Nearing the end now. Only two more chapters after this. Back to Ianto's POV
He was gone. Turned and walked out immediately after ripping his heart out. Left him bleeding, dying. Well, fuck him. Not literally. Seemed that ship was well out to sea, no chance of boarding now. Still. Fuck him. He didn't need him. Didn't need any of them. Except Tosh. He liked Tosh. And Gwen. Annoying as hell sometimes, yeah, but he still liked her. Most of the time. Even Owen. He didn't mind Owen, despite the constant barbs. He'd keep the team, then. Just not Harkness. He didn't need Harkness.
Except he did. He really did. He didn't know why. Right. The sex. Best ever. No, not that. Not just that. He needed Jack. As a friend, a confidant. Somebody more than his boss. He didn't want to. He just did. He liked Jack. Shit. No, no, no. He didn't like him. He killed his Lisa. His love, his future. He killed his heart. Ripped it out and stomped all over it.
He could do this. He could heal. He knew it. Didn't know it. Felt it. He looked at his watch. Time never moved. Didn't seem like any time at all since his world caved in. Felt like forever. His watch wasn't helpful, lying on his wrist in mute supplication. Offering him the time, but not telling him how long. Useless. He needed something else. A calendar.
He staggered to his feet. How long had he lain on the floor outside his toilet? Days? Weeks? No, just minutes. Forever and no time at all. The kitchen. The calendar was in the kitchen. Small, magnetic, on his fridge. He looked at the tiny, white appliance. The calendar was there, just above… fuck. His favourite photo of Lisa. Warm, dark skin, glowing in the sun. Lying on the grass, eyes closed, small smile playing on her lips. Beautiful. So beautiful. And gone. No more.
He squeezed his eyes closed. He pictured her in his head, laughing, being silly. But all he could see was blood. Blood and metal and death. Screams, desperate pleas for help, burning flesh, blood-covered plastic. God. Canary Wharf. The Hub. It all blended into one. He couldn't see his Lisa. Only them, the metal men, ghosts no longer ghosts, marching their prey through the halls.
A sharp pain in his palm jerked him out of his waking nightmare. He looked down; the photo lay crumpled in his hand, his fingernails digging into the soft skin. He was bleeding. Bleeding just like them. Just like her. But the photo. He'd ruined the photo. God. He unclenched his fingers, carefully straightening the edges. No good. Her perfection was ruined with creases, oh Christ, and blood. He'd bled all over the glossy paper. No. He tried to wipe it clean, but it just smeared further, drying in streaks across her face.
Tears started to fall, landing on the photo and bubbling the surface. Shit, shit, shit. Ruined. All ruined. All gone, all over. He collapsed on the floor, sobbing into the photo, no longer caring about preserving the image. Some small part of him, the last rational part of his brain, recognised this as cathartic. Well needed, and long overdue. If he was to heal, to get past this (this, not Lisa, just this) then he needed to let it all out. Shed all this, like a snake and its skin. A new beginning.
A new beginning with the team. He could give them proper attention now. He wasn't dead, or retconned. If not by now, then never. He'd be going back. Back to invisibility, yes, but his choice - no, his penance now. He needed them, didn't care if they didn't notice him. He just needed to be there. To work. To help. To clean up their shit and not care that they left it all for him.
Lies. He cared. He cared that they never noticed him. Never asked about him. Never included him. The new girl saw more action than he did. Not that he resented her, not for that. She was hired to replace Suzie, an active field agent. He was not. Dogsbody and gopher, that was all he was. All he'd ever been, even at One. Junior researcher, his bloody arse. His job was in the Archives, but it was free time only that allowed him the chance to look at the files. The rest of the time it was 'fetch this, clean that'. No different than Three. Well, a little different. No lecherous boss. No gorgeous, hot, addictive man to fall for. No, not fall for.
Fall a little bit. Maybe more than a little. A lot. No. Yes. More than a spectacular shag. No, couldn't think of him like that. Not anymore. He didn't want him. Jack didn't want him, not anymore. Pushed him away. Ripped out his heart - what was left - and mashed it into carpet. After twisting a knife through it. Kissed him and then killed him.
Wait. Wait - he kissed him. Jack kissed him. Well, he kissed Jack. But Jack kissed him back. Not just a little. Didn't just hold still while he attacked him. Active. Jack was active and participating fully. He could feel him. He was hard. As hard as himself. Jack wanted him. It couldn't be faked. Maybe he didn't want to, but his body did. And he would bet his worthless life that wasn't all. It couldn't be faked. The lust and passion they'd shared. It was real. That sort of thing couldn't be turned off that quickly. Put on hold, yes. With trust destroyed between them, and the ghosts - god, still the ghosts - of Lisa staring at them both, it was gone for now. But not forever. No. he could get it back. It would just take work. Work and patience. He had patience.
He carefully put the destroyed photo back on the fridge, smoothing across her face gently. He looked at the calendar. Three weeks. Three weeks since they killed her. No. Seven months since she died. Three weeks since they saved the world. Did what he couldn't. Killed the threat. Not his Lisa. One more week of suspension. One more week to get his shit together, to clean up the flat, himself, everything. To put her things away. Not to forget her. Never forget her. But he needed to move on. Move forward. He needed to live, not for her, but for himself.
He could do this. Shower, shave, shopping. Food. He needed food, toiletries. Boxes. Shit, he needed boxes to pack up all her clothes. All the little things of hers he'd put out, hoping she'd enjoy seeing them again. They needed to go. Let somebody else enjoy them now.
A new home. A new start. Leave the photos, but put them all - nearly all - away. Not the one on the fridge. He needed the reminder. And the one on the mantel, of them together. That could stay. The rest, though. Yes. To earn the trust of the team - of Jack - he needed to start now. He could do this.
He straightened. His new life started now.