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eldabeTitle: Something Like Closure
Author:eldarwannabe
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Gwen, mentions of Jack/Ianto and Tosh
Betas:ericadawn16 looked this over and thepyromanical1 helped me enormously with the letter. Roommate did the last grammar check.
Summary: Gwen's the only one left to clean up this time.
Notes: This is intended as a COE-compliant story, although it needn't be read that way, and thus all Children of Earth warnings apply. And I sincerely apologize for the image quality.
***
Dear Jack,
Gwen choked back a sob, because of course Ianto made out his will to Jack. Because Jack is the only one that he could guarantee would be there after anything and everything. Except Jack wasn't here, was he? It was just Gwen now, sorting through the mess Jack left behind.
I trust that all of my possessions are even now being sorted away according to the Torchwood standard operating procedure. The files containing information relevant to my successor are stored on Mainframe under, 'Streamlined Operations and Procedure for General Support.' Pay careful attention to Myfanwy's diet.
So that's what the intimidating file was for. Gwen wondered what life was like in Torchwood before Ianto. She could hardly imagine the mess it must have been, considering Jack's attitude toward paperwork.
She wondered what it would be like from now on.
I have few requests. First, I want to leave all of my assets to my sister and her family, if possible. I've already started small accounts for my niece and nephew, but I would appreciate it if you directly transfer my account to Rhiannon Davies. You should find all of the relevant paperwork, including her contact information, enclosed.
Gwen blinked, and then looked through the other papers that she had assumed would contain the rest of the letter. They were all bank forms, with one neatly typed sheet containing an address and two phone numbers for Rhiannon and Johnny Davies.
The last will and testament of Ianto Jones spanned less than a page.
If you could, I would also appreciate it if you would give them my James Bond collection. My sister contributed the first books, and I promised David a DVD on his next birthday. But only if possible.
Gwen looked around her at the absurdly neat flat. She was sitting half in Ianto's bedroom closet, boxes open and scattered around her. She had found some of Jack's pants and shirts in Ianto's drawers, and she was pretty sure that she was sitting under Jack's only suit. She had also found a box of colorful dresses, one of which she recognized from Ianto's brief time as a woman. Even his ties were hanging up nearly. Ianto had made his flat easy to pack away and store, unlike Owen's mess and Tosh's hidden bits of wire and batteries. Gwen clenched her jaw. Rhiannon would get everything, and the kids would get Ianto's leather-bound Shakespeare and the collectable Roald Dhal and Gwen was going to discontinue that policy right now. Ianto shouldn't have to quietly beg to give his family a few DVDs.
Gwen blinked back her tears angrily and kept reading.
Tell Gwen Gwen, if you're reading this, I think Tosh would have wanted you to have the Perpetual Motion Machine.
Tosh and Ianto had built it together, the first slow afternoon after Jack had left. It sat in the main area of the hub for weeks, the little ball constantly sliding around the scientifically impossible little track. Tosh moved it before they left for the Himalayas, and she had specified that it should go to Ianto in a note she left scribbled in her file. Owen had left a note too, but his had instructed them to take all of the alcohol left in his flat and get pissed in his honor. Somehow, they had never found the time.
And please, take anything else you would like as well.
There was an awkward space in the page, with a few crossed out letters. Gwen imagined Ianto sitting at his pristine kitchen table and struggling to come up with his next words.
Jack, my diary is yours. I would appreciate it if you would destroy it when you no longer want it, rather than putting it in storage.-
Gwen stopped reading and clutched the letter. His diary, she had to find his diary. Unlike Tosh, Ianto had worked to keep his last message impersonal, professional. This wasn't really him, his diary was all that was really left, and Jack wasn't here, so Jack didn't get it.
Gwen pulled open drawers, lifted the mattress, checked the top shelves in all the closets. She scanned the bookshelves, the letter still clenched in one hand. She refused to consider that Ianto might have left it in the hub. She went to the kitchen, which was the most lived-in room, in its own way. There were still two glasses in the sink, and an impressive coffee machine sitting next to the kettle. Gwen jerked open drawers, sifting cutlery and pulling open cabinets to reach behind coffee beans and - yes! It shouldn't be funny that Ianto hid his diary between a bag of Brazilian dry-prepared and an Ethiopian blend he also stashed in the hub, but Gwen knew it was the only place in the flat Jack was forbidden from disturbing. Gwen hugged the diary close, not daring to open it, just holding it.
She spread out the crumpled letter on the countertop.
Don'tforg shut everyone out, Jack. You can make Torchwood into something great. Let Gwen help you. Stop stalling. Recruit more people for the team.
Gwen stared at that paragraph. They had stalled in finding someone else to replace Owen and Tosh. Stalled for too long, it looked like, and now they weren't two people down, they were the whole team down.
Well, not quite. You can make Torchwood into something great.
Gwen clutched the diary tighter and read Ianto's neat signature, with the date and time. It was Torchwood procedure, to prove that you were in sound mind. That could change at any point during the day, of course.
August 7th. It was right after the haunted phones, when Jack had been out of commission.
P.S.If I didn’t tell you Please make sure that whatever story you tell Rhiannon is believable. She’s smart, Jack. She doesn’t have to know about this part of my life.
Too late, Gwen thought. She wondered how desperate he must have felt to go to his sister after the hub exploded. After Jack exploded. Pretty damn desperate.
Gwen stumbled out of the kitchen, and sank into the settee. Ianto had a nice telly, actually, flat-screen and shiny. Gwen tried not to think about how often he actually got to use it.
Gwen curled up, twisting to look at Ianto's neat collection of books and DVD's on his bookshelves. Tomorrow she would go back to Rhiannon and give over the keys to the flat and the bank papers and pretend that it was enough to overturn years of Torchwood operations and precedent to make up for everything. Tomorrow she would start looking to recruit people, she would, and she would let Rhys drag her away from the Plass when it got to be too much and they would pick a new house and everything was going to get better. Tomorrow.
Ianto had the Perpetual Motion Machine on a low shelf, and Gwen watched the ball roll around, unending.
***
Extra thanks to Roommate, who hand-wrote this letter out, even though my scanner seems incapable of scanning it well. *headdesk*
Author:
eldarwannabeFandom: Torchwood
Characters: Gwen, mentions of Jack/Ianto and Tosh
Betas:
ericadawn16 looked this over and thepyromanical1 helped me enormously with the letter. Roommate did the last grammar check.Summary: Gwen's the only one left to clean up this time.
Notes: This is intended as a COE-compliant story, although it needn't be read that way, and thus all Children of Earth warnings apply. And I sincerely apologize for the image quality.
***
Dear Jack,
Gwen choked back a sob, because of course Ianto made out his will to Jack. Because Jack is the only one that he could guarantee would be there after anything and everything. Except Jack wasn't here, was he? It was just Gwen now, sorting through the mess Jack left behind.
I trust that all of my possessions are even now being sorted away according to the Torchwood standard operating procedure. The files containing information relevant to my successor are stored on Mainframe under, 'Streamlined Operations and Procedure for General Support.' Pay careful attention to Myfanwy's diet.
So that's what the intimidating file was for. Gwen wondered what life was like in Torchwood before Ianto. She could hardly imagine the mess it must have been, considering Jack's attitude toward paperwork.
She wondered what it would be like from now on.
I have few requests. First, I want to leave all of my assets to my sister and her family, if possible. I've already started small accounts for my niece and nephew, but I would appreciate it if you directly transfer my account to Rhiannon Davies. You should find all of the relevant paperwork, including her contact information, enclosed.
Gwen blinked, and then looked through the other papers that she had assumed would contain the rest of the letter. They were all bank forms, with one neatly typed sheet containing an address and two phone numbers for Rhiannon and Johnny Davies.
The last will and testament of Ianto Jones spanned less than a page.
If you could, I would also appreciate it if you would give them my James Bond collection. My sister contributed the first books, and I promised David a DVD on his next birthday. But only if possible.
Gwen looked around her at the absurdly neat flat. She was sitting half in Ianto's bedroom closet, boxes open and scattered around her. She had found some of Jack's pants and shirts in Ianto's drawers, and she was pretty sure that she was sitting under Jack's only suit. She had also found a box of colorful dresses, one of which she recognized from Ianto's brief time as a woman. Even his ties were hanging up nearly. Ianto had made his flat easy to pack away and store, unlike Owen's mess and Tosh's hidden bits of wire and batteries. Gwen clenched her jaw. Rhiannon would get everything, and the kids would get Ianto's leather-bound Shakespeare and the collectable Roald Dhal and Gwen was going to discontinue that policy right now. Ianto shouldn't have to quietly beg to give his family a few DVDs.
Gwen blinked back her tears angrily and kept reading.
Tosh and Ianto had built it together, the first slow afternoon after Jack had left. It sat in the main area of the hub for weeks, the little ball constantly sliding around the scientifically impossible little track. Tosh moved it before they left for the Himalayas, and she had specified that it should go to Ianto in a note she left scribbled in her file. Owen had left a note too, but his had instructed them to take all of the alcohol left in his flat and get pissed in his honor. Somehow, they had never found the time.
And please, take anything else you would like as well.
There was an awkward space in the page, with a few crossed out letters. Gwen imagined Ianto sitting at his pristine kitchen table and struggling to come up with his next words.
Jack, my diary is yours. I would appreciate it if you would destroy it when you no longer want it, rather than putting it in storage.-
Gwen stopped reading and clutched the letter. His diary, she had to find his diary. Unlike Tosh, Ianto had worked to keep his last message impersonal, professional. This wasn't really him, his diary was all that was really left, and Jack wasn't here, so Jack didn't get it.
Gwen pulled open drawers, lifted the mattress, checked the top shelves in all the closets. She scanned the bookshelves, the letter still clenched in one hand. She refused to consider that Ianto might have left it in the hub. She went to the kitchen, which was the most lived-in room, in its own way. There were still two glasses in the sink, and an impressive coffee machine sitting next to the kettle. Gwen jerked open drawers, sifting cutlery and pulling open cabinets to reach behind coffee beans and - yes! It shouldn't be funny that Ianto hid his diary between a bag of Brazilian dry-prepared and an Ethiopian blend he also stashed in the hub, but Gwen knew it was the only place in the flat Jack was forbidden from disturbing. Gwen hugged the diary close, not daring to open it, just holding it.
She spread out the crumpled letter on the countertop.
Don't
Gwen stared at that paragraph. They had stalled in finding someone else to replace Owen and Tosh. Stalled for too long, it looked like, and now they weren't two people down, they were the whole team down.
Well, not quite. You can make Torchwood into something great.
Gwen clutched the diary tighter and read Ianto's neat signature, with the date and time. It was Torchwood procedure, to prove that you were in sound mind. That could change at any point during the day, of course.
August 7th. It was right after the haunted phones, when Jack had been out of commission.
P.S.
Too late, Gwen thought. She wondered how desperate he must have felt to go to his sister after the hub exploded. After Jack exploded. Pretty damn desperate.
Gwen stumbled out of the kitchen, and sank into the settee. Ianto had a nice telly, actually, flat-screen and shiny. Gwen tried not to think about how often he actually got to use it.
Gwen curled up, twisting to look at Ianto's neat collection of books and DVD's on his bookshelves. Tomorrow she would go back to Rhiannon and give over the keys to the flat and the bank papers and pretend that it was enough to overturn years of Torchwood operations and precedent to make up for everything. Tomorrow she would start looking to recruit people, she would, and she would let Rhys drag her away from the Plass when it got to be too much and they would pick a new house and everything was going to get better. Tomorrow.
Ianto had the Perpetual Motion Machine on a low shelf, and Gwen watched the ball roll around, unending.
***
Extra thanks to Roommate, who hand-wrote this letter out, even though my scanner seems incapable of scanning it well. *headdesk*
