(Originally posted 09/10/14)
Chapter 21
-OOO-
Down
Ianto was getting sick of walking home alone devastated.
It seemed to be a journey he was making far too often these days. It seemed to be a journey he was making far too often since Jack Flaming Harkness had entered into his life.
No matter. This was a situation that could be easily rectified.
Go home. Stay home.
Never see Jack Manipulating Harkness again.
It was a simple plan. All the best ones were.
Down
Ianto readily gave up control of his body to his feet. They knew the path he needed to take. Rain or shine, they could cut through the city with lightening speed and dexterity, avoiding all the dodgy areas and unsavoury spots that Cardiff threw up with surprising regularity. They would protect him, even if he was incapable of protecting himself.
Ianto was grateful.
Down
Switching to cruise control meant that the Welshman's mind was free to wander. Seemingly blank it was actually whizzing and whirling so fast, that if Ianto had been stationary, one could be forgiven for thinking that he was trying to kick-start a vehicle of some sort. Look closely one might even see steam.
Down
Options, Ianto had so many options. His tried and tested knee-jerk reaction led him to his familiar neglected but not abandoned menu. It was a classic meal-plan, respected for a reason.
Hors d'oeuvres:
Wine. Everything in life flowed better with it. He would have to replenish his stock, recent splurges had depleted it somewhat; but this was hardly going to be a hardship. Ianto started to smile for the first time that day.
His feet took a left turn.
Down
While he was at it he may as well treat himself to some new knives. He had managed to blunt one or two during his last sitting. He wanted nothing but the best for this meal.
Pills. Ianto still had some strong sedatives in his barely used bathroom cabinet. The aftercare from Providence Park had been as thorough as it had been heavy-handed. Never had Ianto had a double prescription refused. He had supplies. It must be a sign surely?
Quickening his pace, Ianto resolved to take the time to colour co-ordinate the tablets for his last supper. Only the red ones would do. He might be feeling bereft, betrayed and emotionally battered beyond belief; but there was no need to forget that the eyes eat too.
Down
It had started to rain. Light barely there kisses of mildly polluted droplets, had mutated into huge, heavy, wet slaps of acrid aggression. The Welshman welcomed the change in temperament. He felt his emotions were being expressed meteorologically. Another sign surely?
Entree:
Ianto was a great believer in comfort food. When faced with great change, why hamper yourself with the added stress of the nouveau? If it ain't broke don't fix it, was his unofficial motto. Heeding his own advice, Ianto smiled to himself. This was going to be easy, a pleasure in fact. Matches and an accelerant were all he needed for his main course.
Ianto knew he was well known in certain quarters around town. He knew where to go to get the quantities he desired, rather than those legally prescribed. He knew no questions would be asked.
Down
Dessert:
Thoroughness was Ianto's watch word. If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well. There would be no second helpings. This would not be a buffet. There would be just the one sitting.
The final sitting.
Fill up once and be done.
If this meant going over old ground, so be it. Old wounds would literally be made new again. Healed scars would act as tracing paper, for the scars that would never need that process. Ianto would be his own Sherpa, following in his own footsteps, but this time, he was determined to complete his unhappy journey. The Welshman glanced down at his wrist, his previous handiwork only visible as intricate, silvery scars, if he tilted his hand the right way. His forearm forewarned his destiny.
He felt a certain sense of satisfaction concerning this.
Down
Deep down
Cafe:
Naturally, all formal banquets ended on this note. Ianto would no sooner leave this realm without tasting this elixir, than he would arrive at work naked.
Bare
Exposed
Vulnerable
Crushed
Ianto's feet paused in their quest. Briefly stymied in their mission. The Welshman shook his head forlornly and forced them to press on, this needed to be a done deal and soon.
-OOO-
Ianto's shopping trip was as quick as it was efficient. Usually he shopped like a girl, browsing the contents of his chosen emporium at his careful leisure. It wasn't uncommon for him to be offered refreshment, his stay was that extended in selected tailors around town.
Today was different.
Today he shopped as though it was his profession. Briskly, without distraction. No need for loyalty cards.
-OOO-
Ianto Jones staggered home, ladened down with his burdens. He briefly thought that he should invest in a trolley on wheels for next time.
What next time?
It was an idea considered, crumpled and thrown away, like the rest of the redundant receipts, he held in his hand. It was a moot point, booted into touch.
Down
Ianto made it to his room, having collected all the condiments he would need, from about his townhouse. He kicked the yawning door shut, with the heel of his boot. A thought made him pause.
This will be the last time I'll see the other side of this door.
The sentiment sent a shiver through his solitary heart.
Courage
Onwards
Down
The Welshman slumped down onto his bed, now optimistically adorned with a vibrantly red stripy duvet cover. Ianto struggled to remember when and why it was bought; at some point he must've been feeling playful, more upbeat, more hopeful?
At one point he had had more faith in his future.
In himself?
He must've been feeling happier.
At some point.
He couldn't think why.
Pause
-OOO-
Dotting every i and crossing every t, Ianto Jones set about laying his table. The best bottle imaginable adorned his spread. His finest crystal felt honour bound to grace his hand. He was going to go out in style. No frantic final moments for him.
Would he leave a note?
He pondered this.
No, if I was feeling that creative, I wouldn't be doing this in the first place.
No, he would leave his motives to the mythmakers.
Only Jack Libidinous Harkness would know the real truth anyway, and he didn't count.
Not anymore.
He counted out his hors d'oeuvres. One for every sentiment he had always held about himself.
Down
I'm worthless.
I'm dirty.
I'm shameful.
I don't matter.
I'm undeserving.
I've no right to be here.
Ianto could recite these statements by rote. They were stitched to his soul. They ran through him, like lettering through a stick of rock.
They were wedded to him, it was an unhappy marriage. He should have sought a divorce; but he'd never even tried.
Why not?
Pause
Ianto shifted uncomfortably on his bed.
Why hadn't he ever tried to save his soul? Why hadn't he made a bid for freedom? He cocked his head. In the furthest reaches of his brain's ballroom, he could hear a whisper, a rustle of discontent. It was as though the band had taken an impromptu break and was mumbling amongst itself.
Ianto tried hard to catch the words.
He put the pill bottle down.
You're charming
You're cherished
You're worthy
The Welshman was confused. What were these words doing in his head, he didn't invite them in? He swiftly turned around, was he truly alone, or was he being haunted by some hippy-dippy, feel-good ghost?
Pause
Ianto began to breathe more heavily. For the first time today he began to feel genuinely unnerved.
If only Jack were here.
No, he recognised that thought as his and he instantly rejected it. Jack Underhand Harkness was the reason he was in this mess. He picked up two pills, swallowed them dry and chased them down with a good glug of Chateauneuf du Pape.
Let the festivities begin.
Taking hold of his portable petrol can, Ianto traced the edges of his room with his newly acquired flammable friend. He made sure he didn't spill any on his boots. He liked his boots. He wanted them to burn last.
Taking a seat once again on the brightly coloured bedclothes, Ianto drew his feet up under him, (his father would have gone mad) he inhaled deeply. Sealed in as he was, it didn't take long for the trapped fumes to hit their mark. The Welshman wavered, he needed to stay focused, but that had suddenly become more difficult than he had anticipated. He needed to speed up.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
So he did.
Down
Breaking the seal on his new kitchen utensils, Ianto marvelled at the shiny steel that presented itself to him. He actually sighed over the beautiful craftsmanship he now held in his hands. There were four steak knives, the like of which he had never seen before, He wanted to keep them.
No matter.
Gliding over a groove that already existed from his previous steel-to-skin experience, Ianto readied himself to delve a little deeper into his wrist.
You're adorable
Pause
Ianto flinched. He whipped around and gave his door a hard stare. He definitely felt as though someone had just walked across his grave. He began to sweat.
I'm taking too long. Fate's getting impatient.
Hurry up.
So he did.
Using more of a stabbing motion rather than a slicing one, Ianto took aim at the area below his palm again.
You're magnificent
The whisper was more of a shout this time.
Pause
Ianto leapt up. He actually checked under the bed, to calm his nerves. The bogeyman was apparently too quick for him and Ianto rediscovered that he was still allegedly alone.
Down
Sinking to the floor, the Welshman sat crestfallen. Tears started to prickle his eyes.
I'm too useless, even for this.
I can't even end things, without acting like a scaredy-cat.
Deciding that a grand exit was the only exit worth having, Ianto reached into his pocket for his matches. He fumbled with the large family sized box he'd tucked away earlier. He grazed his thumbnail up and down the corrugated edge, to test its strength. All seemed to be in order.
Sliding open the drawer adorned with a swan, Ianto took out possibly the last object he would see with a sharp outline. He chose a flame-haired companion. He practised a final flourish.
It was all in the wrist – apparently.
Steeling his nerves, Ianto raised his hand again.
You're of value
Ianto dropped the unlit match.
Pause
His head hurt. It was actually throbbing now. Throbbing with the possibility that this might not be the only way forwards.
What if the voices were right?
What if he was worth something, to someone?
What then?
Pause
Ianto Jones shook his head vigorously. He was wasting time. He needed to get back on track quickly. He had a train to catch.
Only what if?
The young Welshman hauled himself up onto what was meant to have been his final resting place, and played Devil's Advocate.
What if I'm not the world's worst specimen?
What if somebody, somewhere could love me, does love me?
Is this what they would want for me?
Is this how I'd like to treat them?
Ianto Jones had never considered the possibility that he had mattered to anyone in the world. He'd always felt as though, his was the finger that could easily be retracted from a bucket of water. The ripples would close over his absence, and the water within would continue, as though he had never been. It was a shock to the system to consider that he may be missed, by someone.
It was an even bigger shock to the system to realise that he wanted to be missed by someone.
I am worthy
I do matter
I could love, someone, someday. Couldn't I?
Ianto Jones cleared a space on his overcrowded bed and lowered his head to his optimistically coloured pillow. The fumes in the room and the drugs in his blood were pulling down the shutters on his eyelids. He knew that this matter hadn't been settled by any means, but he knew one thing for sure.
He wanted to live to see another day, regardless.
Up
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