Remember Me - Chapter 1 "Meeting Him"
Title Remember Me
Topic Torchwood
Main Pairing Jack/Ianto
Other Pairings 10th Doctor/Rose, 11th Doctor/Amy, Owen/Katie, Ianto/Lisa, one-sided Jack/John. That's all for now.
Summary The measure of immortality is taken in memories - and those that are left to remember. A simple story of the complicated life of Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones, starting at the end.
Rating PG-13 for minor suggestive content and, come on, it's Jack.
Genre Romance, fluff, angst,
Warnings Character death
Author's Note thanks to siriusdoctorwhohoney319 on fanfiction for being my beta. ^_^
"Meeting Him"
~ We were given: Two hands to hold. To legs to walk. Two eyes to see. Two ears to listen.
But why only one heart? Because the other was given to someone else. For us to find.
The breeze blew gently, slipping through the cracks between the tree leaves, whistling softly, proclaiming in cruel, joyful voices what a beautiful day it was. There were barely any clouds in the sky, the sun shining down on every inch of Earth's surface, warming everything it touched. The birds sang in wonderment of the perfect day, flitting to and from branches with ease. It was truly a magnificent day - nature could be so cruel.
For it was only the singing of the birds that graced the small caravan's ears as they slowly pulled up to the funeral home. No one wanted to enter, for each and every one of them knew exactly what would greet them on the other side of the door. More pale, tearful faces. A waxen corpse that would cement a horrible image in their mind of the final look of a man who had once been strong. A haunting hall that reeked of death and despair, the sounds of sobbing eternally echoing through the walls.
Yet they steeled themselves and entered, walking through the heavy doors and signing the guest book, the black ink looking ominous against the parchment paper. They would nod sadly to the nameless men standing by the door, milling about in the reception room, silently daring one another to take a peek inside the viewing room.
The dreadful room had been covered with flowers, each bouquet from another friend or family member or stranger who had heard of his passing and decided to send some kind of physical 'I'm sorry.' The bright colors did nothing to lighten the mood - if anything, it made the occupants feel even more desolate.
The coffin was magnificent, far too large to hold the body of the frail man, yet ten sizes too small to hold his soul. The lid was open, allowing those who were brave enough to take a quick look, scarring their mental image of the deceased forever.
The pictures of the man were large and deceiving, showing the happier times - his smile that blinded any who looked, even when it was copied on paper. Poses of him and his husband - laughing, smiling, kissing. Wedding photos, honeymoon snapshots, vacation memories. His books, those that managed to get published, sat on a table off to the side, open and willing, begging to be read, scared to be lost under all the grieving.
Next to the books, there were even more photos, all crammed into photo books, depicting his short life. Everyone noticed how the multitude of pictures drastically decreased as the dates became closer to his passing, yet no one said a word. They didn't want to see photos of him in his last days anyway; no one wanted to be reminded of what he had been turned into. No one wanted to live through that anymore.
Then finally, the mourners would approach the coffin and peek inside, unable to stop the flow of tears when they were hit with the sight. He looked peaceful at last; the pain that had been evident in his face for so long was finally gone. His face was pale and sunken in; there were dark rings around his eyes. Even though the corpse had been prepared for the viewing, there was no hiding how thin and frail he was underneath his clothes. His hands were bony and thin, clothes sunken in.
Some, when they approached, gave a small smile - they had known how much he had suffered in his last days, and were relieved for him to finally be somewhere that he could exist without pain. But everyone cried - silently, sobbing, screaming.
The low murmur of the room hushed immediately when the husband entered the room. The funny stories of the deceased died on the guests' lips, eyes trying to subtly watch the young man, but failing to be anything but obvious.
He walked slowly, unable to meet anyone in the eyes. He approached the coffin, leaning on the edge because he didn't have enough strength to stand on his own. He glanced inside and choked on a sob, tears cascading down his face as his pale fingers reached out to stroke his lover's face. The skin was cold and hard under his fingers, and he fought the urge to slide to the floor and never get up. His hand shook as it slowly made it's way down his deceased husband's arm, stopping to take his cold, lifeless hand, stroking the ring finger, where the wedding band was prominently displayed. It felt wrong, holding hands, but he couldn't let go - wouldn't let go.
"Love you," he whispered his voice shaky and cracking from the words. The room remained deathly silent.
Ianto remembered the first time he had ever set eyes on the man. It was half past noon, and he was serving a double shot espresso to I'm-always-late-woman at the counter. She had flashed his a grateful smile, but forgot to say thank you, barely having the coffee in hand before sprinting out of the store, more than likely on her way to a meeting that she was already late to. She came in every day at fifteen past and ordered that coffee - Ianto had grown accustomed to her and already had the order ready to go a few minutes before she was to arrive. However, she had been running even more behind than usual, and he had had to make a new one - the wasted coffee coming out of his pay. That was the last time he took initiative.
The woman, in such a rush, ran into a man that was entering the coffee house. She apologized; the words finished spewing from her mouth after she was already out of the door. The man had just chuckled in good nature and gave a small wave, dusting his shirt off and flashing a blinding grin before resuming his original goal of entering the store.
Ianto had caught the whole ordeal, and wasn't able to stop staring at the man. He was, in simple terms, gorgeous. Movie-star good looks - high cheekbones accompanied by suntanned skin, baby blue eyes, and hair that seemed to just want to help him look as sexy as possible. His tight white t-shirt and blue jeans weren't helping the matters either. The suspenders were a strange, but uniquely erotic addition, and Ianto was forced to lick his lips in order to get then moist again. The man also had a satchel thrown over his shoulder, the bag obviously carrying something of importance, his hand never straying far.
Then the unknown movie star turned his head and locked eyes with Ianto, his eyebrow raising and mouth forming into a cocky smirk. His eye moved in a winking motion, and Ianto felt his cheeks heat up rapidly. He coughed and blinked several times to cover-up his obvious staring, before turning and focusing the order that had just come through from the other cash register. Thoroughly humiliated, Ianto tried to draw out the order, hoping that the new man would leave him alone and thrust the other cashier under his spell. Ianto's hope was short lived however, when he turned around to find the man waiting patiently at his register. Damn.
Ianto shakily handed the mocha frap to the waiting customer and managed to give off a weak smile before turning back to the man who was waiting, inwardly cursing himself for his nerves. He was horrible around strangers, especially ones that tended to have attractive features.
"H-hello, how can I help you?" Ianto asked, stuttering over his first word before his brain caught up with his tongue. He mentally scolded himself for being such a wuss, catching the tips of his mouth before they turned down to that unhappy frown that his friends always claimed he wore when he was upset at himself.
"Hi there," the man said, his voice strong, washing over Ianto like a calm tide. "Just a regular coffee please, black - strongest you've got."
Ianto nodded and hurriedly pushed the buttons on the register, reaching for the proper size coffee cup then freezing, his addled brain desperately trying to remember what he was supposed to do next.
Name. Get a name. Right. He blushed then made a wild grab for the sharpie sitting on the counter. Ianto risked a glance into those eyes and wished he didn't, being on the receiving end of an amused grin. He coughed. "Right, name, sir?"
"Jack." The other man said simply.
Ianto quickly scribbled out the four letters onto the cup and set it to the side. Jack - it was a nice name, strong, simple, to the point. He liked it.
He forced himself once again to focus on the job at hand. He needed to take the money from Jack, then make his coffee - simple, right? "Um, that'll be 2.39."
He watched as Jack dug into his bag, frowning a bit as he took his attention away from the cash register to glare inside, his fingers unable to find what he was looking for by touch alone. A triumphant grin on his face, Jack withdrew his wallet, and counted out three single bills before handing them to Ianto. He took them and hastily made change.
"61 cents is your change." Ianto said, his fingertips briefly coming in contact with Jack's palm as he deposited the coins into the other man's hand. Ianto forced himself to turn away, and buried his thoughts into the process of making the best damn coffee he had ever created.
He immersed himself into his work, measuring out ingredients perfectly, and taking his time. He finished the brew and poured it into the cup, making final preparations as he snapped the plastic lid onto the top. Satisfied, he turned back to the counter, where Jack was still waiting patiently. Ianto outstretched his hand and gently lowered the Styrofoam cup onto the counter, not trusting himself to hand over the cup in the air - he would surely spill it.
Jack took the cup with a nod, and then leaned over the counter, closer. Ianto's heart skipped a beat and he opened his mouth to stutter out a question, but he was unable to form words. Jack withdrew as quickly as he had advanced, and gave a wink. "Thanks Jones, Ianto."
Ianto let out a breath that he didn't know he had taken. Of course - the man was only trying to read his nametag. He glanced down and let out a nervous chuckle. When he brought his gaze back up, he caught the retreating form of the man, coffee in hand. Ianto watched longer than was absolutely necessary and then shook his head and ran his shaky hand through his hair.
"I'm taking my break." Ianto said as the assistant manager glided behind him, intent on filling out an order for another customer. The woman nodded, and then continued with her job.
Ianto walked into the back room and took off his apron, replacing it with his jacket that hung on the coat rack. He weaved his way through the boxes in the back until he found the rear exit. The cold wind hit him in the face as he entered the outside world. He was the only one in the back alley, and enjoyed the silence as he dug into his jacket pocket. His fingers closing over the wanted article, he pulled out the carton of cigarettes and chose one at random, his other hand grabbing his lighter and flicking it open. He brought the fag to his lips and took a deep drag, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh of relief as the smoke calmed his nerves. He took a few more minutes to calm himself down, and then extinguished the cigarette. He really abhorred the habit, but it was the only thing that could successfully dissipate his nerves.
He ran his hand through his hair again and took a deep breath to steel himself before re-entering the coffee shop.
Topic Torchwood
Main Pairing Jack/Ianto
Other Pairings 10th Doctor/Rose, 11th Doctor/Amy, Owen/Katie, Ianto/Lisa, one-sided Jack/John. That's all for now.
Summary The measure of immortality is taken in memories - and those that are left to remember. A simple story of the complicated life of Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones, starting at the end.
Rating PG-13 for minor suggestive content and, come on, it's Jack.
Genre Romance, fluff, angst,
Warnings Character death
Author's Note thanks to siriusdoctorwhohoney319 on fanfiction for being my beta. ^_^
"Meeting Him"
~ We were given: Two hands to hold. To legs to walk. Two eyes to see. Two ears to listen.
But why only one heart? Because the other was given to someone else. For us to find.
The breeze blew gently, slipping through the cracks between the tree leaves, whistling softly, proclaiming in cruel, joyful voices what a beautiful day it was. There were barely any clouds in the sky, the sun shining down on every inch of Earth's surface, warming everything it touched. The birds sang in wonderment of the perfect day, flitting to and from branches with ease. It was truly a magnificent day - nature could be so cruel.
For it was only the singing of the birds that graced the small caravan's ears as they slowly pulled up to the funeral home. No one wanted to enter, for each and every one of them knew exactly what would greet them on the other side of the door. More pale, tearful faces. A waxen corpse that would cement a horrible image in their mind of the final look of a man who had once been strong. A haunting hall that reeked of death and despair, the sounds of sobbing eternally echoing through the walls.
Yet they steeled themselves and entered, walking through the heavy doors and signing the guest book, the black ink looking ominous against the parchment paper. They would nod sadly to the nameless men standing by the door, milling about in the reception room, silently daring one another to take a peek inside the viewing room.
The dreadful room had been covered with flowers, each bouquet from another friend or family member or stranger who had heard of his passing and decided to send some kind of physical 'I'm sorry.' The bright colors did nothing to lighten the mood - if anything, it made the occupants feel even more desolate.
The coffin was magnificent, far too large to hold the body of the frail man, yet ten sizes too small to hold his soul. The lid was open, allowing those who were brave enough to take a quick look, scarring their mental image of the deceased forever.
The pictures of the man were large and deceiving, showing the happier times - his smile that blinded any who looked, even when it was copied on paper. Poses of him and his husband - laughing, smiling, kissing. Wedding photos, honeymoon snapshots, vacation memories. His books, those that managed to get published, sat on a table off to the side, open and willing, begging to be read, scared to be lost under all the grieving.
Next to the books, there were even more photos, all crammed into photo books, depicting his short life. Everyone noticed how the multitude of pictures drastically decreased as the dates became closer to his passing, yet no one said a word. They didn't want to see photos of him in his last days anyway; no one wanted to be reminded of what he had been turned into. No one wanted to live through that anymore.
Then finally, the mourners would approach the coffin and peek inside, unable to stop the flow of tears when they were hit with the sight. He looked peaceful at last; the pain that had been evident in his face for so long was finally gone. His face was pale and sunken in; there were dark rings around his eyes. Even though the corpse had been prepared for the viewing, there was no hiding how thin and frail he was underneath his clothes. His hands were bony and thin, clothes sunken in.
Some, when they approached, gave a small smile - they had known how much he had suffered in his last days, and were relieved for him to finally be somewhere that he could exist without pain. But everyone cried - silently, sobbing, screaming.
The low murmur of the room hushed immediately when the husband entered the room. The funny stories of the deceased died on the guests' lips, eyes trying to subtly watch the young man, but failing to be anything but obvious.
He walked slowly, unable to meet anyone in the eyes. He approached the coffin, leaning on the edge because he didn't have enough strength to stand on his own. He glanced inside and choked on a sob, tears cascading down his face as his pale fingers reached out to stroke his lover's face. The skin was cold and hard under his fingers, and he fought the urge to slide to the floor and never get up. His hand shook as it slowly made it's way down his deceased husband's arm, stopping to take his cold, lifeless hand, stroking the ring finger, where the wedding band was prominently displayed. It felt wrong, holding hands, but he couldn't let go - wouldn't let go.
"Love you," he whispered his voice shaky and cracking from the words. The room remained deathly silent.
Ianto remembered the first time he had ever set eyes on the man. It was half past noon, and he was serving a double shot espresso to I'm-always-late-woman at the counter. She had flashed his a grateful smile, but forgot to say thank you, barely having the coffee in hand before sprinting out of the store, more than likely on her way to a meeting that she was already late to. She came in every day at fifteen past and ordered that coffee - Ianto had grown accustomed to her and already had the order ready to go a few minutes before she was to arrive. However, she had been running even more behind than usual, and he had had to make a new one - the wasted coffee coming out of his pay. That was the last time he took initiative.
The woman, in such a rush, ran into a man that was entering the coffee house. She apologized; the words finished spewing from her mouth after she was already out of the door. The man had just chuckled in good nature and gave a small wave, dusting his shirt off and flashing a blinding grin before resuming his original goal of entering the store.
Ianto had caught the whole ordeal, and wasn't able to stop staring at the man. He was, in simple terms, gorgeous. Movie-star good looks - high cheekbones accompanied by suntanned skin, baby blue eyes, and hair that seemed to just want to help him look as sexy as possible. His tight white t-shirt and blue jeans weren't helping the matters either. The suspenders were a strange, but uniquely erotic addition, and Ianto was forced to lick his lips in order to get then moist again. The man also had a satchel thrown over his shoulder, the bag obviously carrying something of importance, his hand never straying far.
Then the unknown movie star turned his head and locked eyes with Ianto, his eyebrow raising and mouth forming into a cocky smirk. His eye moved in a winking motion, and Ianto felt his cheeks heat up rapidly. He coughed and blinked several times to cover-up his obvious staring, before turning and focusing the order that had just come through from the other cash register. Thoroughly humiliated, Ianto tried to draw out the order, hoping that the new man would leave him alone and thrust the other cashier under his spell. Ianto's hope was short lived however, when he turned around to find the man waiting patiently at his register. Damn.
Ianto shakily handed the mocha frap to the waiting customer and managed to give off a weak smile before turning back to the man who was waiting, inwardly cursing himself for his nerves. He was horrible around strangers, especially ones that tended to have attractive features.
"H-hello, how can I help you?" Ianto asked, stuttering over his first word before his brain caught up with his tongue. He mentally scolded himself for being such a wuss, catching the tips of his mouth before they turned down to that unhappy frown that his friends always claimed he wore when he was upset at himself.
"Hi there," the man said, his voice strong, washing over Ianto like a calm tide. "Just a regular coffee please, black - strongest you've got."
Ianto nodded and hurriedly pushed the buttons on the register, reaching for the proper size coffee cup then freezing, his addled brain desperately trying to remember what he was supposed to do next.
Name. Get a name. Right. He blushed then made a wild grab for the sharpie sitting on the counter. Ianto risked a glance into those eyes and wished he didn't, being on the receiving end of an amused grin. He coughed. "Right, name, sir?"
"Jack." The other man said simply.
Ianto quickly scribbled out the four letters onto the cup and set it to the side. Jack - it was a nice name, strong, simple, to the point. He liked it.
He forced himself once again to focus on the job at hand. He needed to take the money from Jack, then make his coffee - simple, right? "Um, that'll be 2.39."
He watched as Jack dug into his bag, frowning a bit as he took his attention away from the cash register to glare inside, his fingers unable to find what he was looking for by touch alone. A triumphant grin on his face, Jack withdrew his wallet, and counted out three single bills before handing them to Ianto. He took them and hastily made change.
"61 cents is your change." Ianto said, his fingertips briefly coming in contact with Jack's palm as he deposited the coins into the other man's hand. Ianto forced himself to turn away, and buried his thoughts into the process of making the best damn coffee he had ever created.
He immersed himself into his work, measuring out ingredients perfectly, and taking his time. He finished the brew and poured it into the cup, making final preparations as he snapped the plastic lid onto the top. Satisfied, he turned back to the counter, where Jack was still waiting patiently. Ianto outstretched his hand and gently lowered the Styrofoam cup onto the counter, not trusting himself to hand over the cup in the air - he would surely spill it.
Jack took the cup with a nod, and then leaned over the counter, closer. Ianto's heart skipped a beat and he opened his mouth to stutter out a question, but he was unable to form words. Jack withdrew as quickly as he had advanced, and gave a wink. "Thanks Jones, Ianto."
Ianto let out a breath that he didn't know he had taken. Of course - the man was only trying to read his nametag. He glanced down and let out a nervous chuckle. When he brought his gaze back up, he caught the retreating form of the man, coffee in hand. Ianto watched longer than was absolutely necessary and then shook his head and ran his shaky hand through his hair.
"I'm taking my break." Ianto said as the assistant manager glided behind him, intent on filling out an order for another customer. The woman nodded, and then continued with her job.
Ianto walked into the back room and took off his apron, replacing it with his jacket that hung on the coat rack. He weaved his way through the boxes in the back until he found the rear exit. The cold wind hit him in the face as he entered the outside world. He was the only one in the back alley, and enjoyed the silence as he dug into his jacket pocket. His fingers closing over the wanted article, he pulled out the carton of cigarettes and chose one at random, his other hand grabbing his lighter and flicking it open. He brought the fag to his lips and took a deep drag, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh of relief as the smoke calmed his nerves. He took a few more minutes to calm himself down, and then extinguished the cigarette. He really abhorred the habit, but it was the only thing that could successfully dissipate his nerves.
He ran his hand through his hair again and took a deep breath to steel himself before re-entering the coffee shop.