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He hadn’t meant to find it. Between packing personal possessions into cardboard boxes and crying into suit jackets, Jack hadn’t expected to come across yet another thing to tear his heart into pieces in Ianto’s flat.
When he’d been alive, Jack had respected Ianto’s privacy, he’d spent a lot of time in the other man’s small but functional flat but had never dared to lurk or snoop - a lot of the time they were too preoccupied with each other anyway. It feels strange to be invading Ianto's life like this, but Jack supposes it doesn’t matter now.
But there it is - not even hidden, just tucked in the top draw of Ianto’s bedside table.
A small, velvet box.
Jack runs his fingertips over it, knowing exactly what’s inside. There’s a few photos and a piece of paper underneath, crumpled from use, like Ianto had folded and unfolded it. He picks up the box in one hand and the piece of paper in the other, carefully opening it up.
There’s familiar writing, Jack’s eyes burn with fresh tears, lines have been crossed out, re-written, re-worded and refigured. Ianto Jones’ handwriting has distinctive curls on certain letters, it makes Jack’s heart throb against his ribcage like he’s dying.
Jack,
You’re everything to
I’m sure you can see where
We’ve been together
I’ve never been good at putting words together, we both know that. So I’m hoping that if I write it down first, perhaps I might say what I need to in the right order - I really don’t want to mess this up.
I love you. That’s obvious , I think, from the current situation.
There’s a lot I want to say, Jack, so much and I’m not sure either of us will get a moment’s peace so I can say it. But I can try.
You mean everything to me, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know you can’t do the same for me, but I think I can be happy growing old if you’re by my side.
This job is mad, and terrifying, and sometimes I think I’m crazy, but every time I doubt myself I look up and you’re right there in front of me, smiling or laughing, joking about something completely inappropriate. I shouldn’t love it, but I do.
You once told me that everyone is broken, and I think you’re right , but I think over these past few years you’ve healed me a little, the dark days aren’t as often, I find myself enjoying small things: the Hub before anyone else gets in and you’re still asleep, the first sip of coffee in a morning looking across the Bay, that moment you see me in a morning and I feel like the only person on Earth . You did that. You made me feel like everything is going to be okay - better than that - I feel so loved.
I want to keep fighting aliens, chasing Weevils, decoding weird languages, seeing the world - but I want that with you by my side, properly , for as long as this job will let me.
I’ll even change my surname if you want that
If you say no, I completely understand. I know you’ve been married in the past and it must be hard. But to give me some meaning, my small life , to make me feel like you belong to me - will you do this for me?
From that first night when you took down that pterodactyl, to after Suzie died (quite the aphrodisiac it would seem) , to you dying, coming back and then leaving and everything between then and now - I think we’d be fantastic.
What I’m trying to say is, will you marry me, Jack?
There’s a date and a time scrawled at the bottom.
Bully’s Restaurant
Romilly Cre.
CF11 9NP
8pm / 24th July
Tomorrow.
Jack sinks to his knees, thumping heavily on the carpet, he holds the note to his chest; it crumples slightly and he frets for a second, smoothing it back out again. He falls with his back against worn bedsheets and the base of the bed, gasping sobs like he can't draw air. Jack feels grief tear him open like a wound, sadness pours out of him instead of blood, every pore bleeds suffering and he hurts like the last two weeks haven't passed, like his world is freshly collapsing inwards.
“Ianto ,” he whispers between convulsions of misery.
He’s not sure how long he sits there for, it could be hours or just a few minutes, but eventually his face aches from crying and the tears grow cold on his cheeks. Sniffing, he pockets the letter and heaves himself onto the edge of the bed from the floor. The velvet box still in his hand. He takes a deep breath, feels anguish rise like bile in his throat and opens the small box.
The ring inside isn’t anything special to look at, it's silver and slightly angular around the edges. It sits shining and proud in its holder, gleaming at its new owner. Jack smiles wetly - trust Ianto to keep it simple. But then he notices something on the inside - a small engraving.
Ti a fi am byth
6 months ago
“Ianto, I’m bored.”
Ianto rolls his eyes “Don’t worry, I’m nearly done, just got to get some premixed grouting,”
Jack chuckles and peers up another aisle “Mmmm… talk dirty to me on a Sunday afternoon in B&Q,” he teases half-heartedly.
“Come on, trouble, the sooner we’re done here, the sooner you stop being a pain in my arse,” Ianto shifts the basket from one hand to another to accomodate for the weight and walks up a different aisle. Jack notices some home decor and veers off in a different direction, lured by bright colours and things that probably shouldn’t sparkle and be considered tasteful.
Ianto finds the grouting within thirty seconds and heads to the checkout, he gets to the end of the aisle and looks around.
“Jack?”
“Ianto! I’ve found something!” Jack says proudly from behind him.
Ianto tips his head back and takes a long breath “What is it this time?”
He turns to face his boyfriend.
“Look!”
Ianto feels his eyes assaulted as he looks at the canvas Jack is holding - lettering stands in mixed media although mostly rhinestones and glitter, the background is probably the most horrenhouse rainbow ever created.
“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, smiling at Jack’s incredulousness “trust you to find it,”
“It’s gross, right?!” Jack says loudly and an old lady nearby gives him a disdainful side-eye “if I bought it, would you put it in your flat?”
“You’re kidding? Never. Never ever,” Ianto says flatly and Jack laughs.
“It was worth a try,” he says nonchalantly “what does it mean?”
“Uh, it means ‘You and Me Forever’,” Ianto says, a tad awkwardly, eyes looking over familiar lettering - he knew it from every single Valentine’s Day card, teddy bear and Facebook post he’d ever seen in his 25 years.
Jack dashes back into an aisle and puts it back whilst Ianto queues up to pay. He reappears without any more art, thank god, Ianto pays the cashier and they make their way back to the SUV.
“You and me forever?” Jack says, there’s a half smile on his face “I like it,”
“It’s just some wank the card companies make up to sell to clueless partners for Valentine’s Day,” Ianto says, putting the keys into the ignition and firing up the engine.
“It’s simple though, gets the point across,” Jack says, shrugging “it’s just you and me forever, Ianto,”
He holds out his hand.
Ianto smiles and takes it, letting Jack press a kiss to his knuckles, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Jack pulls the ring out and slips it onto his wedding finger, it fits perfectly - what else had he expected?
He closes his eyes and pretends that the past month was all a dream, that Ianto’s in the kitchen making lunch with the radio playing, the smell of coffee and toast, maybe a fried egg. Jack thinks of how one week managed to steal all of the goodness in his life and his shoulders shake. He imagines Ianto popping his head around the door. He imagines it’s Saturday, the day after Ianto had planned to propose.
“You okay?”
Jack would have nodded and fiddled with the ring on his finger.
“Not having second thoughts, are you?”
He’d assure Ianto that there’s no one and nowhere else he’d rather be.
“Good, lunch is nearly ready, come on you big lump, lay the table for me,”
Jack opens his eyes to see a dark, empty room, limp clothes strewn across the floor, boxes half full, his ears hear nothing homely, there’s no music, no other person in the kitchen.
He touches the ring on his finger.
“There was never any doubt my answer would be anything but yes,” he says, because he feels like he needs to. Because if there’s a ghost in this flat, he needs to be assured.
The words settle on the bedroom floor, the sound of sirens can be heard faintly in the distance and Jack pulls his phone out of his pocket.
To: Gwen
I thought I could do it but I can’t. (23:46)
Jack rattles around the flat turning the lights off, Ianto hated any kind of waste.
He takes one last look around the flat he used to know so well, and flips open his vortex manipulator. Jack takes a breath and punches in a few numbers, he looks at the ring catching the dim light from outside - he presses the final digit.
And disappears in a burst of blue and orange light.
5 ½ months later
Jack doesn’t mean to come back to Earth. In fact it’s the last place he wants to be.
But as soon as his feet touch the concrete of the Bay he feels pent up anger, self-loathing and sorrow blossom in his chest. It’s early morning by the looks of it, maybe five or six, the wind whips his coat around and feels like fingers carding through his hair. Jack takes a deep breath of cold, Welsh air.
His manipulator trills and he looks down at it, his eye catching on the ring he’s yet to take off.
“Rift activity,” he mutters, voice gravelly with lack of use, he punches in a few numbers and the manipulator beeps at him in annoyance.
Rolling his eyes, the morning sun making them sting a little, he pulls out a battered phone and checks out the location on Google, a few suggestions pop up. The top result catches his eye.
For One Final Weekend Only!
11th, 12th and 13th December 2009
The House of the Dead Inn
CF15 8DP
Come and connect with those who have passed over in the oldest pub in Wales!
Tickets available at cardiffcouncil.events.co.uk
He wipes his hand across his face with exhaustion. There’s a small spark of hope in his chest, but he extinguishes it, squashes it - because he can’t have that kind of hope, it’s not allowed.
Copying the postcode into his manipulator, he takes a look around the Bay and disappears once more, uncaring of being seen by anyone - it takes too much energy to care.
Jack’s feet hit gravel and he buckles, looking up at the pub in front of him, and swallows thickly, tiredness weighs heavy in his shoulders. He approaches the pub, takes the front door handle and pushes firmly.
A woman’s voice seeps through the door “... I see him coming. It’s a soldier.”
fin