m_findlow

Title: More bad news
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 506 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for badly_knitted's prompt "Any, any, the lost and found column" at fic_promptly
Summary: There's no good news in the newspaper anymore

Ianto picked up his coffee mug from the table and sipped as he flipped over the page, reading the morning's news. It was never the headlines that interested him that much, nor the pages of trashy celebrity gossip. It was always the sections towards the back that earned the most attention, wedged in between that and the sports pages at the end. It was the little things that garnered his attention, like the house in the real estate section that was going well cheaper than it should, or the letter to the editor, moaning about the strange goings on at their neighbours, which the police were too busy to investigate, and the "wanted to sell" section offering two hundred garden gnomes.

He flipped again, finding nothing of interest until he came to the lost and found column. It was the name that caught his eye. "Lost. Gerald Taylor. Last seen walking dog in Bute Park, May 17, 2010. Please call Sally 62 8417."

Not lost, Ianto thought, not missing either. He had been, but not anymore. The rift had brought him back.

He wanted to put a reply ad in the paper. "Found. Gerald Taylor. Picked up huddled at a bus stop on North Road, August 23, 2010. Taken to Flat Holm Island for medical treatment. Suffering PTSD. Tongue forcibly removed. Fingernails forcibly removed. Cannot or will not communicate. Spends ten hours a day folding origami paper cranes. Too broken to be returned home."

Wasn't that how it always was? Final diagnosis: too broken to be returned home.

Nobody ever came back from wherever they been and said, "yeah, had a lovely time, just like being in Benidorm". He wondered if anyone who'd been taken had ever ended up somewhere nice. Did they meet new people and start new lives, convinced that they were never coming home? Or was the rift vindictive and cruel, only ever dropping them somewhere awful? Was being sent back home a relief or a curse? Just knowing what had happened to them and not being able to tell anyone was eating him up inside. How many weeks would poor Sally Taylor waste her money putting ads in the paper for a husband that would never be coming home?

There were sudden hands on his shoulders, and a squeezing sensation. Jack was stood over him seeing what he was reading. 'Is there really nothing more we can do?'

He heard Jack sigh. How many times had they had this conversation? A hundred? A thousand? And still the argument went on just the same, neither of them willing to give in on a permanent basis, simply agreeing to disagree for a short while until it started up again. They're better off not knowing. It was a reasonable argument but it still never sat right.

Today there was no argument, just another squeeze of the shoulder and a kiss planted in his hair before Jack walked away.

Ianto sighed and flipped the paper shut, leaving it on the table sports page up.

"Lost. One will to fight."