Life and Love
I look out of the window of my office and see Ianto cautiously, nervously walk into the Hub. It’s the first time he’s been back since we found the cyberman…Lisa. He looks up at me and I give him a small nod. It’s all I can do for him. Legally, I should have Retconned him back to his preteens and sent him on his merry way, but I just couldn’t do that. I feel responsible. I should have gotten to know him better. I should get to know them all better, but especially him. He’d forced his way in here, wiggled his way in with the bribery of a pterodactyl. And now he’s completely broken emotionally, and it’s largely my fault. Canary Wharf started his pain. Losing Lisa. The real Lisa. But I ignored him and his pain so much that he was allowed to sneak its source right beneath my nose. Right below where I live. His eyes are so old, I’d forgotten how young he really is. It takes more than a couple of months to recover from such a loss, especially when it’s someone’s first.
The problem is that I’ve gotten used to it. It still hurts, but nowhere near as much as it did when I was young. Time has changed me, and yet I am physically unchanged by it. It has made me a harder person. Mainly so that I don’t kill myself, or drive myself insane trying, anyway. The grief would be terrible if I didn’t get used to handling it. I’m not used to being young and naïve and unused to loss. Before Canary Wharf, Ianto was all of those things. This has changed him. But all I could feel in response was anger. No empathy from me. Because I don’t remember what it’s like to have the feeling be so raw and all-consuming.
I sit down at my desk and poor myself a glass of whiskey. I don’t usually drink, especially when on the job, but I feel like I need it. I told him to kill her himself. He was right. I’m the monster. I can only hope that this loss doesn’t make him hard, like me. Because as much as the pain hurts, it’s worth it to just be able to feel so purely. I’m not sure any of my feelings are untainted by time anymore. My last real love was Estelle, and that was over fifty years ago. Before I had this greatcoat. I can only hope that Ianto won’t give up on life and love. He’s young and beautiful. He could easily find it again, when he least expects it. He just has to be open to it.
The problem is that I’ve gotten used to it. It still hurts, but nowhere near as much as it did when I was young. Time has changed me, and yet I am physically unchanged by it. It has made me a harder person. Mainly so that I don’t kill myself, or drive myself insane trying, anyway. The grief would be terrible if I didn’t get used to handling it. I’m not used to being young and naïve and unused to loss. Before Canary Wharf, Ianto was all of those things. This has changed him. But all I could feel in response was anger. No empathy from me. Because I don’t remember what it’s like to have the feeling be so raw and all-consuming.
I sit down at my desk and poor myself a glass of whiskey. I don’t usually drink, especially when on the job, but I feel like I need it. I told him to kill her himself. He was right. I’m the monster. I can only hope that this loss doesn’t make him hard, like me. Because as much as the pain hurts, it’s worth it to just be able to feel so purely. I’m not sure any of my feelings are untainted by time anymore. My last real love was Estelle, and that was over fifty years ago. Before I had this greatcoat. I can only hope that Ianto won’t give up on life and love. He’s young and beautiful. He could easily find it again, when he least expects it. He just has to be open to it.