Title: Hauntings (1/4)
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Lois Habiba, Ianto Jones; Jack/Ianto (mentioned)
Summary: Even after death, Ianto's ghost haunts the ones who knew him.
Warnings: COE compliant
Disclaimer: Torchwood and associated characters belong to BBC and RTD.

Archivist's Secret

It starts with the footsteps. They don't belong to anyone Lois knows, not anyone who belongs in the ruins of the Hub anyway. They're not Gwen's tocktock of hard heels, or Rhys' shuffle of sneaker clad feet. The footsteps tread quietly and steadily, faint but still there, and they always fade away as soon as she's sure they'd be right on top of her.

It starts with the footsteps, but it doesn't end there. There are murmurs, whispers. The Archives are draughty, especially now with the upper levels of the Hub gone, but she can hear words in the wind. She tells herself she is tired, shuts the place down and goes home. The whispers don't follow her there.

They are here again the next day. She can smell coffee, but not the cheap crap she'd grabbed on the way here. There is a minor feeling of disdain hanging in the air and she finds herself tipping her coffee into the bay as she heads to Starbucks to get a marginally better one. She ignores the Archives aura of smugness when she returns.

The sounds, the feelings of being watched, the whispers in her ear and the wind in her hair are all creepy, yet strangely comforting. She doesn't feel alone in the vast labyrinth of shelves, storage boxes and cramped rooms. She's never gotten lost so far. And even if she's never seen a certain artefact before, and has found no files about it to make a cross-reference, she can tell almost immediately what it is and classify it by type, origin, and date of acquisition.

The memories that linger aren't always good ones. On the second day here she thinks she hears someone crying; breathy, muffled sobs of pain and heartbreak. Another time a drawer slams with an angry rattle several rooms down. Muted and incomprehensible angry shouts startle her on another and a scream once made her heart leap to her throat.

Other sounds are less frightening, but they embarrass her instead. The rustle of clothes and the slither of belts on cloth from the shelf behind her. A bitten down moan from next door, harsh panting in the corridor. She blushes, leaves the room and tries not to listen. Even ghosts deserve their privacy.

She likes best the silent murmurs that come in the evening when her eyes ache from peering at faded letters and her hands are grey with dust. She sits with her back against the wall and listens, quietly, to the wordless voice that echoes in the dark, vaulting rooms. No words she can hear but she can feel the love behind them, the tenderness and affection that sometimes brings tears to her eyes.

Gwen doesn't know, and neither does Rhys. Lois doesn't think she will ever tell them. This is her secret, her Torchwood secret. These are Ianto Jones' memories for her, and one day, once Torchwood has taken her life, her own and his will belong to her successor. And so on.

The Archives are more than artefacts and files in musty rooms. They are echoes and whispers and memories and it's part of her job to take care of them too.

Next part: Even Stars Go Out