Fic- The Captain and the Boy 52/65

[branwen_blaidd]

Title: The Captain and The Boy 52/65

Pairing: Jack/Ianto, Jack/Others, Ianto/Others

Ratings: Adult – graphic sex and some violence throughout

Spoilers: General spoilers for first 2 series

Summary: An AU version of Jack, Ianto and Torchwood. Some pre-series.

Disclaimers: I own nothing.

Notes: With thanks to oncomingscone and rowanheart24 for their glorious help! Comments make me write more. I hope you enjoy this. I’ve been working on this story for nearly a year and it’s finally finished. I’ve very proud of it and I hope it’s good enough for my lovely readers! This is a finished series and won’t be abandoned. I’m planning to post a chapter a day (at roughly the same time) until it’s finished

 

 

Ianto had been in his new job for a month. In that time, he’d helped Owen with a few cases and he’d been saving as much money as he could. It was Sunday and his day off. He was sitting in the kitchen reading the newspaper. Thomas was still in bed, having been out working late the night before. This was one of Ianto’s new rituals.

Sunday mornings, he’d get up early spend a few quiet moments with just him and God. Then he’d make some toast for breakfast and sit with a cup of coffee slowly reading the paper. He found comfort in his little rituals. He’d thought about making church a regular part of his Sunday ritual but he hadn’t had the nerve to go yet. He still felt too dirty to be a part of that world.

That morning, the front page announced that there was a serial killer on the loose in Cardiff. Billy the Backstabber they were calling him. Always stabbed his victims in the back and had never been seen by any witnesses. Owen had mentioned something about an increase in bodies recently. They used whatever bodies they could get hold of. Something about them being useful for testing certain technologies. Ianto had decided he didn’t want to know.

Thomas appeared in the kitchen doorway, yawning and dressed only in his boxer briefs.

“Morning,” he mumbled. “What’s the news?”

“Another serial killer about.”

“Well, as long as he leaves us alone this time.”

“Hmm.”

Thomas flopped down on his chair with a groan. “We need to get a couch.”

“What we need is a better flat. I’m saving.”

“Me too. Hey, Ianto.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get involved in trying to foil this serial killer, will you?”

Ianto smiled. “I won’t. I promise.”

                                                      * * *

It was late, pitch black out and Jack left the hub on his own. He left the SUV in its garage and moved through the city on foot. He didn’t have to think about where he was going. He just walked.

There he was. Cathay’s Cemetery. He’d followed her instructions for how she’d wanted to be buried. She’d had plenty of time to plan, after being ill for so long. He had gone to the funeral but it hadn’t given him any such thing as closure.

He entered the cemetery. Being so late there was nobody else there. He found her grave. The headstone was a pale grey, still unmarked by the weather. He could no longer see the joins of the turf they’d put down but there was no moss on the grave.

He stood in front of the grave and looked down at it.

“I don’t really believe you can hear me,” he said. “Owen says I need to say goodbye. I should be okay with this you know. It’s not like I’m not used to people dying. I damn well should be used to it by now.”

He looked away. He didn’t know what to say. He knew she wasn’t here. He knew she wasn’t anywhere. Not anymore. She was gone.

He left the cemetery. He felt restless, anxious and he didn’t know what to do with his feelings. Nine years. Nine years of his life with her, nine years of leading Torchwood with her and now it was gone. She was gone and everything had changed. He didn’t know how to be without her.

He found himself walking through the park. Trees surrounded him, shading him from the world outside. There was no sound around him but the gentle sound of the wind rustling the trees and the odd hoot or screech from the wildlife.

This whole area used to be countryside. He remembered it. He used to walk through this area with his wife. She’d died back in 1924. He still missed her. He still missed that life. But he went on. He was still himself, after all this time. He was still the person the Doctor had help him become. No matter what, he could still be that person. He was determined.

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