memoire involuntaire ; ( capnhotness )
A lack of subtlety is a bothersome thing in the life of one Ianto Jones, as he prides himself on maintaining his cool and calm demeanor no matter what. Alas, after a particularly exciting, er, scuffle, up in the tourist information office with Jack, he's looking a little more on the not side of well put together. Ianto straightens his jacket ( Read more... )
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It is a lily, formerly white but yellowing after months left to dry unattended and flattened by pressing between the pages of some unknown book. As ordinary and innocuous as it seems, the act of picking the long dead flower up leeches the raw potency of the transfigured memory directly through the skin, latching onto telepathic receptors the human race at large has no idea it collectively possesses and pouring a torrent of morbidly coherent, perfectly crisp thought into Ianto's head.
He can taste the distinct bits of ash on his tongue, sticking to the back of his throat, and mentally discerns the organic from the inorganic charred remains as he breathes. It all mingles with the unique aroma of humanity - a smell he's only grown accustomed to after a century and a half (he still remembers when London reeked with new industry and improper sewers, the past hundred years nothing if not an improvement on hygiene) - and it seems too ironic, this level of destruction all broken down to the basic parts he can detect with finely tuned fifty- ( ... )
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Unconscious of doing so, swept up in the memory, Ianto opens his eyes to find his head is down on the desk, breath coming hard. He has to take a moment to steady himself, to stop from trembling at the power of emotion and memory - what begins to sink in as Jack's memory, of their first meeting. The one that was lost, Ianto remembers, that for whatever reason Jack had been reluctant to put back, contained in a flower that is now no more than a bit of dust on Ianto's fingertips. He straightens, head throbbing and heart aching with the experience, weighed down with an inexorable sense of guilt. The memory is a private thing, Jack's own experience, and Ianto has no idea how to address the fact that he's inadvertently stolen it away - and what's more, he can't quite decide what to do with the emotions and recollections attached. Hearing Jack tell him what he thinks of him is one thing ... this is another entirely. And knowing what it's like for Jack to die and return again is a chilling feeling he could have gone his entire life ( ... )
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Upstairs, in the back office of the tourist information center, Jack has been waiting oh-so-patiently for Ianto's return. It's a big step for him and quite impressive, considering his typical response to being within his own domain (the Hub itself) is to demand immediate action and reaction. Still, he's not once yelled for Ianto in the time that his lover has been gone, though by the time he arrives Jack is nearly on the verge of it.
"You just love making me wait," he accuses playfully once Ianto reappears in the doorway, leaning up from the half-prone position he'd formerly adopted across the length of Ianto's desk. "Did you find it, or did you make a run on the nearest store?" Jack grins, moving over to put Ianto's tie in a state of disarray again.
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That Jack is still there in the back office comes as a bit of a surprise to Ianto, and he actually manages a smile as his tie is tugged loose again. "I found it," he answers, a vaguely distracted note to his voice - one that can hopefully be excused by the sudden renewed proximity. After all, he'd left the office with a distinct sense of purpose, directly related to arousal, and it might just be coming back, mightn't it? "Sorry for making you wait."
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