Ianto Jones (thatsharassment) wrote in demonsran,
Ianto Jones
thatsharassment
demonsran

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 It's been three days. Three days since Jack sacrificed his life force or energy or whatever it was to defeat the Abadon and Billis Menger disappeared, three days and the captain still lay dead in the morgue. Ianto takes The Coat off it's hook in Jack's office, he buries his face in the rough wool and takes a deep breath. It smells like Jack. More than the man does at this point. No, right now, Jack smells like... chemicals, and death. The Welshman hardly realizes he's crying, if he did he'd probably feel a bit ridiculous, it's Jack he comes back, he always does. So why does it feel like this time he's not going to?

Gwen is down there. He'll let her, because it's easier for him to work and try not to think about it. He pulls his face out of the material taking one final breath before he does and hangs the coat back in it's place. Best not hang on to it to much, no telling how long before the lingering scent leaves it and he'd rather make it last as long as he can. He trails his finger tips over haphazard stack of files and papers that clutter the captain's desk. He's tempted to straighten it out, but if he did then it wouldn't be 'Jack's' anymore, and that's something he's not will to give up yet either. He had to get out. Find something to take his mind off of things for a little while. Get some fresh air take a breath. Just.... get out.

 He sets out any other time. Walking along the Plass his hands neatly tucked in his pockets, he half considers telling Gwen to tell him if Jack wakes up, but changes his mind. She will anyway he trusts her enough to know she will. The Welshman decides to go by his flat, shower perhaps sleep if he can, clean suit and clothes for tomorrow, he's spent them bulk of the time Jack-he swallows- has been dead cleaning and trying to rebuild what they could of the Hub.

He's far more exhausted than he imagined when he reaches the door to the flat, his hand fumbles slightly with the key, partly from lack of energy and partly from just pure uncertainty over whether the captain will be coming back or not. Step, by step, he undresses, in his process, hanging his coat and slacks, smoothing the wrinkles, folding the shirt before laying it in the dirty clothing hamper, setting his shoes at the foot of the bed, laying his socks over the edge of the basket to air,a finally hanging his tie back in it's proper spot on the wrack.

The Welshman collapses on the bed exhausted, he can only hope tomorrow is a better day. His eyes fall closed and he's vaguely aware of the strange noise, he tries to remind himself to tell the super about in the morning. And off he drifts into the sleep of a man who is completely whipped.

The first thing he's aware of before he even opens his eyes is the stale scent in the air, the acrid aroma of old blood, and that it's dark. Even though his internal clock says it's the right time to be awake it is entirely too dark, even or Cardiff. He sits up and looks around realizing now he's on the floor and he's ....god help him in nothing but a t-shirt and his boxers. What in the hell happened last night?
Tags: craig owens, ianto jones
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