More Richer Than My Tongue, Chapter 1
Title: More Richer than my Tongue - Chapter 1
Rating: This section PG-13, spots of NC-17 later on.
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Notes, credits: Huge thanks to my betas invisible_lift, who saved me from my punctuation tics and helped untangle my POV furball, and blackbird_song, who fussed over my show vs. tell balance and also worked on the furball. That POV thing is a bitch. Much love also to definehome who coached me through the trouble spots when it all stopped seeming worthwhile to me. Alright, yes, I depended on a lot of people for this one. But I branched out here, and I needed some hand-holding. All quotations are from King Lear.
Summary: This fic is my exploration of the Jack/Ianto relationship post-Cyberwoman. The boys have some issues, to say the least, so I sent them away from the world, stuck them in a tent, and rained on them. This section is 2716 words.
*******
CHAPTER 1
If but as well I other accents borrow,
That can my speech defuse, my good intent
May carry through itself to that full issue
For which I razed my likeness. (Lear 1.4)
Jack had become something of a fixture in Ianto’s life during his suspension. He visited daily, took Ianto out of the house occasionally, and talked about nothing, which seemed to be Ianto’s favourite topic of conversation at the moment. It wasn't much, but it was something. After two weeks of constant attention, Ianto had come back from the brink. A bit.
Tonight, Jack had brought take-away Persian food, and they had had a conversation about the repellent table manners of several alien species. Granted, it had been a somewhat one-sided conversation, but Ianto had contributed an anecdote or two involving his drunken Uncle Leonard and a memorable Christmas dinner. It was - well, it was stilted and uncomfortable, as usual.
As Jack was pulling on his boots and preparing to go back to the Hub, Ianto said, "I'm going to the seaside tomorrow and the next day. Maybe the day after that. I'm just telling you so you know where I am. I'm not doing a runner, and I have no designs on throwing myself off a cliff."
Jack looked up from lacing his boots. "Thanks for letting me know. And the police thank you, because I would have completely abused my position and demanded that they drop everything and find you.” He stood up. “It also saves me the embarrassment of having the police tell me they found you in a nice inn, where you were enjoying a massage and a good meal."
"Tent.”
"Tent?" asked Jack, with some confusion.
"Tent. I'm going camping."
"Isn't it a little cold?"
"September is an excellent time for camping. No crowds.” Ianto pulled Jack’s coat out of the closet and thumbed the collar as he continued. “And I like camping. It lets me think. Fire, rock to sit on, tent. Drink tea, eat beans, stare at the sea. Walk on the beach. It’s all very simple."
Ianto's eyes were distant, but not unfocused like they had been lately. There was a glint of something that Jack wouldn't call happiness, not by a long shot, but as Ianto contemplated the tent and the sea, there seemed to be a tiny lessening of the millstone of grief he has carried around lately.
"Where are you going?"
"Three Cliffs Bay. My family used to go every summer. I like it there. It gets a bit overrun during the summer, so I don't go much anymore, but mid-week like this, this time of year, it will be all but abandoned."
Ianto held Jack's coat by the shoulders, and as Jack shrugged it on he tried to picture a younger, carefree Ianto, and found that he couldn't do it. 'Carefree' had been off the menu since Canary Wharf; maybe earlier.
Jack turned to face Ianto and spoke before he could consider the etiquette or wisdom of the request. "Can I come?"
"Camping?" Ianto looked deeply surprised.
"I - “ Jack shifted his feet. “It sounds like - “ He faltered. “I'd like to come."
"It's an hour's drive away. You won't be able to take a cab back if the alarms go off," Ianto protested.
"The Rift is in a quiet period. I don't need to be on call."
"I promise you I'm not going to hurt myself,” Ianto assured him.
"I know," Jack said kindly.
Ianto's eyes narrowed. "I don't plan on talking about my feelings."
"Yeah, 'cause I'm usually so big on that."
Ianto exhaled, and furrowed his brow. "I'm going up there to be quiet. I like to walk and watch the tide go in and out. I'm not making conversation."
Jack waited.
Ianto waited and then nodded. "I leave at 8."
"I'll be outside at half-seven."
Ianto paused. "Wear good shoes. Warm clothes. The site is on a clifftop by the sea."
"Got it."
"My tent sleeps two, but bring your own dishes."
Jack smiled, and turned to go. "See you in the morning."
*******
At a quarter to eight, Ianto opened the door to his garage and navigated himself, his duffel, rucksack, and his tent through it. As he lumbered towards his car, he heard Jack's voice call out a cheery "Good morning!"
I really, really hope he understands what 'not making conversation' means. "Morning."
Ianto loaded his and Jack's things into the trunk. Apparently Jack did understand, because he made not one comment about how long it took Ianto to get the perfect arrangement of items in his trunk, nor how many times he unloaded and reloaded them in a different configuration. So far, almost no one had managed to keep impatient and teasing comments to themselves when witnessing that particular luggage ballet. It boded well.
For his part, Jack was entertained by watching Ianto bend, lift, strain, and curse as he worked whatever alchemy he was trying for with the bags. Ianto was nothing if not stubbornly attached to his own sense of order, and while that trait could be troublesome, it was admirable too. And when it was being applied to arranging luggage, which was completely unlikely to attempt a takeover of Earth, well then it could just be seen for what it was; part of who Ianto was. A rather charming part.
When Ianto stood up and put his hands on his hips while he admired his handiwork, Jack knew they were ready. He wordlessly got into the front seat and did up his seat belt. Ianto slid into the driver's seat, buckled up, and started the car. He slipped a CD into the console when he got onto the highway, and when the music started up he leaned his head against the headrest and smiled.
The drive was short and quiet. Jack was determined to follow Ianto's lead on this trip; it was only fair, since he had all but invited himself along. As it was, Ianto addressed no comments at all to him during the hour-long drive. The silence was calm and relatively pleasant, and both men were content to be lost in their own thoughts.
Towards the end of the trip, Ianto appeared to rouse himself, and his demeanor changed from his customary sad calm to anticipation, and excitement. When a small, wooden shack appeared around a bend in the road, Ianto grinned like a child, pulled off, and parked in front of it. The shack looked like it was about to fall down, and sign on it said "Fresh Chips!!"
As he put on the parking brake, Ianto turned to Jack. "This place has been in business for 15 years at least. I always stop here. Do you fancy some chips?"
Memory lane always seems to feature snacks.
Happy to be sharing what was clearly one of Ianto's happier sense memories, Jack said, "Yeah, thanks."
Ianto gestured for Jack to sit at the weather-beaten picnic table in front of the shack, and he went to buy a cone of chips. He brought them back to the table and set them in front of Jack, then grabbed the bottle and held it over the chips, waiting. Jack nodded eagerly, and Ianto cheerily drowned the chips in strong vinegar.
*****
When they pulled into the campsite's car park, Ianto turned off the car and leapt eagerly out. He took a deep breath through his nose, and so did Jack. The sea air was bracing and thick with scent: salt, seaweed, ozone.
Ianto opened the trunk and began to unload luggage. Jack waited to take orders; when none were forthcoming, he followed Ianto's lead. He carried what he could from the car: a cooler, his own duffel, a rucksack, and a bag that appeared to contain tent pegs. Ianto stood aside, waiting, and when Jack pulled the last bag out of the trunk, he locked the trunk, loaded himself with the remainder of the gear, and began walking.
The campsite was, as Ianto had predicted, abandoned.
"The pitches at the edge of the cliff have a spectacular view, but I don't fancy sleeping on a 20-degree angle, do you?" Ianto asked.
"Well I did once hitch a ride on a Hutlanian ship where the beds were set at a 15 degree angle as a matter of preference, and I slept okay, so it's really up to you."
Ianto squinted at Jack as if he were trying to decide whether that was a joke, and then gestured off to the right a bit where the pitches were much flatter. "Here, this one will do."
Once the camp was set up with a tent, chairs, and firewood in a covered box, Ianto stopped to admire the setup, then bent over his rucksack. He pulled a silver flask out of it, opened it, and took a drink. He walked over to Jack and offered the flask; Jack took a drink. It was scotch - very good scotch.
When Jack was done, Ianto capped the still-full flask and took a deep breath. "I'm glad you came with me." He tucked the flask in his jacket pocket. “I’d like to go down to the beach alone for a bit. You could come join me later, if you like. In about an hour? We'll go for a walk, have lunch." He looked into Jack's eyes for understanding.
Jack nodded assent. "Sure. Whatever you need."
*********
“Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery” (Lear 1.1)
Ianto slung his rucksack over his shoulder, turned away and started down the slope. He paused for a moment and considered.
Two paths. One short and treacherous, one safe, but much longer. Well if that isn't just the question, now?
Once down on the beach, Ianto made for the waterline. The tide was almost out, so he walked for a good distance on wet sand. His legs, accustomed to concrete, felt heavy walking on the sea-broken gravel and sand, but he kept walking until he was only a few feet from the waves. When he stopped on his chosen spot, he paused, and took a deep breath, letting the sea air enter his lungs, letting the chill breeze cool his face. The sky threatened rain, as it often did this time of year. Ianto's eyes ached with the threat of tears. He took the flask out of his pocket and took a long pull on it, enjoying the burn in his throat and in his belly.
For the first time since Lisa died, he let himself feel.
When did Lisa die, exactly? When Myfanwy mauled her? When Annie was shot? At Canary Wharf? Here's a horrible thought: did she die every time?
He reached into his rucksack and pulled out a tin box, one that had held tea leaves once up on a time. Ianto had chosen it because it was empty, available, and black. He opened it and held it in front of him and slightly to the side. He gave the box an experimental shake, and a cloud of ashes caught on the breeze and blew away from him, along the wet sand.
Ianto had not been allowed to cremate or bury Lisa’s body. Her partially converted body had been scanned and then destroyed, as it was considered too dangerous even to be kept in storage. The ashes belonged to Annie, who had been seen as inconsequential, but who had lost her life and then carried Lisa’s brain into her final death. The death that took.
These ashes, not quite Lisa's. But then, the cyberman wasn’t quite Lisa either. In any case, DNA isn't required here; ashes are.
Ianto shook the box again, and kept doing it, so that a smoky stream of grainy ash swept away in a continuous stream. The ash settled on the wet sand and was washed away, wave by wave. Finally, he upended the box and then there was nothing left. He started to close the tin, but couldn't make himself do it. The tears, never far away these days, fell down his face and were chilled by the stiff breeze.
"Goodbye my darling."
I wanted more with you. I wanted more for you.
"I'm so sorry."
For the first time since Canary Wharf, he didn't try to think rationally. He didn't try to see the next step, or solve any problems; he didn't try to keep on a face that he needed the rest of the world to see. He didn't try to keep it together. For the first time since Hell opened up on him a few months ago, he let it crash over him.
*****
”And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!" (Lear 3.2)
While Jack understood the need for privacy, he didn't often respect it. It was a failing, he knew.
He gave Ianto a 10-minute head start, then followed him down the path he had chosen. It was steep, and Jack had a hard time keeping quiet while he was also trying not to slip to his death.
Temporary as that might be, it would probably be noisy, and Ianto probably has enough to deal with without processing my immortality.
When he got to the bottom of the path, he was able to walk a short way hidden by the scrub and grasses in the dunes as long as he stayed crouched over. He saw Ianto standing by the water, some 20 meters away.
At first, Ianto just stood there. He drank from his flask a couple times, and watched the ocean.
It didn't take much piecing together to figure out that Ianto was spreading ashes. When Ianto had asked to be allowed to cremate the body, no one had objected. Jack had wondered if Ianto was performing penance of some kind, and if that was the case, he had been more than happy to allow it. He had been happy to allow Ianto a sort of goodbye, too. And clearly it was; Jack was witnessing a funeral, a very private, very painful funeral. He began to feel that he really shouldn't be intruding, but he was transfixed by watching the quiet display of raw humanity before him.
My word, he is beautiful.
When the ashes were gone, Ianto was clearly weeping. Although Jack couldn't see his face, he could see the hunched over posture and the shaking shoulders. As Jack continued to watch, Ianto began to rage. He waved his arms, and Jack could make out just enough sound to hear that Ianto was yelling, ranting, cursing into the wind. He threw the lid of the box with one hand, as hard as he could, out over the water. The wind blew it back, and it landed only a couple feet away. Ianto roared and threw the tin in after it. He continued to sob, shout, and gesticulate, airing his grievances and demanding an explanation from no one, nothing, only the uncaring wild world.
Jack's stomach twisted with sympathy. No one is listening, Ianto. Trust me. I've tried.
After several minutes of this, Ianto had ramped up into full hysteria. His large movements stopped, but he stood, stooped over at the waist, eyes watching the water, and just -- screamed. Jack watched, with tears streaming down his own face, as the scream went on and on.
I think I want to kill everything that ever hurt him, but I think everything that ever hurt him is already dead. Except me.
After the scream sputtered out, Ianto stood stock still for several long minutes, holding himself up with his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. His shoulders gradually relaxed, and he slowly pulled himself up straight. He watched the horizon in an apparent trance for a long time.
As the hour mark approached, Ianto seemed to rouse himself, and he started checking the beach behind him for Jack's expected approach. Jack knew he had no justification whatsoever for having spied on Ianto's private grief, and when Ianto turned his face to the water again, Jack scrambled back up the hill a ways, watching behind him the whole time to make sure he wasn't seen running the wrong way up the hill.
****
Part 2
Rating: This section PG-13, spots of NC-17 later on.
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Notes, credits: Huge thanks to my betas invisible_lift, who saved me from my punctuation tics and helped untangle my POV furball, and blackbird_song, who fussed over my show vs. tell balance and also worked on the furball. That POV thing is a bitch. Much love also to definehome who coached me through the trouble spots when it all stopped seeming worthwhile to me. Alright, yes, I depended on a lot of people for this one. But I branched out here, and I needed some hand-holding. All quotations are from King Lear.
Summary: This fic is my exploration of the Jack/Ianto relationship post-Cyberwoman. The boys have some issues, to say the least, so I sent them away from the world, stuck them in a tent, and rained on them. This section is 2716 words.
*******
CHAPTER 1
If but as well I other accents borrow,
That can my speech defuse, my good intent
May carry through itself to that full issue
For which I razed my likeness. (Lear 1.4)
Jack had become something of a fixture in Ianto’s life during his suspension. He visited daily, took Ianto out of the house occasionally, and talked about nothing, which seemed to be Ianto’s favourite topic of conversation at the moment. It wasn't much, but it was something. After two weeks of constant attention, Ianto had come back from the brink. A bit.
Tonight, Jack had brought take-away Persian food, and they had had a conversation about the repellent table manners of several alien species. Granted, it had been a somewhat one-sided conversation, but Ianto had contributed an anecdote or two involving his drunken Uncle Leonard and a memorable Christmas dinner. It was - well, it was stilted and uncomfortable, as usual.
As Jack was pulling on his boots and preparing to go back to the Hub, Ianto said, "I'm going to the seaside tomorrow and the next day. Maybe the day after that. I'm just telling you so you know where I am. I'm not doing a runner, and I have no designs on throwing myself off a cliff."
Jack looked up from lacing his boots. "Thanks for letting me know. And the police thank you, because I would have completely abused my position and demanded that they drop everything and find you.” He stood up. “It also saves me the embarrassment of having the police tell me they found you in a nice inn, where you were enjoying a massage and a good meal."
"Tent.”
"Tent?" asked Jack, with some confusion.
"Tent. I'm going camping."
"Isn't it a little cold?"
"September is an excellent time for camping. No crowds.” Ianto pulled Jack’s coat out of the closet and thumbed the collar as he continued. “And I like camping. It lets me think. Fire, rock to sit on, tent. Drink tea, eat beans, stare at the sea. Walk on the beach. It’s all very simple."
Ianto's eyes were distant, but not unfocused like they had been lately. There was a glint of something that Jack wouldn't call happiness, not by a long shot, but as Ianto contemplated the tent and the sea, there seemed to be a tiny lessening of the millstone of grief he has carried around lately.
"Where are you going?"
"Three Cliffs Bay. My family used to go every summer. I like it there. It gets a bit overrun during the summer, so I don't go much anymore, but mid-week like this, this time of year, it will be all but abandoned."
Ianto held Jack's coat by the shoulders, and as Jack shrugged it on he tried to picture a younger, carefree Ianto, and found that he couldn't do it. 'Carefree' had been off the menu since Canary Wharf; maybe earlier.
Jack turned to face Ianto and spoke before he could consider the etiquette or wisdom of the request. "Can I come?"
"Camping?" Ianto looked deeply surprised.
"I - “ Jack shifted his feet. “It sounds like - “ He faltered. “I'd like to come."
"It's an hour's drive away. You won't be able to take a cab back if the alarms go off," Ianto protested.
"The Rift is in a quiet period. I don't need to be on call."
"I promise you I'm not going to hurt myself,” Ianto assured him.
"I know," Jack said kindly.
Ianto's eyes narrowed. "I don't plan on talking about my feelings."
"Yeah, 'cause I'm usually so big on that."
Ianto exhaled, and furrowed his brow. "I'm going up there to be quiet. I like to walk and watch the tide go in and out. I'm not making conversation."
Jack waited.
Ianto waited and then nodded. "I leave at 8."
"I'll be outside at half-seven."
Ianto paused. "Wear good shoes. Warm clothes. The site is on a clifftop by the sea."
"Got it."
"My tent sleeps two, but bring your own dishes."
Jack smiled, and turned to go. "See you in the morning."
*******
At a quarter to eight, Ianto opened the door to his garage and navigated himself, his duffel, rucksack, and his tent through it. As he lumbered towards his car, he heard Jack's voice call out a cheery "Good morning!"
I really, really hope he understands what 'not making conversation' means. "Morning."
Ianto loaded his and Jack's things into the trunk. Apparently Jack did understand, because he made not one comment about how long it took Ianto to get the perfect arrangement of items in his trunk, nor how many times he unloaded and reloaded them in a different configuration. So far, almost no one had managed to keep impatient and teasing comments to themselves when witnessing that particular luggage ballet. It boded well.
For his part, Jack was entertained by watching Ianto bend, lift, strain, and curse as he worked whatever alchemy he was trying for with the bags. Ianto was nothing if not stubbornly attached to his own sense of order, and while that trait could be troublesome, it was admirable too. And when it was being applied to arranging luggage, which was completely unlikely to attempt a takeover of Earth, well then it could just be seen for what it was; part of who Ianto was. A rather charming part.
When Ianto stood up and put his hands on his hips while he admired his handiwork, Jack knew they were ready. He wordlessly got into the front seat and did up his seat belt. Ianto slid into the driver's seat, buckled up, and started the car. He slipped a CD into the console when he got onto the highway, and when the music started up he leaned his head against the headrest and smiled.
The drive was short and quiet. Jack was determined to follow Ianto's lead on this trip; it was only fair, since he had all but invited himself along. As it was, Ianto addressed no comments at all to him during the hour-long drive. The silence was calm and relatively pleasant, and both men were content to be lost in their own thoughts.
Towards the end of the trip, Ianto appeared to rouse himself, and his demeanor changed from his customary sad calm to anticipation, and excitement. When a small, wooden shack appeared around a bend in the road, Ianto grinned like a child, pulled off, and parked in front of it. The shack looked like it was about to fall down, and sign on it said "Fresh Chips!!"
As he put on the parking brake, Ianto turned to Jack. "This place has been in business for 15 years at least. I always stop here. Do you fancy some chips?"
Memory lane always seems to feature snacks.
Happy to be sharing what was clearly one of Ianto's happier sense memories, Jack said, "Yeah, thanks."
Ianto gestured for Jack to sit at the weather-beaten picnic table in front of the shack, and he went to buy a cone of chips. He brought them back to the table and set them in front of Jack, then grabbed the bottle and held it over the chips, waiting. Jack nodded eagerly, and Ianto cheerily drowned the chips in strong vinegar.
*****
When they pulled into the campsite's car park, Ianto turned off the car and leapt eagerly out. He took a deep breath through his nose, and so did Jack. The sea air was bracing and thick with scent: salt, seaweed, ozone.
Ianto opened the trunk and began to unload luggage. Jack waited to take orders; when none were forthcoming, he followed Ianto's lead. He carried what he could from the car: a cooler, his own duffel, a rucksack, and a bag that appeared to contain tent pegs. Ianto stood aside, waiting, and when Jack pulled the last bag out of the trunk, he locked the trunk, loaded himself with the remainder of the gear, and began walking.
The campsite was, as Ianto had predicted, abandoned.
"The pitches at the edge of the cliff have a spectacular view, but I don't fancy sleeping on a 20-degree angle, do you?" Ianto asked.
"Well I did once hitch a ride on a Hutlanian ship where the beds were set at a 15 degree angle as a matter of preference, and I slept okay, so it's really up to you."
Ianto squinted at Jack as if he were trying to decide whether that was a joke, and then gestured off to the right a bit where the pitches were much flatter. "Here, this one will do."
Once the camp was set up with a tent, chairs, and firewood in a covered box, Ianto stopped to admire the setup, then bent over his rucksack. He pulled a silver flask out of it, opened it, and took a drink. He walked over to Jack and offered the flask; Jack took a drink. It was scotch - very good scotch.
When Jack was done, Ianto capped the still-full flask and took a deep breath. "I'm glad you came with me." He tucked the flask in his jacket pocket. “I’d like to go down to the beach alone for a bit. You could come join me later, if you like. In about an hour? We'll go for a walk, have lunch." He looked into Jack's eyes for understanding.
Jack nodded assent. "Sure. Whatever you need."
*********
“Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery” (Lear 1.1)
Ianto slung his rucksack over his shoulder, turned away and started down the slope. He paused for a moment and considered.
Two paths. One short and treacherous, one safe, but much longer. Well if that isn't just the question, now?
Once down on the beach, Ianto made for the waterline. The tide was almost out, so he walked for a good distance on wet sand. His legs, accustomed to concrete, felt heavy walking on the sea-broken gravel and sand, but he kept walking until he was only a few feet from the waves. When he stopped on his chosen spot, he paused, and took a deep breath, letting the sea air enter his lungs, letting the chill breeze cool his face. The sky threatened rain, as it often did this time of year. Ianto's eyes ached with the threat of tears. He took the flask out of his pocket and took a long pull on it, enjoying the burn in his throat and in his belly.
For the first time since Lisa died, he let himself feel.
When did Lisa die, exactly? When Myfanwy mauled her? When Annie was shot? At Canary Wharf? Here's a horrible thought: did she die every time?
He reached into his rucksack and pulled out a tin box, one that had held tea leaves once up on a time. Ianto had chosen it because it was empty, available, and black. He opened it and held it in front of him and slightly to the side. He gave the box an experimental shake, and a cloud of ashes caught on the breeze and blew away from him, along the wet sand.
Ianto had not been allowed to cremate or bury Lisa’s body. Her partially converted body had been scanned and then destroyed, as it was considered too dangerous even to be kept in storage. The ashes belonged to Annie, who had been seen as inconsequential, but who had lost her life and then carried Lisa’s brain into her final death. The death that took.
These ashes, not quite Lisa's. But then, the cyberman wasn’t quite Lisa either. In any case, DNA isn't required here; ashes are.
Ianto shook the box again, and kept doing it, so that a smoky stream of grainy ash swept away in a continuous stream. The ash settled on the wet sand and was washed away, wave by wave. Finally, he upended the box and then there was nothing left. He started to close the tin, but couldn't make himself do it. The tears, never far away these days, fell down his face and were chilled by the stiff breeze.
"Goodbye my darling."
I wanted more with you. I wanted more for you.
"I'm so sorry."
For the first time since Canary Wharf, he didn't try to think rationally. He didn't try to see the next step, or solve any problems; he didn't try to keep on a face that he needed the rest of the world to see. He didn't try to keep it together. For the first time since Hell opened up on him a few months ago, he let it crash over him.
*****
”And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!" (Lear 3.2)
While Jack understood the need for privacy, he didn't often respect it. It was a failing, he knew.
He gave Ianto a 10-minute head start, then followed him down the path he had chosen. It was steep, and Jack had a hard time keeping quiet while he was also trying not to slip to his death.
Temporary as that might be, it would probably be noisy, and Ianto probably has enough to deal with without processing my immortality.
When he got to the bottom of the path, he was able to walk a short way hidden by the scrub and grasses in the dunes as long as he stayed crouched over. He saw Ianto standing by the water, some 20 meters away.
At first, Ianto just stood there. He drank from his flask a couple times, and watched the ocean.
It didn't take much piecing together to figure out that Ianto was spreading ashes. When Ianto had asked to be allowed to cremate the body, no one had objected. Jack had wondered if Ianto was performing penance of some kind, and if that was the case, he had been more than happy to allow it. He had been happy to allow Ianto a sort of goodbye, too. And clearly it was; Jack was witnessing a funeral, a very private, very painful funeral. He began to feel that he really shouldn't be intruding, but he was transfixed by watching the quiet display of raw humanity before him.
My word, he is beautiful.
When the ashes were gone, Ianto was clearly weeping. Although Jack couldn't see his face, he could see the hunched over posture and the shaking shoulders. As Jack continued to watch, Ianto began to rage. He waved his arms, and Jack could make out just enough sound to hear that Ianto was yelling, ranting, cursing into the wind. He threw the lid of the box with one hand, as hard as he could, out over the water. The wind blew it back, and it landed only a couple feet away. Ianto roared and threw the tin in after it. He continued to sob, shout, and gesticulate, airing his grievances and demanding an explanation from no one, nothing, only the uncaring wild world.
Jack's stomach twisted with sympathy. No one is listening, Ianto. Trust me. I've tried.
After several minutes of this, Ianto had ramped up into full hysteria. His large movements stopped, but he stood, stooped over at the waist, eyes watching the water, and just -- screamed. Jack watched, with tears streaming down his own face, as the scream went on and on.
I think I want to kill everything that ever hurt him, but I think everything that ever hurt him is already dead. Except me.
After the scream sputtered out, Ianto stood stock still for several long minutes, holding himself up with his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. His shoulders gradually relaxed, and he slowly pulled himself up straight. He watched the horizon in an apparent trance for a long time.
As the hour mark approached, Ianto seemed to rouse himself, and he started checking the beach behind him for Jack's expected approach. Jack knew he had no justification whatsoever for having spied on Ianto's private grief, and when Ianto turned his face to the water again, Jack scrambled back up the hill a ways, watching behind him the whole time to make sure he wasn't seen running the wrong way up the hill.
****
Part 2