Disclaimer: BBC owns Torchwood. I'm just writing a story for fun.
Spoilers: Post CoE
Summary: Jack visits Ianto's grave
Author's Notes: If you leave a review, thanks. Concrits are always appreciated. If you don't, that's fine, too. I hope you enjoy.
X X X
Even the stars refused to shine in the inky night. The moon hid behind motionless clouds and the air stood silent in the graveyard. Only hints of light swept like an aching shadow from street lamps.
Sitting cross-legged on the freshly plotted grass, Captain Jack Harkness inhaled the smell of fresh-turned earth and stared at the gravestone in front of him. It seemed so surreal that his companion – his lover – lay dead beneath him. Yet he did, and Jack hadn't a clue what to do or say. Even more so, he didn't know why he'd made the trek to visit.
It had been easier with his grandson. Jack had waited a couple of weeks, watching as his beautiful dark-haired daughter had faithfully climbed the slow slope to kiss the angel's headstone every evening. For that's what Steven had been. An angel. A beautiful, fair-haired child who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time and paid the ultimate price at Jack's hands.
While his tears had silently slicked down his cheeks and onto the statuette of the winged creature over the grave, Jack had finally been able to murmur words of love and compassion. However, the growing guilt and grief had eventually overwhelmed the Torchwood leader, until he'd stood, adjusted his navy overcoat, and turned on his heels. With a single glance behind, he'd headed across the city to another place. A more complicated place he'd yet to visit.
"You lied to me about your father. He wasn't a master tailor," Jack murmured, tipping forward to caress the carved marble with his fingertips.
The cool surface felt welcome – almost inviting. For a moment, he wondered what it would feel like to well and truly die. He hoped to hell that Ianto hadn't fallen into the dark pain Jack felt with his every death.
"Don't get me wrong," he continued. "I understand."
And he did. Ianto had been so damn young when he'd come to Torchwood. His start had been shaky, but the young man had earned his place. Even Owen's snarky attitude had failed to drive the 'Tea Boy' away. Instead, Ianto's consistency had worn a path forever carved in the Hub. Tosh would probably find that statement intriguing and attempt to find a worn path – most likely between the boardroom and the coffee maker.
"You didn't need to lie about your father. Your family."
Jack closed his eyes, let his mind drift a bit, and let fatigue he didn't know he could feel sink deep to join the grief. What could he possibly say? What would do justice to a man willing to give his own life to save those around him? What would Ianto want?
Together, alone in the hub or Ianto's flat, honesty would be laid bare. Jack had known from the start that the younger man felt confused. Simple looks and hesitation often betrayed the false confidence in Ianto's actions. But they continued onward, giving and taking in turn. In the dark, with nothing between them, lies could never exist. Because together in the dark and sated heat, comfort was found.
And in this, Jack found his answer.
Rising slowly, he let his jacket slide from his shoulders to the ground. After pulling down the elastic straps from his shoulders, he impatiently tugged at shirt buttons. Tossing the blue shirt to the ground, he pulled the undershirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested in the cool night. Stripping the rest of the way, he kicked everything to the side and stood naked.
Laying down on the Earth, letting his bare chest, pelvis, and legs rest against the soft sod, he reached a hand out to rest his fingertips on the gravestone.
Laying his cheek on his bicep, Jack let his eyes drift closed and spoke.
"You made me feel things I hadn't felt in an era. I've loved before and been better for it. I don't know if I'll love again," Jack said, and then sighed. Rolling onto his side, his fingertips never leaving the roughly carved 'I' on the headstone, he inhaled deep and curled into a spooning position. With one hand outstretched, he used the other to stroke the soft grass as he continued – as if he could feel Ianto under his palm.
"You hid a lot of yourself. As did I. How often we've both been hurt," Jack stated. More softly, he said, "It never mattered, though. I wish I'd told you what it meant to be with someone who looked at me and saw nothing more than a man. Nothing more than me."
With closed eyes, Jack let out a long breath. He might not need sleep, but a touch of peace passed through him, curled up as Ianto slept the long sleep below.
X X X
From the driver's seat of her car, Rhiannon Davies watched the tall man don his clothing, and lay down on her little brother's grave. When she'd seen him walk through the gates, she'd stayed put in her car instead of starting the engine and driving away. Something about the look on his face as the dim street lamp illuminated her face had given her pause. Long enough to watch the man approach her brother's grave.
Then she knew the identity of the visitor.
Captain Jack Harkness hadn't attended the funeral. She'd never seen the man. Gwen Cooper, Ianto's co-worker, had said Jack wasn't handling it well. He'd locked himself away.
"So you're the famous Captain Jack," Rhi murmured, watching him shift. A lamp ten feet away from where Ianto had been laid to rest cast a faint shadow across Jack's face, and she felt her breath hitch. Pain twisted his features as his lips moved. Speaking. To her brother.
He'd loved Ianto. Dear heavens, whether they'd consciously known what they meant to one another or not, they'd loved each other. She'd seen it in Ianto's eyes and heard it in his voice.
And somehow it made Ianto's death – although not acceptable – a little easier to handle.