Revelation

It took exactly fifteen point eight steps to get to the stained glass door of St. David’s. Point eight due to the slight dip on the eighth step. Out of the thousands of people that have passed through those ornamented doors, Ianto Jones was about the only one to notice. He was the sort of man that paid close attention to detail, that type of attention leaves little room for the big picture or thoughts of the future. He was a dreamer, a drifter, a thinker and a lover.

As a child he’d spend more time examining a crack in the wall then listening to the school teacher. Most had considered him a failure or accused him of drug use. After graduation he went through a bit of a rebellious phase; drifting from house to house and shoplifting necessities. He was caught one night, bailed out by an irate father and practically shipped off to Uni. There, he reverted back to his younger self, back to a haze of daydreams and pen tapping. His nights were filled with cold coffees and indie rock drifting through his lifted speakers. A mysterious phone call one night lead to a breach in the monotony.

A man without a name and a hidden agenda. He said he was from Torchwood and, at the time, the young man had no idea just what effect that would have on his life. Looking back, that one phone call truly defined his life. He wouldn’t have left Newport, wouldn’t have gotten a career, met Lisa, lost Lisa, found Jack. Jack. That was one anomaly even Ianto wouldn’t have expected.

He tugged at his jacket sleeve, having retired his suit for a well-deserved and long put off break. After taking yet another deep breath he opened his eyes and stepped inside the old cathedral. It had been years since he’d last been here, his mother’s funeral. He decided against lighting a candle and kneeled at one of the pews.

The cathedral was empty barring a kind looking parishioner whom Ianto had nodded at earlier outside. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.

Things used to be simpler. Now his life had gotten so complicated he could barely figure it out for himself, let alone for the people he associated with. He was the kind of person who was content with rituals. It gave him a purpose instead of feeling worthless and stumbling around with his head cut off.

His original purpose at Torchwood Three was simple: Get in, save Lisa’s life, and run. He remembered that first night, tugging on those jeans that hadn’t seen the light of day for seven years and the tight fitted denim jacket. If those clothes didn’t impress the promiscuous Captain Jack Harkness, nothing would.

The rest of that night went by in a flash; the Weevil, the stick, the coat, the man and the tingle he got from that once over. He didn’t even realize he was flirting back until it was too late. The betrayal he felt afterwards, to Lisa, to himself. He couldn’t allow a distraction like Jack Harkness to deter him from saving her life, the life he was responsible for.

He donned a suit, fetched himself a pterodactyl and subsequently a Captain. He showed up the next day with a heavily tailored bottom, a smile and a witty reply to Jack’s filthy flirts. He tried his best to hide away from the others, and for the most part, it worked. The technician proved the hardest. Beautiful, smart Toshiko with her small smiles and friendly chats, in another setting he’d have been the best of friends with her, would be the best of friends with her, but he had a duty to fulfill.

The nights spent below in the belly of the Hub with the leaking walls and cold machines had changed him. He stopped daydreaming, stopped noticing or caring that the walls were cracked or that the puddles of water mixed with oil from the conversion table made interesting patterns. He locked his true self away in order to feel safe, sane, hopeful. Before he would have dreamed of something better or prayed to God or gone onto something better but after all he’d seen and all he’d been through he couldn’t bare to be alone anymore, and losing Lisa was just not an option.

He bit his lip tightly in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. He hadn’t held a proper funeral for Lisa. He’d committed himself to her so completely and he couldn’t even say goodbye properly. He hadn’t even thought of her in weeks and that guilt festering just below his impeccable surface was growing. He’d failed her, failed himself and Jack.

That was the true reason he was here. He wasn’t even sure why the man had left but he knew it had something to do with himself or his bloody Doctor or maybe a bit of both.

After the horrific events at the Breacon Beacons, Ianto had thought they’d gotten closer as mates and as boss and employee. He still stayed far later than his co-workers but now those extra hours felt more fun than work.

He’d have barely finished sweeping the Hub when he’d hear a door open. The Captain would point his head out, glance around and then ask him to his office. That first offer had startled Ianto a bit, he’d assumed he was getting fired.

The Captain, who insisted to be referred to as “just Jack” during these little chats, would have his feet propped on his desk atop various important documents which tended to make the young man cringe about both germs and the Prime Minister. He’d smirk, having already noticed what his muddied boots had done and pat the clean end of his desk.

Those nights turned into little rituals. Every Tuesday and Saturday he’d end up alone, drinking with “just Jack.” He’d learned a lot about the man, more than anyone else who worked at Torchwood Three at the time. He was born in the 51st century, immortal. He’d learned important things as well, Jack was scared and anxious. Waiting for someone, this Doctor he kept on about. Whenever he started to talk about the man in the phone box he’d get this look in his eye and smile more. Of course, Ianto didn’t understand. How can he remain so enamored with a man that left him behind? He wouldn’t voice his concerns though, not wanting to ruin these nights, and he’d pour himself another drink and share a bit more about himself.

One of those night he assumes he had a bit too much to drink, he kept watching intently as Jack told another story. He’d always known that Jack was an attractive man but he’d never felt this taken by him. Ianto didn’t even know why, he’d never been attracted to a man before so why now?

Jack by this time had noticed he’d been speaking to deaf ears and glanced over at Ianto and unexpectedly but definitely not unwanted, Ianto answered with a kiss.

It wasn’t perfect, he’d only gotten the corner of his mouth and afterwards there was no ripping off of clothes or declarations of undying love. It was just a kiss, one hell of a kiss, but just a kiss. Jack touched his lips and Ianto practically leapt off the desk, stuttering about prior engagements and running off before Jack could ask him back.

Ianto smiled a little in the pew, eyes still closed. He missed those earlier days, it was only eight or nine months ago, but it felt like ages. Truthfully, he just missed Jack. His Jack, not the coat-wearing crusader, defending Cardiff from aliens and ensuring it made it to another day. He missed his Jack, the man that would smile a small, sincere smile his way when he thought no one was looking. The man that would never bring him on a date but would get Indian and drop by his flat when he had a rough day. The man that couldn’t sleep but would sing him songs that hadn’t been written yet.

His Jack wasn’t perfect, wasn’t a hero and wasn’t Lisa but that was alright because he was just him and that was okay with him.

Ianto opened his eyes, unclasped his hands and stood up. He passed by another parishioner and smiled weakly. He decided to light a candle after all. He may not believe in religion or a higher power but he does believe in Jack and for now that’s enough.