28: Sunday 14th December 2008

 

 

 

“I’m sick of hearing about what your instincts tell you,” Owen snapped at Jack, “I want to do something.”

“He went away, he’ll come back,” Jack repeated for what was possibly the hundredth time, and Owen looked ready to shoot him again.

“I was prepared to sacrifice the world for Diane, and all you can do for Ianto is sit and stare at the fucking wall!”

“Some of us can love without risking the population.”

Love,” Owen snorted derisively.  “I was right all along, it’s just a game to you.”

Jack couldn’t be bothered to fight, knowing he was battling Owen’s fear rather than his intellect.  He kept quiet while the doctor ranted for a further ten minutes, then watched him stomp back to his workstation to carry on with his pointless lines of enquiry.

Jack had arrived back at the Hub at seven-thirty that morning and, although it had been easy enough to persuade the women to go home after they’d worked the entire night, an equally shattered Owen was being as stubborn and difficult as only Owen could be.  It wouldn’t be long though before exhaustion got the better of him, and he’d be back in Jack’s office bearing an apology rather than abuse; the apology would be more about not wanting to be alone than being contrite.

While he was waiting for the doctor to return, Jack dipped into his top drawer and brought out the Christmas card that Ianto had given him, reading and re-reading it, knowing the tinny rendition of Silent Night was making Owen twitchy with curiosity.  Jack had barely found a good place on the desk for the card when Owen arrived and sat, thankfully without the half-hearted contrition.  He stared at the source of the alleged music, scowling at the card’s naffness.

“That isn’t from Ianto, surely,” he said after a while.

“It is,” Jack told him with a sad smile.  “It’s…pinstripe.”

“What does that actually mean?  I heard the two of you use it before he—  You used it when he was here.”

“You wouldn’t appreciate what it means,” Jack told him, not unkindly, but honestly.

Owen let that go but kept staring.

“Can I?” he gestured.

Jack nodded, and Owen picked the card up, studying the soppy picture with amusement before reading the printed verse inside, which was equally as saccharine.  Beneath that…  Of course he recognised Ianto’s writing, but had a hard time coming to terms with the understated sentiment in the simple little message he’d written to Jack, so obviously from the heart.  Jack watched Owen’s face and saw the sincerity touch him, unsurprised when the card was abruptly closed.  The sudden silence was deafening.

“It feels like he’s been gone a long time,” Owen eventually said, awkward and quiet.

“Yes,” Jack agreed, barely managing to force the one word past the lump in his throat.

Owen replaced the card on the desk, balancing it closed against a lamp rather than opening it again and being subjected to the irritating music box.  A protracted, thought-filled silence ensued before Owen once again pointed to the card.

“I didn’t know him at all.  Not really.”

“You didn’t know him yet you trusted him.  The way you don’t trust me anymore.”

Miraculously, Owen didn’t argue.

“D’you think—”  Owen paused, cleared his throat, and tried again.  “Would I have liked him?”

Jack smiled and blinked back tears.

“Y’know…  I think you would.”

 

 

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