Chapter Four

Hours later

The stars were out. Ianto stood at the center of the vast field, a rift activity detector silent and dark in his hand, and stared up at the sky, at the tiny points of light shining between dark sheaths of cloud. His breath frosted as he breathed out.

They'd come back. Gwen and Jack. The Reapers had disappeared, seeming to burn away. The world had righted itself. It had gotten dark; it had become night. And Gwen and Jack had returned, looking confused. Then Ianto had told them what happened. David had done it. David had gone through.

He'd gone.

Gwen went home. She wanted to see Rhys, Ianto knew – wanted to touch him, make him real again, solid and alive. Wanted to know that what they had done was worth it, in the end. She still had what she wanted.

Ianto and Jack went back to the hub. Jack had settled at his desk and poured that rare drink. He'd offered one to Ianto, that look in his eyes. The look that came when he'd just done something terrible for the best possible reasons. Ianto declined. He collected his coat and keys. He slipped a rift activity detector into his pocket.

He went back to the field.

He stood there, hoping. Just a flash on the detector, a spark. But there was nothing.

David was really gone.

The dark and the cold pressed Ianto in all directions. The wind ran its icy fingers through his hair, over his exposed skin, through the buttons of his shirt. He shivered. He stared down at the readout of the detector. Something. Something.

It started to snow.

He looked up. And it gripped him. What had he done? This child – God, what had he done? It welled up inside of him, swelling in his stomach and chest, knotted and uncomfortable; shame. Grief. His eyes burned. His chest heaved. He dropped the detector and pressed his hands to either side of his head, letting out a frustrated scream that rang in the dark, in the snow, and echoed back to him from the trees. He'd killed a child, so much like him at that age – killed all of the things that he would have done.

The wind bit at the tears in his eyes and on his cheeks, but he didn't wipe them away. He deserved the pain of it. The cold. Didn't he? He shrugged out of his coat, out of his suit jacket and threw them away; stood shivering in just his shirt, forcing his hands to stay at his sides, letting the grief riot in his stomach, the breath catch and halt in his lungs, the cold seep into his skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the dark, his eyes tightly shut.

A hand gripped his shoulder. "Ianto," Jack whispered, with tears in his voice.

Ianto didn't turn to look at him. He lifted one hand out in front of him and let the snowflakes fall onto his palm; felt the kiss of cold as they dissolved there and the water ran down the lines – life line, fate line, love line.

"It isn't real snow," Jack said quietly from behind him. "The disturbance in the atmosphere from the time lock is causing it."

Ianto looked at his hand. "It's never real snow."

Jack bent and picked up the rift activity detector, which was slowly collecting a dusting of white. He walked a few paces and picked up Ianto's jacket and coat, then returned and pushed them onto Ianto's shoulders, the reverse of their usual dance. And Ianto did not move; only stood looking at his hand in the dark. Looking at the snow and the water.

Jack put his hand on Ianto's arm. "Come on," he said gently.

Ianto turned, still not looking up, and began to walk back toward the road. He felt Jack beside and a little bit behind him. A constant, warm presence. He couldn't be grateful for it.

At the road, he turned in the direction of his car, but Jack caught his hand, stopping him. He finally looked. Jack's eyes were rimmed red, and so ungodly sad. "No," he said, his voice almost lost in the sound-deadening snow. "We'll get it tomorrow. I'll drive you home."

"I'm not going home."

"I'll take you wherever you want to go."

The desperate worry in Jack's voice slumped Ianto's shoulders and nodded his head. Some small light of relief appeared on Jack's face, and he started for the SUV, Ianto's hand still in his. He walked to the passenger side and opened the door, let Ianto slide in and then went to his own side.

The headlights illuminated the falling white, and they pulled out onto the road, the only visible car forever.

"Where are you going?" Jack asked.

Ianto stared, eyes lidded, out of the window. "My sister's."

Jack nodded and took the first turn they came to.

- - -

They parked across the street from the Davies' house. Ianto peered out of the passenger window; they were all outside. Johnny, David and Mica were playing in the snow, chasing each other; shouting and laughing. Rhiannon sat on the stoop, watching them, bundled up, her arms wrapped around herself.

Jack was looking past Ianto, out at the family. "Are they your niece and nephew?"

Ianto nodded, watching as Mica slipped and Johnny came up behind her and set her back to her feet.

"What are their names?"

"Mica," Ianto said. He took a breath. "And David."

Jack looked at him. He put his hand over Ianto's.

"I'm sorry."

Ianto looked at him.

Jack met his eyes, then looked past him, out of the window again. "Do you want me to go with you? Meet them?"

Ianto looked down at the SUV dashboard. He shook his head. "No."

Jack frowned, then nodded.

Ianto slipped his hand out from under Jack's and put it on the door handle. Without turning to look at him, he said quietly, "Thanks. For the ride."

"It's fine."

Ianto slowly opened the car door and slipped out into the cold, snow spiraling in through the gap. Then he shut the door, looked in both directions and crossed the street toward the Davies' house. Jack watched him. He watched Ianto cross to the sidewalk, watched his shoes whisper over the slowly whitening grass as he made his way over the lawn. Watched as Johnny stopped chasing Mica and called a greeting. Watched Ianto raise a hand and keep going, moving for the stoop, for his sister. Watched as Rhiannon stood, concern on her face – Jack knew why; Ianto, so pale, so shattered, his hands shaking the entire ride, his breath unsteady and sharp. Watched as Ianto shook his head against her questions – all he could do, probably.

Watched as Rhiannon pulled him into a hug, holding onto him tightly in the light from the streetlamps, in the light from the windows, in that strange light of snow.

Jack started the SUV. He wiped his eyes. He gave reign to the whisperings of grief inside of his own chest.

He drove away.

Fin