Her fingers continued to trace over the edges of the photographs, careful not to conceal the faces in any way. In the muted morning light the colors captured in them seemed especially bright. She could not say precisely why.

Ianto.

They had spoken of him before. Of his death and of their differing views when it came to choice. It had very nearly escalated to an argument. There were many ways in which she might identify him. But instead Reinette merely trusted that was not needed. That he made coffee seemed a trifle in the moment.

Though when collected into days and hours her acquaintance with Jack was not all that long, she knew him well enough to know that forgetting would never be an option. In some ways Reinette suspected Jack remembered too much. His mind was always active, always thinking. It was something she understood.

But the rest left her curious. About this Ianto. And more about Jack himself. Her gaze lifted to meet Jack's. Her words were quiet but carefully pronounced.

"Did you love him?"