Stimulus: Forget
Spoilers: None, I guess. Set during S1, though.
POV: Ianto (god I love that man)
Dedication: To… Amy, I think, (not that she will read this… she does not approve of my fixation will all things Torchwood, silly girl) for being such an awesome Not-Quite-Sister and being an all round superstar. Can't wait to see your name in lights :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood. Bare with me… It's a work in progress…
AN: Ooh… forgot to tell y'all to check out 'Models and Musicians' or whatever by Rietta. SO good.
-x-
He can't remember.
He can't remember the last time he laughed. He can't recall the last time he went out for a drink with friends. He can't even remember the last time he'd had a conversation with someone other than the man at the pizza place or asking someone if they wanted a coffee.
He can't forget.
He can't forget the way he'd felt himself changing – always changing – from the office boy with the personality and the smile and the girlfriend to the teaboy with the 'sir' and the grimace and the chains. He can't forget that bond between man and machine as he'd tried to scavenge what little of it – her – there was left.
He can't forget the way Jack had looked at him that time in the warehouse as they lay on top of one another by the side of the pterodactyl that he'd since grown to love.
And the best part – the worst part, too – is realising that that's the one thing he doesn't want to forget.