Ianto Wakes – Chapter 10
by Gracefultree
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It was over a week since Ianto woke without any memories of a month-long affair with "Jack," and he was no closer to recovering those memories or finding Jack. He had horrible nightmares of blood and fire and death, of the Tower falling to Cybermen and Daleks every night. He heard Lisa screaming and smelled the blood and metal. When he didn't wake sweating and screaming, he had a completely different reaction.
Interspersed with the nightmares were some of the most erotic dreams he'd ever had in his life. They featured a dark-haired man with a face Ianto could never quite make out, and the most talented hands imaginable. The sex was beyond anything he could hope to experience. He must have experienced it, though, to have these dreams, they were so vivid and real. He was sure he his imagination wasn't good enough to create half of the scenes that woke him in the night, hard and aching for a touch he couldn't remember, though his body knew it intimately and craved it again.
He stopped drinking after the fourth day, deciding that maybe being sober would help his search. It hadn't.
He monitored the internet for news of the other survivors, watching the numbers dwindling at they broke down and killed themselves or were committed to institutions, one after another. 27 had become 15 by the time he woke up in London, then 9, then 6. He knew their names, but hadn't interacted with any of them before the Battle, and felt too worn out himself by all the emotions and uncertainty of his situation to try to contact them now.
The remaining Torchwood branches were doing a horrible cover up job, if Ianto could find things in the paper and online. But then again, they just lost nearly 800 colleagues and the PR and cover up divisions at the Tower, who usually would have taken care of this kind of major event, so how a few people could cover up something so massive was beyond him. Still, even though he could find things, there was very little for him to work with, even so. Especially since he couldn't find a way to get on the Torchwood servers. It was as if he was completely locked out, no matter what he tried, and he wasn't a bad hacker. Whoever they'd put in charge of it was much better than the Tower's IT department. (He'd run circles around them once, just for the fun of it, which is how he got noticed and hired in the first place.)
He went to the funeral Lisa's parents arranged, and cried with them, and offered them the engagement ring he'd planned to give her, but they wouldn't take it, telling him to keep his memories. They all knew they'd probably never see each other again, their grief was too raw. He attended several other funerals for people he knew. The funerals had been staggered so that all 796 Torchwood personnel who died could have a service, if their surviving families wanted, and some were still going on, even this long after the Battle, since bodies weren't always available. Apparently, the Torchwood Institute had footed the bill for all of them, as they had for the memorial stone and even for funerals for a few civilians who were in the Tower at the time of the Battle. They were filling in the crater, turning it into a park dedicated to peace. Ianto wondered what happened to the all the technology in the basement levels. Would it have been sent to Cardiff or Glasgow?
He called his sister to make sure she knew he was alive, and was surprised to hear that he'd visited her almost daily the first two weeks he lived in Cardiff before he got a job that he'd told her he loved with a boss he respected more than anyone he'd ever met, though he hadn't given the man's name. She thought he had moved back to Cardiff and was disappointed to learn he was in London again. He shrugged, knowing she couldn't see it, and told her that he'd likely find his way back to Cardiff soon, once he'd taken care of his flat and Lisa's things. His bank account had grown rather slim, so he wasn't sure when he'd be able to afford the moving costs. She wanted him to go back to that new job and explain about the memory loss so he could have it again, and when Ianto told her he couldn't remember where he worked or who he worked for, aside from someone called "Jack," she sighed.
"This is why I always ask you questions," she grumbled. "But I know you're not likely to change and tell me. Just come visit, then, when you get back here."
He was just getting up to make himself a coffee when the doorbell rang. He wasn't expecting anyone. With a tired huff, he detoured to the front door to find a tall man in khakis and a light blue button-down shirt standing there with a polite but hesitant smile on his face. He had a messenger bag over his shoulder and the top few buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned to reveal an undershirt. Ianto had to keep himself from staring, the man's eyes were so blue. Somehow, the ridiculous gray braces combined with the shirt made his eyes brighter than they probably should have been.
"Ianto Jones?" the man asked. He mispronounced Ianto's name, but, then again, his American accent would probably mispronounce a lot of things, Ianto thought.
"Yes?"
"I have a package for you. If you could sign?" The man extended a clipboard. Ianto accepted it, but didn't find a pen. The man apologized and patted his pockets for one, but didn't seem to have one. When he reached for his bag to begin searching, Ianto held up a hand.
"Why don't you come in while I find a pen?" he suggested.
"I'm not really supposed to –" the man hedged.
"Nonsense. It's just a moment, and you're letting the air conditioning out. Come in."
"As long as you don't tell my boss," the man replied with a grin and a wink, his lips stretching to uncover perfectly straight white teeth. "She doesn't like it when I waste her time or avoid paperwork. She gets in a rather royal snit."
Ianto smiled slightly in return, his mind occupied with watching the man's sensual lips as he talked, wondering what it would be like to kiss them. He shook his head to erase the image, but the thought of the man gazing up at him with those bright eyes as he wrapped that wonderful mouth around Ianto's cock assaulted him. Damn it! This is no time for this! I don't even remember what it was like with Jack and now I'm fantasizing about strangers? Get a hold of yourself, Jones! He struggled to find an appropriate response.
"I had a boss like that once, except he was the one not doing the paperwork," he commented absently. "He avoided doing any kind of work at all, as a matter of fact, if it didn't involve running around. I was constantly reminding him to sign requisition forms and the like." The man stepped into the entryway and closed the door behind him as Ianto went to get a pen. Now where did that come from? Ianto wondered. The only supervisors I've had that have even had paperwork have been women. Unless… unless I'm talking about Jack without consciously remembering it.
Ianto quickly signed his name on the appropriate line and handed both the clipboard and Biro back to the delivery man. "Might as well keep the pen," he offered. "I'm sure you lose them often enough."
"Thanks." The man opened his bag and pulled out a thick manila envelope with the Torchwood logo emblazoned hugely across the front. The blood drained from Ianto's face. "Hey, are you ok?" the man asked, extending a hand in Ianto's direction.
"I have to sit down," Ianto croaked, collapsing onto his couch. The man followed into the sitting room, a look of concern on his face. "I'm sorry," Ianto apologized.
"No, no, don't worry about it. I should have said something. I've been delivering these all week. I should know by now not to spring them on people."
"You've been doing this all week?"
The man gave a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, special assignment from the Crown. I'm based in Cardiff, but she wanted me to personally hand these out to the other survivors and the families of the deceased." He placed the package onto the coffee table.
"What do you do, that she would ask for you specifically?"
"A little of this, a little of that," the man replied vaguely, shrugging. "I don't think it's anything special, but I guess she does." After an awkward pause, the man pulled out a small blank business card from his shirt pocket and scribbled something on it. "Listen, I know you're probably going through a lot right now, so if you need a shoulder to cry on or a forgiving ear…" He trailed off, extending the card. Ianto regarded him with a puzzled frown.
"Isn't it supposed to be a sympathetic ear?"
"I have one of those, too," the man said with a wink, already grinning again. He placed the card face down in Ianto's hand, the tips of his fingers brushing Ianto's palm. A jolt of electricity flew through Ianto and he jerked his hand back, his fingers curling around the card without conscious thought.
"I'm not gay," Ianto blurted.
"Neither am I," the man answered. "I don't choose to label myself. But if that's what you're looking for, I have room in my bed. You could say anything with that sexy accent and I'd be -"
"I think you'd better go," Ianto barked, rising, his cheeks pink. Am I just angry? Or am I embarrassed that he's coming on to me? Or is it that I'm actually considering his outrageous offer? God, these dreams of Jack have me all mixed up!
The man nodded silently and put his bag back on, knowing that he had overstayed his welcome. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It was totally out of line and disrespectful. And I'm sorry for your losses," he murmured sincerely as Ianto led him to the door. Ianto gave a curt nod in acknowledgement. The man paused as he left the flat, meeting Ianto's eyes for an intense moment.
"Goodbye, Jones, Ianto Jones. May you find happiness."
As he turned and walked down the hall, Ianto saw an image superimposed over him of a long coat, the coattails swishing around his ankles as he walked, making him seem heroic. The sad, lonely hero, leaving his lover for the last time, to protect him from himself, even more than from his enemies, Ianto thought.
"Wait!" Ianto called before he could stop himself. The figure paused, looked back. "How long will you be in London?"
"You're the last person I had to visit," the man said, and Ianto thought he detected sadness in his voice. "I'm heading back to Wales now."
"I, um, I might be moving to Cardiff," Ianto offered.
"You have my number," the man replied, his smile and voice even sadder than before. "If you ever remember what's happened to you, call me. I'm not going anywhere." With that, he was gone, disappearing down the hall in a swirl of imaginary coattails, leaving Ianto alone, a single thought buzzing in his head.
How did he know I lost my memory?