fucking whores, what should they care how unclothed they were, eh? Protesting prostitutes. Ianto snorted again.
So angry. Seeing red, red wine in a red mood on a red duvet. Huh! Ianto felt so crumpled and bedraggled, just like the scattered pieces of paper.
Ianto scooped another handful of paper into the air and watched it swirl and fall, the words lost like the thoughts they once portrayed. His bloodshot eyes followed the descent of one piece, "…My Slutty, Lovely Lisa…" in his politely neat handwriting visible as it settled, light as a feather on the red duvet.
The small box that had been retrieved from under the bed had mocked him all night. Lisa called it his "emergency Kit" and he opened it with shaking hands. The bottles of pills stared back, as did the carefully rolled joints. Lisa had rolled these, her spit sealing them as her lips had sucked them in, caressed them with her tongue and she slid them out so erotically that he had fucked her amongst them as they lay scattered on the bed around them like white rose petals. Now she was gone. All he had was this.
Ianto lit up and as he inhaled he closed his eyes he remembered her smell. The soft skin and the salty taste of her sweat. Last time they had fired up a blunt they had shagged like rabbits. She was wet, welcoming and so fulfilling that when Ianto came he had wept, falling into her arms as he shook with the aftershocks.
"My beautiful piece of heaven" she had sighed into his hair as her pussy had milked him for every last drop of his goodness.
Ianto opened the first bottle of pills and swallowed some, not bothering to check the label. Who fucking cares! Another swig of wine and Ianto felt the burn through his system as the chemicals started to take effect. More pills followed their friends as they seemed destined to stay together, as he should never have abandoned his own that day.
Ianto snorted as tears fell, the paper blurring as he tried to focus on her, even just her name. Even that was fading as the ink ran with his tears, old faded but still able to be affected by his grief. He found that strangely poetic and as he slid down he closed his eyes.
He could hear her. Hear all of them. Calling out across the black. His friends, his lover.
Ianto opened his eyes with a gasp. The flames were so high, reflected in the blown pupils as Ianto lay, watching the paper burn.
Her skin, torn and scared from the metal. Her scent covered by oil and grease. His Lisa, his warmth. His heart. His only friend left. Gone. Ianto felt the gore rise like the bile in his throat.
Ianto closed his eyes again, falling like the pieces of paper. Burning and curling. Folding. Un-belonging. Un-being. Is there such a thing as an impossible thing? Does anyone know this feeling?
Surrounded by death. Just piles of dust where once stood human beings. Friends. Ianto was the last man standing. How can he continue? Who can save the unsaveable?
Jack was a blur, his hands warm but rough as Ianto felt himself moved to his side. As he continued to vomit Jack swore and hastily called Owen. He knew he would suffer Owen's ire for this but also knew he couldn't leave Ianto like this.
As Ianto wept and weakly still fought for the bottle of wine, Jack swallowed his own shame at leaving him here unattended for the last three days.
Jack stomped out the smoldering paper he had swept from the bed and he shuddered at what had almost happened. Gods, he just lost his lover and we all turned our backs.
Ianto moaned and trembled as Jack rubbed his back, waiting for the drugs to burn out.
As Jack reached for Ianto's cheek, eyes blearily looked up and Ianto's eyes widened as he locked onto Jack.
They regarded each other through the smoke. Two impossible things before breakfast.
Here? For me? Impossible.