Work Text:
In a store-bought card: "My darling Ianto, Happy Birthday. All my love, Mum." Eventually she'd dropped the pretense of adding "Dad."
By email: "Many happy returns, mate. You can't keep a secret around Lisa ;). Kisses, J." On paper, Ianto has nothing left of Jerome.
With fuzzy handcuffs: "I can google too, coffee boy! Shoddy encryption calls for punishment. Happies, Owen." Ianto isn't mad at all.
Traced by fingers on his skin: "MINE." His hips arch into the weight on top of him.
Folded in a paper heart: "May all your birthdays be happy. Love, Lisa." He reads it back. Her life-support says beep, beep, beep.
On an apron depicting, full-body, a sexy French maid: "Ianto, you're not just a pretty face. xoxo Gwen." Jack gropes the boobs.
In his computer queue: Surveillance video, grainy and mute. Too close to home. He wonders if Jack knew all along (Jack always knows).
Tucked in a pocket protector: "Safety first, Ianto. We'd be lost without you. Love, Tosh." Party aside, love is the real surprise.
In a datebook: "Dear son, I hope you know that, despite everything, I've always loved you." His father removed the page; tore it up.
Inscribed on a stopwatch: "Thank you for babysitting all of us. And everything else. Yours, CJH." Ianto feels it tick, tick, tick.