My Birthday post

One year ago I was still healing from my father's death. The year before he died was probably the worst year I've ever experienced. Watching him deteriorate mentally, helpless to help him. Knowing what I needed to do to help him but not being able to. His life ended one night. He was all alone. Probably scared. I don't know. I wasn't there. And for the past two years I've punished myself for not being there. For not forcing my elderly father to seek the help he needed. My guilt consumed me. Still does I suppose. I loved both of my parents. They weren't good parents, to say that they should never have had children is an honest expression of growing up in a house filled with mental issues and abuse. My father was simply not there until I was an adult. But I loved him. I love my mother. The small little part of me that knows why she is the way she is does love her. I can never see her or speak to her ever again because she will never change.

What does this have to do with anything?

Today is my birthday. I'm 43. This past year was probably the best year of my life. MY LIFE. Oh sure, there were events in my life that were the better than this past year. Meeting my husband. Having four beautiful children. You know, that sort of thing.

I knew what I wanted to be in the 9th grade. I'd just finished reading The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton. It took me maybe three hours. And I knew. Miss Hinton was 17 when she wrote that book. I identified with Johnny Cade and maybe with Ponyboy to an extent. Sort if you mixed them up then that's what I was. Not a throw away kid, the opposite. The prisoner. The kid who was called fart face for six months. I couldn't do anything right. I was fat and ugly and why can't you act like a girl? Stupid. Baby Elephant. Never amount to anything. I had everything I wanted. I got a new car for graduation. And I walked away from it all. I couldn't date. I'd just get pregnant. You look like a god damned boy, what boy would want to date you.

That was my life. I got some of that at school. I changed high schools after the 9th grade to escape the worst of it. Fat. I was fat. I was weird. A show off know it all. But fat. I left that school. Do you know how hard it is to have no self esteem and the be horrifically shy and change schools at the worst time ever. High school. I got it at home and I got it at school. I was tired of getting it. Changing schools wasn't the best thing that ever happened to me, but those next three years were better than all of the ten before them. I fit in a little better at my new school. There were kids there like me. One girl who really was a boy without the equipment. I had no past with the boys. They accepted me. I wasn't interested in dating them. The girls I friended tried to change me, I did change the way I dress, but not by much. I experimented with styles. In the 80's you could be gender neutral and still be in style. I liked that.

That tom-boy girl grew up fell in love had children but she never outgrew the tom-boy. I'm comfortable with who I am now. I am comfortable with the life I chose. I escaped abuse. I met a man who looked past the short hair and over sized t-shirts. He made me comfortable with my body. I'm still fat. I'll always be fat. But no one calls me that anymore. No one asks if I'm a boy or a girl. I found my identity after I grew up.

I'm 43 years old and sometimes those wounds are still so raw I want to curl up in a ball and just stop. Stop everything. But I don't. I matter. I mattered to my father even though he wasn't around. I matter to my mother just not in the way I want to matter. Her hatred of me keeps her alive, gives her something to fill her days with. I won't deprive her of that honor. She can never find me. She can't hurt my children. They know she exists. They saw enough to know to stay away.

This past year I joined the gay community by default I guess you could say. I wrote my first gay romance. And then a second and a third and so on. This past year I've met some many wonderful people in this community. People in this community have embraced me and my stories.

I've been asked how I could write something like In From The Cold. How could I possibly know what that feels like? Because I lived it. I'm not gay, I'm not a lesbian. I'm a child of abuse. I know what it's like to live in skin so tight you can't breathe for fear of what is going to happen next. I wanted out. I wanted gone. I was going to run away to Texas. I stayed to protect my brother and sister. As long as she focused on me she left them alone. I stayed when I could have gone. And then I couldn't stay. I couldn't keep breathing the same air as her. I thought about ending it all. But I wanted to prove her wrong.

I've proved her wrong. Many times over. My smart beautiful kids prove her wrong. My stories prove her wrong. That I am alive and happy proves her wrong.



I did.

Mercy

And we have lift off

I did it. I didn't think I would but I did it.
The 51st Thursday is live once again.

Right now it's only on ARe but it should be on Amazon sometime later today. I hope. I've got it up and unless they kick it back during review like they did Cold then soon.

And just so we know. I'm a basket case. Not as bad as I was after I edited, formatted, and uploaded Cold. But close a damn nuff.
So non kindle users you can go here. The 51st Thursday on ARe and be the first to read it. Amazon peeps. Just hold on. It's coming. You know they are slow as cream rising on buttermilk over there. (I have no idea what that means but I've heard it all my life).
And now I'm going to go crash until noon.

And it's up and going on Amazon now. The 51st Thursday on Amazon

More fun, join me over at my friend Laura Harner's blog today. Say hi, look around.  I think I wrote something about alligators but I can't remember.

Happy Anniversary to me

Again, another one year thing to honor. On this day in 2011 my first Mercy book was released upon an unsuspecting world. Double Coverage. My football menage m/f/m. Wow has it really only been a year? Strange weird wonderful year. Details are to the right.
Mercy

Thursday morning coming down

Going to do a bit of updating today. Bad news first.
I'm not going to make the anticipated January 26 release date for 51. I'm almost finished with the final edit on it. I still have to format it. Nothing big there. I don't have cover art yet. Still looking for the perfect cover. I'm going to say right now that I'm pushing the date back by one week. Which means even worse news. Cold 2 will go back by one week as well. Because I haven't even started on it yet. It's a much longer book close to 80 thousand words so it's going to take a little more time to finish rewriting and edit. So let's say February 2nd for 51 and March 8th for Cold 2.



And a little good news. Lace if anyone is counting which I am because I'm weird that way is on day number 80 in the Amazon top ten gay fiction charts. It released on Amazon on November 1 at number 24 dropped to 15 then to 5 and decided it was cozy there and stayed up. Amazing. Simply astonishing. Thank you to all of you who've given me a chance. Cold isn't doing poorly itself. Not as good as Lace but in the top 100. But it's a difficult book to read. Not light and fluffy like Lace.

Geez what's going to happen when Beyond Complicated comes out on April 14? That one is certainly not light and fluffy. The subject matter is a bit out there.

Anyway, happy Thursday everyone. Please don't poke pins in my voodoo doll. I'm doing the best I can.
Peace,
Mercy

Better late than never I guess.

I apologize in advance. This is pure crap and not very long. 1500 words. Moving the story along. Slowly. Painfully slowly. I fear I'm out of my deapth in this. Give me help. Where is this going? What would be in the bunker under the hill? I have an ending in mind, getting there is going to be a struggle since I'm not a techie. Group assignment. What tests would Martha run on Ianto? What equipment would be in the bunker? What was the bunker used for? You guys know this stuff.

For better or worse....mostly worse here's today's chapter of Torchwood fanfiction.

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to these characters. I will not profit from this, just a fun project to keep me entertained. I apologize for butchering the world.

Mercy

Chapter Three

January 15, 2012

Mercy Celeste

Earth food. There was nothing quite like it in the universe. Jack ate holding onto Ianto’s hand the entire time. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been truly hungry. Or sleep. He’d slept for the first time in probably months. Holding on to Ianto as if his very life depended upon the contact.

“Uncle Jack is happy?” the child said pushing a block into his hand. Jack looked at her for the first time ever. A girl. Pretty. Looked just like Rhys. How could a child, any child that looked like Rhys Williams be as pretty as this one? Smart too. Like her mother. At least she had that going for her.

“That’s right,” he searched his memory for a name, Gwen would kill him if he didn’t remember her child’s name. Tosh. She’d named her after Toshiko. He looked at Ianto for help. A smile lit his eyes, that smug look he often wore when he caught Jack off his game.

“It’s Tasha,” Ianto whispered looking surreptitiously at the bickering couple near the sink. “After Tosh.”

“Thank you, Ianto.” Jack squeezed his hand.

“I’m Uncle Ianto, apparently.” Ianto squeezed back. “No wonder Micha was terrified of me. Anyway, Jack, what is this place?”

“Not the place, we’ll talk later.” Jack hated evading the question after swearing to himself he’d never hide anything from Ianto again. But he didn’t want Rhys or even the child inadvertently overhearing something that could hurt them. Rhys was a good man. Brave and dependable but still Jack would rather keep him in the dark as much as possible. Even Gwen didn’t need to know everything now that she had... “Tasha, such a pretty name for such a pretty girl. I am very happy. How about you are you happy?”

“Yes.” She looked up at him with a pair of huge hazel eyes all sweet innocence and Jack forgot to breathe. Once, his daughter had looked at him like that. And a son. The son long gone now. Nearly seventy years ago. Died of old age. No grandchildren survived. “I like blocks.”

Jack took the blocks from her little hand and letting go of Ianto for just a moment he took the little squares of plastic apart and laid them out on the table in front of her. Gwen chose that moment to bring coffee and a bowl of something sweet for the child. Strawberry yogurt.

“Jack, Rhys wants to know, and I completely agree with him, what exactly is going on? Ianto and the secrets under the hill, your constant silence is deafening if you forgive me for saying so. I know you’ve lost so much, but now,” Gwen paused her whispered plea, her gaze darting to Rhys standing beside the sink eating a sandwich. “The thing is we’ve done as you wanted and live a quiet life here in the middle of nowhere. We want to know if Ianto’s return is the start of something different. Will the aliens come back?”

“Gwen,” Jack took her hand in his as he spoke. She could see through his lies. She always could. When she trusted him it scared him but she did more than she didn’t. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” This from Ianto. Jack reached for his hand but stopped. The guarded look in his eyes told him to hold back. “I was gone, Jack. What am I if not the start of something? The dead don’t just get up and walk around. And couldn’t you have buried me in something other than the clothes I died in.”

Gwen gave a short bark of laughter laced with a sob, her eyes filmed over with tears. “Rhiannon had you cremated Ianto. You had no body left. You should be in an urn on her mantle.”

“Oh.” Ianto swayed in his seat his face gone paler than normal. “Well, I guess that puts a different spin on things doesn’t it? I mean I’m glad I don’t remember that. Do you think I’m still in the urn?”

Now why hadn’t anyone thought about that yesterday, Jack wondered, the half dreamed mating with the moon sprite coming to mind. There was so much in this universe that he didn’t understand. Could there really be a being of light granting wishes of the heart. It was the stuff of fairy tales and legend, but here was Ianto. His wish. Walking, talking, and as real as Jack or Gwen or even Rhys was. “Do you want Gwen to call and ask her?”

Ianto and Gwen both wore identical expressions of horror at the suggestion. “No sense giving her any more of a shock than she’s already had,” Jack said holding his hands up in surrender. “Can we at least stop worrying long enough to—“

He didn’t finish. The crunch of tires on gravel outside the small cottage followed closely by the whine of brakes brought them all to a halt. “Are you expecting company?” He looked to Gwen who shook her head slowly her eyes darting to the shelf high above her head.

“Gun is up there, I’ll go see who it is,” Gwen whispered looking over to Rhys who wore an almost identical expression. The old Rhys was gone. Jack noted. The blustering braggart replaced by a cautious man who been dragged into a life he didn’t understand. But had adapted because he had no choice. “Rhys stay with Tasha.”

“I know, Gwen.” Rhys left his sandwich and moved to pick up the child. Jack stepped in front of the cupboard that Gwen indicated and Ianto stepped in front of Rhys and the child. To the untrained eye it would look as if they were all just casually standing around. “Could be just the post come early.”

“Could be,” Jack agreed. Or could be there were curious eyes upon them though he’d tried to make sure this cottage was off the surveliance grid. “I’m back. Ianto’s alive. An unexpected visitor. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

Gwen looked back one last time, her hand behind her back where she had  secured a small hand gun on her way to the door. Then she sighed. Jack could see her shoulders sag in relief. She turned to him, “It’s Martha Jones, Jack, can’t be a social call. What do you want me to do?”

“Who’s Martha Jones?” Rhys looked to Ianto for answers.

“An old friend,” Jack knew why they sent Martha. “Let her in, Gwen. UNIT won’t settle for anything less than a full report.”

Gwen nodded and with a smile on her face she swept the door wide open and rushed out of the house her arms held wide. “Martha, look at you sweetie, looking gorgeous as ever,” she said in a sing song voice that belayed the tension of the moment before.

“Women,” Rhys said his breath a whoosh as he released the tension along with the child. “How is it they can go from ready to kill to making kissing noises in a second flat? And we know this Martha? Because I don’t.”

“Dr. Martha Jones. She really is an old friend, but she’ll be here on business. UNIT will want to know why I’m back and if I plan to stay. Martha is the friendly face meant to put us at ease.” Jack returned to the chair he’d vacated and the breakfast he’d let go cold.

“What the bloody fuck is UNIT?” Rhys said but memory swam over his face. “Oh those blokes in the red hats. I remember them.” He looked at Ianto for a moment.

“Ianto, she’ll want to dissect you, if you want to avoid this I’ll understand.” There was no way Martha would let such a thing as a resurrected Ianto Jones go unreported. If she knew. She didn’t have to know.

“And if she can tell me what I am?” There was indecision on his face. And fear. “She can tell if I’m human. Or if I’m some sort of abomination.”

“And what would you do with that knowledge?” Because Jack couldn’t go through the hell of losing him all over again. Human or not. He was just happy to have Ianto back. “I don’t want to lose you again. I’d rather not have to deal with you.”

“I would know the truth.” His voice was soft, broken. “I need to know, Jack. And if I’m—“

“You’re not. You’re human. I know you are.”

“How? I was dead. I’m not immortal like you, Jack, I didn’t knit myself back from ash. What if I’m some sort of sleeper agent, sent back because you wouldn’t kill me? What if—“

“You’re not!” Jack hadn’t meant to shout. Ianto drew himself up into a rigid stance, his eyes distant, reminding Jack of how he’d been after Lisa. No emotion. Too much pain. Everything and nothing. That had been what drew him to Ianto in the first place. His pain. All Jack had wanted was to ease the man’s pain. Instead he’d fallen in love. Irrevocably. “I would know. Look at me Ianto, I would know.”

Ianto sighed, closing his eyes, he seemed to be waiting for something. And that something walked into the kitchen took one look at him and drew her weapon.

TGIF am I right?

Wait, it is Friday? I think it is? I've been wrong before. We won't discuss the date. Okay we will it's the luckiest day of the year. And that's all you need to know. Because I said so. So there.

I have bad news for the Torchwood fan fiction fans. Not horrible news. Sort of awkward moment news. My lovely sixteen year old daughter has printed up a copy of my story so far and has taken me to task on several issues such as body disposal. Yes, she's a fan geek, she has sworn to fill me in on all Jack's exploits in Doctor Who land....because I saw The Face of Boe die and Jack is The Face of Boe and I has a sad that Jack became this enormous head in a glass jar and....I haven't seen any more Doctor Who episodes. I swear. There will be no Doctor Who fan fiction because, well, that episode frightened me. Anyway, Alaina, who is my middle darling daughter has read the first two installments and said "that was surprisingly very good, actually." And I died of heart failure.

So because I am dead of heart failure due to child compliment I shall strive to keep this story clean-ish. I know. No Dirty Torchwood. But maybe some R rated Torchwood. I know. The kid can't read my other stuff and it's so hard to get her attention. She's picky. I have no idea where she gets that from. What stop looking at me. I am not picky. Okay, yes I am. Picky as hell.


On that note, today is Friday. And what do we do around here on Friday? And Torchwood fansies who have found me, saddle up, because it's gonna be naughty. NSFW...remember the old warning about work, kids, old people and dogs. Well, it applies today. Cats are still allowed because you know, they're cool like that.

Mercy

I have news of a sort

Sherlock Holmes 2 is excellent. If you haven't seen it and you liked the first one go see it. Sequel is better than the original. Warning Stephan Fry is naked. Oh Lordy. I can never look him in his Gordon Gordon again. I'm not a movie person. I may have mentioned that once or twice. Honestly people look at me as if I've grown two heads when I say that. I really don't watch a lot of television and I see very few movies. I like books. Seeing the books come alive in my head. Words really do turn into moving pictures for me. So yes if I'm going to watch a movie I have to be riveted to the screen. I have to be amazed. I have to be astonished. I have to not be able to guess the ending in the first fifteen minutes. I like surprises. I like to be lead on a merry chase through this world for the next two hours. And I still hate chick flicks. I like things to blow up. I like strong female characters. I like lush period piece drama with an eye to detail. And RDJ in drag is about the best thing I've ever seen. Reminds me of Mulan and the line about ugly concubines. Love the chemistry between RDJ and Jude. Buddy flicks. Gimme one of those and I'm a happy twisted Cruller--hell, I'm a slinky.

So yes, Sherly had everything. I laughed I jumped out of my skin I awed I amazed and I would go back for round 2 in a heart beat if it hadn't cost $52 to see it the first time. I took two kids. We bought two Cokes and two popcorns and I spent $52 fucking dollars. Jiminy Cricket in the belly of a whale and the little wooden boy too. $52. Guess I won't be going to see One For The Money on my birthday after all.

News? What news?

Ah, yes, there is newsy news in regards to certain booky books. My booky books. Oooh.

I have release dates for both of the upcoming Silver Publishing books. Should I share? Or should I leave you guessing and waiting and....okay, I'm sharing. sheesh. can't a girl torture and torment? I'm good at torture and torment. I am. Really good. Have I ever mentioned that I taught myself how to throw knives when I was a teen. Got pretty good at it. Until I broke two of my mother's best knives. I hid them. She never noticed. I broke stainless steel. But I could.....

All right sheesh.

Beyond Complicated. My m/m/m slightly squirm inducing tale of what happens when a father and son have a relationship with the same man is set for release on April 14. And no there is no actual incest involved. Though I know there are people out there just waiting for me to write a twincest. Eeep. Just EEEEP.

And Need You Now my short story that I wrote in ten days and sold in two that I almost self pubbed but decided not to about two college room mates who reunite ten years after they meet and discover a great deal about each other in one eventful evening. Well, that one is set for June 2nd.

51 (if I can get cover art) is January 26
Cold Shadow of Doubt is February 29
Beyond Complicated is April 14
Need You Now is June 2nd
And who knows what I might have ready for March and May. Couple of shorts.
Think that'll hold y'all for awhile?

Oh and most of the invitations were done today. Still hunting down addresses for the rest.

Mercy

Fan Fiction Monday Ianto

Yes I remember the contest yesterday. Will announce a winner this evening. Promise. I stayed up until three this morning to write almost four thousand words in the Torchwood fan fic. I am crazy. I know. So this first. Tonight winners x 3.

Disclaimer. This is a fan fiction written in fun. I do not own any rights to these characters. I do not intend to profit from this work. This is only for fun.

Picking up where season 3 left off. Season 4 has no bearing on this. I haven't seen it. If you haven't seen season 3 be aware that there are spoilers throughout.
Mercy

January 8, 2012

Mercy Celeste

A Torchwood fan fic. 

Chapter Two.

A New Day

Strange. Everything seemed strange. Yesterday he’d been standing in front of a great holding tank talking to what appeared to be a giant two headed featherless flamingo. He remembered the threat. He remembered taking his gun and shooting the glass. It didn’t break. He couldn’t breathe, Jack holding him, begging them to—

Jack? Funny, lying with him like this, warm. He’d been cold for a long time it seemed. He let his fingers trail over Jack’s shoulders into his hair. He didn’t flinch. Ianto could feel his breath on his skin. His chest rising and falling. He slept. A hard, deep sleep. Strange. He’d never seen Jack sleep. Ever. He also couldn’t remember once lying with him like this. So close. Almost loved.

Morning was beginning to ebb away to mid-day. Ianto had no idea how he knew that. The bunker was dark. No windows. Or clocks. Just this small area was livable. A bed a few chairs. Lamps. Nothing to indicate what the place was used for. If it was a Torchwood bunker there would be secrets. Secrets Ianto wasn’t sure he wanted to discover.

Torchwood had condemned him; he’d known that the moment he went to work in London. Jack had saved him. Given him a reason to go on. But even so, Ianto had always felt a distance between them. He wasn’t sure who’d put up the barrier. Himself or Jack. There was so much about Jack he didn’t know. There was so much he’d probably never know. Like this bunker, Jack Harkness had so many secrets he probably didn’t know where to look for them himself.

The night had crawled by slowly but not painfully. Reunion sex, soft and tender. Nothing like he remembered. No games. No handcuffs. Nothing remotely kinky. Jack’s hands and kisses and soft words of love.

Confusion crowded his brain. He couldn’t sleep. His mind buzzed. As did his body. Like millions of little insects were walking over him. Yesterday there had been the monster, and the world was ending. The children, Micah and Davie. Oh god, Jack had children. A daughter. And a grandson. A grandson. Fragments of yesterday crowded his brain, like a jigsaw puzzle with round edges. All circles trying to fit together. Jack had been blown up. Nothing left. Yet he’d come back.

Screams. Ianto could hear his screams as cement poured over him. How much pain could one person stand before he wasn’t right in the head? But the children were all safe. Rhi and the children were so afraid of him. His own sister. Usually so vivacious. She’d sat across from him white as a ghost during their visit. Asking questions. He had no idea why he was there. He didn’t remember driving there. He didn’t remember anything except lying in Jack’s arms, his lungs burning. He remembered needing to get to the hub, to find Jack, Gwen. Owen. Tosh. But Owen and Tosh were gone. Lost the year before. Never replaced. But he needed to find them. Why? Nothing seemed right. Gwen looked different.

He’d left her in the warehouse with Rhys and the—man—the, he couldn’t remember the…strange man with funny words. Had called him queer. Oh dear god. He wasn’t…loving Jack didn’t make him…did it?

Careful so as not to disturb Jack, Ianto disentangled himself from his lover’s arms and after finding his clothes he traced his steps back to the door. Gwen had left them there alone. The pain in her eyes had been more than Ianto could bear. He’d seen it before. She’d fallen in love with Jack. Wanted him over Rhys. A schoolgirl crush. She’d watched them after her wedding. Never saying a word when they touched. For a long time Ianto thought he wasn’t the only one with Jack. Sometimes he thought the connection with Gwen had become sexual. The chemistry was there. More so than the chemistry between Jack and himself.

The door wasn’t heavily protected. A code lock that wasn’t engaged. He had only to press the button to open the heavy steel panel and he was in the cellar of the cottage. There was nothing down here to indicate what the place had been used for. The upstairs rooms were dark when they arrived. He’d been disoriented at the time. Confused. Needy. Food and Jack. That was all he needed last night.

“Mummy, man.” The voice was shrill. Little feet scuffled past him headed into the bright outer rooms. Ianto closed the door to the cellar and followed, curious. Of course, the children would need protecting. Gwen would hide them if the monster wanted them. She would fight to the death for…them— “Mummy.”

The kitchen was filled with sunlight. Warm shining light that caressed his face. October in South Wales could be so dreary. Sun. He craved the sun. Almost as if he hadn’t seen it in so long. He stood in the bright and cheery room watching as the child ran into Gwen’s outstretched arms. She soothed the child with shushing noises. Dark hair and eyes so much like hers. A girl. “It’s alright, Tasha. This is my friend Ianto. Uncle Ianto. Like Uncle Jack. He’s staying with us sweetest.”

The world seemed to spin on its axis. Ianto clutched the door jamb for support. Gwen was pregnant. But only just. But this child. This child had called her Mum. This child was more than a year. Walking and talking and looking so much like Gwen. “Oh.” Sound and light swirled painfully through his head and he sagged against the frame. “Oh. I was. I—“ He remembered. Oh god, he remembered. “Died.” He could feel the truth in his chest. His heart ached so badly. Ached with a loss that nearly crippled him. “I died. I was gone. I was—lost. In the dark.”

She came to him, holding the child. A girl. With Rhys’ eyes and Gwen’s face. Not Jack’s child. Rhys’s. He remembered thinking that maybe just for a second that Gwen and Jack. He was so happy when he’d seen the scan on the wall. A baby. Ianto we’re having a baby. Those had been his words. And for that one moment he’d thought and then the alarm went off. And the next minute he was lying in rubble on the surface. He had no idea where Gwen was or if she had escaped the blast. Jack. Oh god. Jack. There was nothing left of him but a few parts. An arm and portion of his skull. Her cool hand on his face stilled the memories. “How long?” he needed to know. “I remember everything. He held me while I died. I remember dying. I told him…Gwen, how long?”

Tears shimmered in her eyes. Her expression tragic. “Two years, yesterday. You were gone for two years.”

Ianto sank to the floor. His knees no longer strong enough to hold him up. Two years. And life just went on. Jack and Gwen together with a child. Rhys’ child. Torchwood just went on while he’d gone cold into the vault. But there was no vault anymore. No cold storage unit for him.

“Ianto?” She knelt in front of him that same timid smile on her lips that she used to reassure the lost souls they found along the way. She placed her hand on his knee. “We defeated them. We saved the children. All of them. Because of you. We lost you. I’m so sorry, love. We lost you and—“

“Life carried on.” Of course it did. Life went on. The survivors grieved and picked up the pieces and carried on. Jack had buried so many people. And he mustered on. Forever the good soldier. Taking one for the cause. “You had a baby. Aliens to fight. Must be hard with a baby. You named her after Toshiko?”

“Well, Ianto is a silly name for a girl, don’t you think and I couldn’t choose Owen now could I?” She laughed. But he could hear tears in her voice.

“I suppose not.” Ianto held out his finger to the child. She looked him over curiously before taking it in her small hand. “She looks a bit like Rhys.”

“She should, he dotes on her enough. I swear I never knew a man more in love with his child. I may as well not even exist.”

“That sounds like the Gwen I remember.” Ianto looked around the house. The modern world collided with the aged cottage. It worked. Oddly. Plastic ride-on toy parked in the door to the back garden. A television over the counter. News flashed quickly by, no sound. Just color and movement. “This looks homey.”

“It should. Rhys and I worked hard enough to make it livable. We came here after Jack left. The city was too much to bear with everything that had happened. And the baby on the way. He said we’d be safe here. Away from the fall-out. Where is Jack?” She rambled on in that way that was Gwen. Sort of round about with no real purpose, saying too much and nothing at all.

“I left him sleeping.” He worked the details of what she’d said around for a bit. “What do you mean, after Jack left? What is this place, the bunker down below, why are we in hiding? What’s going on, Gwen?”

“Jack sleeping? Now that’s new. I didn’t know he ever slept.” She avoided the questions. Rising to her feet she took the little girl and went back to the kitchen. Fitting Tasha into a chair she played with the dark curls on top of her small head for a bit. “You must be famished. Let me get you something to eat, yeah?”

His stomach chose to answer her question, audibly. He couldn’t remember the last meal he’d had. Yes he could. Beans. In London. While they were running for their lives. “I could murder….just about anything you have.”

She moved around with an efficiency he would never have imagined of her, putting together a breakfast for him. Eggs some left over ham, chips. Coffee. He accepted the mug and held it gratefully to his face, inhaling. Just the aroma of the brew was enough to make him forget just about everything.

“Rhys works in the village with a local transport company. Nothing like in Cardiff. But it’s enough to keep the talk away from us. I stay home with the precious baby. He goes to work. We blend in. We are normal. No one knows we were Torchwood. The world wants to forget that week. They’ve moved on. They lost nothing. We lost everything. Jack lost—you.” She paused to long before adding that last. Never looking at him as she cleaned the almost spotless counter while his food cooked.

“Were Torchwood? What’s happened to Torchwood, Gwen?” Steady now, he went to the kitchen to sit with the child at the table. She pushed connecting blocks his way and Ianto absently put them together for her.

“Jack disbanded Torchwood before he left. Oh, we still have funds coming in. He didn’t completely shut it down. There are secrets under the hill that the crown wants guarded. Rhys and I are the new guards. The old couple who lived here before us retired and relocated. I keep tabs on the rift from here. Nothing worth worrying about. I call Andy let him know there’s a weevil that needs rounding up. The police have gotten good at catching strays. Not much comes through these days. People don’t notice the things that do. I think they’re immune now.” She continued to putter about. Taking up the eggs and setting the plate in front of him. Refreshing his coffee. Wiping the already spotless sink. Anything except look at him.

“Where did Jack go?” A sick feeling twisted in his gut. He knew enough now to know Jack could leave but chose not to. “Tell me, Gwen, where was he while I was—“

“Not here.” The voice behind him, so familiar yet different startled them both. He turned to see Jack tugging the sleeves of a t-shirt up his forearms. He wore black, complete black. Not the blue uniform Ianto loved so much. His hair was shorter now. Everything about him so different. “I had nothing left here. Couldn’t breathe. I traveled. A lot.”

“Did you find what you were looking for out there?” Ianto looked to the ceiling. He didn’t need to be told to know that Earth was too small for Captain Jack when he needed to escape. “Why did you come back?”

“Earth calls to me. I love it here. Never spent more time anywhere else in the galaxy. A hundred almost sixty years now and there’s no place like this out there. And no I didn’t find what I was looking for.”

“What were you looking for?” Ianto wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Too much knowledge in one morning. Too much shock.

“You,” Jack said softly, catching Ianto’s chin with one finger and forcing him to look up. “Couldn’t find you anywhere. I looked. Came back hoping that maybe something—I don’t know. That it was all just a dream and you’d be waiting. Angry but alive. I wanted that.”

“How am I here now? I was dead, Jack. Two years dead. How am I here? What am I?” Because right now he couldn’t stand knowing he was some sort of monster walking around in a borrowed body with his memories. He didn’t want to wake up and it all be nothing.

Jack got that far off look in his eyes that Ianto knew meant he was searching for a way to answer. Usually a less than truthful tale that ended with an anecdote about some far off boyfriend. He used to think Jack’s stories were complete crap but now he was never sure what was lie and what was truth.

“I don’t know, Ianto,” he said after a moment of silence. “I don’t know how or why. But I know that you’re real. That you’re human and that you shouldn’t be. There was no body left. Nothing left to resurrect. Right down to the same clothes. You shouldn’t be here.” Lips so soft and warm touched his. Jack. The taste of him was the same. Ianto sighed into the kiss. Wanting so much more. He didn’t care that he shouldn’t be alive. He was alive. His heart beat too fast, tears filled his eyes. Want and hurt and joy. All wrapped together in a prickly bundle that stuck in his throat choking him.

“What the fuck is this then?” Rhys and his blustering voice chose that moment to intrude. “Gwen, is this what you were hiding last night? And what is he? Is he some—“

“It’s Ianto, Rhys,” Gwen shouted tearfully. “I don’t know how or why. But it’s him. Alive. And I wasn’t hiding anything, you and Tasha were knackered and I didn’t wake you when I got home. “It’s Ianto, he’s come back. And Jack is here now. And I don’t want to hear one thing about it.”

The laugh that bubbled in Ianto’s chest couldn’t be contained. “Well, that hasn’t changed at least.”

“No.” Jack squeezed his hand as he walked around the table, their hands joined over the baby’s head; he sat facing Ianto, his gaze seemingly fixated on Ianto’s face. “That is true love. For real and for sure.”

Ianto couldn’t let go. Not even to feed himself. “Speaking of love, where’s the coat? Tell me you didn’t lose the coat after I went to all that trouble to get a new one.”

“Are they staying here? Gwen, oh no, you’re not hunting aliens again. I won’t—“

“Shut it, Rhys, we’re not hunting aliens you big idiot. And they’re staying. Now what do you want for lunch?” Gwen was Gwen and Rhys was Rhys and Ianto held tight to the hand in his because he had no idea who he was or what he was but for now this was all that mattered.

Well, this, and that coat.

“I have it. Tucked away. We’ll pull it out later and—“

“Oh, god, no. Please, keep that to yourselves or I will let Rhys throw the both of you out on your ears.”

“What? Gwen, come on, all I was going to say was—“

Gwen stuck her finger in Jack’s face. “Oh, no, Jack Harkness. I know all about what you were going to say and,” she covered the child’s ears and whispered, “there will be no naked hide and seek here.”

“Ooh, now there’s an idea, naked hide and seek,” Rhys said in his big booming voice. “Hey, wait a minute, tell me you didn’t participate in shenanigans?”

“Are you kidding me? Rhys, I swear—“

“I missed this.” Jack squeezed his hand tighter, his smile wide, his blue green eyes sparkling with the inner fire Ianto loved and Ianto held on tight for fear of seeing that fire extinguished. Jack. He’d come back for Jack. That was the only answer. Had to be. Jack needed him and he was here. Simple as that.

“Ianto, your breakfast is getting cold. Jack eggs? Rhys shut it and sit down. No one is having naked anything in this house and I mean it.”

Ianto tucked into his food. Never letting Jack out of his sight. Tasha seemed happy to bang her blocks on the table between them. The sweet smell of rain came in through the open door. The coffee was wonderful. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing. This was all normal. Normal. Sweet normal. Jack and the child and the bickering in-laws.

The steady rhythm in his chest became a wild hammering beat. Oh, yes, this. This was exactly why. Nothing else mattered.

Because if it did, then this would all disappear. And that’s the last thing he wanted. To disappear as if he never existed. To see the fire in Jack’s eyes die. No more questions. He didn’t want to know. Not ever.

Happy Happy Joy Joy it's Blogaversary Day

Have I ever mentioned that my middle name is Joy? I haven't? Well, it is. And I hate it. Joy is not a name it's an emotion, one that is incredibly hard to live up to. Mercy Joy. Horrible. Just horrible. Celeste isn't my real name in anyway shape or form. Gasp. Oh my goody gosh, Mercy Celeste is a pen name!!!!!! Most of you know my name is MJ Colbert. And what the M and the J stand for. Seriously, if your name was Mercy Joy would you use it? Seriously.

Wait, we were supposed to discuss the auspiciousness that is today weren't we? Why yes we were Phineas thank you. (Phineas and Ferb, if you haven't had the pleasure, then switch places with me, please). Anyway, today is the one year anniversary of the day I created this blog. Beg for Mercy. One year of listening to me whine and bitch and complain about everything under the sun. (see the Phineas and Ferb reference above). One year of me talking about my crazy life, my kids, my fictional characters, how I grew up. And one year of hot men. Yes, I know that's why most of you come here every day. To see the hot men pics I "borrow" from other bloggers and tumblrs.

Yes today is the birthday of Mercy Celeste, so to speak. MJ Colbert's birthday is January 27 in case you were wondering. Mercy was born one year ago today. But did you also know that this blog passed another milestone yesterday? 40,000 page views. In one day less than a year. I'm very certain that it's the hot men pics. But you know there was that whole viral thing back in the summer and the Torchwood fan fic from last Monday had over two thousand views alone. I like to think the chicken and flamingo post from the early fall was a major factor but I'm sure those of you who read that went "whoa this chick is nuts" and didn't come back.

Okay, so yes, I'm a tad bit off in the head. I'll share a secret with you. Most writers and other artisty types are. You can't live in the real world and write like I do. And living in a fantasy world pretty much 24/7 does tend to make one a touch loopy. I deal with it by crashing every so often. I took a mental holiday this last couple of weeks. Haven't written a word. Denied that real life exists and immersed myself in a world someone else had created. I feel 99.91% better for it.

So, what are we doing today for the blogiversary? Shit if I know. What part of me looks like I know anything about parties. I'm a hermit on a good day. On a bad day, well, let's just say you don't want to see me on a bad day.

Speaking of hermit, I have to go to SuperTarget today. SuperTarget because I won't go anywhere near a Wal-mart on a Sunday without being heavily armed, and since I don't own a single weapon (besides my sarcastic profanity laced cutting wit) I stay the hell away from there. But dammit my toaster died yesterday. I knew it was coming. The signs were there. And with the oven being dead on the new stove for the fifth time since we bought it, I need a friggin toaster. Hot bread must be had at some point each day. Or Strawberry Poptarts heated up to the level of Napalm.

Back to the party....because it's so not like me to run off on tangents is it? Why no Mercy it isn't (evil grinning smiley with devil horns inserted here).

Tell me why you came to visit me this past year? That's what I want to know. Because I'm sure it's just the man pics. And tell me what you want to see in the coming year? Because I'm sure it's just the man pics.

Oh yeah and I'm giving away the choice of any of my books, even the one Emjai book that I have files for, to a couple or three lucky people. But you have to comment here on the blog. And if blogger is being pissy and only allowing anonymous posting please leave your name so I can let you know. I still don't know why blogger does that.

So happy blogiversary to me. I live in a tree. Or some such nonsense.

Mercy

Oh yeah, and because I know it's all about the hot men. Here's a couple.

And tomorrow, another chapter of Torchwood. But not Dirty Torchwood. Yet.

Love and peace,

MJC