Hi guys. My little sister Kasey (kaseykc) and I are writing this together. This is our way of coming to terms with the tragic death of Ianto Jones. Enjoy.

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The Memoirs of Ianto Jones

Prologue; Jack

I always knew that I would outlive Ianto. I just didn't think it would be so soon. I thought he would live to see at least thirty... I would have liked the extra five years.

I stand inside Ianto's flat- he left it to me in his Last Will and Testament before he died. Funny, I always thought he was joking when he said he'd written out his Will and left most of his possessions to me. He gave Rhiannon, Mischa and David 80% of his money, and the other 20% went to charity. Such a shame- this place is beautiful. All the times I've been here, it was in the name of love, so the place was always warm and cosy. Now it's cold. No life. It's as dead as I should be.

The hardwood floors echo my footfalls, accenting my solitary stance in this room. The pale walls close around me, breathing with sorrow onto the purple fabric sofa. I remember the first time I stayed here, after the cannibals. Ianto wanted me with him, to keep him safe. I stayed for a couple of weeks, sleeping on that sofa, before I noticed his discomfort, so I offered to stay with him in his room. We just lay there all night, cuddling. I think that's where we really started off as a couple, laying between those silk sheets just talking. I never knew how much I would miss that...

I look over at the sofa, past the tiny kitchenette where I nearly burned the place down with a piece of toast. Yan just laughed, and that day he taught me how to cook. That's what prompted him to buy the TV standing right over by the wall, in front of the glass coffee table. On the coffee table is a small shoe box, closed. I walk over solemnly, and lift the lid. A small slip of yellow paper falls out and onto the table. I pick it up and read;

To be opened upon my death.

In this box are the following; my diary, my book of fantasies and my memories.

Jack, I've left my flat to you, and I expect you to take care of it as though I were still here. You may share my diary and memories with the others, just not the fantasies- they're just for you. We've fulfilled most of them anyway. It was just the last entry I wanted to try out.

I smile to myself, a small tear in my eye. I set the paper down and take a seat on the sofa, pulling the diary and the rest of the paper- there's quite a lot of it- from the box. It's all folded in half, so I unfold it, and I start to read. Immediately, I find myself more drawn to my deceased lover, and my tears begin flowing.