Jack lay in bed, fingering the stopwatch. He felt the gears moving beyond his finger tips. A sick melody tinkling along in the back of Jack's head. Ten seconds passed, and then fifteen, and then twenty. Ianto was dead. So many were dead. Jack could feel the smiles glinting in his mind's eye. How could they be dead? He just saw them. Just held them. Just touched them. Just loved them.
But they were dead. He was dead. Ianto was gone. Ianto wouldn't bring him coffee. Ianto wouldn't glare at him for flirting. Ianto wouldn't fix his suspenders. Ianto was dead. Ianto was cold. Ianto was in the ground, and Jack knew first hand he was hardly eating grapes in paradise. There was just blackness where he was. Just fear and hatred and loneliness. Ianto was alone.
Jack couldn't cry anymore. The tears had been pulled from him. They wouldn't come. Instead it felt like his brain was beating itself against his skull. His mind was too much for his body and his skin crawled over the bones and muscles like a straight jacket, keeping him in.
He smashed the watch. He threw it across the room. He stomped on it. He dismantled it. He stared down at the broken symbol of his lover, at the broken symbol of time, his keeper. It was useless. The twisted song tinkled on in the back of his mind, second after second. Time could not be smashed.