this could be the very minute i'm aware i'm alive ; open to capnhotness
( when you feel the world is crashing all around your feet, come running headlong into my arms, breathless ... )
Reconciliation.
Not with anyone (save perhaps himself), but with this entire thing. The year that never was; at first, it had been easy enough to ignore it. Everything had reset ... that made it all better, didn't it? He'd been wrong about that, of course, just like he'd been wrong about so many things. It's like the eraser mark left behind after a mistake is removed from paper - and yet it hadn't struck him, not fully, until he saw Jack again. Then it'd been like a slap to the face, the definitive wake-up call. Running home to Newport, back to the comfort of family, had felt stranger still, but the entire experience had been strangely cathartic. None of them remembered anything, of course, and Ianto was grateful for it - he would never want them to remember that nightmare-world.
Returning to London is almost painful. The familiar drive takes longer, because Ianto takes his time, enjoys the scenery and everything he'd previously allowed himself to become numb to; he curses at the traffic and listens (and maybe sings along) to bad radio stations, ranging from Bowie to the Who. When he finally reaches home and steps out on the curb, he feels strangely light-hearted. When was the last time, he reflects as he grabs his bag from the boot, that he felt this way?
Ianto holds the leash of a struggling canine-Jack in his mouth while he fishes for his keys, then lets himself inside. For the first time in months, the house doesn't feel so empty.