55 – Who Do You Pray To?
W/C: 1480
Warnings/spoilers/content: angst and likely profanity because Torchwood
Summary: Ianto seems to be coping better
Characters: Ianto
Ianto's New Timeline: September 2006
A/N: the TARDIS is BAMF

Everything & Everywhere Exists Here (Especially the Pain)

TW Ianto's Journal TW Ianto's Journal TW

I spend a lot of time sitting beneath this tree. It's nice. It's so green and it overlooks the lower part of the cemetery. I'm either here or home, it seems.

I think I might be loosing it a bit. I've started talking to people. Sometimes I answer for them. It could be worse, I guess. At least I'm not hearing voices – yet. Karen says I should talk about it. Hopefully, this is close enough.

I've spent a lot of time at his grave. Sometimes I talk to her too. Lately, I've had a few good talks with the Doctor. Not the real one of course. I don't think he's ever coming back. I probably wouldn't, if I were him. How could he bear it? He's lost so much. He gets twice the pain, doesn't he? After all, he has got two hearts.

I'm trying to find something to believe in. I need to fill this hole. Who do I pray to? Nobody's listening. I talked to the TARDIS again today. I hope she's keeping him safe. I think that qualifies as a prayer?

Maybe she's listening.

TW Ianto's Journal TW Ianto's Journal TW

Yes.

I listen I hear your soul sing bright one. Sweet bright one. I hear you sing cry pray. A sad lovely song.

Such a sweet sweet boy.

My Doctor does not listen not now here there then not anywherewhen.

I am weepy stroppy zappy.

He knows better. He is not a child always a child silly man child.

I watch the man child. He huffs and puffs and runs here and there in my TARDIS. He throws things so grumpy stroppy sleepy sad.

No sleeping too much sleeping no yummy things angry belly no silly clothes no happy faces too many books. Terrible books sad books sad room.

He hears the ringing the ringing keeps ringing. He knows who is ringing. He is afraid angry sorry. Not enough hearts and hands and eyes and lips here. Lonely. My Doctor is so lonely. So many hearts hurting breaking crying.

I sing. He shouts. I sing louder. He pleads he can't he won't he can't. Can't make up your mind silly man child! Can't talk to the sweet sweet boy. He says he will shout cry rage.

I sing shout zap! No my Doctor! No shouting crying raging at the sweet sweet boy.

Yes, he says. No shouting at the sweet sweet boy.

The ringing keeps ringing. His soul is singing he is waiting praying crying. I am listening waiting watching.

So many hearts singing crying breaking.

Zappy zappy zappy

"Oy! What was that for?"

You know.

"I don't know what you're talking about, you miserable meddler," he grumbles.

You know.

"Just… just mind your own business!" He turns and storms out of the console room – her console room. As he passes through the archway the TARDIS sends another zap up his arm.

"And stop zapping me!"

Listen my Doctor. The ringing keeps ringing. He keeps singing. Sweet sweet boy.

"Leave me alone… please… my dear," he begs her again for a reprieve. "Alone is better." He tells her. He doesn't believe it. Not really. But its all he can think of right then. When he finally sinks into the purple reading chair he sighs and closes his burning eyes. He can't do this anymore. He needs… He needs his friends. He knows this. But he can't stand the thought of... the anger, the hate, the blame. They will surely blame him. As they should, he thinks.

No, she says. Alone is not better. Doctor, my Doctor. Always alone sad scared.

HE NEEDS THEM. She knows that he needs his people. But he is too proud, to self-destructive to call out for help or even to take help when it is offered. She knows that she must do it for him. For that is her true purpose—the one she has chosen for herself — to care for him when he is alone and broken, too broken to help himself.

I know truth my Doctor. I know I heard I felt. I am here now there then everywherewhen. I am timeless so great so very small.

Alone is not better.

No more waiting watching wishing.

So, she comes up with plan to save her Doctor, to save the sweet sweet boy and the eternal one.

I MANAGE TO juggle the grocery bags and open the front door without incident. It only takes a few minutes to put the food away and by the time I'm done the tea has properly steeped. I tear open the packet of chocolate dipped biscuits and watch as the last rays of sunlight disappear. I spent most of the afternoon browsing through a bookshop. Nice for a change, to be amongst the living. The quiet, near solitude was comfortable. Just a few people milling about but not enough to disturb the peaceful nature of the dusty old shop. I bought a second-hand copy of the Alchemist by the Brazilian author Paulo Coelho. The shop-keeper said it was a allegorical fable about finding one's destiny. Appropriately, it was shelved in the Self-Help section. I figured it really couldn't hurt. Karen will be pleased with me for making an effort. Maybe I'll ask Jack to read it to me.

My pyjamas are calling to me and I can't think of any reason why I should have to stay dressed for the outside. I have no intention of venturing out of the house again tonight, End-of-the-World or not. I need some relief from the chattering in my head so I put on some music, nothing too happy or too sad but I need some words to sing. The thoughts in my head tend to get louder in the silence.

I'm tired and I have no idea when Jack will finally make it home. Lately, I've been sleeping better, more soundly, fewer nightmares. It's made a huge difference in my overall mood. It's hard to cope with the shit the universe throws at you on little to no sleep. I haven't been in to the Hub for days. Even when I do make it in, I'm very little help. Other than coffee and a bit of filing. But they seem to appreciate that so I am happy to do it. I miss them but I don't miss the questions or the questioning looks. I am not okay and if another person asks me… well, I don't know what I'll do. I've been cutting it off at the pass. I can tell by their face. The sympathetic, worried, slightly desperate look in their eyes that says they're about to ask after your mental health. Now, I just hold up a hand and respond pre-emptively with a, "No." It seems to work. At least, people tend to stop asking.

THERE'S SOMETHING ON my pillow. I'm startled when I find that its the cylindrical golden pendant given to me by the Doctor and the TARDIS so many years ago. I run the long gold chain through my fingers. It's warm and sleek to the touch. It always sparkles in the light and I'm compelled to stroke its smooth surface. I tap the end just like the Doctor showed me and suddenly an intricate glyph appears on the widest side of the pendant. Its beautiful and delicate.

I contemplate how the symbol of the Aztec Goddess Ixcel managed to spread throughout the galaxy. I can see the appeal of this goddess of many faces. She served many facets of life, had so many names: the Jaguar Goddess of Fertility and Midwifery, the Goddess of Earth and War, the Goddess of Rain.

Growth and change. Birth and rebirth. Powerful qualities, indeed.

I clutch it tightly. She speaks to those in need. When the land was dry they prayed to her for rain. When conflict arose her people prayed for victory. When the challenges of change threaten they asked for her protection.

He told me that if I wore it, it would bring me good luck. I haven't worn it in a long time. I slip it on. I could use a little good luck for a change.

Jack must have come across it when he was putting away the laundry. How thoughtful of him.

I can't hold out any longer. I'm drawn to my cozy bed. For a change, my muscles relax without effort one by one, my mind gets fuzzy and I fall asleep feeling safe and warm.