Ficlet: Empty Spaces
Title: Empty Spaces
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Gwen.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 726
Spoilers: Exit Wounds.
Summary: The Hub feels like an alien environment now, the absences more noticeable than what remains.
Content Notes: Loss and grief. Canon character death.
Written For: Challenge 413: Negative Space at fan_flashworks.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
The Hub, which was once familiar in its dimly lit shabbiness, feels like an alien environment now, haunted by the absence of what should be there, but isn’t. Only a few days ago, it was full of noise and laughter, the staccato tapping of graceful fingers on keyboards, the metallic clatter of medical implements in the tiled and brightly illuminated autopsy bay, voices calling back and forth, exchanging friendly banter and sarcastic complaints…
Now an uncomfortable silence holds sway, the inhabitants moving around like ghosts, speaking in whispers and trying to walk softly so as not to disturb the unnatural stillness. There’s no laughter, only muffled sobs and ragged breathing. Ianto feels like an intruder as he goes about his routine tasks, a jigsaw piece that doesn’t fit because it’s somehow ended up in the wrong puzzle box. He’s cold and brittle on the outside, achingly empty inside.
Jack only leaves his office when there’s a Rift alert, or Weevils to be dealt with. The rest of the time, he sits at his desk, pretending to be busy but mostly just staring into space at nothing. Or perhaps he sees ghosts. The Hub was surely haunted long before now, but the presence of unseen spectres has never felt so immediate, or so personal.
Gwen mostly huddles on the sofa, visiting her workstation only when she needs to use a computer. Sometimes she slinks about ineffectually trying to do things with her head bowed and shoulders hunched, sodden tissues clutched in her hand. Ianto had to stock up at the supermarket when he went out to fetch lunch that nobody ate.
Ianto… He does everything that no one else can face doing, but hasn’t that always been the case? He’s the General Support Officer, among other titles; it’s literally his job to support everyone else. So he files reports, and he cleans, and he feeds the inmates in the cells, and he makes the coffee. He comforts Gwen, and fusses over Jack, and tries to pretend he isn’t just as broken as his two remaining colleagues. He hides his own feelings away behind a mask of quiet efficiency, just the way he did when he first joined the team, and if anyone notices, they don’t say anything. At least not during work hours.
After Gwen goes home at night to her husband’s comforting arms, Ianto and Jack cling together in Jack’s cot, in the darkness of his bunker, and try to pretend that the rest of the Hub, the rest of the world, doesn’t exist. They don’t talk much, what is there to say? Words are inadequate anyway. Eventually, Ianto sleeps and Jack keeps watch over him, until it’s time to get up and start all over again.
How long will it be before the emptiness starts to feel normal? Before Ianto finds himself making just three cups of coffee, instead of four, or five? Before he remembers not to reach for the green tea? Before he feels able to inventory the contents of the med bay? Before he can look at empty chairs and abandoned computers without flinching?
Four days and counting. He, and Jack, and Gwen, rattle around the Hub like loose components of a machine that used to run smoothly and efficiently, but is now irreparably damaged, limping along as it continues trying to fulfil its purpose as best it can. Ianto’s not sure if any of them can be fixed, doesn’t know if they should even try.
It’s much too soon to consider trying to replace the missing pieces, the gaping holes they left behind are still too raw. This isn’t like after Suzie, when Jack immediately plugged the gap to keep the team from fracturing; the wounds run too deep this time, and even though Ianto has cleaned, and scrubbed, and made repairs, he knows he’s done nothing more than paper over the cracks. But what else can he do?
He washes mugs, makes more coffee, delivers it to people who barely notice, and never mention that it isn’t up to his usual high standards. He skirts around the empty workstations without looking at them, avoids the med bay completely, escapes the too-quiet Hub as soon as he can, taking refuge in the even quieter archives where at least the silence is normal. And he wonders if it will ever stop hurting.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Gwen.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 726
Spoilers: Exit Wounds.
Summary: The Hub feels like an alien environment now, the absences more noticeable than what remains.
Content Notes: Loss and grief. Canon character death.
Written For: Challenge 413: Negative Space at fan_flashworks.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
The Hub, which was once familiar in its dimly lit shabbiness, feels like an alien environment now, haunted by the absence of what should be there, but isn’t. Only a few days ago, it was full of noise and laughter, the staccato tapping of graceful fingers on keyboards, the metallic clatter of medical implements in the tiled and brightly illuminated autopsy bay, voices calling back and forth, exchanging friendly banter and sarcastic complaints…
Now an uncomfortable silence holds sway, the inhabitants moving around like ghosts, speaking in whispers and trying to walk softly so as not to disturb the unnatural stillness. There’s no laughter, only muffled sobs and ragged breathing. Ianto feels like an intruder as he goes about his routine tasks, a jigsaw piece that doesn’t fit because it’s somehow ended up in the wrong puzzle box. He’s cold and brittle on the outside, achingly empty inside.
Jack only leaves his office when there’s a Rift alert, or Weevils to be dealt with. The rest of the time, he sits at his desk, pretending to be busy but mostly just staring into space at nothing. Or perhaps he sees ghosts. The Hub was surely haunted long before now, but the presence of unseen spectres has never felt so immediate, or so personal.
Gwen mostly huddles on the sofa, visiting her workstation only when she needs to use a computer. Sometimes she slinks about ineffectually trying to do things with her head bowed and shoulders hunched, sodden tissues clutched in her hand. Ianto had to stock up at the supermarket when he went out to fetch lunch that nobody ate.
Ianto… He does everything that no one else can face doing, but hasn’t that always been the case? He’s the General Support Officer, among other titles; it’s literally his job to support everyone else. So he files reports, and he cleans, and he feeds the inmates in the cells, and he makes the coffee. He comforts Gwen, and fusses over Jack, and tries to pretend he isn’t just as broken as his two remaining colleagues. He hides his own feelings away behind a mask of quiet efficiency, just the way he did when he first joined the team, and if anyone notices, they don’t say anything. At least not during work hours.
After Gwen goes home at night to her husband’s comforting arms, Ianto and Jack cling together in Jack’s cot, in the darkness of his bunker, and try to pretend that the rest of the Hub, the rest of the world, doesn’t exist. They don’t talk much, what is there to say? Words are inadequate anyway. Eventually, Ianto sleeps and Jack keeps watch over him, until it’s time to get up and start all over again.
How long will it be before the emptiness starts to feel normal? Before Ianto finds himself making just three cups of coffee, instead of four, or five? Before he remembers not to reach for the green tea? Before he feels able to inventory the contents of the med bay? Before he can look at empty chairs and abandoned computers without flinching?
Four days and counting. He, and Jack, and Gwen, rattle around the Hub like loose components of a machine that used to run smoothly and efficiently, but is now irreparably damaged, limping along as it continues trying to fulfil its purpose as best it can. Ianto’s not sure if any of them can be fixed, doesn’t know if they should even try.
It’s much too soon to consider trying to replace the missing pieces, the gaping holes they left behind are still too raw. This isn’t like after Suzie, when Jack immediately plugged the gap to keep the team from fracturing; the wounds run too deep this time, and even though Ianto has cleaned, and scrubbed, and made repairs, he knows he’s done nothing more than paper over the cracks. But what else can he do?
He washes mugs, makes more coffee, delivers it to people who barely notice, and never mention that it isn’t up to his usual high standards. He skirts around the empty workstations without looking at them, avoids the med bay completely, escapes the too-quiet Hub as soon as he can, taking refuge in the even quieter archives where at least the silence is normal. And he wonders if it will ever stop hurting.
The End