Who He Wants To Be

by Gracefultree

Chapter 49: The Death of James Harper

Posted: May 24, 2015

A/N: In this chapter Jack's plan comes to fruition, and some of the repercussions are seen. There's still quite a bit of story left, though it might take me a little longer than usual to edit the next chapter. It's got a lot of information and I want to make sure it syncs up with the earlier chapters.

Enjoy!

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Everyone stood clustered around the television in the break room watching a news report about Friday's explosion in Cardiff on Thursday morning when Ianto decided he wanted coffee. He listened with half an ear as he made it, knowing that he'd probably have to make a second pot with the number of people hanging around, especially now that they saw him making it.

"... and authorities continue to pull bodies from the wreckage in Cardiff as the death toll rises from the initial sixteen to thirty-six in a matter of days, with at least ten more people suspected of being in the area at the time of the explosion who remain unaccounted for. Some of the remains are so badly burned that police are identifying the victims by their dental records. The Mayor says …"

Ianto tuned out the rest of the newscast. He was far too hungover. For the third day in a row…

Though this time it was a hangover induced by a psychic attack by three of the resident Psych Corps rather than beer or Jack Daniels. He shuddered at the memory of pain and the feeling of his memories being ripped forcibly from his head. His stomach felt like it was full of rats with anxiety about the situation. What had they seen and what would they do with the information? Would they find James somehow and use him as a hostage against Ianto's good behavior? Would they force him to sleep with Captain Harkness in order to win James's freedom? And why were they so convinced that James and Captain Harkness were the same person? They were completely different!

Except for looks. They even kissed differently.

The coffee finished brewing and Ianto picked up the pot, intending to pour some into his favorite red-striped mug when his mobile rang. Sighing, he put down the mug and fished the phone out of his trouser pocket with his left hand.

"Hello?" he asked, holding it between his shoulder and ear. "Coffee's up," he called to the others, picking up his mug again.

"Hi, is this Ianto Jones?" The voice was female and unmistakably Welsh. It wasn't a voice or number he recognized.

"Yep. That's me."

"Hello, Mr. Jones, I'm Constable Gwen Cooper with the Cardiff Police." Ianto felt his stomach turn to lead, the rats all dying in an instant. He managed to get the mug back on the counter even though his hand shook. He leaned his free hand against the counter. A call from the police was never good. "Do you know a man named James Harper?" she continued.

James? Why would the police be calling about James? What —

"Mr. Jones?"

He cleared his throat, swallowed, cleared it again. "Yes," he croaked. "James is my boyfriend," he said as calmly as he could. Torchwood knew they were dating, why shouldn't the police? It might be important, after all. He dimly heard the chatter around him get quieter. Billy turned away from the newscast and stepped closer to him. Ianto nodded in pained recognition of his friend's action.

"I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Jones, but …" Ianto felt a white noise on the edge of his hearing, making everything sound garbled. A few distinct words stood out as he listened to the buzz of Constable Cooper's voice. "... rescue workers … discovered this morning… dental records … his solicitor said … next of kin…"

He didn't hear the phone clatter to the floor. He didn't feel his legs give out. He didn't feel the coffee scalding his arm or the glass shards cutting his hand when he grabbed for the counter, forgetting he still held the coffee pot. He didn't see his friends and co-workers clustering around him as he fell. He didn't hear himself wailing in grief as his vision went black.

James was dead, killed in the explosion.

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Ianto knew he was in a hospital by the smell. The IV in his arm was the second give-away, and the sight of his sister slumped, asleep, in a hard plastic chair next to his bed sealed the deal. In her lap was a bit of knitting, and he could tell that one of the needles had slipped out, leaving a few stitches hanging free. Rhiannon only knitted when she was visiting someone in hospital, and it was the same bit of nothing he'd last seen in her handbag when he'd gone to visit his dying father, though it was longer than it had been back then. Was he dying?

No, it was James. James was dead.

He moaned softly, praying that it wasn't true, praying that it was some mistake. But his hospital room was full of flowers, and there was a sympathy card right there, and that picture of him and James from trivia night all those months ago, blown up and framed. Hesitantly, he picked up the card, cracking it open. From his department at work, it was full of signatures and well-wishes. He couldn't read them. It was all too much.

James was dead. Dead. Gone. He'd never smile at Ianto again, never laugh with him, never touch him or kiss him or run his fingers through his hair.

Ianto whimpered in pain, loud enough to wake his sister, who started in her chair, dropping the knitting entirely.

"Ianto? Ianto, love, how do you feel?" she asked, bending over him. She stroked his forehead.

"What happened?" he croaked, his mouth dry.

"You collapsed at work," she explained. "Have some water." She offered him a small plastic cup, helping him take a few swallows.

"Why does it say Monday over there?" he asked, pointing at the dry erase board across from his bed. His body felt weak, and his arm shook when he raised it to point. He frowned to himself. It wasn't like him to be so shaky.

"Because it is Monday. You've been unconscious this whole time. Five days, and more." She tucked the blanket around him and pressed the call button for the nurse. "I should let them know you've woken up. The doctors say it was a kind of shock, that your brain just couldn't deal with the information and shut down for a while."

Ianto closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to keep the panic away. Five days. At least he hadn't spent them crying over James. He opened his eyes again and looked at the clock. "Is it five in the morning, or five at night?"

"It's evening," she said. "Gary and Steve and your friend Billy from work should be coming to visit in an hour or so. They've been stopping by every day." He nodded silently. They waited for the nurse to come check on him, then the doctor, then the nurse again. She asked if Ianto wanted to talk with the hospital chaplain, and he declined.

"He's very important to you," Rhiannon said. "James. I liked him."

"He is," Ianto answered. "Was. I just — I can't believe he's really gone. I don't want it to be true." He closed his eyes, feeling a tear run down his cheek. It was quickly followed by another, and then Ianto started crying for real, covering his eyes with a hand in embarrassment. Rhiannon reached over and held his other hand, murmuring words of comfort.

Ianto had just gotten control of himself when Steve and Gary walked in. Rhiannon stepped back to give them room to talk, and the sympathy in their eyes brought on a fresh spate of tears for Ianto. Billy arrived a few minutes later. He gave Ianto's shoulder a squeeze before pulling Rhiannon into the hall for a quick, whispered discussion.

"He's just been crying the last twenty minutes," she said softly.

"Do you think he can manage tomorrow?" Billy asked.

Rhiannon shook her head. "They won't let him out for at least another 24 hours. There's no way they'd let him go all the way to Cardiff."

"Shit. He should be there."

"I know, but what can we do? Help him leave against medical advice? He's been in a bloody coma for five days!"

"Yeah. I know, but…" Billy paused. "I can call, see if they'll postpone it?"

"Worth a try," she said with a sigh.

"We'll stay with him for a while. Go home, get some sleep, come back in the morning."

"But —"

"I'll stay overnight," Billy said. "I have fresh clothes in my car."

"You're a good friend," Rhiannon answered. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for looking out for him. And me."

Rhiannon ended up staying until Gary and Steve were ready to leave, since she would be sleeping at their flat. She'd barely left Ianto's bedside in five days, and the few naps they'd cajoled her into hadn't done much to alleviate her exhaustion. Billy, having changed into jeans and a jumper before he came over, settled comfortably into the hard plastic chair with the flexibility of youth that Rhiannon couldn't even imagine having, not since she'd had her children.

"You're staying?" Ianto asked when the others were gone.

"Yep. Don't want you to be on your own," Billy answered.

"I'm not going to do anything to myself," Ianto protested.

"That wasn't even on my mind."

"Oh."

"Do you want me to leave? Give you some time alone?"

"No, I think I need to sleep some more. Crazy, right? I just woke up from being asleep for five days and I'm up two and a half hours and already want to sleep again."

"You had a big shock. It's only natural."

"Why couldn't I have seen him one more time?" Ianto moaned. He raised his hand and Billy took it immediately. "Why couldn't I have reassured him that we were good? Why —"

"Ianto."

"He died, Billy. He died thinking I didn't like him any more. He died thinking I was angry at him! You didn't hear the voicemail he left on Friday. It was horrible! I wanted to cry for all the hurt he felt. I wanted to go find whoever set up that intercept and kill them. I wanted to leave right then and go find him —"

"I know, Ianto. I know."

"But it was already too late," Ianto whispered. "He'd already died."

"Yeah. That's what the police said."

Ianto cried himself to sleep, Billy's hand clutched to his chest.

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Ianto was alone when he woke again. Nearby he could hear voices. Rhiannon's, Steve's, Billy's. He heard Gary, and another voice he didn't recognize. No, it was Rupert, his supervisor. He listened carefully.

"He hasn't woken up since last night?" Rupert asked. It seemed he had just arrived.

"No, he slept almost 24 hours so far," Rhiannon answered. "The doctors tell me that's normal for someone coming out of a coma."

"So he missed the funeral?"

"Yeah. We went, though," Gary said. "Me and Steve knew him."

"It was a lovely service," Billy added. "I'm sorry I never got to meet him."

"You'd have liked him," Steve said. "Everyone liked him."

"Yeah, that's what it seemed like," Billy said.

"I talked to Human Resources. Ianto can have two weeks of paid medical and bereavement leave," Rupert said. "After that…" He trailed off with a sigh. "I didn't even know he was seeing anyone until that interview with Captain Harkness," he finally admitted.

"Ianto's really private," Gary said. "We knew about James, about what their relationship was, but we live with Ianto. And a few other people knew and met him, but Ianto always introduced him as a friend. Everyone knew it was more than that, of course, but Ianto wasn't ready to say it."

"Until the end," Billy said. "He told me he'd just admitted they were dating the last time they saw each other."

"Yeah. Something like that," Gary muttered.

"He'll be devastated when he learns that he missed the funeral," Steve said.

"Nothing to do about it. They wouldn't postpone. Bastard solicitors," Billy grumbled.

"They were following James's wishes," Gary pointed out. "He wanted it done quickly."

"But without Ianto? I can't believe it," Steve said. "I mean, they were —"

"Whatever they were doesn't matter if Ianto's not listed as next of kin," Gary interrupted. "And he wasn't."

"The whole thing is bollocks," Steve declared.

"Shh, you don't want him to wake up to you swearing, do you?" Rhiannon asked, hushing him.

"Sorry."

Ianto closed his eyes. He'd missed the funeral. What more was there? He could go visit James's grave, he supposed. He could go talk to his solicitor about getting into James's flat. He could visit Cardiff and go to all the places James had ever mentioned. The cafe he went to every morning on the way to work. The pub he liked to go to every Friday. The Roald Dahl Plass, with the watertower. James had mentioned it more than once as a favorite spot to eat lunch on days with good weather.

But he'd missed the funeral! The last official time to say goodbye.

He didn't want to say goodbye. He wanted James to still be out there, waiting for him.

He wanted James to be alive.

He wanted James to walk in through the hospital door with a huge grin on his face and kiss him and tell him it was all a crazy mistake.

He closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.

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Ianto dreamed.

In his dream, James came to him, alive and well, dressed in his greatcoat, the gray braces from his last visit with Ianto standing out in the moonlight against his dark shirt. He had a sad expression on his face. James sat next to him, his weight shifting the hospital bed slightly. He took Ianto's hand and kissed his knuckles like he had on their first date. Ianto cherished the touch of the man's lips on his skin.

"I'm sorry, Ianto. I'm sorry I have to put you through this," James said, and Ianto heard the grief in his voice. "I didn't know it would hit you this hard. Please believe me. I never meant to hurt you like this. I never wanted to see you like this. But I've committed to this plan, and I can't back out now. There's too many pieces in play, too many things to manage, too many people involved."

"Stay with me," Ianto begged, squeezing James's hand.

"I can't stay. No one can see me here, but I couldn't leave you alone like this. I needed to see you. I needed you to see me."

"I don't want you to go," Ianto whispered in a hoarse voice. Even in his dream he'd been crying, it seemed.

James lowered his head so that his forehead rested against their clasped hands. "I know, gorgeous. I don't want to, either, but until I can get you out of their clutches and to Cardiff with me, it's not safe."

Ianto felt warm tears on his hand and realized James was crying.

"I miss you so much," James whispered, not lifting his head. "I hate myself for what I've done, but I thought — I didn't think — I —" He broke off, more tears falling. "I love you, Ianto. If you remember nothing else about tonight, remember that."

"I'm not mad at you," Ianto blurted, needing to say it. "I didn't abandon you. It was all Torchwood's fault. They made it so we couldn't talk. I've been calling you every day! I was going to Cardiff this weekend, but…"

"I know, sweetheart. I found out about it. I'm not upset."

"But you have to know that I didn't leave you. You have to know —"

James leaned forward and kissed Ianto, letting go of his hand so he could hold him in his arms. Ianto clung to him, ignoring the pain of the IV pulling at his arm because this might be the last time they ever saw each other. This might be his last chance.

"I love you, too," he said when they broke apart for air.

"I know, darling. I know, my gorgeous one, my Ianto," James murmured, stroking Ianto's hair off his forehead. "Trust Billy. He'll keep you safe while I can't. Trust him with your life, if necessary. Now sleep. Remember, this is a dream, nothing more than a dream. Remember me coming to you and kissing you. Remember me telling you I love you. Remember and live, Ianto. Live. However you can, because I will come back for you. I promise."

"Don't go!"

"I'm sorry. I have to."

"James—"

James kissed him again, a kiss full of longing and need, and Ianto woke with a raging erection and the scent of James's aftershave in his nose.

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"He was sad," Ianto told Billy and Rhiannon. "All I remember is that he was sad and didn't want to leave me."

"Did he say anything?" Billy asked.

"He said he missed me. He said he was sorry to have to leave me, that he knew I hadn't left him. That he knew I wasn't angry with him."

Rhiannon sighed. "Maybe he was saying goodbye," she suggested. "Maybe it wasn't a dream. Maybe it was a visitation."

"You can't honestly tell me Ianto saw a ghost last night!" Billy exclaimed. "They don't exist."

"No, it's aliens that don't exist," Ianto muttered. Billy closed his mouth. "He wanted me to remember something, but I forgot." He closed his eyes in pain. "It was important, and I forgot."

"It'll come back to you," Rhiannon reassured him. "All the important stuff does."

"When can I get out of here?" Ianto asked, suddenly changing the topic of conversation.

"Tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it, the doctor said," Rhiannon answered. "You can rest for the weekend, and we can go see the solicitor on Monday."

"James's solicitor?"

"Yes. He called while you were asleep. Said there were some personal items James wanted you to have."

"Oh," Ianto whispered.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Billy asked.

"No, me and Rhi can do it," Ianto said. "You've taken enough time off work for me already. Don't waste your days."

"It's not wasting them to help you," Billy muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. Ianto frowned. Billy sighed and uncrossed his arms. "Sorry. Of course I won't go if you don't want me there."

"It's not that I don't want you there… It's more like, I need to do it with family," Ianto explained. "James was family, kind of…"

"He was," Rhiannon declared. "If you think he was family, then he was family." Ianto squeezed her hand in gratitude for the sentiment.

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James's solicitor, a stately man in his seventies wearing an elegant bespoke suit, introduced himself simply as Stevens, of Stevens, Stevens and Baker, esquire. Ianto shook his hand, surprised by the warm, firm grip, as well as the empathy in his eyes. Ianto himself wore a black suit, black tie and charcoal shirt. He hadn't been able to wear anything colored since he heard about James's death, even jeans. He'd have to go shopping soon. He didn't own enough black to keep this up, and he knew he wouldn't be able to wear colors for a while.

"I most recently saw Mr. Harper in early December of last year," Stevens said, his voice soft and deferential. "He came in at that time to amend his will to include you, Mr. Jones."

"I, I didn't know," Ianto said, looking around the book-lined office with its leather chairs and silver tea service. "James would have liked this office," he blurted, saying the first thing that came to his mind. Rhiannon, sitting next to him in her best dress and their mother's pearls, covered his hand with hers. "I didn't know he'd done that," he said again, pulling his gaze away from the tea service to look at Stevens again.

"He seemed quite fond of you, if I may be so bold as to say," Stevens said.

"We were lovers," Ianto whispered. His gaze dropped to the desk. He stared at the fine wood grain, tracing it with a finger.

"Yes," Stevens murmured. He waited in respectful silence for Ianto to look up again. "I've known Mr. Harper for his entire life. His father was one of my first clients," he explained. Ianto nodded. "You may not be aware, but it was unusual for Mr. Harp—"

"Can you call him James?" Ianto interrupted. "Please?" Rhiannon squeezed his hand again. Ianto wasn't sure if it was to offer support or to rebuke him for being rude. He didn't care either way.

"Yes, of course. My apologies." Stevens shuffled the papers on his desk, something Ianto suspected must be a rare sign of discomfort for a man who seemed so poised. "Before December's meeting, James had never included provisions for a lover or partner in his will."

"Never?" Rhiannon asked, startled. "How old was he again?" She turned to Ianto for the answer.

"He'd be thirty-four in March," Ianto said in a dead voice. "We talked once about going to Greece on holiday that week," he added, remembering a late-night post-shag conversation where Ianto mentioned he wanted to travel, and James answered that they could go somewhere for his birthday, still five months away and closer than Ianto's. Would Ianto want to go to Greece? They could visit Pompeii, and see the David in person, James enthused. Ianto had laughed and told him to stop taking the piss so late at night. Besides, the David was in Florence.

"James wanted you to have his personal writings and a few items of sentimental value," Stevens continued. "I've taken the liberty of gathering them for you before the flat was sold."

"Sold?" Ianto asked. "I thought— I thought I'd get to see it one last time…"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jones, he left very specific instructions." Stevens seemed embarrassed to have to disappoint Ianto. "His flat was to be sold as soon as possible and the proceeds given to a number of philanthropic and educational organizations."

"Oh." Ianto closed his eyes and forced back tears. He wouldn't cry again. Not so soon. Not in front of a stranger. He supposed it didn't matter that he wouldn't get to see James's flat again. He'd certainly not seen much of it before he died… "Which charities?"

"Endangered species preservation, environmental protections, and a substantial donation to Cardiff University's Biosciences Department."

Ianto's mouth twitched into a half smile. "Yeah, that sounds like him."

"He also wished for you to have his car," Stevens said, sliding a set of keys across the desk.

"His car," Ianto repeated dully. He picked up the keys, his fingers trailing over the pterodactyl keychain. The spitfire airplane and Millennium Falcon clinked together.

"More key chains than keys, there," Rhiannon commented. "Is that a daffodil? And a Welsh dragon? Had a thing for the Welsh, he did."

"He liked having them all flying around as he drove," Ianto said, putting the keys in his pocket. "Thank you," he said to Stevens.

Stevens nodded and gathered his paperwork. "There are a few forms for you to sign so I can complete the transaction and authorize the bank transfer."

"Bank transfer?" Rhiannon asked for Ianto, who just looked at Stevens, confused.

"James stipulated that Mr. Jones be given twenty thousand pounds from the sale of his flat," Stevens explained.

"Twenty thousand?" Ianto exclaimed. "What?"

"Oh my God," Rhiannon breathed.

"What?" Ianto repeated.

"The flat sold for 1.2 million," Stevens said, almost as if he didn't want to have to tell them. As if he knew James wouldn't have wanted them to find out like this.

"What?" Ianto said again.

"Twenty thousand is a drop in the bucket?" Rhiannon whispered to herself, dumbstruck.

"I didn't know," Ianto exclaimed, suddenly agitated. He felt panicky. Would they think he was some kind of gold-digger, only interested in James for the money he hadn't even known the man had? Shit, no wonder James had been so touchy about the sugar daddy comments… He looked from one to the other of them. "I didn't know! I didn't —"

"James was quite private about his personal finances," Stevens said. "I didn't know the extent of them until his passing," he murmured.

"I —" Ianto looked around the office again, his mind starting to feel fuzzy. He hated that feeling, but he recognized it. It was his mind trying to protect him from information that was too difficult to process. "I can't take it," he finally said.

"What?" Rhiannon blurted. "Of course you can! He left it for you. He wanted you to have it."

"No, I —"

"Mr. Jones, James debated that number for quite a while," Stevens interjected. "He wanted to leave you more, but he was concerned that you wouldn't accept it."

"More?" Ianto breathed. Stevens nodded, waiting. "What would I do with more?" He stopped, frowning. What had James said when they last saw each other? Oh, yeah. "If we're dating, I'm allowed to buy you nice things. It's my job as a good boyfriend to take care of you." Clearly, in James's mind, that meant providing for Ianto if James were to die.

"How — Um, where was he found?" Ianto finally asked, deciding he didn't want to talk about money any longer. It would be disrespectful not to take it, he decided. And while twenty thousand was a lot, it was reasonable, he supposed, if James had enough to own a flat worth 1.2 million. Even if they'd only been dating half a year. It had been a good half-year.

"The building that contained James's laboratory was —" No! Don't tell me James was the cause of all these deaths! Ianto screamed in his head. "— two doors down from the initial explosion," Stevens finished, unaware of Ianto's mental anguish. Ianto breathed a sigh of relief. "The authorities tell me that the extra fire suppression measures he had installed when he moved his laboratory to that building in 2003 saved over a dozen lives."

"He protected the whole building?" Rhiannon asked.

"He felt that while he could most likely contain his experiments in the laboratory, he wanted to building itself to be more secure in case of an emergency. It was an older building, and not up to modern specifications. He had the funds to assure that it would be."

"But where was he?" Ianto asked, desperate for any new information about where his lover had been. Was he in the car park? Was he getting ready to go to Ianto? Was he hiding in a cupboard?

"He and his colleague Owen Hopkins were found in one of the stairwells, likely assisting with the evacuation," Stevens said.

"And the others on the team? Tosh and Suzie?"

"Ms. Tanaka and Ms. Rodriguez were unfortunately killed instantly in the secondary explosion."

Ianto sighed. "So none of them made it? No one he worked with?"

"I'm sorry, but no," Stevens answered.

"He always wanted to be a hero," Ianto murmured to himself.

"The authorities told me that where he was found and the position of his body indicated that he was directing others towards one of the fire exits."

Ianto sighed softly. He rubbed his hand over his eyes, feeling the tears burning at the edges again. "Oh, James, why? Why did it have to be like this?" he whispered. His voice cracked alarmingly. He let his hand fall back to the desk, two tears finding their way down his cheeks. Rhiannon and Stevens both offered him handkerchiefs.

It was the handkerchiefs that finally did it, and Ianto broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

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"It's funny," Ianto murmured, turning the small black velvet box in his hands over and over. "The last time I saw him, he said he wasn't ready for commitment, then joked about me moving in with him." He didn't look up when Billy sank onto the sofa next to him and squeezed his knee. Rhiannon, already on his other side, said nothing, her expression solemn. "And then I find these in the glovebox of his car," Ianto said, opening the box briefly to reveal the ruby cufflinks nestled inside. They were exquisite, clearly as expensive as the silver necklace Ianto wore, and formal enough for a white tie event.

Steve and Gary, sitting in chairs across from Ianto, gasped.

"I just don't know what to think," Ianto said sadly, snapping the box closed again. "He never wore red. He always said it was my color. He loved seeing me in red, so I have to assume they were meant for me, but I don't understand."

"He loved you," Gary offered into the silence. Ianto's head shot up in surprise.

"We could tell," Steve added. "Just by the way he looked at you," he explained.

"He never said…"

"Of course he didn't," Steve muttered. "You weren't ready to hear it, and he thought he'd scare you away if he said it."

"He was so happy that night," Ianto mused, looking at the cufflinks again. "When I told him I'd call him my boyfriend. He said he was proud to be my boyfriend, proud to have me as a boyfriend."

"He would've asked you to marry him if he thought you'd say yes," Gary said.

"What?"

"Look at those. That's a marriage proposal right there."

"What?" Ianto asked again.

"Would you have accepted a ring?"

"No," Ianto answered, his eyes riveted on the rubies.

"There you go," Gary said. "He'd have asked, when you were ready."

"I might never have been ready," Ianto said.

"Yeah, and he was ok with that," Steve put in. "He still loved you. He still wanted to be ready, just in case."

"He talked to you about that?" Ianto asked, surprised.

"No, but he's one of those old-school romantics. He'd have wanted to be ready."

"Old-school romantics?" Billy asked, speaking up for the first time. His voice was a combination of curiosity and skepticism.

"He brought flowers to their first date," Gary explained. "He sent chocolates when he fucked up. He took Ianto out, romanced him."

"Long walks, movies, museums…" Steve said. "The Needle… shopping… talking for hours on the phone every night…"

Ianto sighed. He glanced at the two boxes next to Rhiannon that he'd found in the boot of James's car. Stevens had said they held personal writings and items of sentimental value. He motioned, asking silently for someone to bring one over. He opened the first one and found ten years worth of diaries, hand-written, on expensive paper with leather covers. There were twelve books, each filled beginning to the end, except the second to last, which ended abruptly on May 17th, two days before he met Ianto, and the last, only partway full. Bracing himself, Ianto opened the last book and started reading aloud.

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'21 May, 2005, Saturday

You know when you meet someone, and you know they're important? Not in a 'this is the prime minister' kind of way, but important to your life? I think I met someone like that last night.

His name is Yanto…'

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Ianto threw the book back into the box, overcome. He wasn't ready to read about their relationship from James's eyes. Not yet. Not after losing him so recently.

"Holy shit," Gary breathed. "Is that —?"

"Looks like it," Ianto answered. "Get them away from me."

"You want them in your room?"

"Sure. Back of the closet. Thanks."

Ianto waited for Gary to return to open the second box. More papers, data disks, a first-edition of James's favorite book, The Time Machine, and several wrapped items made up the contents. Ianto carefully unwrapped the first, wondering what it would be. It was rectangular, but not heavy enough to be a book. He gasped as the packing paper fell away.

In his hand was a framed portrait of himself, smiling into the camera in a relaxed way. He recognized it as when they'd taken a day trip to the country, and James had produced a picnic seemingly out of nowhere. They'd eaten cucumber sandwiches, aged cheese, and paté, and drank white wine before making love on the blanket, right there in the middle of the field. Ianto had insisted that he be allowed to put his shirt on again before James took the picture.

The second picture was of the two of them together, arms around each other, matching shit-eating grins on their faces. It was from Ianto's birthday, taken in the lobby of the theatre, and they were both dressed to the nines, Ianto with burgundy accents, and James with blue.

The third and final picture was of them in Ianto's flat, taken when Ianto hadn't been paying attention. He sat on one end of the sofa, with James's head in his lap. They were staring into each other's eyes intensely. The affection between them beamed out of the photo, and Ianto could tell from James's expression that he felt like the luckiest man in the world to be lying right where he was. One of Ianto's hands was on James's head, his fingers threading through his hair, while the other was casually battling with one of James's.

"Yeah, um, I took that," Steve admitted. "You were in your own little universe and didn't even notice I'd done it." Ianto nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Tears burned at the edges of his eyes. Again. He felt like he was becoming one of those automatic crying machines he'd read about it a sci/fi book once. "Emailed it to him after he left, since I knew he'd like it."

"You look so happy," Rhiannon said.

"We were," Ianto whispered. "At least, I hope he was. I kept balking at every turn, not admitting what we had, not allowing myself to think about it, telling myself it was just sex when looking back it was always so much more, right from the start."

"Try not to feel guilty about it," Billy said. "It's hard enough to lose a lover, but to feel bad about your relationship like that…"

"I won't know until I read his diaries. He must have wanted me to read them, otherwise he wouldn't have left them to me, right?" Ianto asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Billy said. "It looks like he cared about you a lot. Like he loved you, as the guys are saying."

"I hope so," Ianto said. He put the picture on the coffee table next to the other two. "What's left?"

Gary handed him another wrapped item that turned out to be a model airplane. A spitfire, James's favorite.

"He used to say he could fly these," Ianto murmured, setting it on the coffee table and picking up the last package, a small tin box. "His grandfather flew them in the war. Loved his grandfather, he did. Always looked up to him. He was named after him, in fact." Inside the box was a tiny framed picture of a seated man who bore a striking resemblance to James, dressed in a formal suit, with the hand of his bride on his shoulder, a beautiful dark-haired woman in a wedding dress, flowers in her free hand. On the back of the photograph, a faded bit of pencil said, wedding, 1948. "James's grandparents," Ianto explained. "Though their clothing is quite a bit dated. Must run in his family, him wanting to be a WWII hero, and all."

Also in the box was a pair of Scottish dog tags from the WWII era, for J. H., a medal from the Queen, and several more photographs of men who looked like James with friends and lovers. Ianto closed his eyes.

"These are his memories," he murmured. "His family. And he's given them to me."

"He loved you," Gary said again.

"Yeah, I'm starting to believe it," Ianto replied.

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tbc in Chapter 50: James's Diaries