Gone in the Morning (TW SA)
Title: Gone in the Morning
Rating: pg?
Summary: Jack's gone again; it's not a surprise really. Ianto was expecting him to go.
Characters/Pairing: Ianto. Jack/Gwen/Tosh/Owen mentions.
Disclaimer: the characters all belong to RTD and the BBC, etc, I don’t own them
Author’s Notes: set after the end of S2, a 'what if' I suppose; slightly AU as well? I'm never sure how this stuff works officially! Anyway.. set after S2, and Jack's disappeared again.
Title is a title of a Newton Faulkner song, 'Gone in the Morning'.
There was some old film on that Ianto wasn’t the least bit interested in watching, but he had left the TV on anyway. He liked the company and the sound of the voices. It helped that they weren’t ones he knew. They were just anonymous, he liked that. It made it seem like there was someone there, just someone talking. It made him feel like he wasn’t so alone - it helped him forget for a little longer that he was alone.
He stood at the sink in his small kitchen scrubbing away at the same pan, trying furiously to get rid of one stubborn mark. He liked the therapeutic motion of it, something to concentrate on.
He thought for one brief moment, as he paused, that he heard his voice, the familiar American booming tone; no, just the TV. Just the TV he reminded himself; always just the TV.
The thing was, Jack had gone, again, just disappeared.
Gwen had retreated into her own world, with Rhys, and the two barely crossed paths except for those long hours stuck at the hub, suddenly just the two of them trying to get everything done, in near silence. Gwen had got Rhys in - he didn’t blame her - and he helped when he could, not just with lightening the atmosphere, but on the whole it was down to Gwen and Ianto.
Ianto had created a meaningless routine for himself, one that he could follow day after day and not think about. It was easier that way.
He didn’t like to think about the idea of being alone. He didn’t like the way in the films they emphasised it so much; no, the way he saw it was you just had to get on with life and learn from it. He had just lost person after person that he cared for, and he didn’t like that. They all left him and he didn’t like to question why. So that’s why he was stood at the sink scrubbing hard at one piece of stubborn dirt on this saucepan. He would still be doing it he thought even if it wasn’t there. He was determined to do something because once he sat down and actually watched the TV, that’s when he would break. It was just background noise.
The water in the sink was growing cold and he eventually let it out, leaving the pan to drain at the side. He watched the water disappear down the plug hole and picked up a tea towel.
The days and evenings were slow. At least when he was at the hub he had more to occupy himself with. All those menial tasks that he could throw himself into. But he hated it; almost as much as he hated being stuck in that flat.
He couldn’t bear to be at the hub longer than he had to. For all it had come to represent it was a living nightmare.
Tosh gone, Owen gone, and now Jack.
And Ianto was angry with him, angry for leaving when he didn’t have to. Tosh and Owen had had no choice and Jack had. It wasn’t fair. Ianto had taught himself to despise the self-centred man over the weeks. It made it easier, to hate. Why should he love someone who kept leaving him?
Jack had said he would never go again and he had. A man of broken promises.
He kept the TV on as he went into his bedroom and loosened his tie, pulling it off from round his neck. He put it carefully on a hanger, with his jacket - old habits took a long time to die. And, in his defence, he liked the suit, it made him feel right for the job, a job he still took seriously, of course he did, he had to. And what was wrong with a little bit of neatness? It was all about routine. The TV voices filtered into the room, quietly filling the room in a pleasant way that made the flat seem not as lonely or big.
He lined his shoes up with the others along the wall, making sure they were in a neat line. His excuse was that he needed them in a sensible place in case of an emergency. Not that there was anyone really to justify it to now. No one cared. What Ianto Jones did was Ianto Jones’ business. And that, Ianto was finding, was much easier. He was the one who had to live with it after all.
And if this was how every day was going to be Ianto thought that he might just be able to survive. He would be able to understand this one day.
And maybe, just maybe, he would come back. There was always hope. Hope never faded.
He shook his head, pushing those cruel thoughts from his mind. Ianto was past hope and that perhaps. Perhaps wasn’t good enough.
He now stood in front of the TV, still in his suit trousers and shirt, briefly watching the moving figures and then there was silence. The little flat hummed quietly to itself and Ianto felt a sudden weariness hit him, as if the routine had grown old and tired. He couldn’t go on doing this, day after day, playing what was in effect a waiting game.
No, the time for waiting was over. It was time to move on with life and live it. No matter where Jack Harkness was. He was gone. There was no point waiting around for a man who was never there.
Rating: pg?
Summary: Jack's gone again; it's not a surprise really. Ianto was expecting him to go.
Characters/Pairing: Ianto. Jack/Gwen/Tosh/Owen mentions.
Disclaimer: the characters all belong to RTD and the BBC, etc, I don’t own them
Author’s Notes: set after the end of S2, a 'what if' I suppose; slightly AU as well? I'm never sure how this stuff works officially! Anyway.. set after S2, and Jack's disappeared again.
Title is a title of a Newton Faulkner song, 'Gone in the Morning'.
There was some old film on that Ianto wasn’t the least bit interested in watching, but he had left the TV on anyway. He liked the company and the sound of the voices. It helped that they weren’t ones he knew. They were just anonymous, he liked that. It made it seem like there was someone there, just someone talking. It made him feel like he wasn’t so alone - it helped him forget for a little longer that he was alone.
He stood at the sink in his small kitchen scrubbing away at the same pan, trying furiously to get rid of one stubborn mark. He liked the therapeutic motion of it, something to concentrate on.
He thought for one brief moment, as he paused, that he heard his voice, the familiar American booming tone; no, just the TV. Just the TV he reminded himself; always just the TV.
The thing was, Jack had gone, again, just disappeared.
Gwen had retreated into her own world, with Rhys, and the two barely crossed paths except for those long hours stuck at the hub, suddenly just the two of them trying to get everything done, in near silence. Gwen had got Rhys in - he didn’t blame her - and he helped when he could, not just with lightening the atmosphere, but on the whole it was down to Gwen and Ianto.
Ianto had created a meaningless routine for himself, one that he could follow day after day and not think about. It was easier that way.
He didn’t like to think about the idea of being alone. He didn’t like the way in the films they emphasised it so much; no, the way he saw it was you just had to get on with life and learn from it. He had just lost person after person that he cared for, and he didn’t like that. They all left him and he didn’t like to question why. So that’s why he was stood at the sink scrubbing hard at one piece of stubborn dirt on this saucepan. He would still be doing it he thought even if it wasn’t there. He was determined to do something because once he sat down and actually watched the TV, that’s when he would break. It was just background noise.
The water in the sink was growing cold and he eventually let it out, leaving the pan to drain at the side. He watched the water disappear down the plug hole and picked up a tea towel.
The days and evenings were slow. At least when he was at the hub he had more to occupy himself with. All those menial tasks that he could throw himself into. But he hated it; almost as much as he hated being stuck in that flat.
He couldn’t bear to be at the hub longer than he had to. For all it had come to represent it was a living nightmare.
Tosh gone, Owen gone, and now Jack.
And Ianto was angry with him, angry for leaving when he didn’t have to. Tosh and Owen had had no choice and Jack had. It wasn’t fair. Ianto had taught himself to despise the self-centred man over the weeks. It made it easier, to hate. Why should he love someone who kept leaving him?
Jack had said he would never go again and he had. A man of broken promises.
He kept the TV on as he went into his bedroom and loosened his tie, pulling it off from round his neck. He put it carefully on a hanger, with his jacket - old habits took a long time to die. And, in his defence, he liked the suit, it made him feel right for the job, a job he still took seriously, of course he did, he had to. And what was wrong with a little bit of neatness? It was all about routine. The TV voices filtered into the room, quietly filling the room in a pleasant way that made the flat seem not as lonely or big.
He lined his shoes up with the others along the wall, making sure they were in a neat line. His excuse was that he needed them in a sensible place in case of an emergency. Not that there was anyone really to justify it to now. No one cared. What Ianto Jones did was Ianto Jones’ business. And that, Ianto was finding, was much easier. He was the one who had to live with it after all.
And if this was how every day was going to be Ianto thought that he might just be able to survive. He would be able to understand this one day.
And maybe, just maybe, he would come back. There was always hope. Hope never faded.
He shook his head, pushing those cruel thoughts from his mind. Ianto was past hope and that perhaps. Perhaps wasn’t good enough.
He now stood in front of the TV, still in his suit trousers and shirt, briefly watching the moving figures and then there was silence. The little flat hummed quietly to itself and Ianto felt a sudden weariness hit him, as if the routine had grown old and tired. He couldn’t go on doing this, day after day, playing what was in effect a waiting game.
No, the time for waiting was over. It was time to move on with life and live it. No matter where Jack Harkness was. He was gone. There was no point waiting around for a man who was never there.