It’s funny really; Wales is such a rainy country, and being out in wet weather on Torchwood business, often returning to the Hub sodden and cold, is a trial that must frequently be endured. There’s certainly nothing pleasant about it.
Rain is an unavoidable fact of life, a necessity even, since nothing can grow without it. So why is it that at night, when you’re tucked up warm in bed, it stops being a nuisance and becomes a comfort?
Ianto pulls the covers up around him, turns out the bedside lamp, and closes his eyes. Jack is safe at the Hub, taking his turn at the night shift, so he’s alone tonight, but for once Ianto doesn’t mind. The sound of the rain pattering against the window is soothing, making him feel safe and cosy, glad to be indoors and not chasing some alien threat or looking for the latest unknown object to fall through the Rift.
He’s relaxed, pleasantly drowsy, but not quite ready to fall asleep just yet. It reminds him of nights when he was a kid and his mam would tuck him in, kiss him on the forehead, and tell him that the raindrops were the tears of angels, washing away the sins of the world.
He’s older now, and he knows raindrops are only water, but when he closes his eyes he still sees the angels, crystal bright tears falling from their eyes in benediction. Their faces are those of his of his mam, and Lisa, and all the other friends and family members he’s lost over the years, and as he drifts off to sleep, he takes comfort in knowing that his loved ones are still around, watching over him every time it rains.