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05 February 2010 @ 11:23 pm
Fic: ‘What’s not left behind.’  
Title: What’s not left behind.
Fandom: Torchwood.
Rating: (G)
Time Period: End of season 3; Day 5, while waiting for Gwen.
Summary: The ghosts can’t be left behind.

Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q. or check this post for the definition).

I just finished watching season 3, Torchwood. This is simply the result of my having watched that: I just had to give it something better than what it got, purely for me.

If having not watched season 3 and you intend to do so for Torchwood, do not read this piece of fiction until you have done so.

All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of Russell T. Davies and the BBC; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.


Unshed tears misted his gaze while he looked over the sparkling city below him. His hands were at his sides, his jaw held tightly; not even pulses of emotion could be seen moving along the jaw. His fingers curled into fists, the fingernails biting into the softer flesh of the palm. A soft wind ruffled his hair.

God, this was a beautiful planet but he found it too small. It was too filled with memories. It had become a graveyard; too many he had loved had also been lost. But of all those who were lost, Steven hurt the most. He could never forgive himself for Steven. It was time to leave, to shake the dirt of this too-small planet from his boots and travel the wider galaxy for a while.

It wasn’t as though he were leaving anything, or anyone, behind. Gwen had Rhys and their baby, his daughter hated him with a passion that would survive even him. He’d killed Steven. Killed Ianto.

Oh God, Ianto.

His throat closed. He lifted his chin higher, to swallow and open the passages once more. The two men in his life, he’d killed. Both had trusted him so much, especially Steven because his Uncle Jack would never have done anything to hurt him, had always cared for him, played with him. Uncle Jack ...

The wind brushed against his cheek and in the stillness, he could hear the approaching car; it must be Gwen and Rhys, coming to see him off.

Ianto had trusted Jack, had loved him, had tried to do all the smaller details that would make him happy. Such as when he called them a couple, even though Jack didn’t believe in couples and forever in the same sentence. His trust hadn’t had the same innocence as Steven’s had; Ianto knew what Jack could do, had seen a lot of Jack had done so Ianto knew he shouldn’t trust Jack. He’d known better and Steven hadn’t.

But Ianto had trusted him all the same.

The car stopped and he finally swallowed. He blinked and the sheen of those tears disappeared; they were only buried but he needed to appear strong to Gwen for he knew that if he didn’t stay strong in his resolve, she might melt it under that dark-eyed gaze that could melt the strongest of hearts. He didn’t want to stay, didn’t want to see her baby born and grow. He hadn’t even been there when Steven was born. He …

He didn’t want to bring death and destruction to this new life. He needed to leave and see if he could shake this planet’s dirt from his boots. All he was leaving behind was death, tears and chaos. And loss; he was leaving behind those he had lost. Ianto and Steven were just the most recent.

Steven and Ianto were simply the most recent of those who’d joined the ranks of the dead, the lost.

“Couldn’t we have met in a pub?”

“It’s cold out here. My feet—”

That’s one thing he could never find elsewhere in the universe. “That’s something you can’t get anywhere else. Oh, how I miss the Welsh complaining!” But it wasn’t something he was going to miss.

It all went as predicted: Rhys stayed back, Gwen closer and hugging him, trying to convince him to stay. He stayed true to that resolve. He pressed a button on the newly recovered device on his wrist …

… and did not look back. He didn’t need to see what he was leaving behind for he knew Steven and Ianto would be standing there, shadows of what had been lost. Of what he was losing by leaving this too-small planet.

He closed his eyes against the brightness of the beam that collected him. “Welcome!” He was brightly greeted as he stepped off the ‘pad and from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a familiar face, a hand being held by the ghost he saw. “On this deck, there are …” The voice droned on but he paid it no attention; he didn’t want to know what was available on board, not when he’d seen Ianto and Steven.

He had to face reality: they were never going to be behind him, left on that now too-small planet with all its lost. They were always going to be there.

They were always going to be there.
Armchair DM: Carson: No no no AIEEE!!armchairdm on February 6th, 2010 02:45 pm (UTC)
Dammnit. I'm all sniffly; and I don't consider myself an actual fan of TW.

This is a good thing though; I needed this after Friday. Now if only UNIT can actually be brought back to being a major alien-defense organisation as opposed to America's lackeys...
F. J.: Lanterns: Warmmorethanacandle on February 6th, 2010 05:10 pm (UTC)
Dammnit. I'm all sniffly; and I don't consider myself an actual fan of TW.
My job is done.

This is a good thing though; I needed this after Friday.
This was written purely for me after what I saw; if it helps a little? GOOD.

Now if only UNIT can actually be brought back to being a major alien-defense organisation as opposed to America's lackeys...
I don't consider the modern-era UNIT as UNIT; the Brigadier was the one who was in the UNIT I consider UNIT. There was nothing wrong with the classic UNIT, I feel, and I'd like to see it return.
hab318princess on February 6th, 2010 06:32 pm (UTC)

love how you got his thoughts
F. J.: Three candlesmorethanacandle on February 7th, 2010 12:53 pm (UTC)
Thank you. They're definitely how I imagine his thoughts to be; he's lost so much - how could he not be thinking about what's been lost that makes this planet now too-small?