Chapter 6
The doors of the elevator slid open with a crisp "bing!" Jack walked out; followed by a curious John he did his best to ignore. He had tolerated the man so far but his patience was thinning. Taking a lonely key attached to a rabbit shaped keychain out of his coat's pocket, Jack stopped in front of a door marked with a shiny number 5. He slid the key in the lock, the trembling of his hands making the task a little difficult. He did not turn the key right away. He had never been to Ianto's flat.
Ianto had moved in the place a few weeks after he had joined Torchwood. The building belonged to Jack and upon knowing that the poor teaboy had been living in hostels for weeks, he had rented him the place for a ridiculously low price. In fact, he hadn't expected any money from Ianto, but the young man had insisted: he would not live off anyone's charity. Something in his eyes had quieted the usually augmentative captain. The place had been empty at the time and even after their relationship had evolved into something more than professional, Jack had never had the chance to come by and see what his lover had made of the place. In fact, Ianto had refused systematically to invite Jack. The latter had joked a lot about it, teasing the boy about gigantic inappropriate pictures adorning the wall of his flat. Ianto had always blushed uncomfortably at his lover's jest to the point where Jack had seriously wondered if he had been right on. At the moment, however, he cared little for such things. Taking a deep breath, he turned the key and pushed the door open a crack.
A strong hand pushed the door wide open. John, unnerved by Jack's circus of grief and lusting for the taste of his skin, walked by the object of his desire, his muddy boots leaving a trail on the otherwise pristine white tiled floor.
"Geez! The place is almost empty. Poor teaboy lived in an Ikea display!"
His last word had not yet echoed in the room that he found himself on his back, his head hitting the floor with a loud thud. Letting out a painful hiss, he looked up to see an angry faced Jack looking at him. He rolled on his side just in time to avoid the heavy muddy shoe that was aiming right for his face. He quickly got up on one knee, a hand behind his throbbing head.
"Have you lost it completely!"
Jack grabbed him by the front of his coat and slammed him against the wall.
"Get. Out."
His voice was low, calm. Even more frightening than the snarl on his face.
John puck his lips defiantly then raised his arms. Jack let him slide against the wall. John brushed the front of his coat and walked out, closing the door behind him. He heard Jack turn the locked and smiled smugly. The key was still in the lock.
Jack took a deep breath and removed his muddy shoes. The flat was actually a high ceiling studio with no divisions. He gingerly stepped up on the wooden floor, feeling as if he was intruding on someone's private life. He was surprised and also a bit annoyed to discover that John's comment was right on. The place, although decorated with good taste, was totally devoid of the personality of its inhabitant. To his left, he saw the small kitchen, all in whites, black and stainless. A blue kettle sitting on one of the burners was the only dash of colour in the room. Everything looked new, unused.
Everything except the barista.
Jack walked toward the counter to take a better look at the chrome machine. It had the luster of age yet it was spotless. Judging by its look, Jack judged it must have been made in the late forties. It was a real beauty. Jack sighed, remembering the taste of Ianto's coffee.
He then made his way to the bedroom which was only separated from the rest by a huge two sided bookshelf. The bed was made perfectly, the coverlet a deep navy blue and decorated with crisp white pillows and cushions. It looked soft and inviting but he dared not disturb it. Gigantic windows stretching across the whole of the wall to his right gave a great view of the city. Once again, like the rest of the apartment, they were spotless… almost. As Jack got closer, he noticed a greasy spot in the left farthermost glass pane. It was almost touching the frame and was a little higher than his eyes. Intrigued, he looked around on the floor and wall to see if there were similar stains. He found none. He sighed and leaned forward, his forehead touching the cold surface. Suddenly, he stepped back and looked at the window again. Yes! Of course!
Moving to the left, he tried to match his own forehead with the original stain on the glass. Then, he shifted the angle of his neck, trying to see what Ianto could have been looking at. He had almost twisted his neck to its limit when he caught a glimpse of it. It was the Wales Millenium Center, albeit a very small part of it, but there is was. Jack suddenly realized that it was the exact spot he liked to stand on when he wanted to watch the bay. He felt a poignant pang of sadness.
Not wanting to go there, he walked away from the windows to the closet. As soon as he opened the doors, Ianto's scent washed over him like a tidal wave of grief. He staggered and closed the doors, changing his mind. Sluggishly, he backed away until his feet were stopped by the base of the bed and he let himself fall back. A cloud of Ianto's scent instantly rose, suffocating him with solitude. He covered his eyes with his forearm, trying to ease the erratic beating of his heart.
"Why the hell did I come here?"
He swung his arm to his side and was about to get up when his eyes caught sight of something almost unbelievable. He propped himself on his elbow to take a better look. To his right, on the shelves, were lined close to a hundred identical little moleskin diaries. Ianto's diaries.
A whole life's worth.