Ianto Wakes

by Gracefultree

A/N: Here's a little drabble that found its way into my brain last night. Do you like it? Should I continue?



Ianto woke with a pounding headache behind his eyes and an ache in his backside that he couldn't explain. He looked around his flat groggily, wondering why he'd fallen asleep on the couch. Lisa hated it when he slept on the couch, even if it was because he didn't want to wake her with a nightmare. His eyes fell upon a newspaper laying on the coffee table next to an empty bottle of scotch. No glass, though, he noticed. He must have drank straight from the bottle. He sighed and picked up the paper.


The headline screamed at him, bringing him back to the reality that Lisa was gone, dead, just like all his colleagues and friends. Memories of fire and blood slammed into him. His stomach clenched painfully and he barely made it to the loo in time to hurl the contents of his stomach into the basin. Not that there was much. He clearly hadn't eaten the night before.

Later, when the dry heaves and tears stopped, Ianto got up and washed his mouth out. He looked at himself in the mirror and didn't recognize himself. Gaunt and pale, with huge dark spots under his eyes, he looked like death warmed over. Just like he felt, he mused.

It took another three hours for Ianto to muster the courage to leave the flat. Showered and dressed in jeans and a simple black jumper, he wandered the streets of London until he found himself in front of the massive crater that had once been Torchwood Tower. In front of the crater, a memorial had been erected, and he walked over.

Made of black marble, with the names of the dead carved in gold, the monument towered eight feet tall, reminding Ianto of the Tower itself. Flowers and candles and stuffed animals littered the ground at his feet. He ran his fingers over the names, tears falling at all the familiar ones. There it was — Lisa Hallett.

Tears sprung to his eyes and he fell to his knees, sobbing.

Somehow, he made it home again, his eyes dim. It was a month since the tragedy, and Ianto had no memories of that time. What had he been doing? The doorbell rang. Returning to the sitting room with a small package, he sighed. He must have gone to Cardiff, he thought, since he'd mailed himself the package from there. Opening it, he found his leather-bound diary, a new one, with only a single entry.

I've never wanted to kiss a man more than I wanted to kiss Jack in that moment, he read. So I did.