I know the cup of coffee I left on Jack's desk is sitting there getting cold. I've left one every day of the six months he's been gone and it's always been sitting there when I stick my head in at the end of the day before I leave. I suppose I'm a creature of habit, but routine feels good. It's comforting to know that it will keep me from breaking apart. Every time I see Gwen, I feel her sympathetic eyes bore into the back of my head and it break my heart. I wish they'd stop pitying me.

ξ ξ ξ

I came back last night, just checking like I normally do, and the cup was empty. Sitting beside it was a Torchwood index card, flipped over so a blank side was showing. Printed In Jack's pristine handwriting, there was a shot note that broke my heart.

Ianto

Still leaving me coffee, I see. You're a sweetie like that. I don't know if I'll be back, but if not, thanks for everything.

I knew it was his handwriting, even though there was no signature. His writing was everywhere in the hub, it's not like I hadn't seen it before. I was the archivist, for god's sake. But seeing it there on that card was like seeing it for the first time. The way the curves of every letter fell the same way, the slight slant of his words, the crisp blueness of the ink, the coldness of his words…

A brand began to burn somewhere slightly left of my sternum, carving its way through my flesh to tear at my heart. He abandoned us, leaving without so much as a goodbye, and now, after 6 months of hoping, I finally put my head down to cry. It started slowly at first, a soft trickle worming its way out of disbelieving eyes, but I knew that once they'd started, they wouldn't stop until I had been drained dry. And so I cried. I cried for our love and my broken heart; I cried for his betrayal and my loneliness, for the war we were still fighting without him; I cried out my anger and my fear and my grief. I cried because I though I'd never see him again.

I must have cried myself to sleep too, because when I opened my eyes again, it was to find Gwen resting her hand on my shoulder holding a steaming mug of tea in her hands, eyes down.

"Ianto—"

"Don't bother." I could tell my voice was hoarse and my face felt puffy and red. Without another word, I took the tea from her hand and took a mouthful, scalding my tongue. The pain was nice, and I didn't bat an eye.

"If there's anything I can do…"

"You can't bring him back. IF you'll excuse me." I stood, straitening my rumpled suit. She moved out of my way with so much as a sigh.

"I'm sorry."