Loved and Lost
Title: Loved and Lost
Author:jovialien
Characters: Ianto, Owen
Ratings: PG
Warnings: Angst, Set at the end of Cyberwoman
Disclaimer: I don't own these boys. If I did I would have given them to the Moff.
Summary: Ianto has a choice about what happens next. But when the darkness has you, can you find the strength to find the right way out again?
Authors Notes: Written for likeitisntso for the help me get over my writers block prompt "Is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all". The original prompt was for Jack but he wasn't playing ball so you get Ianto instead. Hope you like it anyway!
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
Tennyson, In Memoriam
And that my hold on life would break
Before I heard those bells again:
Tennyson, In Memoriam'>Ianto looked up at the knock on his door, his heart pounding in his chest as he glanced at the simple wood. So. It was time. “It's open.”
The door opened smoothly, no creaking or catching on the carpet, no resistance from abandoned shoes or hanging coats. Perfect. Ianto hoped the next person to live here would appreciate that. It was certainly better than his neighbour's door, banging every morning at 630am sharp.
He wouldn't miss that. Of course, he wouldn't actually miss anything.
Ianto tried to hide his surprise as Owen stepped into the flat, face caught in that perpetual balance between sneer and grin, his own brand of sarcasm harsher than Ianto's own and somehow twice as deadly. Not that Ianto had dared to even talk recently, too afraid to get close to anyone, too afraid to let his guard down. Not that it mattered any more.
“I thought it would be Jack,” he said at last, watching as Owen came to join him at the small dining table. It was only tiny, half a table really, the other half flat and hanging against the wall, a concession to formality. Of course, when it had been him and Lisa, back in London, they would pull it out from the wall of their flat each night, slide the extra panel into place and dine off of whatever they could afford. With the right candle, the right music and the right company, even baked beans on toast could feel like dinner at the Ritz.
Owen sat down warily on the lightweight chair and sighed as he settled into it, placing a bottle of pills and a carrier bag wrapped bottle on the table between them. “Not the way it works. Our boss has a sick sense of humour sometimes, last one to get this choice gets to ask the next. I was last one to be offered it, so, my turn to do the dirty work.”
Ianto was tired, so very tired, and he ached with every cell of his body and soul, but he looked up, hooded eyes regarding Owen from behind red rims. “Choice?”
“Yeah,” Owen replied, “choice. There's enough Retcon in this bottle to wipe out your entire life. But,” picking up the bottle, he counted out the pills and pushed four towards Ianto, “right there is enough to wipe out the past two years. You would still know who you are, you'd still be Ianto Jones, anal retentive little sneak,” Ianto almost felt a smile on his lips at that. It hurt, splitting the side of his mouth. Just another ache to add to the list. “But you would forget this. Forget tonight. Forget Canary Wharf and Torchwood 1 and her-”
“Lisa,” Ianto whispered, his gaze dropping again as he ran a hand over his face before dropping it to the table between them. His knuckles were still bloody, raw. “Her name was Lisa.”
“Right,” Owen's voice lost its harsh edge, a softer tone Ianto rarely heard coming through. His doctor voice, Tosh had nicknamed it. “Lisa. Ianto, I-”
He broke off and Ianto looked up again, Owen's hand wrapping over his.
“Ianto, I know this bloody well hurts right now, and believe me, it's gonna get worse before it gets better. Question is, does it have to?”
“I betrayed Torchwood. The punishment is Retcon, complete and total Retcon.”
“Yeah, well Jack doesn't like that rule too much, got a soft spot for love fools, and you know what he's like. So, rules are bent. Something about you didn't know what you were doing-”
“I did know.” Ianto shook his head. “I thought I did anyway. I never thought she would...”
Owen pulled his hand back, and reached into his pocket again, pulling out another bottle of bills, dark green this time. “Whatever, I'm not your priest, I'm not here to listen to you confess or give you last rites. Look, point is, you've fucked up big time, but you've got a choice now. Three actually.” He put the new bottle of pills beside the Retcon. “You can forget everything,” he tapped the Retcon bottle, “start all over again, completely fresh, new family, new name, hell even new country. Just write any requests you have down and Jack'll do what he can to make it happen.”
“How nice of him,” Ianto's hollow voice replied, but his eyes were alert, following Owen's fingers.
“Or, you can just forget Torchwood,” he tapped the loose pills on the table, “The past two years, wake up tomorrow anew and go home, see your family, do whatever it was you used to do before all this. I dunno, join Starbucks or something and just have a normal, happy life with wife, 2.4 kids, the grandkids and all.”
The thought made him laugh. It was hard to explain, but somewhere in his soul he'd always known that wasn't an option. He didn't know why, couldn't put it into words, but it was just there, bone deep, a ticking clock in his soul that said, no, not for you. Everyone else, but not you, Ianto Jones.
“Or,” Owen tapped the green pills. “You remember it all. You take two of these every twelve hours and you sleep for a day or two. Maybe a week. In between, you scream and rage and cry and try to find a way to keep breathing. Then, when you remember how to get through a day, you come back to work and you give everything you have to Torchwood. No secrets, no holding back, just the job, day and night.”
Owen shrugged. “You put the same care and effort and loyalty you put into keeping her alive into keeping us alive instead. All of us.”
“Why should I?” Ianto looked into Owen's lively eyes, his own harsh and empty. “You killed her.”
“No,” Owen said softly, pushing back from the table and standing up. “The Cybermen did. A long time ago, she was dead a hell of a long time before we shot her. Now it's time to let her go. Question is, how much of her do you let go?”
Ianto looked at the table, at the pills and alcohol, and thought of how many times he had been tempted to switch off her life support and walk away. How many times he had watched her body, wracked with pain, and seriously wondered how much more she could take. How many times she had asked him to save her, to make it stop. How many times her tears had broken his heart.
How many times he had taken a gun from the armoury, carried it down to the depths with him and held it against her head, fighting for the strength to pull the trigger.
But then she would start to wake, and he would hide it, smile instead as she saw him, that smile lighting up her face before the pain kicked in. Before she remembered. But for those few seconds they were together, those brief snatches of the real her, it was enough to keep him going for another day, and another. How could he carry on without her now, with every day just getting worse and worse, alone?
If he forgot her, if he saved himself the agony, if he let her go now, who would remember her? If he forgot what he had done for her, and she for him, would that mean everything they suffered was for nothing? How would she still be loved if there was no one left to keep her memory alive?
And if he forgot himself, he may as well be dead, so why not just join her now?
Heading for the door, Owen didn't see Ianto reach out for the bottle, but he heard the rustle of the bag.
“And the vodka?” Ianto asked.
Smiling tiredly, Owen shrugged but didn't turn around. “Whatever you decide, figured it might help the pills go down easier.”
“Right.” Owen stopped by the door, hearing the rattle of a pill bottle. “How many of these would it take to kill me?”
“The green ones?” Owen's voice was deadly serious. “To be sure, take the whole bottle, but don't have too much vodka, don't want to puke them back up again.” Finally Owen turned back, watching as Ianto picked up both pill bottles, one in each hand, as though weighing them up.
“Owen. You said you had to make this choice too. Which did you choose?”
Owen laughed, a harsh sound, but not unkind, just tired. “What's that old cliché? 'It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?' Yeah, sounds good, hurts like hell in reality and to be honest is a load of bollocks most of the time. But sometimes...” Sighing, he stuck his hands in his pockets. “I lost someone once. I wasn't ready to lose them completely. So, I took the green pills. Just two. Every twelve hours.”
“How long?”
“Huh?”
“How long until you got over her?”
Owen turned back to the door and opened it quietly. “I'll let you know when it happens. Sleep tight, Jones.”
Author:jovialien
Characters: Ianto, Owen
Ratings: PG
Warnings: Angst, Set at the end of Cyberwoman
Disclaimer: I don't own these boys. If I did I would have given them to the Moff.
Summary: Ianto has a choice about what happens next. But when the darkness has you, can you find the strength to find the right way out again?
Authors Notes: Written for likeitisntso for the help me get over my writers block prompt "Is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all". The original prompt was for Jack but he wasn't playing ball so you get Ianto instead. Hope you like it anyway!
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
Tennyson, In Memoriam
And that my hold on life would break
Before I heard those bells again:
Tennyson, In Memoriam'>Ianto looked up at the knock on his door, his heart pounding in his chest as he glanced at the simple wood. So. It was time. “It's open.”
The door opened smoothly, no creaking or catching on the carpet, no resistance from abandoned shoes or hanging coats. Perfect. Ianto hoped the next person to live here would appreciate that. It was certainly better than his neighbour's door, banging every morning at 630am sharp.
He wouldn't miss that. Of course, he wouldn't actually miss anything.
Ianto tried to hide his surprise as Owen stepped into the flat, face caught in that perpetual balance between sneer and grin, his own brand of sarcasm harsher than Ianto's own and somehow twice as deadly. Not that Ianto had dared to even talk recently, too afraid to get close to anyone, too afraid to let his guard down. Not that it mattered any more.
“I thought it would be Jack,” he said at last, watching as Owen came to join him at the small dining table. It was only tiny, half a table really, the other half flat and hanging against the wall, a concession to formality. Of course, when it had been him and Lisa, back in London, they would pull it out from the wall of their flat each night, slide the extra panel into place and dine off of whatever they could afford. With the right candle, the right music and the right company, even baked beans on toast could feel like dinner at the Ritz.
Owen sat down warily on the lightweight chair and sighed as he settled into it, placing a bottle of pills and a carrier bag wrapped bottle on the table between them. “Not the way it works. Our boss has a sick sense of humour sometimes, last one to get this choice gets to ask the next. I was last one to be offered it, so, my turn to do the dirty work.”
Ianto was tired, so very tired, and he ached with every cell of his body and soul, but he looked up, hooded eyes regarding Owen from behind red rims. “Choice?”
“Yeah,” Owen replied, “choice. There's enough Retcon in this bottle to wipe out your entire life. But,” picking up the bottle, he counted out the pills and pushed four towards Ianto, “right there is enough to wipe out the past two years. You would still know who you are, you'd still be Ianto Jones, anal retentive little sneak,” Ianto almost felt a smile on his lips at that. It hurt, splitting the side of his mouth. Just another ache to add to the list. “But you would forget this. Forget tonight. Forget Canary Wharf and Torchwood 1 and her-”
“Lisa,” Ianto whispered, his gaze dropping again as he ran a hand over his face before dropping it to the table between them. His knuckles were still bloody, raw. “Her name was Lisa.”
“Right,” Owen's voice lost its harsh edge, a softer tone Ianto rarely heard coming through. His doctor voice, Tosh had nicknamed it. “Lisa. Ianto, I-”
He broke off and Ianto looked up again, Owen's hand wrapping over his.
“Ianto, I know this bloody well hurts right now, and believe me, it's gonna get worse before it gets better. Question is, does it have to?”
“I betrayed Torchwood. The punishment is Retcon, complete and total Retcon.”
“Yeah, well Jack doesn't like that rule too much, got a soft spot for love fools, and you know what he's like. So, rules are bent. Something about you didn't know what you were doing-”
“I did know.” Ianto shook his head. “I thought I did anyway. I never thought she would...”
Owen pulled his hand back, and reached into his pocket again, pulling out another bottle of bills, dark green this time. “Whatever, I'm not your priest, I'm not here to listen to you confess or give you last rites. Look, point is, you've fucked up big time, but you've got a choice now. Three actually.” He put the new bottle of pills beside the Retcon. “You can forget everything,” he tapped the Retcon bottle, “start all over again, completely fresh, new family, new name, hell even new country. Just write any requests you have down and Jack'll do what he can to make it happen.”
“How nice of him,” Ianto's hollow voice replied, but his eyes were alert, following Owen's fingers.
“Or, you can just forget Torchwood,” he tapped the loose pills on the table, “The past two years, wake up tomorrow anew and go home, see your family, do whatever it was you used to do before all this. I dunno, join Starbucks or something and just have a normal, happy life with wife, 2.4 kids, the grandkids and all.”
The thought made him laugh. It was hard to explain, but somewhere in his soul he'd always known that wasn't an option. He didn't know why, couldn't put it into words, but it was just there, bone deep, a ticking clock in his soul that said, no, not for you. Everyone else, but not you, Ianto Jones.
“Or,” Owen tapped the green pills. “You remember it all. You take two of these every twelve hours and you sleep for a day or two. Maybe a week. In between, you scream and rage and cry and try to find a way to keep breathing. Then, when you remember how to get through a day, you come back to work and you give everything you have to Torchwood. No secrets, no holding back, just the job, day and night.”
Owen shrugged. “You put the same care and effort and loyalty you put into keeping her alive into keeping us alive instead. All of us.”
“Why should I?” Ianto looked into Owen's lively eyes, his own harsh and empty. “You killed her.”
“No,” Owen said softly, pushing back from the table and standing up. “The Cybermen did. A long time ago, she was dead a hell of a long time before we shot her. Now it's time to let her go. Question is, how much of her do you let go?”
Ianto looked at the table, at the pills and alcohol, and thought of how many times he had been tempted to switch off her life support and walk away. How many times he had watched her body, wracked with pain, and seriously wondered how much more she could take. How many times she had asked him to save her, to make it stop. How many times her tears had broken his heart.
How many times he had taken a gun from the armoury, carried it down to the depths with him and held it against her head, fighting for the strength to pull the trigger.
But then she would start to wake, and he would hide it, smile instead as she saw him, that smile lighting up her face before the pain kicked in. Before she remembered. But for those few seconds they were together, those brief snatches of the real her, it was enough to keep him going for another day, and another. How could he carry on without her now, with every day just getting worse and worse, alone?
If he forgot her, if he saved himself the agony, if he let her go now, who would remember her? If he forgot what he had done for her, and she for him, would that mean everything they suffered was for nothing? How would she still be loved if there was no one left to keep her memory alive?
And if he forgot himself, he may as well be dead, so why not just join her now?
Heading for the door, Owen didn't see Ianto reach out for the bottle, but he heard the rustle of the bag.
“And the vodka?” Ianto asked.
Smiling tiredly, Owen shrugged but didn't turn around. “Whatever you decide, figured it might help the pills go down easier.”
“Right.” Owen stopped by the door, hearing the rattle of a pill bottle. “How many of these would it take to kill me?”
“The green ones?” Owen's voice was deadly serious. “To be sure, take the whole bottle, but don't have too much vodka, don't want to puke them back up again.” Finally Owen turned back, watching as Ianto picked up both pill bottles, one in each hand, as though weighing them up.
“Owen. You said you had to make this choice too. Which did you choose?”
Owen laughed, a harsh sound, but not unkind, just tired. “What's that old cliché? 'It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?' Yeah, sounds good, hurts like hell in reality and to be honest is a load of bollocks most of the time. But sometimes...” Sighing, he stuck his hands in his pockets. “I lost someone once. I wasn't ready to lose them completely. So, I took the green pills. Just two. Every twelve hours.”
“How long?”
“Huh?”
“How long until you got over her?”
Owen turned back to the door and opened it quietly. “I'll let you know when it happens. Sleep tight, Jones.”