lt_indigo

lt_indigo

The city itself was completely unrecognisable these days, but the bay had been preserved. It was a monument these days, to the early days of the Institute that had been born beneath it.

Jack knew that wasn’t entirely true, but the exact details escaped him. A few thousand years’ worth of memories had pushed out some extraneous details about the original founding of Torchwood, but history didn’t care about the first century or so either: they cared about what had happened in Cardiff; they cared about the tiny team of people who had protected the citizens of Earth without them even knowing about it. Elementary school children throughout the Human Empire learned the names of the seven humans who had been the trailblazers for good extra-terrestrial relations, for dealing with the oddities of the universe around them in a sensible manner, for the good of not only humanity, but their neighbours too.

Every schoolchild knew the name Ianto Jones. They all knew how brave he had been, and how he had died in his husband’s arms. Jack couldn’t be bothered to correct that inaccuracy any more: even if he had been brave enough to ask, Ianto had died almost five years before they would have been able to exchange actual marriage vows. It wasn’t important any more.

Too many years had passed since the day Ianto had been snatched from him: so many years that Jack actually couldn’t remember what year it was any more, and nor did he care very much about not being able to remember. But he could remember the date. It was the only date that held any meaning for him.

He turned his back on the Torchwood Memorial, which had been built where the water tower had once stood; he turned away from the museum and stood facing out to sea with the wind in his face, taking away the summer heat that had never felt all that hot to Jack anyway. But Ianto had loved it: he was a Welsh lad through and through; never experienced the baking heat of a desert, or of Jack’s home world. The last time they had stood together on this day, it had been like this and Ianto had been so very happy; his eyes had shone brightly and he had smiled the whole time. And that night, they had made love under the stars in Ianto’s poky little garden.

Jack stayed for hours, lost in his precious memories. But eventually he gave a sigh and reached into his pocket. Withdrawing a length of red ribbon, he tied it around the fence surrounding the bay.

“I kept my promise, Ianto,” he whispered into the gathering darkness. “I never forgot you. Happy birthday, wherever you are.”