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“Jack?” Ianto’s voice is soft; almost nothing more than an exhalation of air as it pulls him from his reverie.
Jack looks up from the cryogenic chamber and smiles sadly at Ianto. It has been a year since he sedated Grey and put him down here amongst the fallen members of Torchwood Three and half an hour since he gave him lethal doses of pancuronium and potassium chloride to ensure that he’ll never wake up again. Grey’s wakening would be worse than Suzie’s, and it is something he isn’t prepared to put Ianto and Gwen through ever again.
“You alright?” Ianto asks, moving the tray with the hypodermics out of the way.
Jack nods slowly and looks down at the already frosted glass panel. “Just thinking.”
Ianto looks down at chamber. “Tell me about him,” he asks softly. It’s not an odd demand; Jack has been telling both Ianto and Gwen little snippets from his life on the Peninsula for the last year, but it is the first time either of them have asked about Grey specifically. “Grey, it’s… an unusual name.”
Jack looks up, eyes wide and pain wraps itself around his heart, curling tightly as he begins to recount his first solid memory of his little brother.
~
It is Naming Day and as his Guardians arrive, he can’t help but laugh and call down to them from his window. There is a sharp tug on the back of his tunic, and he turns to smile at his father. Today is special and he must finish getting ready even though it feels like a hive of nettle-wasps have settled in his stomach, buzzing and flittering about, he is that excited.
“You must stay still,” a warm voice full of laughter tells him; all the while long fingers try to tug the tunic so it will sit correctly on his shoulders.
“But the guests are here!” He says with all the sincerity and exasperation of someone approaching their Eighth Turning.
“They will still be here once you’re dressed and ready, Athan, now stand still.” Fingers run through unruly, dark hair in an attempt to de-tangle and soothe a cowlick that insists on standing to attention.
Solemn blue eyes meet pale, pale green and for a moment, the child looks so much older than his Seventh Turning.
“I’ve chosen,” he says, little chin tilted defiantly.
“Really?”
“Yes, and you can’t make me change my mind! He’s my brother and this is my job!”
A deep chuckle fills the room. “No one is going to take this away from you, Athan, I promise.” A final smoothing of the soft material at the child’s shoulders, and his father is stepping back with a large smile and a firm nod. “It’s time,” he says softly and his words are punctuated by the ringing of the crystalline bell that is used for occasions such as this.
Athan’s eyes light up and he begins to tremble with excitement as they walk through the stone halls, making their way to the ceremonial room. It has been a long cycle and now that his little brother is celebrating his First Turning, he has forgotten how he cried a lot and smelled a lot and drew the attention of everyone in their familial unit – including him.
*
The official watches as the young boy holds on tightly to the child in his arms, little blue eyes serious as he sings to the sleeping infant; it had been an odd request, when the family had approached him for their newest addition’s Naming Day. The honour of Naming normally went to the child’s grand-kin or Guardian, someone wise enough to understand the seriousness of ceremony and ritual. Even now, as he looks at the little boy, he can see that the people – his Guardians – had chosen right during his Naming Ceremony; for one so young, his eyes speak of wisdom beyond his years.
“Athan,” the official whispers, smiling at the child. “What name do you bestow upon your brother?”
Athan grins, and turns the infant to meet his gaze. Tiny grey-blue eyes blink owlishly back at him, reminding Athan of the sea just outside their colony when it is at its most dangerous; right before a storm where the wind rages and the sand is whipped into the air so that it lashes against the outside of the buildings. A tiny fist reaches out to clutch at dark hair, his grip is strong and sure and, for a moment Athan thinks that his little brother will never let go.
“Grey,” he whispers before clearing his throat and saying it again, louder and with more conviction. “My brother’s name is Grey.”
~
Ianto squeezes Jack’s shoulder as he finishes telling him about the day he named his brother, the small gesture offering more comfort than words and he files away the information regarding Jack’s original name and the brief mentions of Fifty-first Century customs for another time, before he leaves Jack alone to say goodbye.
Jack takes one last look down at the chamber, and for a moment he thinks how painfully fitting it is that he has finally come full circle - from being the one honoured with Naming Grey, to being the one to see that he is buried and kept safe - as he slides the chamber closed and with a hiss and thrum of machinery, he can finally lay his brother and his brother’s memory to rest.