Ianto received the phone call two days after Jack left for London to conduct interviews for a new Torchwood doctor. It hadn't been unexpected—she'd been in failing health for months—yet it still knocked the breath out him, earning him a concerned look from Gwen as he'd hung up the phone.
"She's gone," he said with a small, tight smile.
"Oh, Ianto, I'm so sorry." Gwen gave his arm a soothing rub. "I know you were fond of her."
Ianto nodded. "They've asked me to see to her things. I'll go out there tomorrow."
Gwen rested her chin on Ianto's shoulder and gave his hand a squeeze. "Do you want me to go with you?"
"No, but I appreciate the offer. It shouldn't take long."
Her possessions had been few, all of the clothing and personal items having once belonged to someone else and showing the strain of age and use. The administrator had pointed out the boxes and shown Ianto to an empty room so that he could sort through their contents in private. He dismissed her with a nod and set about removing the items from the boxes, sure that he'd find nothing of value within and anxious to get the task completed before the expected snow began to fall.
Yet an hour later, he found himself still sifting through her things, fascinated with the person who was slowly being revealed. Ianto had met Christina late in her life, a life led almost entirely behind the walls of an institution, and while their many conversations over the past few months had covered a lot of territory, he'd had no time to discover what kind of inner life she'd been able to carve out of her dismal circumstances. Instead she'd become a most unlikely confidante for Ianto, her years as a psychiatric patient assuring that any confidences she might inadvertently pass on about alien invasions and misshapen beasties would be dismissed as the result of her psychosis.
It hadn't started out that way. Ianto's first visit to Providence Park after the Night Travellers incident had been an impulse, a reason to get out of the Hub for awhile and avoid Jack's accusing gaze. Jack had been furious with Ianto after discovering he'd given Gwen the GPS for Flat Holm and was making no effort to hide it, leaving Ianto open to Owen's merciless teasing and Toshiko's surreptitious glances of sympathy. Ianto had wanted to check on the lonely old lady anyway, and with the temporary frost that had descended over his relationship with Jack, he'd chosen that day to check on her.
She'd been surprised but pleased, clearly remembering Ianto from his previous visit. After asking about Jack—"the young man from nowhere"—she'd looked into Ianto's eyes and frowned, telling him that she still saw the shadows that had touched him, warning him to take care that they didn't return to steal him away.
Many more visits had followed and Ianto came to think of Christina as a friend instead of an obligation, finding in her someone more than willing to listen to what he could never share with anyone else, not even Jack. Or, more accurately, what he couldn't share with Jack without risking everything they'd built together. He told her how confused he was, how he feared that he had nothing to offer Jack that would tempt him to stay should the Doctor—or anyone else from Jack's past or future—return and give Jack the opportunity to put Torchwood behind him once and for all.
Christina, mostly untouched by the prejudices of the outside world, had been an avid listener and had encouraged Ianto at every opportunity to follow his heart. It was advice Ianto had yet to follow, even though the losses of Tosh and Owen had only served to bring he and Jack closer. Yet no words of love or commitment or a shared future had been spoken, and now, with Christina's passing, Ianto found that he'd lost so much more than a substitute nan—he'd lost the one person he'd counted on to be on his side, to indulge him in his often embarrassingly lovesick frustrations, to listen to his fears and dreams and hopes.
But it was the contents of the boxes more than the death of a friend that had brought unexpected tears to Ianto's eyes. Going through their contents, he realised that Christina had spent most of her days caught up in the romances she'd had to borrow from the world around her. There were scrapbooks filled with famous lovers cut from fan magazines, diaries filled with make-believe romances and bits of everyday life culled from the generations of hospital staff that had served Christina over the years. Reading through some of the entries, all of them written in a precise, schoolgirl cursive that had turned more shaky with the passing years, Ianto relived love stories both mundane and spectacular, some of them made up but many of them taken directly from the people who'd crossed Christina's very narrow path. Doctors, nurses, fellow patients and their families, it was a rich library filled with romance and heartbreak, happy reunions and unbearable losses. Christina had lived dozens of lives without ever leaving Providence Park but the last story she'd recorded had come from Ianto himself.
It was disconcerting, to say the least, to read his name amongst the very last entries in the newest of Christina's schoolgirl diaries. Having got used to her style of writing after hours of reading, he was able to decipher those last few pages that had been written so lightly in pencil that the words were almost translucent against the lined paper. At first it was simply a retelling of what Ianto had imparted over the weeks, the details filled in by Christina's vivid imagination. The last time he'd visited her before she died, Ianto had been determinedly upbeat, choosing to eschew any mention of his relationship with Jack in favour of more light-hearted tales involving what she'd come to know as his pet dinosaur. Christina had listened without the usual spark of interest in her faded blue eyes, her attention more drawn to her own arthritic fingers as they worried the edges of her wool blanket. Ianto had left early that day, his heart heavy with the knowledge that Christina's days were dwindling away in a mist of morphine-induced apathy.
But she'd surprised him in the end, apparently rallying enough in her last hours to work on her version of Jack and Ianto's story. It was improbably romantic and thick with sentiment, and yet somehow lovely and pure in its innocence. In Christina's version, based on Ianto's descriptions, Jack was a dashing hero, bearer of unimaginable burdens and safe-keeper of the world. Ianto was his faithful, intelligent, and slightly misguided companion, who seemed to be unusually dense when it came to the true feelings of his lover. That part had made Ianto smile, knowing it was fairly close to the mark. It was with a real sense of regret when Ianto came to the end of the diary entries as he realised that Christina had not had time to finish her story, and that her Jack and Ianto were as doomed to confusion and uncertainty as their flesh and blood counterparts.
Time had passed unnoticed whilst Ianto had been reading and as he looked up through the barred window, he saw that the promised snow had arrived, drifting through the thin patch of yellow light beneath the car park's nearest lamp post. He proceeded to separate Christina's things into three boxes—those items that could be donated, those that needed to be disposed of, and finally, one box containing all of her scrapbooks, diaries, and journals. He didn't know what he was going to do with them, he only knew that they deserved to be saved. The Torchwood archives were vast and one precious box of memories wouldn't take up much space at all.
He'd just loaded the box into the back of his car when his mobile phone rang. Hoping it was Jack, he suppressed a sigh when he read the caller I.D.
"Gwen, hallo."
"Ianto, sweetheart, are you coming back soon?"
"I have some errands to run and then I'm on my way. Are you all right?"
"Fine. Everything's quiet but it's late and I was getting worried." There was a small pause and Ianto closed his eyes, aware of what Gwen was really saying. "And," she continued brightly, "I'm hungry."
Ianto smiled to himself, a smile tinged with the sorrow that was never far away these days. "Ah, your true motive for calling. What would you like tonight? Is Rhys joining us?"
"No, it's bowling night. It'll just be you and me."
"Any dinner requests?"
"Mmm, Chinese sounds good."
Ianto grimaced as he climbed into the driver's seat. The snowfall was getting heavier and he wanted to be warm inside the Hub before the roads worsened. "How about Japanese instead? Or Korean, there's that new place on Hope."
They negotiated for a few minutes, Ianto finally giving in to Gwen's desire for mu shu pork with a warning that he was bringing back extra fortune cookies in retaliation. He accomplished his errands with his usual efficiency and within an hour was descending the invisible lift, snow dusting his shoulders and plastic bags redolent of garlic and sesame oil dangling from his fingers.
Expecting to see Gwen meet him at the bottom, he was surprised when Jack emerged from his office, looking tired but otherwise content, his eyes lighting up as Ianto stepped off the platform.
"A beautiful young Welshman bearing Chinese food," Jack teased. "This day may be salvageable after all."
Ianto set the bags aside and began to unbutton his coat. He was thrilled to see Jack home early but after spending so much time lost in Christina's rose-tinged version of their relationship, the robust and challenging reality of Jack Harkness was a little overwhelming.
"Sorry," he murmured, "I only brought enough for two but I won't mind sharing."
"What," Jack frowned, "no 'nice to see you, Jack, welcome home, Jack, here's a kiss, Jack'?"
"Sorry again. Welcome home. Any luck with the interviews?"
"Ianto."
"Yes?"
"What's wrong?"
"Why do you think anything's wrong?"
"Because in the two minutes we've been talking, you have yet to look me in the eye."
Ianto turned away from hanging up his overcoat and pasted a smile on his face, ignoring the look of worry in Jack's eyes. "Welcome home, Jack." Leaning forward, he brushed the corner of Jack's mouth with a kiss before turning his attention to the cooling Chinese food. "Where's Gwen?"
"I sent her home, told her she could have the night off."
Carrying the food up to the conference room, Ianto spoke over his shoulder. "That was cruel of you. Now she'll have to watch Rhys and his mates bowl all evening."
Jack followed Ianto, hands sunk into his trouser pockets and a frown gathering between his brows. "Apparently she's taking the opportunity for some recreational shoe therapy. Said she was going to phone some friends and make a night of it. I'll be disappointed if she doesn't show up tomorrow with a huge hangover and a pair of Jimmy Choo's."
"Jimmy Choo's on our salary? Good for her." Ianto busied himself with cartons and chopsticks, laying out two places on the table. "You didn't answer my question. How were the interviews?"
"Who the fuck cares?"
Startled at the uncharacteristic language, Ianto's gaze flew to Jack's face, dismayed but what he saw there. "What?"
"You heard me. Who the fuck cares? I want to know what's wrong with you."
"I'm fine," Ianto stuttered. "There's nothing wrong, nothing at all."
"Bullshit. I know Christina died, Gwen told me. You went out to Providence Park today, right?"
Feeling cornered, unable to grasp why Jack's early and unexpected return was so disconcerting, Ianto backed up step. "Yes, to see to her things and make arrangements for interment. I'd been her only visitor in years and she had no family, so they assumed I'd be the one to contact."
"What happened?"
"Nothing unexpected."
"Look, I know you're upset—"
"I'm not—"
"—but what I don't understand is why you're shutting me out all of a sudden. Have I done something wrong?"
Knowing what he felt was unexplainable, Ianto rubbed at eyes that felt strained from reading Christina's faint writing. "No, you haven't done anything wrong. My fault, it's been a long day." He gestured toward the Styrofoam containers of Chinese food. "Please, go ahead. I'm not really hungry."
He made to move past Jack, his intent to put as much space between them as possible thwarted when Jack grabbed him by the arms and gave him a light shake. "Hey," Jack whispered, "talk to me. If you've got a reason to go all tragic and enigmatic on me, then I have the right to know why."
"The right?" Ianto echoed. "Is that what you want, Jack? The right to know why I feel what I feel?"
Jack dropped his hands, concerned blue eyes searching Ianto's face. "I thought I already had that right. I thought we both did. Don't we?"
"I—I'm not sure." Ianto looked away, wishing that Torchwood business had kept Jack away just a little longer so that the unexpected wounds left by Christina's love stories would've had time to heal. "Some days I think we do and others—I wonder if I'm not expecting more from you than I have the right to ask."
Jack was silent for a moment, then reached up to stroke the back of his fingers down Ianto's cheek. "What the hell happened out there?" he whispered.
Ianto straightened his shoulders and for the first time, looked directly into Jack's eyes. "Jack, will you do something for me?"
"Anything," came the prompt reply.
"There's something I'd like you to read."
Ianto had no idea that he'd dozed off until he felt strong, talented fingers massage the tight muscles in his shoulders. Raising his head from the conference table, he looked up blearily into Jack's amused face, grimacing as a knot was found and summarily dispatched.
"Why didn't you go downstairs and rest?" Jack asked quietly. One hand still rubbing Ianto's shoulder, he took the seat beside him. "Would've saved you a stiff neck."
"Last thing I remember," Ianto said, blinking to clear his eyes, "was thinking that a dinner made up entirely of fortune cookies isn't exactly nutritious."
Jack chuckled. "Did you find any good fortunes?"
"Let me think." Ianto closed his eyes and moaned when Jack's fingers found a particularly tight spot. "There was one about trusting my intuition because the universe was guiding my life."
"Well, that's pretty unhelpful. What else?"
"Hmm, oh, yes. A grand adventure awaits me if I am willing to turn the corner."
"We'll save that one for later tonight. Any others?"
"The usual one about a journey of a thousand miles beginning with a single step."
"Oh, that old crap. Lao Tzu wasn't exactly the most fun guy to be around but he sure did have a way with words."
Ianto's appreciative grin faded as he opened his eyes to look at Jack. "Are you finished?"
"Yes." Jack nodded and leaned back in his chair. "She had quite the talent for purple prose, didn't she? Mills and Boon would've been proud."
"She did seem to be enamoured of happily ever after."
"Yeah, I noticed that." Jack got to his feet and motioned for Ianto to follow him. "C'mon, get your coat."
Ianto stood up and glanced at his watch, startled to see it was half past eleven. "Where are we going? I can reheat the Chinese food if you're hungry."
Jack was already on the move. "I got it, thanks," he said. "I grabbed a couple of bites about ten minutes ago."
"Why didn't you wake me?"
Jack turned but kept walking backwards, hands held out from his body. "I didn't want to wake you because you're so damn cute with drool on your lip. Let's go, get your coat, I want to show you something."
Minutes later they were standing in the deserted, snow-dusted Plass, the pale light of a half moon fighting its way through thinning clouds. It was cold but not unbearably so, making Ianto glad he'd left off his gloves when Jack took his hand to guide him to the middle of the street beside the Millennium Centre. Turning Ianto to face him, Jack gathered Ianto's other hand and pulled them up between them, fitting them securely between their bodies.
"Look up," Jack commanded softly. "What do you see?"
Obediently, Ianto looked skyward. The lights of the city were bouncing off the low clouds above and reflecting off the coating of snow below, bathing the night in cool shades of ivory and grey.
"Clouds," Ianto murmured. "A hint of the moon, a star or two trying to peek through. Not much else. Why?"
"Know what I see?" Jack's voice was pitched low and, to Ianto's surprise, more than a little shaky around the edges. "I see all the places that I can never take you, all the worlds that I can't ever share with you, things so beautiful they'd make you cry with pleasure just by being near them and I can't show any of that to you. Not one damn thing."
Ianto lowered his gaze to look at Jack. "I don't care."
"But I do!" Jack shook Ianto's hands. "I do, because all of that, all of that terrible beauty and horror and adventure, all those worlds, their sights and sounds and smells – they're all a part of me, a part of me that I want you to know."
"I do know you, Jack," Ianto protested. "How could I not, after everything we've been through these past three years? Do you think I need more? Do you think I need promises or declarations of undying devotion? Because I don't. I never have. All I've ever wanted is your honesty."
"Then listen to me very carefully," Jack continued, and Ianto's stomach began to churn, believing Jack's words to be a prelude to platitudes he didn't want to hear. "It was never my intention to hurt you by holding back any part of me. And that's what I'm trying to tell you now. You want honesty? Well, how about this: you own me, Ianto Jones, body, soul, and every black and broken thing in between. You have since the day I returned to find you facing down a wired up blowfish with a suicide wish. It may have taken me a little while to work it all out, but eventually I understood that giving up the universe is a small price to pay for whatever it is we can have together."
"Jack—"
Jack placed his finger over Ianto's lips. "Shh, let me finish. There's one thing I know for sure and that is that I cannot give you a happy ending, no matter how much I want to. Hell, Ianto," he said with a bitter laugh, "I can't even promise we'll make it to see the next sunrise, but I can promise you that every moment we do have, I'll never again give you reason to doubt me."
Ianto swallowed hard, reeling from the implications of a declaration he'd never expected to hear. Tugging one hand out of Jack's grip, he laid his palm against Jack's cold cheek. "It was never a matter of doubting you, you know that. I wanted you to read Christina's story because it could tell you what I never had the courage to say out loud."
Jack rubbed his nose against Ianto's. "Can you say it now?" he whispered.
Ianto shrugged. "Simple, really." He closed his eyes and leaned into Jack's arms. "'Entreat me not to leave you,'" he quoted quietly, "'nor to return from following after you. For where you will go, I will go.'" Voice breaking, he paused, then pressed his mouth to the curve of Jack's ear. "I rather imagine you know the rest."
Jack didn't answer verbally, instead placing his mouth to Ianto's in a fervent, searching kiss. Ianto lost himself to the kiss and the feelings it expressed, his hand sliding beneath Jack's coat and around his waist as Jack's arms enfolded him in the warmth of an all-encompassing embrace. They remained like that for a while, sharing gentle kisses amidst soft, self-concious laughter and furtive caresses that grew more daring until Ianto finally broke away with flushed cheeks and bright eyes that belied the encroaching chill of midnight and the snow that was beginning to fall once more.
"Come home with me," Ianto said, "you must be exhausted from your trip."
"You think I'm sleepy after all that?" Jack gave him an incredulous look as he tucked Ianto's hand into the crook of his elbow to lead him back toward the Hub. "Are you kidding? No way, now it's time for make-up sex."
"But we didn't argue," Ianto pointed out. "This was hardly more than a momentary lapse into sentimentality. Not exactly what I'd deem worthy of make-up sex."
"Hmm, I see your point. Then we'll just have to improvise, won't we?"
"Words that strike terror into my heart, but if you insist."
"Have I ever told you how much I love your ability to adapt?"
"Not that I can recall."
"Wow, I really need to work on my communication skills, don't I?"
"It's really not my place complain."
"Yeah, right. Like that's ever prevented you before."
And so it went, back and forth, all the way back into the depths of the Hub so that Ianto could retrieve his keys. Their plans to continue on to Ianto's flat were interrupted when Jack caught Ianto around the waist and nipped at his ear, resulting in a certain moan from Ianto that ended up delaying the walk home but not the reconnection they both needed. Later, with misbuttoned shirts barely tucked into trousers and coat collars tucked high around throats bearing the telling marks of lavishly applied affection, they took the short walk to Ianto's flat and spent the rest of the night indulging in a more leisurely demonstration of the feelings they'd shared earlier.
Two days later, they stood shoulder to shoulder as Christina was laid to rest, their gloved hands briefly finding one another before they turned to leave the cemetery. Ianto would always mourn the gentle woman with the sad blue eyes who'd come into his life in the midst of a greater tragedy. He'd also make sure that her improbable stories of love and devotion were kept safe amidst the flotsam and jetsam of alien detritus that drifted through the Hub, his last service to a woman whose life had intersected his with such profound results.