Ianto Wakes - Epilogue
A/N: Here we are with the final installment of the story. Enjoy!
PS: And, yes, a sequel is planned, though it's not written yet. :-)
Ianto stood by the door of his flat for five full minutes after the mysterious deliveryman left, staring down the hall the way he'd gone. He sighed and went back inside his flat, shutting the door and leaning on it, immeasurably tired all of a sudden. He felt lost, alone, weak, as if the smallest breeze would topple him to the ground. He wandered into the kitchen to put on the pot of coffee he had been going to get when the man arrived. Noticing the card in his hand, he sighed again and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans to deal with later.
No need to be keeping the phone numbers of random men, he thought. Not when I'm still having dreams about Jack. He was cute, though. He reminded me of someone. And those eyes! I don't think I've ever seen eyes like his before. They're so blue I could drown in them. And his lips… God, I'm getting hard just thinking about it. Fuck, what would Jack think that I'm checking someone else out?
Not that I have anything with Jack, anymore... he thought dejectedly. I fucked that up royally. No wonder he sent me back here. He probably wants nothing to do with me anymore.
If I could just remember what he looked like!
Coffee in hand, Ianto returned to the sitting room, figuring that looking at the packet from Torchwood would help him handle the undesired erection. Just looking at the envelope made him soft. He settled onto the couch and picked it up.
Seems innocuous enough, he mused, turning it over in his hands a few times, examining the logo. Not that anything to do with Torchwood is either innocuous or what it seems.
He slit open the flap and pulled out a sheaf of papers, all with the distinctive Torchwood watermark, though the header was new. He scanned the cover letter and the usual empty platitudes. "Deeply regrettable incident," "unfortunate situation," and "condolences for your loss" were interspersed with "survivor benefits," "monetary compensation," and "offer of employment." He paused, the mug halfway to his lips.
They're offering me another job? In Cardiff? I don't believe it! Why on Earth do they think I'd ever want to work for them? They killed just about everyone I know!
He turned to the second page, lamenting that whoever wrote the letter didn't have a better editor. Letters like this should always be on a single sheet of paper, his teachers taught him, and he agreed wholeheartedly. Glancing at the signature of the new Director of the Torchwood Institute, the man who had headed the Cardiff branch since the Millennium turned, the man Ianto couldn't put a name to for the last week, gave Ianto the shock of his life. There, in black and white, was the answer to his questions. There was the key to his memory loss and the mystery of "Jack."
The letter was signed: "Captain Jack Harkness" in the same elegant hand of the postcard in his diary.
"Jack" was Captain Jack Harkness!
I've been sleeping with the Director of Torchwood! And he offered me a job, with him, in Cardiff. Oh my God! Jack is Jack! That Jack! The Jack that's known throughout the Institute as a playboy and slut. Holy shit! I hope to God we used protection!
Before, he wanted to get me a flat and be his lover! What the fuck does it mean? What does he want from me? Does he want a relationship, like he said before? If so, why didn't he leave me a note? Why didn't he put something personal in here? Is he afraid I'd say no?
Shit, I can't say no, can I? I've got to go back to him. I've got to find out what I did. I've got to see if –
No. Calm down. Think this through. He's a smart man. He has reasons for everything he does. Why would he leave me such an impersonal job offer letter if he wanted to be with me again? He must be trying to contain the risk I pose being out in the world. But he Retconned me! He knows I won't remember anything.
Unless… Unless he read my diary and knows I'm sending it to myself and will have read it by now and have the potential to have my memory back.
Why would he go to all the trouble of Retconning me and bringing me back to London if he was going to offer me a job? Is this his way of saying he wants to start over? Have a relationship that starts without the lies and betrayals? But he knows them! He knows them all. Why would he want to be with me if I did whatever I did to him? Wouldn't he resent me for doing it, even if I can't remember it? Wouldn't that poison any chance at a relationship?
Ianto ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on it in frustration, the pain of it bringing a moment of clarity.
If he still loves me, and is willing to forgive me enough to offer me another job with him… I have to try. I have to give him a chance. I have to see if the spark is still there, even without my memories. If he's willing to risk it, shouldn't I be?
The me before Retcon wanted a second chance with him, wanted to do things differently. Maybe this is his way of offering me that option.
Now how do I get in touch with him?
Ianto re-read the letter, the platitudes no longer sounding fake because he knew the man who wrote the letter had feelings for him. There was no phone number or email. There was no way to contact him listed. He frowned. None of the Torchwood phone numbers or emails he knew had worked all week so he still didn't have a way to contact them. Looking through the rest of the papers, he discovered that a very sizable sum had been wired into his bank account. "Compensation" for loosing Lisa (and his job and all his friends,) the letter explained, given by the Crown.
Reading between the lines, he realized that Jack hadn't actually written the letter. It was produced by the Queen's staff, and simply signed by him. Which meant he probably had no control over what went into the envelopes. So of course Jack couldn't have left a personal note.
But how to find Jack? Do I have to go to Cardiff and wander around the Millennium Center until he notices me? That postcard has to be a clue. The Torchwood base has to be near there, otherwise he wouldn't have had it on him to leave me a note with.
Without access to the Torchwood servers, I can't email him internally. Does he know I'm locked out? Probably. Hell, he probably made sure I was locked out.
He stood and went to his bedroom where he threw himself on the bed and began rereading his diary, though he'd long since memorized it. (He'd also imagined what he and Jack could have done together, and fueled by his dreams, he managed to have more than a few excellent orgasms.) I had feelings for Jack, he thought. I had very strong feelings for him, and he had them for me, too. He might still have them. He might still want a relationship with me. But what do I want? I still can't remember a bloody thing about the man!
I say here that meeting him is "a rare shining moment in my overly dark life." I'm very clear that I'd do things differently, that I'd let myself love him, if given the chance. Jack seems to be giving me that chance.
But what if being with him, being near him, working for him again, what if all that breaks the Retcon and I remember everything? Will I be able to continue being with him, knowing what I did and how I hurt him?
It's all rather academic now. It's a story, something that happened to someone else. And since I don't know exactly what I did, I don't know how guilty I should be feeling.
I guess I could give it a day or two, then decide then what I want to do. See if any memories surface. But it's no use waiting, really. I know what I want to do. I know what I need to do. I made up my mind long ago, even if I don't remember making the decision. I have to find Jack.
How do I reach you, Jack? Give me a sign!
Ianto rolled onto his back and tossed the diary to the floor. The postcard slipped out and flew under the bed. He was rolling back to his stomach with a groan to reach for it when he felt a crinkling in his pocket. He pulled out the plain white business card the deliveryman had given him with a wink and a smile. The deliveryman with the wonderful eyes and mesmerizing lips that Ianto could practically feel on his cock. The deliveryman who seemed sad to say goodbye. He flattened the card and turned it over to expose the writing. Under a carefully printed phone number was a name.
He had his sign. He had his answer. Now all he had to do was find the courage to pick up the phone.