Does anyone know
What love can cost
To take you so high
Then leave you lost
Is it a mystery
That runs too deep
For such a simple heart
"As your employer, I have to say that I'm very disappointed with your current attitude."
"Mmnf, no."
"Seriously, Ianto, it's time to get up and go to work."
"Translated, that means it's time for Jack bloody Harkness to have his coffee." Ianto yawned, rubbing at his eyes and stubbornly wishing for twenty more minutes of sleep, knowing he wasn't going to get them.
"Essentially one and same, aren't they? Now, are you getting up or am I going to have to fire you?"
Ianto rolled over and grabbed Jack's pillow, pulling it tight to his chest. "Sack me, then." He pushed his head deeper into his own pillow, eyes resolutely shut against the daylight slanting in from the oriel window. "Starbucks is always hiring."
"Starbucks?" The word was whispered very close to Ianto's ear as he felt a single finger stroke the skin of his forehead, just skating a bruise that faded into his hairline. "You'd rather pull shots of over-roasted espresso for uptight suburbanites and emo teenagers than work for the world's foremost alien defence organisation?"
Feeling the bed dip beside him, Ianto peeled open one eye to scowl at Jack. "Which is still currently lacking a doctor, not to mention a tech specialist. If Gwen hadn't ducked last night—"
"I know, I know." Jack trailed his finger over Ianto's cheek and tapped him on the nose. "I get it, trust me. It's not for the lack of trying, you know."
Hearing the resignation in Jack's voice, Ianto sighed and struggled to sit up. "I understand, but as many times as Gwen and I have been to A&E in the last six months, you'd think we'd have found a suitable candidate somewhere."
Jack leaned back on the bed, bracing his arm on the far side of Ianto's blanket-covered thighs. "And we've vetted everyone one of them and found something that makes them unacceptable. It's not like I can run an ad on Craigslist."
"Right." Ianto scrubbed a hand through his hair, knowing what he sounded like and hoping Jack didn't pick up on it. "Sorry, didn't mean to nag."
"It's okay." Jack patted Ianto's leg and rose to his feet. "You can make it up to me with coffee and one of those cherry scones you've been hiding in your desk drawer."
"They're not for me." Ianto swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. "They're for Myfanwy. She's developed a sweet tooth that chocolate doesn't seem to satisfy."
Jack skirted the bed and slipped his palms around Ianto's bare waist, resting his fingers low on Ianto's hips and bringing them almost nose to nose. "Tell me you're kidding."
"Not at all," Ianto said. "She's managed to find everything sweet we have in the Hub, which is why I'm storing the sugar in the safe now. After a bit of hit and miss, we've settled on mass-produced pastries from Sainsburys and the occasional handful of chocolate-covered espresso beans."
"Well," Jack leaned in and dropped a kiss on the point of Ianto's shoulder, exactly where Ianto knew another bruise lingered in fading shades of yellow and lavender, "that explains the daily strafing runs."
Ianto's eyes drifted shut as Jack's mouth roamed near his collar bone. "Yes, haven't quite solved the reaction to caffeine yet, but I'm working on it."
"Good. Now, speaking of caffeine—"
A piercing, staccato beep interrupted him and both men sighed, Jack straightening to rest his forehead against Ianto's as his thumb and forefinger gently tightened their hold on Ianto's waist. Ianto breathed in Jack's scent, searching for and finding the ephemeral sense of contentment that Jack's presence gave him in these quiet moments. It was beyond the pleasant tingle of pheromones now—it was the purist essence of Jack that Ianto took into himself, a heady, yet centring mix of texture, colours, and flavours that all of Ianto's senses had come to crave.
"You know," Jack kissed Ianto and released him before moving to retrieve his greatcoat from the wardrobe, "I once thought having a Rift monitor here at the house was a brilliant idea."
"It was brilliant," Ianto replied. "And you'll think so again when you aren't caffeine-deprived. You go check on it whilst I get ready."
Jack snapped a quick salute and ran down the stairs, leaving Ianto to contemplate which tie to wear with what shirt while trying to dismiss the sense of disquiet that had begun to shadow his days and disturb his nights.
It was a feeling that had been growing for weeks, a hint of darkness in the back of Ianto's mind that never seemed to abate, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it or banish it with common sense. Objective reasoning never seemed to serve him well when it came to Jack, and it was surely failing him again, but if Jack realised that his own drifting silences and the sometimes distant cast to his eyes made Ianto uneasy, he never showed it. He appeared wholly satisfied with their life together, or as satisfied as Ianto had ever seen him. They all still struggled with the loss of Toshiko and Owen, but the three of them had found a rhythm that worked for them just enough to get the work done and remain alive and relatively unscathed. It wasn't perfect—Gwen's near miss the night before was proof of that—and Ianto remained sharply divided between the constant threat of violent extinction via Torchwood and the personal happiness he'd found with Jack.
Now that happiness was fraying around the edges, a gentle leaching away of the joy that Ianto had attained so unexpectedly. It wasn't anything Jack had done or was doing, at least not directly. Even his reluctance to find new team members was a side of his personality that Ianto appreciated, knowing that as much as Jack acknowledged that they were severely short-handed, he still missed Owen and Tosh so keenly that searching for their replacements felt like betrayal.
No, the source of Ianto's restlessness had a name, even an address. Ianto knew where it was, but had never ventured near there, knowing with a betraying twist in his gut that to hunt down the source of his pain could be the beginning of the end, and so he chose instead to live in ignorance of everything but the name that lurked around his every waking thought.
Alice.
"Ianto!" Jack's bellow bounced up from the lounge. "Shake a leg, we've got a hitch-hiker and judging from the satellite photos, he's in an old guy who's already on his way to the hospital."
"Lovely," muttered Ianto, turning toward the bathroom. "A visit to hospital before breakfast. How refreshing."
"He called us a couple," Ianto murmured with a fleeting smile.
Jack's head jerked up, a frown between his eyes as he paused making the incision. "So?"
"Nothing." Ianto shoved his hands into his pockets. "I guess I didn't realise how well we resembled one."
"Ah." Jack bent to his task, cutting a neat slice in the flaccid skin of the elderly man's corpse. "Don't let it bother you. It's just a word."
Ianto opened his mouth to reply, then shut it, unsure how to redirect the conversation so that Jack would understand that it wasn't the word that bothered Ianto, it was the meaning—or lack of it—behind the doctor's assumption. Certainly, they'd laid it on thick to convince Dr. Patanjali that they were sincere in their desire to see their "dear neighbour," but Ianto hadn't expected to feel bereft when he'd realised that the deception had worked so successfully. Other than Marcy, their landlady, and Gwen and Rhys, there was no one in Ianto's life who acknowledged or even knew that Ianto and Jack were together. He'd gone to great lengths to avoid discussing his private life even with his sister, but that personal choice didn't make it any easier to contemplate a life spent always in the shadows of normalcy.
It was an odd, confusing place to be. In his mind, his heart, he believed that he and Jack fell into that category, but the nature of their work made it impossible for them to behave as a typical couple except on those rare occasions when they would actually do something that resembled a date. Jack was far from romantic, at least in the most recognisable ways, and Ianto was fine with that, since he wasn't exactly demonstrative himself. He found ways to show Jack how he felt without saying anything out loud and had learned Jack's own shorthand version of the same kind of communication. Beyond the physical passion they shared and the deliberate touches of affection they gave each other throughout the day, Ianto's devotion was expressed in continuing with the care of both his captain and his captain's things, even though his time was fully occupied with the demands of a short-staffed Torchwood. The Webley was always oiled and ready, the greatcoat kept immaculate. Shirts were pressed, braces maintained, boots lovingly attended—each small task a simple way for Ianto to feel connected to that part of Jack that no one else shared.
The clues to Jack's feelings were more subtle, yet Ianto saw evidence of them almost every day. Since losing Owen and Tosh, Jack often behaved like an overly protective duck with two ducklings, his blue eyes filled with anguish even as he sent Gwen and Ianto into the fire time and time again. Jack had all but recruited Rhys to the team, making sure that he was available for Gwen, whether Gwen felt she needed her husband or not. She and Ianto had shared many amused glances over Jack's attempts at bullying, but whereas Gwen was more than happy to give herself over to Rhys' attention, it was Ianto who received the full serving of Jack's ministrations. Having never been fussed over by anyone in his life previously, it had taken a while for Ianto to adjust to Jack's focussed attention on certain aspects of Ianto's well-being.
What made Jack's gestures all the more endearing was the almost backward way in which they were delivered. To Ianto, it almost seemed as if Jack was unsure of how the little intimacies that lovers shared would be received, which was in direct contrast to the over-confident, sometimes insensitive Jack that everyone knew. In front of Gwen or anyone else, Jack and Ianto's relationship wasn't defined by the way they treated each other, the words they used, or the roles that they played as Torchwood employees, and Ianto was glad for that. But if there was ever a time when Ianto felt that Jack was trying to tell him something important, yet lacked the words, it was during those quiet moments when Jack tended to Ianto's wounds, when he turned back the bed and guided an exhausted Ianto beneath its covers, when Ianto would wake in the night, torn asunder by a nightmare, to find Jack awake beside him, ready to slip his hand into Ianto's until the horror passed. Though the next day could bring sunshine and rainbows or unspeakable horrors beyond imagination, Ianto knew, in that precious span of a few seconds, that Jack cared.
But there was still that one name, that address, that listing on Jack's mobile. As Ianto held open the container for the hitch-hiker that Jack had dug out of the corpse, he regretted bringing up the subject of couples and words that held no meaning—or held too much—because he wasn't sure if that was a word that could stand up to the truth represented by that one name.
Jack closed the incision and covered the corpse with the sheet, motioning for Ianto to proceed him into the corridor. As soon as the door closed behind them, they were approached by Dr. Patanjali, who glanced with open curiosity at the container in Ianto's hands.
"Say your farewells?" he asked, his inflection just arch enough to let them know that he hadn't been totally fooled by their earlier performance.
In response, Jack was all gratitude. "Yes, thanks." He rested a hand on Ianto's shoulder. "It meant a lot to us."
"Quite a lot," Ianto affirmed with a solemn nod. "Really."
"Glad I could be of assistance." Patanjali gave them a knowing smile as he walked away, leaving Ianto with the uncomfortable yet all too familiar feeling that the secrecy of Torchwood was as much of a myth as a sweet-smelling weevil and a decent three quid pint.
"Hey," Jack turned to Ianto, "he must be new. Maybe we should check him out."
Ianto held up the container. "What about this poor fellow?"
Jack was already moving down the corridor in pursuit of Patanjali. "Put him in the refrigerator until I can arrange a ride for him off planet. He's a young one, so hopefully his family is looking for him."
"How will you get to work?"
"Maybe I'll ask the good doctor for a lift," Jack said, adding with a wink, "You have to admit, under that white coat, I bet he looks good in his scrubs."
Ignoring the reminiscent flutter in his stomach at Jack's playful words, Ianto nodded, recalling a similar phrase spoken under very different circumstances. Jack's comment didn't bother him—Jack was appreciative of pretty much every living form, human or otherwise—but it was nonetheless a reminder of a time in Ianto's near past when death seemed preferable to the purgatory he'd been living in, and flirting with Jack had been a means to and end, nothing more.
Feeling the hitch-hiker growing restless in its cage, Ianto glanced at his watch. Gwen was probably already at work, and seeing that he had unfettered use of the SUV, decided to call her and see if she wanted him to stop by the bakery, since lately her sweet tooth rivalled Myfanwy's. Switching the container's straps from one hand to the other, he was reaching for his phone when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw a tall woman standing beside him who looked vaguely familiar, wearing a white doctor's coat and a stethoscope slung around her neck.
"Can I help you?" he inquired politely.
She jerked her head toward the retreating Jack. "He's a numpty," she said, the lilt in her voice betraying origins of a more northern clime. Aberdeen, Ianto, guessed, or Dundee, though he wasn't an expert on the nuances.
Ianto glanced in Jack's direction. "You mean—"
"Patanjali. Thinks he's twice as smart as everyone else and always trying to work the angles but he can't pick the winner of a horse race to save his life." The woman, middle-aged and freckled with a bun of unruly, greying red curls, shook her head. "Now, about your boyfriend. How often does he hit you?"
It was the last question Ianto expected. "I'm sorry—what?"
The doctor—Dr. Leslie Mackenzie, according to her name badge—glanced pointedly at the bruise on Ianto's forehead. "Last time I saw you with that bloke in the coat, you had a wrenched shoulder and half a dozen cuts and bruises. Today you've got another bruise and I'll bet there're more I can't see. How's the shoulder, anyway?"
"Oh, I remember, it was you at the clinic that night." Ianto glanced around, making sure no one else in the busy corridor was paying attention before continuing. "You've got it all wrong, Jack doesn't hit me or anyone else." He leaned toward her, dropping his voice to a confiding whisper. "We're Torchwood, remember?"
Mackenzie seemed unimpressed. "Aye, right. That may be true, but all I see is an otherwise healthy young man with bruises he explains as being part of his job. And he was in the company of someone who just left him behind to chase after another good looking young man and he doesn't seem to have a scratch on him." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Now you tell me what that looks like."
Ianto bit at his lower lip, eyes downcast as he searched for a plausible reply. When none was forthcoming, he sighed and motioned Mackenzie toward a empty waiting area. She seemed to come reluctantly, arms still tight across her chest, her pale blue eyes roaming over Ianto as if looking for further proof that he was a victim of abuse.
Taking a deep breath, Ianto plunged into his story. "Four nights ago, around midnight, there was a large flash in the western sky. It was explained by the government as a meteor that fell harmlessly into the ocean."
"I remember," Mackenzie's tone was impatient. "There was a video of it on the internet, everyone's seen it."
"Ah, yes, the video. I'll admit it's not my best work, given I had approximately four minutes notice to come up with a reasonable facsimile of a wayward meteor."
"You filmed it?"
"No, I made a fake video of a fake meteor to hide the fact that an alien ship had come through a rift in the, er, time-space continuum and had landed on the Fitzhamon Embankment. Within that ship was a lost and rather slimy Sarkisian, who accidentally used its ten-foot-long, spiked tail to knock me and my colleagues into a concrete barrier. And as painful as that sounds, it was nothing compared to the hours of labour it took to get slime out of a perfectly good wool suit. Really rather one of the nicer aliens, too. Turned out it was an old friend of Jack's, a scavenger, if you will, and had decided to look him up, since it was in the neighbourhood."
Mackenzie was staring at him. "Fitzhamon Embankment, you say?"
"Yes, directly across from the Stadium."
"And a nice alien with a spiky tail knocked you into a barrier."
"Yes."
"I see. What colour was the slime?"
Ianto's brow furrowed. "Pale gold, slightly phosphorescent, smelt strongly of burnt rubber."
"Let me see your eyes."
Ianto dutifully widened his eyes as Mackenzie uncrossed her arms and leaned in, sniffing deeply before straightening again. "Well, your eyes look clear and I canna smell alcohol on your breath. Either you're a complete daftie or you're telling the truth, and I don't have time to find out which it is. Considering what little I know about your organisation, I guess anything's possible. However," she continued with a mournful sigh, "I tell you it's scandalous at my age to be discovering a soft spot for cute young lads with accents, that puppy Patanjali excluded."
"Yes, but I don't have an—"
"Here." Mackenzie ignored Ianto's faint protest as she reached into the pocket of her lab coat to pull out a business card. "Take this. If it's true and your boyfriend's as innocent as you say, bless you both. If he isn't, you can reach me any time. I've just moved back here and I don't have any social life you'd be interrupting, so don't hesitate, you hear me?"
Feeling like a scolded schoolboy, Ianto nodded as he took the card. "Yes, Doctor."
"Good. Now take your beastie and get out of here."
Ianto held up the container. "Wait—you knew what was in here?"
Mackenzie winked at him. "Recognized you right off, so I sent Patanjali on an errand and I peeked through the window." Her expression turned wistful. "Don't suppose you'd let me take a closer look at that laser scalpel? I've only seen a prototype."
Ianto was tempted. There was something about Mackenzie that made him want to trust her, a trait that didn't come easily to him. But he'd already revealed too much, and shook his head.
"Sorry, no. And if you repeat anything I've told you, there may be—unpleasant consequences." Hoping his tone of regret made it clear that he wasn't trying to threaten her, Ianto reached into the breast pocket of his suit and pulled out a business card of his own. "However, these 'beasties' can show up at the most inopportune moment. If you come across anything questionable, please give me a call."
"Oh, I will." Mackenzie took his card and grinned at him. "And don't worry, I'll not be repeating your spiky-tailed alien story. People around here think I'm strange enough as it is. Why they put me in charge of A&E I'll never know." She gave Ianto's arm a less than gentle poke with her finger. "Now go on. Find something better to do than wait around for that shifty-eyed boyfriend of yours."
She gave him another wink and walked away, leaving a bemused Ianto to make his way out of the hospital, the grumbling in his midsection reminding him that he'd foregone breakfast to retrieve his current companion. Dismissing Mackenzie from his thoughts, he moved on to the pleasurable idea of sharing breakfast with Gwen.
"Ianto?"
"Hmm?"
"Do we know anyone by the name of Lois Habiba?"
Ianto set down Gwen's refilled cup next to her keyboard and looked over her shoulder at her screen. "Doesn't sound familiar. Why?"
"Tosh's trolling program brought up an alert. Lois Habiba works at Thames House, and she's been nibbling around the edges of Torchwood looking for information, including Googling Jack's name and then running it through the defence database. She may also be using someone else's password—after she was locked out of a search, someone else logged on and that clearance gained immediate access to classified files on the same computer."
"Whose clearance?"
"Another employee, Spears, whose security is much higher. Odd that it was such a quick sequence."
"Can you see what they've found out?"
Gwen shook her head. "Only the common stuff we've planted. Whatever's in the defence database, I can't quite get to it." She swivelled in her chair to look Ianto in the eye. "Jack probably could, though. Where is he?"
"He didn't say when he called, just that he was detained getting back. No ETA, either."
Ianto didn't bother to share his suspicion that Jack was making a personal visit, since Jack had been reticent about his plans and had tried to throw Ianto off his scent by distracting him with a promise of one of their rare dinner dates that night. Ianto hadn't faked his enthusiasm—dining out with Jack was always an adventure, one way or the other—but the unease he'd felt after that conversation had yet to subside.
"I'm sure it's nothing but curiosity," he continued. "As often as Jack calls London to complain about something, I'm sure he's no stranger to the staff. Although, knowing him, he flirted with someone to get some information and now he has a fangirl." Ianto reached for his suit coat, snagging it from the back of his desk chair. "Meanwhile, I'm off. Anything you need whilst I'm out?"
"Where're you going?"
"To the caravan park. Sensors indicate it may be in need of some maintenance and given it's a quiet day, seemed like a good opportunity."
"Hang on." Gwen stood up. "I want to go, too."
"Really? I thought you didn't like the caravan park."
"I don't, but I like Pontcanna Fields, which is rather conveniently right next to it. It's a nice day outside and it's better than being stuck down here alone." She rummaged through her shoulder bag and pulled out her sunglasses, pausing when Ianto seemed to hesitate. "Unless you don't want my company."
"No, no, of course I do," Ianto said quickly. "It's just—I was thinking about going to see my sister afterwards, but that can wait for another day."
To Ianto's dismay, Gwen's expression brightened. "Your sister? Ianto, I'd love to meet your family! Don't change your plans, we'll go together." She gave him a nudge with her elbow. "Maybe I'll get some good Ianto stories, yeah? I bet you were a naughty boy."
"Not at all," Ianto protested, "I was a perfect child."
Gwen laughed and though Ianto smiled in return, his heart was sinking. He'd managed to keep Torchwood and his family separate, telling lie upon lie ever since he'd gone to work for Torchwood One. The only thing his sister Rhiannon knew about his time in London was that he'd had a girlfriend named Lisa who'd died in an accident. It'd taken him months to work up the courage to approach her after Lisa's death, knowing he'd have to continue lying in order to maintain any kind of normal relationship. It made him uncomfortable, since lying to his family was yet another toxic by-product of his job.
However, lying about his family came easily. It was an art he'd mastered long before he'd ever heard the word Torchwood, a skill honed to a sharp edge and often coupled with his well-learned ability to conceal his true feelings. Like today, although he was uncomfortable, he'd never reveal to Gwen that going to Torchwood's backup site at the caravan park always brought back dark memories, given its close proximity to Pontcanna Fields. He'd never share with her the hours of humiliation he'd spent there in the in company of a father who was so concerned with Ianto's inability to care deeply or try harder when it came to cricket practice that he'd let his anger and disappointment flare into a violent act from which they'd both never recovered.
"Mind the final step. It's a bit wobbly."
Gwen jumped past the last rung and grunted when her booted feet landed on unforgiving concrete. "Ick," she complained, "this place could do with a good airing, couldn't it?"
Ianto circled around her and out of the pale column of dusty light that drifted down from the trapdoor entrance that was concealed in the floor of the dilapidated, seemingly abandoned caravan above them. "It'll improve as soon as the air begins circulating properly. Lights coming on."
Ianto opened the control box embedded in the wall and began flipping switches. Fluorescent light flooded the long, low room, followed quickly by the sound of machines and computers powering up. From somewhere beneath them came a loud thump, followed by the slamming shut of the trapdoor above them as cool, fresh air began to flow through the room.
"That's better." Ianto set the rucksack he'd brought with him on a counter next to a computer station. "Not quite as comfortable as home, but it will serve if anything ever happens to the Hub."
Gwen wandered past him, her gaze travelling over the walls and spaces of Torchwood's main backup facility. "Let's hope something never does. These low ceilings are making me claustrophobic."
"Compared to the facility at Newton, this is quite comfortable. Ever been there?"
"The backup at Newton? No, Jack said it was hardly usable because of all the seepage from the Bay."
Ianto reached into the rucksack and pulled out a thick, soft cylinder wrapped in tissue. "Well, that and the small colony of Zyphoids that've taken up residence. Very territorial, those Zyphoids, but their nests do a nice job of patching the walls." He peeled aside the tissue to reveal a roll of fabric that he set aside.
"What's that?" Gwen picked up the fabric and unrolled it, then sighed when she saw it was a pale green cashmere shawl. "Oh," she murmured, "this was Tosh's."
"Yes," Ianto murmured, "I thought it'd be nice to have some of their personal things here, too. I found that in a drawer last week and didn't have the heart to give it to Oxfam or throw it away."
Gwen held the shawl to her nose and breathed deeply. "I can still smell her perfume," she whispered. Opening damp eyes, she folded the shawl with reverent care. "What other treasures did you bring?"
Ianto slipped his hand back into the rucksack and pulled out a bag of sealed, whole bean coffee. "Rotating the emergency supplies," he explained. Next, he pulled out a clear, zippered bag filled with game cartridges. "I don't suppose I have to tell you where these came from."
Gwen shook her head. "Now I really hope we don't ever get stranded down here," she teased.
"Don't worry," Ianto replied, "these are the ones rated only as high as teen. I think Jack has appropriated the adult ones."
"Oh, too bad," Gwen pouted.
Ianto finished unpacking as Gwen wandered through the facility. His plan had been to spend as little time here as necessary, checking the systems that showed yellow on the main board back at the Hub and making note of the physical repairs he could see that would be needed soon. As far as Ianto knew—or the archives had revealed—this auxiliary facility had been used only rarely, generally in time of severe global upheaval when it was believed the Hub was in danger of being compromised. According to the crumbling blueprints he'd unearthed in the archives, there was a conduit that led directly from the Rift itself to the backup sites, with only a manual override to divert a thin stream of its power to either of the facilities.
Leaving Gwen to run a diagnostic scan on the backup systems, Ianto grabbed a clipboard and began making his notes. Half an hour passed in companionable silence as Ianto made quick work of planning future repairs. Noticing that there were only a few army surplus cots and rough blankets stored away in case of a prolonged stay, he started a list of items that would offer at least a little bit of comfort, should any of them find themselves confined for any length of time.
He was just tucking his clipboard into his rucksack when Gwen pushed her chair away from one of the control consoles, twirling around on it a few times before stopping it with the toe of her boot.
"Nothing critical came up," she said. "A few sensors want replacing and I think there's some dirt lodged in the caravan park cameras, but other than that, it looks good."
Reaching for his suit coat, Ianto nodded. "I'll come back later and replace the sensors. For now," he glanced at his watch, "how about some lunch? We're not too far from—"
"Oh, no, Ianto Jones." Gwen stood up and waved a finger in Ianto's direction. "We're going to see your sister exactly as planned. No use trying to get out of it now."
Ianto repressed a sigh. He'd been hoping that Gwen had been too distracted to remember his plan to see Rhiannon, but he should've known better. Gwen was nothing if not single-minded, and having never met any of Ianto's family, he had no doubt that she couldn't be dissuaded at this late hour.
"Uncle Ianto, you owe me a tenner."
Ianto knelt down on the kitchen floor to face his niece, barely missing a toy Transformer with his knee. "I do?"
Mica nodded. "Yeah, Dad said, if I got all my spelling words right, that you'd give me ten quid." A grubby hand was thrust toward him as a tiny foot tapped impatiently on the linoleum.
Promising himself to a have a private word with Johnny Davies very soon, Ianto reached for his wallet and paid his debt. Mica took the money and ran off, a belated "thank you" drifting on the air after Rhiannon's sharp admonition.
Ianto rose to his feet and slid his wallet into his back pocket. Both Rhiannon and Gwen were leaning against the kitchen counter, identical mugs of tea in their hands and identical expressions of bemusement on their faces. Ianto hadn't warned Rhiannon that Gwen was coming, nor had he told Gwen anything about Rhiannon or her family. He'd be amused if he weren't so uncomfortable.
Seeking asylum, he looked around for his nephew. "Where's David?" he asked.
Rhiannon jerked her head toward the stairs. "Playing video games, what else?"
Leaving his own cup of tepid, over-brewed tea on the counter, Ianto decided that a tactical retreat was in order. However, after fifteen minutes of being alternately ignored and mocked by his nephew, he returned downstairs to find the two women sitting at the kitchen table, heads close together in an attitude of shared confidences.
As his heel hit the landing, Gwen looked up with a guilty start. "Ianto!" she said brightly, then flushed and picked up her mug, drinking deeply, eyes on the tabletop. Ianto glanced at his sister, unnerved to see her glaring back at him, and suddenly his tactical retreat was beginning to resemble a major military blunder.
He opened his mouth to ask what they were discussing but was interrupted by a commotion coming from outside at the same time he felt his key chain begin to vibrate in his trouser pocket. Glancing through the kitchen window, he saw a gang of yobs gathered around the SUV, one of them advancing toward it with a crowbar. Pulling out the key chain with one hand, he slid open the window with the other.
"Oi! Back off!"
The group turned to him, all of them laughing, jeering, or giving him graphically descriptive hand gestures as they circled the SUV.
"Right," he called, "you want a look inside? All you had to do was ask."
The man with the crowbar gave a victorious yell as he tossed it aside, then reached for the door handle just as Ianto pressed a button on the remote key case. The resulting high-pitched shriek the hooligan emitted from the mild electric shock sent through the handle was both gratifying for Ianto and edifying for the group gathered around the SUV.
"Sorry," Ianto continued, "wrong button. Always get them confused. Shall I try another?"
There was another round of creative insults including speculation regarding Ianto's ancestry, but the sullen crowd moved on. Satisfied for the moment, Ianto closed the window and picked up the kettle as he turned back to Rhiannon and Gwen.
"Triple deadlocks are nice, but a little dose of mild electricity does come in handy."
"I didn't realise the SUV was electrified," Gwen mused. "Good to know."
"I've only recently added that option," Ianto told her, "and as I am somewhat familiar with the neighbourhood, I felt this was an opportune moment to test it. More tea?"
Eyes spitting fire, Rhiannon shook her head. "Mica!"
"What?" was the distracted response from the lounge.
"Come show Ms. Cooper your room, yeah?"
"Do I have to?"
Gwen, taking her cue, rose to her feet. "Please," she held out her hand, "I'd love to see it."
A dubious but docile Mica appeared and took Gwen's hand to tow her upstairs. Ianto sat down in her vacated seat, resigned to whatever it was that Rhiannon had in store for him.
It'd been her idea for him to come out and visit and he'd put it off as long as he could. He and Rhiannon saw eye to eye on so few things that any prolonged contact between them usually resulted in another long patch of time where they seldom communicated. It wasn't that they didn't love each other—that was something Ianto never questioned—but since they both recalled a childhood of vastly differing experiences, they'd lost the common touchstones that most siblings shared in adult life.
"How's Johnnie?" Ianto asked, more to begin a conversation than any real interest.
Rhiannon shrugged. "He's good. Said he saw you in town a few weeks ago."
Ianto frowned. "Really? Why didn't he talk to me?"
Rhiannon's gaze dropped to her mug and Ianto's uneasiness began to grow. Rhiannon was straightforward and rarely at a loss for words, yet she seemed to be reaching for them now as she raised concerned eyes to Ianto's face.
"You were seen with someone. At that restaurant, the one with the fancy French name."
"Les étoiles?"
Rhiannon rolled her eyes. "You would know how to pronounce it," she muttered. "Anyway, he said he saw you sitting outside with some bloke. A good-looking one."
Ianto thought back and recalled a sun-dappled afternoon and Jack in a particularly mischievous mood. They'd sat at a table outside, enjoying the warm breeze and each other in a rare moment of peace. Ianto had known in the back of his mind that they'd been close to crossing the line between the public personae they normally demonstrated and the playful, affectionate part of their private relationship. Jack had been touching and teasing Ianto all day, stealing kisses when Gwen wasn't looking—and sometimes when she was. Ianto was hardly an unwilling recipient of Jack's attention and in fact had found numerous opportunities to encourage Jack in subtle, yet unmistakeable ways. He'd almost come to regret his audacity when he had to keep fending off Jack's wandering fingers, talented digits that grew more adventuresome as their meal progressed, but he'd been having too much fun to be very stern. Now, imagining himself a stranger looking on that scene, it was easy for Ianto to add Rhiannon's uncharacteristic blush and put two and two together.
"That's my boss," he evaded.
"Then you work with a very friendly group of people in your civil service office, don't you?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Oh, come on, Ianto! Johnnie saw the two of you, said you were practically snogging over the table! Have you gone bender?"
It was everything Ianto had feared about a confrontation like this. The confused, almost frightened shade of Rhiannon's tone, the look in her eyes that practically begged him to deny it—he'd somehow convinced himself that his two worlds would never meet and yet they had, so forcefully and unexpectedly that he felt a momentary loss of breath. It was on the tip of his tongue to refute everything, to make every attempt to separate those worlds forever with a lie so convincing that Rhiannon would never doubt him—and then found he couldn't.
"Ianto! Is that it? D'you fancy blokes now?"
Lying had come so easily for so long, about so many things, that it was almost a natural reaction to continue that now. He'd lied about his parents and to them, he'd lied to Rhiannon to protect her, to Lisa to save her—every untruth told to keep some semblance of balance and control in an otherwise unbalanced and uncontrollable world.
"It's not men, it's—it's just him. It's only him."
The words were delivered in a tone of revelation, as Ianto silently acknowledged that truth spoken aloud often sounded more prosaic than the lies he was tempted to tell. There was no explaining that Ianto hadn't simply awakened one day and discovered he was gay. Even harder to explain were the turns and twists of his relationship with Jack—it wasn't something he understood himself. They'd scaled every emotion together, from hate to lust to whatever it was they had now, and it was simply too private and precious to withstand outside scrutiny from someone who would never understand.
Rhiannon looked gob-smacked. "Really? Christ almighty—he's nice, though, right? I mean—"
"Yeah," Ianto hastened to assure here, "he is. He's—we live together, actually."
Rhiannon leaned back in her chair so quickly that it scooted back an inch. "Live together? Since when?"
"Doesn't matter, does it? Just know that I'm happy, that Jack—that's his name—that he's good for me."
To Ianto's surprise, Rhiannon grinned and shook her head. "Never could figure you out, could I? Not even when we were kids." Her smile fading, Rhiannon gazed at Ianto with troubled eyes. "Your other co-worker seems nice."
Startled by the quick change of subject, Ianto frowned. "Gwen? Yeah, she's a good friend."
"Not so good since you'd tell her lies, is she?"
Recalling Gwen's guilty look when he'd come down the stairs, Ianto stared at Rhiannon. "What are you talking about?"
"You, pretending again," Rhiannon said between tightened lips. "Making things up."
"I don't—"
"Dad worked at Debenham's," she hissed, "a perfectly respectable job! Why d'you have to make up stories about him being a tailor, of all things! I thought you outgrew that nonsense years ago!"
Ianto felt betraying heat rush into his cheeks. He stared down at his hands, searching for an explanation that would appease his sister, knowing that no such words existed. Among the many secrets he'd kept was the truth about their father, years of deception laying a foundation that kept Rhiannon unaware of many unsavoury facts to this day.
"It made things easier at the time," he murmured, eyes still downcast. "Now it's just habit."
"Yeah, well," Rhiannon rose and ferried her tea mug to the counter, "you'll have some explaining to do with your friend Gwen. Lies will always come back and bite you on the arse, love. The quicker you learn that, the better."
"Too true," Ianto muttered. He cleared his throat and pushed away his mug. "So, about me and Jack."
Rhiannon tore open a package of biscuits and scattered them on a plate that she set on the table. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay with that? With us?"
"I suppose," she sighed. "Would rather have heard it straight from you, but you never tell me anything these days. Dad died, that was it, you were off. You couldn't wait. Like I did something wrong. I didn't, did I?"
"You? No, of course not. It was just—it was time for me to leave." Ianto stood up, glancing at the clock on the microwave. He'd stayed long enough to be polite and he'd already had two difficult conversations with his sister. Revisiting a past that held few good memories and fewer answers was more than he was capable of dealing with in one day. "Speaking of going, it's getting late."
"So soon?" Rhiannon gestured toward the kettle. "I was just going to heat more water."
Ianto's response was interrupted by Mica's appearance at the bottom of the stairs. "Mum, Ms. Cooper's sick."
"What?" Ianto took a step toward the staircase, but Rhiannon signalled him to wait and turned to her daughter.
"What kind of sick, sweetheart?"
"She threw up in the toilet, but she said she'd be okay."
Rhiannon pointed a finger at Ianto. "You stay here while I get this sorted. Probably something she ate."
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah, some." Gwen struggled to sit up from the lumpy, worn couch, giving Ianto a grateful smile as he offered her his arm. Once she was upright, Ianto tucked the blanket more securely around her hips and set the bottle of water he'd brought her on the table near her elbow. "I'm so embarrassed," she continued, her smile shaky at the corners.
"Don't be." Ianto sat beside her and stretched out his legs. "I think my sister was disappointed you weren't more incapacitated. She loves to fuss over invalids."
Gwen patted his arm. "Much like her brother, apparently. Really, I don't know what came over me. One minute Mica was showing me her dolls and the next—well, I'll spare you the details."
They sat quietly for a few minutes as the sounds of the Hub washed over them, Gwen taking sips from her water while Ianto gazed at one leather clad foot as he waved it lazily from side to side. So relaxed was he that he jumped a bit when Gwen nudged him with her elbow.
"I like your sister. Very down to earth."
"Rhi's all right."
"Older than you?"
"By a few years, yeah."
There was another small silence.
"Mica's adorable, too. They your only family?"
Ianto shifted in his seat, recognizing both the tone and the approach. He'd been dreading a conversation like this since Rhiannon had warned him about lying and Gwen was not one to leave something like this alone for long.
"Our mum died when I was eight."
"Aw, Ianto, I'm sorry, that's a rough age to lose a parent. What about your dad?"
Ianto refrained from rubbing suddenly damp palms against his trousers. He felt as much responsibility to protect Gwen from uncomfortable truths as he did Rhiannon, but this was one instance where another lie would only make things worse.
"I was seventeen when he was killed in a car accident. I left home almost immediately after."
This time, the pause was more uncomfortable. Had it been anyone else, Ianto would've changed the subject, but one of Gwen's less charming traits was her complete inability to ignore something that puzzled her.
"Your father was a tailor, you said, right?"
"Gwen," Ianto shifted on the couch until he faced her, one knee cocked on the faded upholstery, "if you have a question, please feel free to ask."
Meeting Ianto's gaze, Gwen nodded. "All right. Why did you lie, Ianto? Working in a department store is a perfectly respectable—"
"My father," Ianto interrupted quietly, "was a janitor. A very good janitor, actually. He emptied rubbish bins, swept up debris and cleaned toilets." He allowed himself a small smile. "You might say I followed in his footsteps."
"But still, nothing to be ashamed of."
"It wasn't my father's occupation that I was ashamed of."
"Then why—"
"My father was quite explicit regarding his likes and dislikes. He preferred tea to coffee, cricket to football, and anyone to his son. Once I realised there was nothing I could ever do or become that would make him proud of me, I created an alternate reality where we had common ground. What started as a way to get through each day of my adolescence merely became habit. It's something Rhiannon never understood. Nor did she need to."
Satisfied with the partial truths he'd revealed, Ianto glanced at Gwen. She was wide-eyed, listening intently to every word, compassion reflected in her expression as she bit down on her lower lip.
"Ianto, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't want to bring up bad memories."
"That's all they are," he assured her. "Nothing more. Now, how are you feeling?"
Gwen set aside the water bottle. "Well, I won't be eating that leftover curry sitting in the fridge at home, but yeah, I'm doing better. Rhys is picking me up in ten minutes, I'll let him fuss over me next."
"If you're sure you're all right, then would you mind if I—"
"Go on, Ianto. Go do your Ianto-y things, I'll be fine."
Ianto began a reconnaissance through the Hub, checking supplies and generally keeping himself busy. He'd yet to hear from Jack and the hour was getting late. As promised, Rhys showed up to gather up a still-pale Gwen, leaving Ianto to wander around on his own, remembering just in time to set out Myfanwy's afternoon snack. Being alone in the Hub was something he'd once been used to—now it just felt odd, as if a part of him could never rest unless Jack or Gwen was near.
It was almost six before Jack came striding through the cog door, calling out to Ianto in his familiar bellow. Ianto had decided to forage in the supply cabinets for more items that could be used in the Pontcanna Fields site and had put together a considerable bounty that he'd packed in plastic storage bins. He set aside some batteries just as Jack grabbed him from behind and placed a smacking kiss against his cheek.
"Miss me?" he whispered in Ianto's ear.
Ianto, who wasn't feeling very charitable, considering Jack's unexplained absence and the earlier interrogation at his sister's, shook his head. "Not really. Have you been gone?"
"Ah, I see how it is." Jack released Ianto and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. "You're mad because I blew off work today."
Ianto picked up a box of Tetley's and checked its expiration date before tossing it into the nearest bin. "Not at all. You don't have to report me, it's the other way 'round, if I remember correctly."
"Ouch." Jack rocked back on his heels, giving Ianto a considering look. "That's the proper response from an underling, but what's got me really worried is what the boyfriend has to say about it."
Ianto hesitated. It was an unusual opening that Jack was giving him, an opportunity to communicate some of his discomfort regarding Jack's increasingly frequent absences. Jack's deliberate use of the term boyfriend was also something new—Jack was inclined to use labels as a way of mocking established norms and not as a part of his vernacular.
But it didn't alter the fact that Jack had indeed been MIA all day, and seemed to have no intention of sharing his earlier whereabouts without some prodding that Ianto was disinclined to offer. A stubborn part of him wanted Jack to offer the information freely, and so instead he chose the smoother path.
"The boyfriend," Ianto replied in a lofty tone, "is thinking you'd like to explore the possibilities of having dinner out this evening. And paying for it."
Jack bit his lip with evident regret. "Not what I had in mind, sorry."
Fighting off a stab of disappointment, Ianto nodded. "Plans?"
"Oh, yes," Jack replied, "big plans."
"Well, then. I'll just carry on with what I was doing."
Ianto reached for another something, only to find his hand intercepted as Jack drew him into an embrace. He started to say something but Jack's mouth descended upon his in an open-mouthed kiss that knocked any and all coherent thought right out of his head.
To be in Jack's arms—it was something Ianto had learned to never take for granted. Jack kept so many secrets from him, and he knew he still retained a few of his own, yet there was always truth between them when they reconnected physically. A touch or a kiss, fingers drawn along the back of his neck, a discreet tug of Jack's collar—the freedom to touch and be touched was their currency, freely exchanged in all its most intimate forms. All that remained hidden between them was nothing but noise that faded away as Jack deepened the kiss, the fingers of one broad, strong hand sweeping through Ianto's hair, the other pressing the small of Ianto's back until their hips were intimately reacquainted.
It took a few seconds for Ianto to realize that there was a subtle difference to this tender attack of Jack's. Kisses in the centre of the Hub weren't all that uncommon, and erotic trysts in its various nooks and crannies were almost routine. But those encounters always had an air of play about them, no matter who initiated them. It was only at home, in their own bed, when sex become something more, a nearly sacred connection that they never spoke of outside of the house they shared.
But this interlude had an elusive air of neediness to it, an uncommon trait for Jack Harkness. Instinctively, as Ianto returned the kiss, he knew it had something to do with however Jack had spent his day. Jack was trying to tell Ianto something through his touch, and the meaning behind that effort brought up feelings of unease in Ianto, as well as an unaccustomed protectiveness. That Jack had reached out to him for comfort without telling him why was both humbling and thrilling, a new aspect to a relationship that was forever changing.
The kiss drifted into an easy embrace as Ianto plaited their bodies together in a form that satisfied him. It wasn't until a chime ringing from a computer broke their concentration on each other that Jack raised his head and rested his cheek against Ianto's.
"It's probably a bit late to ask, but where's Gwen? Did we just give her another free show? We really need to start charging admittance."
"Mmm," Ianto sighed, eyes closed, "she left an hour ago. Wasn't feeling well."
That brought Jack's head up. "Yeah? Is she okay?"
Ianto nodded. "I think so. She came over ill at my sister's."
One dark eyebrow arched questioningly. "Your sister's?"
Ianto nodded, the pleasure found in Jack's embrace fading as he recalled how his own afternoon had been spent. "We went out there after checking up on the Pontcanna Fields site, which, by the way, needs some attention." He pulled out of Jack's arms and walked over to his workstation to retrieve his clipboard. "Here, I've made a list of things we'll need to update soon. Your turn to go next time."
"You say that like you don't like it out there. What's not to like? Green fields, a nice river—too bucolic for a city boy like you?"
"Something like that," Ianto muttered. When there was no reply from Jack, he continued, "It's perfectly nice but even perfectly nice places can hold unpleasant memories. I'm sure you're well aware of that."
He looked up in time to see an odd expression on Jack's face, a wistful set to the generous mouth that was blinked away as Jack nodded.
"Well, I have been meaning to go out there, so it's a good thing you had time to check today. Now," he continued, clapping his hands together, "about those plans for tonight."
"Yes?" Ianto reached for a pen, determined to show Jack that he had no real interest in how Jack intended to spend his evening if he wasn't included.
"It so happens," Jack said in a conspiratorial stage whisper, "that while I was out, I found this fabulous little restaurant. Great food, intimate dining room, even a dance floor. Oh, and you know the best part?"
Ianto bit his lip against a smile, incipient hurt feelings vanishing like mist before morning sunlight as he began to comprehend Jack's intent.
"Let's see," he frowned, "the great food is takeaway, the dance floor is our kitchen floor and the best part must be, hmm, proximity to a soft, flat surface?"
Jack scowled at him, but there was no malice in it. "Damn it, Ianto, you always spoil my surprises."
Ianto hung his head in mock shame, then reached out and grabbed a fistful of Jack's coat, guiding him close enough for a swift kiss. "Forgive me," he murmured against Jack's lips. "It's just that sometimes you are so very obvious that I assume it's more efficient than letting you go on and on."
"Are you saying I ramble?" Jack's hands were back on Ianto's hips, clever fingers insinuating themselves into Ianto's belt loops to tug at his trousers.
"Not at all," Ianto replied. "Rambling would imply a subject as well as a conclusion. For the most part, I think you merely prefer the sound of your own voice."
Jack's eyes widened before narrowing to a threatening squint. "You know I'll make you pay for that later," he purred.
Ianto leaned in to whisper in Jack's ear. "Why do you think I said it?" He punctuated his statement with a brush of his lips against Jack's, then pulled away. "Let me straighten up here and then I'll be ready to leave. Did you have a good day?"
Jack looked away, then let his gaze travel up the Rift. "It was uneventful. Ran some errands, made some calls, the usual."
Ianto let the obfuscation slide—he'd asked out of curiosity to see if Jack would answer him truthfully. "Ah, speaking of calls, do you know someone named Lois Habiba?"
Jack frowned. "Doesn't sound familiar. Why?"
"Gwen caught her looking you up in the defence database. When this Lois person couldn't find anything, someone else logged on. Someone with higher clearance."
"Really? Did they dig up anything interesting?"
Ianto turned to look Jack in the eye. "We don't know. We couldn't get in. We assumed you could, but you weren't here."
For the first time that evening, Ianto let Jack see the full extent of his knowledge that Jack was keeping secrets from him, or at least one secret that had kept Jack away from Torchwood all day. Jack met his gaze squarely, chin lifted as they communicated non-verbally. There was no apology in Jack's eyes, but there was a rueful admission that at some point in the very near future, there was going to be a conversation that neither of them would enjoy.
Jack cleared his throat. "Hey, I had a long talk with Patanjali. Aside from the fact that I don't think he'd be a good fit for us, he's got some crazy ideas about bodies being stolen from the morgue."
Accepting the change in subject, Ianto nodded. "I spoke with someone else at the hospital who didn't have a very high opinion of him, either. She actually..." Ianto trailed off, eyes unfocussed. "Now that I think on it, maybe you should interview her."
"Who?"
"Dr. Mackenzie. You probably don't remember her, she was at the clinic and saw to my shoulder after my interview with Fitzhenry. She's at St. Helen's now, chief of the A&E department."
"Sure, sounds good. Now, about dinner, did I mention I'm hungry? And it's long past quitting time."
"Fair enough. Are you sure you don't want to stop and get something to eat?"
"I'm sure. I've already got dinner warming in the oven at home, so if we don't want to munch on charcoal briquettes for dinner, we'd better get a move on."
The night turned out better than Ianto expected, given Jack's sketchy dinner plans. It'd been nice to find that Jack had actually put some effort into dinner—instead of a pizza congealing in a warm oven or stacks of Chinese food containers, there'd been a deli-made casserole, garlic bread, and a prepared salad waiting when they'd arrived home. The evening had ended predictably but pleasurably, as all thoughts of doctors and the lack thereof were set aside for a conversation of a more non-verbal sort.
There had only been one thing to mar Ianto's contentment, but it was enough to deepen his ever-growing sense of disquiet and ruin the balance of his sleep. It'd been some time in the middle of the night when he'd awakened with a dry mouth and had wanted a glass of water. After dislodging Jack's arm from his midsection, he stumbled out of bed and down the stairs to the kitchen, there to search bleary-eyed for a suitable glass. A few swallows of tepid water cleared his head enough for him to cast a disapproving glance over the hastily cleaned kitchen, and as much as a soft bed and a warm lover appealed to him, Ianto decided to take a few moments to restore some of the order that had been neglected in favour of a fast-moving round of strip Yahtzee.
It was a game that Ianto was particularly skilled at, and so it was mostly Jack's clothes that lay strewn throughout the kitchen and lounge. Loath to leave things vulnerable to wrinkles and stains, Ianto finished his water and then set about gathering up the discarded clothing. It was as he picked up Jack's pale blue shirt that he noticed a scent, soft and floral, that seemed to drift up from one sleeve. Setting aside everything else, Ianto held the sleeve to his nose as he slowly sank into the nearest chair, the unfamiliar odour catching at the back of his throat.
Feeling somewhat foolish, Ianto sniffed other portions of Jack's shirt, but nowhere was the scent stronger than on the right cuff. Upon further inspection, he could see a faint stain on the seam near the button hole where the scent seemed strongest. It was by no means an unpleasant smell, but it was definitely one he considered to be feminine, and upon that realisation, Ianto knew that he dared not ignore what it could possibly mean for him.
Scant evidence aside, Ianto was convinced that Jack wasn't unfaithful, at least not in any traditional sense. It wasn't something they'd ever discussed, the possibility of other lovers, although Ianto had always assumed that early in their personal relationship he'd not been Jack's only sexual partner. But not once since the night Jack had shown up at Ianto's bedside after Gwen's wedding, terrified that he'd lost Ianto because he'd briefly succumbed to his own fears, did Ianto suspect that Jack was seeking out other company. If anyone appeared uncertain about their relationship it was Ianto, as he seemed to be constantly confronted with other people's interpretation of how they viewed the two of them and he'd yet to find a reaction of his own that felt comfortable. It was something he was just coming to understand himself, and while having a lover was nothing new, having a male—and immortal—lover who had a habit of disappearing for months at a time was a little out of his purview.
Even Jack himself had lately changed the rules, as shown by his use of the term boyfriend earlier that evening. It was the first time Ianto could remember Jack using a common label and even though he'd been joking at the time, he'd appeared sincere—but it couldn't have come at a worse moment. Because the one thing Ianto counted on, far more than he'd ever admit, was that if Jack truly had found someone else, another lover, another love, that his affection for and loyalty to Ianto would ensure that he would be honest about it. By defining their relationship in everyday terms at this point, Ianto feared that Jack was beginning to realise that the everyday was exactly what he didn't want.
So what exactly did a feminine scent on Jack's clothing mean? It could mean anything and most probably was innocent—the brush of a perfumed hand taking money when he'd paid for dinner, for example. But coupled with Jack's unexplained time away and his preoccupation with someone named Alice, it could be seen as circumstantial, but damning proof that Jack was moving on and had yet to find the courage to tell Ianto.
In the end, Ianto folded the clothing and stacked everything in a tidy pile on the couch before crawling back into bed. Jack awakened just enough to reach for Ianto and tug him close until their limbs were comfortably entwined. But just as Ianto was tumbling into a troubled sleep, he admitted that if the phantom Alice had a scent, he'd probably just encountered it.
"Morning, Princess. You look like crap."
"First of all, Jack Harkness, call me princess again and I'll kick you where it'll do the most good. Sorry if that ruins any of your social plans, Ianto."
"No problem here, perfectly understandable under the circumstances."
"Hey! Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"
"Second," Gwen continued, "telling me I look like crap first thing in the morning when I've spent the last half hour fielding calls for you because you can't be arsed to answer your mobile is not your most brilliant plan. It'd be very easy for me to lose your messages."
"Geez, all right, I'm sorry, Mrs. Cooper-Williams. You're as radiant as a rose and twice as prickly. Now what are my messages?"
"Only one, actually, but the person on the other end of the line pissed me off after the second call. Here. Oh, and I'd love an explanation as to how they got this number. We're not exactly listed."
"I do have people that need to talk to me, you know."
"Oh, yes, you're very important, aren't you?"
Ianto moved toward the small kitchen as Gwen and Jack continued bickering. If Jack's mobile had rung, they'd both have heard it, which meant it was either silenced or on vibrate. Considering that half an hour ago Jack had initiated a surprise snogging session in the SUV, he wasn't surprised that Jack had let the call go unanswered.
"Ianto!"
"I'm ten feet away, and still, he needs to yell."
Jack ignored the muttered commentary. "What do you know about the Duke of York Mental nstitution in East Grinstead? Have we stored anyone there recently?"
Ianto frowned. The facility sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. "No one comes readily to mind. Are you referring to an employee or a guest?"
Glancing down at the slip of paper Gwen had handed him, Jack replied, "Both, I guess. This is from someone named Dr. Robert Forrest in reference to a patient named Timothy White."
"Here it is." Gwen turned from her computer. "Timothy White, fifty-two, been in hospital three months. Not much else here, but according to that doctor, after weeks of being the perfect patient, now it seems he's become quite agitated, pointing at the sky and claiming that the aliens are coming. Ring any bells?"
Jack accepted the mug of coffee that Ianto offered him and took a sip, eyes narrowing in concentration. "Nope. What's he in for?"
"I assume," Gwen said in a reasonable tone, "because he's crazy."
"Oh, that's helpful," Jack threw a glare at Gwen as he strolled toward his office. "Sorry, still no bells. I'll call this guy back and see what he wants."
Ianto handed Gwen her mug as she stuck out her tongue at Jack's retreating back. "It's just some of your chai tea this morning, since you still look a bit pale. How are you?"
Wrapping her fingers around the mug, Gwen pulled it close as if to absorb its warmth into her body. "Aside from feeling a little tired, I'm all right."
"Good. Best to take it easy today. If you need anything—"
"I'll ask, I promise." Gwen's smile faded as she regarded Ianto. "Listen, about yesterday and what your sister told me, I wanted to say—"
"You don't have to apologise," Ianto was swift to interrupt, "family matters can be embarrassing."
"Oh God, you've met my mum, so I have no room to argue, but I wasn't going to apologise."
"Oh? Sorry. Then what—"
"I think you should tell Jack about your father."
Ianto rocked back on his heels, careful to conceal the shock he felt from showing on his face. "Why? What good could it possibly do?"
Gwen leaned back in her chair to look up at Ianto as he hitched his hip onto her desk. "I know how hard you try," she began in a low voice, "to be everything you think Jack needs you to be. Especially now it's just the three of us."
"I'm not doing any more than you or Jack."
"That's not what I meant. What I'm trying to say is that amongst everything else you have to deal with, I think you're also trying to give Jack space that he doesn't really need or want."
"I don't understand."
Gwen sighed. "I'm not blind, Ianto. I know that he's been spending time away and you don't know why and furthermore, you won't ask. You're both so afraid of being vulnerable that you'd rather suffer alone than share the pain."
Ianto looked away. "No one's suffering," he muttered.
"Well, I may not blind, but you obviously are. And whatever it is that's bothering him, maybe he won't tell you because he wants to be strong for you. Just like you try to do for him, only you're both too stubborn to admit it."
Ianto lowered his gaze to the scarred cement floor. It was a fair assessment and something Ianto had struggled to balance since becoming involved with Jack, with varying success. Their world held so much uncertainty that Ianto wanted Jack to be certain of him, if nothing else. To reveal a weakness felt too much like letting Jack down, even though Jack had demonstrated over and over that he cherished Ianto beyond any perceived weaknesses that Ianto attempted to conceal.
But he was beginning to see Gwen's point. Whatever was currently distracting Jack, it was entirely possible that it was a secret he feared would diminish him in Ianto's eyes. The very thought of Jack hiding something in order to protect him tapped into something painfully fragile inside Ianto, an echo of hard-fought feelings of inadequacy that nevertheless cast Jack's mysterious truancies in a whole new and promising light.
"What you're saying," Ianto murmured, "is that by confessing something so personal, Jack may feel comfortable enough to do likewise."
Gwen beamed at him and gave his knee a pat. "There, you see? That wasn't so hard, was it?"
"Has anyone told you that you are unbearably cheery when you think you're right?"
Gwen snorted. "Only Rhys, practically every day. Oh, speaking of Rhys, d'you think I can slip away later and meet him? He wanted me to look at some houses he's picked out."
"Are you sure you're up for it?"
"Of course, shopping is shopping. A house is just like a pair of shoes, only on a slightly larger scale."
"Well said. Where are you thinking of looking?"
"There's a place—"
"That was a waste of time." Jack joined them at Gwen's workstation. "This guy White keeps asking for someone to stop the aliens from coming back. Why is it that when people hear the word alien, they automatically think of Torchwood? I don't know about you two, but I find that rather insulting."
"Did the doctor mention what kind of alien?" Ianto asked.
"Apparently Mr. White's rants are non-alien specific. Something about a big light in the sky, men in hats, the usual. Sounds like a dead end to me. Meanwhile, I've received an email from someone named Spears, asking that the three of us attend a video conference call at five o'clock this afternoon with John Frobisher."
Ianto and Gwen exchanged glances. They were rarely included in the deeper levels of bureaucratic hell that Jack dealt with on a daily basis.
"You're sure?" Gwen waved at Ianto. "Us, too?"
"That's what the email said. Don't look so glum, maybe they're going to give us all pay rises."
"And maybe," Ianto said, "there will be sparkly unicorns and mischievous elves competing on the next X-Factor."
"Listen," Jack said, "it so happens that one of those judges is an undocumented alien from a planet neither of you have ever heard of. And by the way, unicorns? Are nasty-tempered SOBs and elves are totally misunderstood, so enough with the racial profiling."
"Really? Which judge?" Ianto inquired.
"Ooh, I have my suspicions," Gwen chimed in.
Jack scowled at them. "That's hardly the point."
"My mistake." Turning to Gwen, Ianto said, "Spears—wasn't that the name belonging to the ID that logged on, looking for information on Jack?"
"Yeah, I think so. Jack? Do you know who that is?"
Jack shrugged. "Maybe. I think she works in Frobisher's office."
The phone in Jack's office jangled. Rolling his eyes, Jack moved off to answer it as Ianto and Gwen continued their conversation regarding attractive real estate prospects. They were just comparing neighbourhoods they'd consider worth checking when Jack rejoined them, a frown between his eyes.
"Anyone up for a drive to East Grinstead?"
Ianto glanced at Gwen. "Why?"
"Because the man in a hat that Timothy White keeps mentioning? Seems Dr. Forrest forgot to mention one teeny, tiny detail in our last conversation and had to call me back. Turns out the hat in question is very distinctive and is, in fact, an Air Force captain's cap. It meant nothing to Forrest, but he thought it was specific enough that we ought to know."
"That's quite a coincidence," Gwen said. "Are you sure you don't recall anything about him?"
Jack shook his head. "Not a thing. There's nothing in the Torchwood files about him, either. Maybe a coincidence is all it is."
Gwen stood up and set aside her tea. "Listen, why don't I go up there and check it out?" She glanced at her watch. "Two hours there, two hours back, I should be home by early afternoon. Oh, unless I take Rhys with me, he wanted me to look at property and this way we can kill two birds with one stone."
"You're just trying to get out of paperwork again, aren't you?" Jack scolded. "I see through your nefarious plan."
Gwen was already reaching for her jacket. "Look at it this way, Jack. Now I'll be gone for most of the day and you and Ianto will be alone. For hours. Maybe I won't be back until the conference call, if you're lucky."
With an all too obvious head jerk in Jack's direction, Gwen widened her eyes at Ianto on her way out, her mobile pressed to her ear. Jack and Ianto shared a look that demonstrated they were both comfortable with the idea of some guaranteed Gwen-less hours before both men took off in opposite directions to set about their daily tasks.
But later that morning, as Jack and Ianto took advantage of another slow day at the office—and Gwen's fortuitous absence—by making love in Jack's office, all thoughts of confession were the furthest thing from Ianto's mind.
"You're sure that's his real name?"
"That's what he's telling me. Clement MacDonald, originally from Aberdeen. He doesn't remember a lot, but he's convinced that he and Jack chased away a group of aliens back in nineteen sixty-five."
"Got it." Ianto finished making his notes and straightened from his desk. "And you're sure it was Jack he's talking about?"
"Pretty much, yeah. His description is spot on, but I guess after his so called abduction, things got pretty fuzzy for Clem. He's spent years in and out of institutions, most recently in Leeds. I was just getting to the part about how he and Jack defeated the aliens when they kicked us out to dispense medication."
"Right, then. I'll run the name through the database and ask Jack about it when he returns."
"He's gone? Again?"
"Yes, but this time, he's only gone to check out a weevil sighting near the airport. He should be back about the same time you are."
"Oh, right, that call. Five, right? I may not have time to drop Rhys off at home."
"Bring him along. I've started stocking his favourite lager, so he can make himself comfortable while he waits."
"You do think of everything, don't you? Oh, have you had a chance to talk to Jack?"
Ianto mind drifted back to earlier that day, when one opportunity for an intimate conversation with Jack had been circumvented by Jack himself. He'd evidently become distracted by the repetitive tug and pull of Ianto's hands as they'd worked at loosening a knot in a strip of nylon rope they used to secure sedated weevils. Ianto had been standing beside Jack's desk, so concentrated on his task that he'd fail to see Jack rise from his chair and come up from behind, his arms sliding beneath Ianto's as his lips landed just above the crisp white crease of Ianto's shirt collar. Before Ianto knew what he was about, Jack had Ianto's wrists bound together with the rope, effectively restraining him. His own fingers were then free to roam, first removing Ianto's tie before unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt, then descending to undo Ianto's belt, all the while ravishing Ianto's neck and throat with stinging bites and deep, sucking kisses that crested the edge of pain just enough to send Ianto's nerves flying.
Caught up once again in Jack's web of sensual play, he'd been unprepared when Jack had flipped him around and shoved him against the office wall. Pinning him there with a kiss before slowly dropping to his knees, he'd peeled away Ianto's loosened clothing as he went, continuing to use his mouth to such devastating effect that had Ianto not been supported by the wall, he'd have dissolved into a very happy puddle at Jack's feet. As it was, Jack had teased him later—much later—about his recovery time, although he was quick to point out that Ianto's own inventiveness when his turn came with the rope had inspired Jack's utmost respect.
"Not exactly." Ianto rang a fingertip around the rim of his collar, feeling the traces of residual heat still blossoming from his skin. He hoped—probably in vain—that the evidence would be faded by the time Gwen returned, otherwise his failure to open up to Jack would be self-explanatory.
"You really should—oh, wait, they're letting us back in again. God, I hate giving up my phone, I feel naked without it."
"Unfortunately, if they're not letting you take in any personal items, they must consider him to be dangerous, so be careful."
"Oh pooh, he's no more dangerous than a five-year-old. Listen, I'm sending you some footage they took of him standing outside and doing his pointy act."
"Good, I'll show it to Jack as soon as he returns. Have a safe drive back."
"Okay, show me what you've got."
Ianto pressed a button and the screen behind Jack's desk flickered to life. Awkwardly framed and annoyingly jiggly, the video was of a middle-aged man pointing toward the sky, his grizzled and careworn face a mask of fear.
Jack squinted at the screen. "What's he saying?"
"Not sure, there's no audio. Near as I can make out, he's saying 'they're coming' over and over again, which matches up with the version Gwen heard."
"Huh. That's pretty non-descriptive. What else did Gwen learn?"
"That his real name is Clement, or Clem, MacDonald, originally from—"
"Wait. What did you say his name was?"
Ianto looked at Jack, startled by the change in his tone. Jack was staring at the screen, white-faced, his hands clenched on the edges of his chair.
"Clem MacDonald. Does that mean something to you? I haven't run it through the database yet."
"Oh, my God." Jack raised haunted eyes to Ianto. "I never thought I'd hear that name again."
"Who is he?" Ianto whispered.
Jack swallowed. "If he is who I think he is, let's hope this is just your average, every day psychotic break and he's wrong about them coming back, because otherwise, we could be in big trouble."
"Bigger than usual?"
"Oh, yeah." Taking a deep breath, Jack swivelled his chair around and carefully folded his hands on his desk. "In nineteen sixty-five, the British government was contacted by an alien race via radio signals. They never mentioned their name and so they were dubbed the 456, the radio frequency they used for communication. It was crude, but they managed to convey that they wanted something from us and in return, they would provide something we—meaning the entire world—needed."
"What did they want?"
"Test subjects. Human test subjects."
"Test subjects for what?"
"We don't know, they never explained. It didn't matter, once they told us their criteria, we weren't going to give them what they really wanted."
"And that was?"
"The test subjects they wanted?" Jack dropped his head into his hands. "Children. No one over the age of twelve."
"God, Jack." Ianto reached a hand toward Jack's bowed head, then let it drop. "And in return?"
"In return, they promised a vaccine for a strain of the Indonesian flu, a particularly viral strain that was threatening to kill thousands, if not tens of thousands, that winter."
"How, I mean, why would they—"
"We don't know." Jack lifted his head, scraping a hand through his hair. "It was a gamble to say no, but the 456 made no threats. The government prepared for retaliation, but since they were also still interested in the vaccine, they decided to make a counter offer."
The bitter thread that had crept into Jack's voice was unmistakeable. "That doesn't sound good."
"It wasn't." Jack's smile held no amusement. "Not for me, anyway."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning the government wanted a crack at that vaccine and thought they'd come up with the most perfect human test subject there is. A test subject that couldn't die. A totally renewable resource."
Nausea thickened the back of Ianto's throat. "You?" he said, his own voice barely audible above the ringing in his ears.
"Of course they didn't tell the 456 that I couldn't die, Harold Wilson just figured that handing over the only immortal they knew about was an easy way of hedging his bet." Jack jumped to his feet, hands shoved deeply in his trouser pockets as he stalked around his desk, anger in every tense line of his body. "Hell, it was perfect! Torchwood in the sixties was a reflection of the times, and compromise with an alien seemed like the ultimate form of universal cooperation. There were two, maybe three people high enough in the government who knew about me and one of them had the brilliant idea of offering me as a consolation prize. Wilson jumped all over it."
"But surely Torchwood wouldn't give you up that easily? You were needed here, you've always been needed here."
Jack stopped in front of Ianto. "See, here's the thing. When they asked, I said yes."
"You—you what?"
"I said yes. In fact, I think my exact words were 'sounds like a party, sign me up.'"
"But why?"
Some of the anger in Jack's face softened as he looked into Ianto's eyes. "Because I had no reason to stay."
"Your work here—"
"Wasn't enough." The bright blue of Jack's eyes faded into sorrowful grey as he seemed to search for an answer to Ianto's confusion. "Every once in a while, I'd give up believing that the Doctor would ever come back for me and that I'd truly been abandoned. The sixties may have been all about free love, but the only thing I wanted was out there somewhere, without me. Going off with a pack of aliens even I'd never heard of sounded preferable to waiting around this backwater planet any longer. Or, to put it another way, I simply didn't give a fuck."
"I don't believe that. I'll never believe that."
"Ianto." Jack brushed his knuckles over Ianto's cheekbone. "What you know of me today, it isn't how I've always been. I'd lost hope so many times, I'd waited so long, it felt like anything would be preferable to staying here. And sometimes," he concluded with a shrug, "the loneliness simply became too much to bear."
"But you're still here, the 456 didn't take you. What happened?"
"Everything went as planned. I said my goodbyes, packed up my kit bag, and headed for a muddy field in Scotland." A glint of rueful humour appeared in Jack's eyes. "Believe it or not, they spit me out. For lack of a better explanation, they licked me and didn't like how I tasted. I awoke on a hillside, covered in the most vile substance I've ever encountered, and the 456 had vanished, taking the formula for the promised vaccine with them and leaving us to face one of the worst flu outbreaks in over twenty years."
"And Clem MacDonald? What does he have to do with all this?"
"Clem had the misfortune of choosing exactly the wrong day to run away from a Scottish orphanage. He'd followed the light into the field and got pulled up in the same energy shaft that I did. I'm not sure what happened to him up there, but he was found the next day, wandering into a village, covering with the same crap that'd covered me. Poor kid, that was pretty much the end for him. He was interrogated and then sent back to the orphanage. Torchwood Two administered an early version of retcon, which probably didn't help matters, and they were supposed to keep track of him. Seems they did a lousy job."
"Why do you think he's acting out now?"
"Hard to say. Could be his subconscious dredging up bad memories or an overdue side effect of retcon. A smell, a picture, anything could've set him off."
"That would be nice, if it turns out to be true. However—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's never that easy. We'll wait to hear what else Gwen learned."
"All right."
"Ianto? Something wrong?"
"There's so much about you I don't know." Ianto closed his eyes, half turning away as he mourned the bitter, angry, heartbreakingly lonely Jack Harkness he'd never known, the one who'd give himself up to danger out of sheer boredom. It was so easy to forget that Jack was not like him, he wasn't like anyone, and Ianto's life in comparison was nothing more than a breath lost on the wind.
"Hey." Jack cupped Ianto's chin with his palm, turning him until their eyes met. "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."
"Right." Ianto summoned a smile. "It's just difficult sometimes."
"What is?"
"Knowing that you'll see me die—" Jack's face began to cloud, and Ianto paused. It was another subject they rarely spoke on, both of them knowing that solace would never be found in mere words. Wanting to erase the sadness filling Jack's eyes, he continued with a slight inclination of his head, one eyebrow raised, "of old age, and you'll still go on."
"Difficult doesn't begin to describe it." Jack drew Ianto close and pressed a kiss to the corner of Ianto's eye, letting the touch of his mouth linger. "But we still have right now, together. You can't let the future steal that away."
They stood like that for a few moments, both men momentarily caught up in the fear of the inevitable tragedy that time would some day bestow on them both, until Jack clasped Ianto's shoulders and drew away.
"Now," he continued, "run that footage for me again. We have some time to kill before the conference call. Did Gwen tell you when she thought she'd return?"
"No, we spoke just before she was going back in to continue her interview." Ianto looked at his watch. "It's almost four, she should be on the road by now."
At four fifty-five, Ianto took his seat at the conference table, while Jack parked himself at the end, arms crossed and feet planted like a captain surveying the deck of his ship.
"Still no word from Gwen?"
'No, nothing. I even tried Rhys' phone. Both go directly to voice mail."
"Terrific. Leave it to Gwen to find a way to not only get out of paperwork but a staff meeting, too."
Right at five o'clock, Ianto pressed a button and the wide screen mounted on the wall came to life, filled with the lugubrious features of John Frobisher, a sour-tempered bureaucrat they'd dealt with from time to time. They watched as he shuffled some papers before placing them in a folder that he set aside before addressing them.
"Are you all there?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued, laying his hands flat on the table in front of him. "Excellent. I shall be brief. Based on current economic restrictions, as well as recent improvements in interstellar monitoring and defence advancements, it has been decided that Torchwood Three as it is currently is to be decommissioned. Effective immediately, you are to begin preparations to turn over all operations to UNIT."
Jack dropped his arms and took a quick step forward. "The hell we will! Who the hell authorised that?"
"I appreciate that you are surprised by this announcement, Captain, but I assure you that it is for the best, especially since your services are needed elsewhere."
"Wait, what?"
Ianto jumped to his feet. "You can't do that!"
Frobisher peered at them, head cocked to one side. "I'm afraid it's already done. We're sending Darby Fitzhenry to supervise the assessment of the facility. Personnel will be reassigned—"
"Hold on, no one's going anywhere." Jack leaned on the conference table, his hands knotted into fists. "There will be no reassignments, everything stays as is. I don't know if you're aware, Frobisher, but the mandate that created Torchwood is unbreakable."
Frobisher allowed himself a thin stretch of his lips that almost resembled a smile. "Nothing is unbreakable, Captain, you of all people should know that. And we're technically not breaking the mandate, simply reassigning the command structure and reapportioning its resources. Regardless, after tomorrow, Torchwood will no longer be your responsibility. As for your associates, Ms. Cooper will be offered the same position that she was offered a few months ago, as public relations liaison for the local police. Mr. Jones will be transferred to Thames House, where I'm sure his talent will be put to good use in one of our research departments."
"Oh, that is so not happening. I want to talk to the PM."
Frobisher looked pained. "I can assure you that the PM is fully aware of the situation and is in agreement with these decisions."
Ianto turned to Jack who was glaring at the screen, arms tightly folded over his chest. "I won't go."
Jack flicked his eyes at him. "Of course you won't. But out of curiosity, Frobisher, what did you have in mind for me?"
For the first time, Frobisher's mask of polite disinterest seemed to waver. "The completion of an assignment, actually."
"And what assignment is that?"
Frobisher brushed his hand against his lapel, his wedding band flashing dully against the black of his suit. "The 456 have returned. They want you back."
"Why?"
Frobisher shook his head. "Communication with them is difficult, to say the least. We've only just understood that they are demanding that we turn you over to them once more, but we haven't been able to distinguish why."
Jack and Ianto shared a startled glance before Jack replied. "Sorry," Jack said, "that was a one time only offer."
"I think that you may be deliberately misunderstanding me. The 456 have made a demand, not a request, and one which we dare not turn down."
"Oh? What is it this time?"
"If you refuse to cooperate, then they'll take ten per-cent of the world's children instead, to be delivered two days from now at a place of their choosing."
"That's insane," Jack said. "I don't even know where to begin with this. Why do they want children again? Where would they take them? None of this makes sense."
"Your understanding of the situation isn't required, Captain. I'm sure that once you calm down, you will see that there really isn't a decision to be made here. It has to be you."
"Oh, I'm calm," Jack growled. "Calm enough to tell you to go to hell. We couldn't trust the 456 forty years ago and there sure isn't any reason to trust them now. Tell them they can't have our kids and they can't have me."
"If only it were that easy," Frobisher replied. "However, this time, instead of tempting us with a vaccine, they have threatened to release a poison that will wipe out two-thirds of the world's population within ten days."
"And you believed them?"
Frobisher nodded. "They have made their point. Have a look."
The screen changed to hand-held video footage of a small village. Ianto couldn't place it geographically, other than it reminded him of some of the villages the team had passed through on their ill-fated trip to the Himalayas.
Except those villages didn't have bodies scattered in the muddy lanes, many of them seemingly struck down in the everyday business of living. The scene was horrifying in its normalcy, as farm animals wandered through the village, many of them dragging tethers behind them. The only other movement on tape were slowly-moving, ghostly figures dressed in protective white suits.
"As you can see," Frobisher continued as the video ended, "the 456 are quite adamant about this."
"Did you verify that this was their doing?" Jack asked.
"Yes, that was the U.N. Hazmat team sent in for reconnaissance. The bodies were exactly as the 456 described they would be, and so far, the U.N scientists investigating the deaths have failed to find anything remotely resembling an antidote. However, if it's any consolation to you, the 456 have agreed to release the toxin somewhere in the southern hemisphere, in order to allow us time to limit the damage if you change your mind after their demands are initially refused."
"I can't—" Jack broke off, looking toward Ianto, and Ianto felt the first tendrils of real fear crawl through his stomach. There was a wild gleam in Jack's eye, a waxen cast to his complexion, and Ianto felt the suffocating weight of the next few moments settle on his shoulders as he realised that Jack was beginning to change his mind.
"Wait," Ianto implored, "just wait. Think for a moment. The 456 can't be trusted, right? Who's to say they can be trusted now? They could easily take you and still poison the planet. There has to be another way. If you give in to their demands, what will they ask for next?"
"Does it matter? Children, Ianto. Or billions of lives, all in exchange for one man. How can we—"
"I know, I know, but we can't possibly have all the facts. We need time, we need—no, check that. We're Torchwood, Jack. If there's an alternative, we'll find it."
Jack stared at him and Ianto held his gaze, every muscle in his body taut with the need for Jack to believe along with him that Torchwood was once again their best defence against seemingly unstoppable evil. Even if it only delayed the inevitable—a scenario Ianto refused to contemplate—they wouldn't go down without a fight.
When he saw Jack's eyes harden, the clean-lined jaw tensing with resolve, Ianto felt boneless with relief. Jack gave him one brief nod, then squared his shoulders and returned his attention to the screen.
"Right. No deal, Frobisher, not yet. We'll find another way out of this."
Frobisher removed his glasses and reached into his inner jacket pocket for a small square of fabric. His eyes on his task, he rubbed at the lenses with slow, deliberate strokes.
"As you wish. You have twenty-four hours to come up with an alternate plan that all the parties involved can agree upon, including the 456. However, I must inform you that there will need to be a compelling reason to alter the current plan in place, and that plan is for you to surrender yourself." He slipped his glasses back onto his nose, frowning over the rims as he addressed them again. "This doesn't change the fact that Torchwood is to be handed over, regardless of whether or not you remain there, Captain."
"Got it." Jack tilted his head to one side as if considering his options. "Send all the information you have. But I'll need my team intact if we're going to find that alternative solution, so any personnel reassignments will have to wait until the crisis has passed or I'm the equivalent of an alien squeaky toy."
Frobisher nodded and the feed terminated. Ianto waited as Jack stared at the now blank screen, one finger to his lips as he stood lost in thought.
"Okay," Jack said, "the 456 aren't the only ones I don't trust. My guess is that there will be no twenty-four hour reprieve and they have no intention of allowing us to find any alternatives. They're going to come after all of us—in fact, I'll bet they're already here. This is a power play wrapped up in a global crisis."
"Then what do we do?"
"We shut down."
"What? Torchwood?"
"This facility. Everything gets locked up and secured so that even if they find a way in here, they can't use a damn thing. Then we'll divert Rift power to the Pontcanna Fields site and work from there."
"Won't they know to look for us there?"
"I doubt it. Both backup facilities were something I dreamed up one day back in the late forties, sort of a pet project I worked on when business was slow. Of course it wasn't a caravan park back then, just an old dairy farm. We decided to keep it off the Torchwood records, at least the ones we shared with the government, since really, what the hell good would a secret hideout be if everyone knew about it?"
"What if—"
"Everything, Ianto. We need time that they're not willing to give, so we're going to have to take it from them. Start by crashing non-essential systems, then set Janet free and sedate Big Bird up there so she doesn't scare anyone who makes it in and takes a shot by at her by mistake. I want every computer to melt down if anyone unauthorised so much as breathes on them. If they want Torchwood, they can have it—or what's left of it."
In between following Jack's orders, Ianto continued his attempts to contact Gwen. He and Jack had passed the point of being annoyed by her absence and were now openly worried about her fate. Ianto stopped leaving messages asking where she was and instead had reverted to the code they'd developed for times when their communications were compromised. To unfriendly ears, his messages sounded mundane as he inquired about dry cleaning and the possibility of rain in the forecast, but Ianto knew that Gwen would pick up on the abandonment of the main facility and the plan to meet at the caravan site.
Working quickly and efficiently to bring Torchwood to a complete halt, Ianto kept stealing glances at Jack's face. Unsurprisingly, he didn't have the look of a man about to be turned over to a hostile alien entity for purposes unknown. His movements were smooth and his expression focussed and calm as he evaluated the data forwarded by Frobisher's office, giving Ianto a visible rock to cling to as he worked his way through the destructive protocols that would force the Hub to its knees.
It was difficult to concentrate on his own task, knowing that it may all be in vain and Jack could very well be sacrificed for the greater good. Not understanding what the 456 had in store for Jack was horrible to contemplate, but what made it unbearable for Ianto was the uncompromising truth that Jack would survive no matter what and go on with his life, whereas Ianto probably wouldn't live to see the day Jack returned, if he returned.
The system shut-down didn't take long. With cold hands and a pounding heart, Ianto took it to a point where the final order could be enacted that would shut down all major functions of the Hub. All of the artefacts in the vaults would be left for the new owners, but the safe and its contents were unassailable. The Rift Manipulator would emit a false reading, telling anyone unfamiliar with its normal workings that it was functioning properly, when in fact the energy would be diverted into the smaller version located in Pontcanna Fields. The backup facility would be unable to handle a large influx of activity and would most like burst apart under any duress, but the Newton site was even less suitable. It wasn't a grand plan, but it was the best they could do.
Satisfied he'd prepared everything he could, Ianto caught up with Jack in his office, to find him sitting at his desk and frowning at his computer screen.
"Anything?" Ianto asked.
"Nothing." Jack rubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hands. "Not a damn thing. Communication with these 456 bastards is practically prehistoric. As far as I can tell, we have no idea where they are currently, which means they've evaded every satellite in Earth's orbit. Could be a cloaking mechanism, could be that they're parked somewhere beyond this century's ability to see them. Meanwhile, the U.N. are admitting that the massacre took place but they don't know how the toxin was administered. We've got nowhere to go."
"Why do you think the 456 waited this long to come back?"
Jack glanced up at Ianto with a small smile. "I hate to resort to clichés, but time really is relative. What is in fact decades to us could merely be enough time for the 456 to get the guest room ready. Or to decide that I didn't taste so bad after all. Which is hardly surprising, right?" When Ianto didn't respond to his attempt at humour, Jack rose to his feet. "Yeah, sorry," he murmured. "I'll keep looking. How's it coming on your end?"
"We're ready," Ianto replied. "When do you want to make the cutover?"
"I've already locked in my command overrides but I want to hold off as long as we can, especially since we don't know if Gwen's up to speed. Make sure you keep an eye on the camera feeds from the Plass and the dock because I'm pretty sure our government friends aren't going to be polite and knock."
"I've rigged all the outside motion sensors to set off an alarm we can hear anywhere in the Hub. Now, what do you want to take as far as weaponry?"
"Think light, powerful, and non-lethal, since we're dealing with our own people. Besides, if we're going to be on the run for a while we can't be weighed down with heavy artillery. Hell of a time for Martha to go on a honeymoon, right? Look, I've got some—" He was interrupted by the ring of his mobile. Jack plucked it out of his pocket with a wink in Ianto's direction. "Hey, maybe this is our missing—no, wait."
Ianto watched as Jack frowned at the caller ID before pressing the phone to his ear.
"Harkness. Yeah, I remember you—what?" Jack's voice sharpened as he took a step away from Ianto. "Is she all right? God, okay. Can I speak with her? What about her son, Stephen? Is he okay? For me? Are you sure? Right, I'm on my way."
"What's wrong?"
Jack snapped the phone shut and turned worried eyes to Ianto's face. "I have to go."
"Go? Now? Go where?"
"Yes, I—there's been an accident and I have to go."
"Jesus, Jack—"
"Ianto, I'm sorry. I know this is phenomenally bad timing, but I have no choice. Hang on." Jack turned back to his phone, hitting a number he had on speed dial.
Ianto slid his hands into his pockets and took a step backward. "Why not? What's going on?"
"C'mon, answer—voice mail, damn it. Hey, it's your dad. Call me back as soon as you get this." Jack looked back at a wide-eyed Ianto and sighed. "This really isn't the way I wanted to break it to you, but I have a daughter. Her name is Alice Carter and that was Patanjali on the phone. She's been in an accident and was taken to St. Helen's. I guess he's on duty and so she asked him to call me. He says he thinks she's going to be all right, but she's asking for me—look, I've really got to go."
"A daughter?" Ianto stuttered. "With a son? Your—my God, your grandson?"
"Yes, to all the above. Listen to me, as soon as you're ready, press the big red button and evacuate. And you take care of yourself out there, I'm sure Fitzhenry's already got people looking for us to make a break for it." He reached out and gave Ianto's shoulder a squeeze. "I'll join you as soon as I can."
"Jack, what if this is a trick? A ruse to get you out of the Hub?"
"I can't take the chance that it's not. I'll be careful, I promise. No one will even know I'm there except Alice and Patanjali. As soon as I find out that she and Stephen are okay, I'll join you at Pontcanna Fields and we'll figure this out. Listen, we'd have to leave separately anyway, so I'll be no more than an hour behind you, I promise."
"At least let me check recent paramedic activity—"
"There's no time for that. You've got to finish closing this place down before the jackboots arrive." Jack began to stride away, then turned with a snap of his fingers. "Keep trying to reach Gwen, too. From this point on, you and I are on comms only." He pivoted toward the coat stand, yanking off his coat and shrugging into it as he marched by Ianto on his way out.
"Understood," Ianto declared, hoping his firm tone hid his uncertainty. "Don't worry, just take care of your family."
Jack stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at Ianto. Ianto offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile, even though inwardly he was awash in confusion. He waited as Jack remained silent, then gave Jack an encouraging nod, infusing as much confidence and understanding into his expression as he could manage. When Jack still didn't move, he began walking toward the entrance to Jack's office, afraid that if he remained any longer, all the hurt and bewilderment he was feeling would begin to show.
He was unprepared when Jack grabbed his arm and pulled him back, yanking him into his arms and bringing their mouths together in a brutal kiss. Startled, Ianto gave himself over to it, a kiss more desperate than passionate, a physical outpouring of all that would have to remain unsaid between them. Ianto clutched at the broad shoulders, his senses flooded with the anguish that rolled off of Jack in one great wave to drench them both, his own turbulent emotions roiling dangerously toward the surface as the kiss ebbed into breathtaking tenderness.
When Jack lifted his mouth from Ianto's he didn't let go, instead gripping Ianto even tighter as he pressed his lips to Ianto's ear.
"You are my family, Ianto Jones," he said in a fierce whisper, "If you've never believed that before, I need you to believe it now. I need you to believe it forever."
He reached blindly for Ianto's hand and brought it up between them, his eyes clenched shut as he pressed Ianto's palm to his cheek. He tucked a fleeting kiss into the curve of Ianto's fingers and then he was gone, leaving a ravaged Ianto to stare at the floor as he raised a shaking hand to his lips, his fingers drifting over bruised and tender flesh, and his heart in utter turmoil.
Ten minutes later, a composed and impassive Ianto Jones followed the same path Jack had taken to the city streets, a secret exit created for just this purpose. With Jack's command overrides already in place, Ianto had been able to complete the protocols and prepare the Hub for its unwanted guests. After setting a five-minute delay, he slipped into the darkened streets and kept to the shadows, relatively confident that he'd managed to get away unseen from Fitzhenry's advance squad. Stopping into a nearby pub, he asked to use their phone, claiming his mobile was lost and his car had broken down. The phone was handed over begrudgingly and Ianto turned away from the crowd, one hand cupped over the mouthpiece.
"Yeah, hello, Andy? Ianto Jones here. I have a favour to ask."
It was curiosity that got him into trouble, a morbid desire to go back and see what kind of invasion the Hub was undergoing. It was easy enough to spot the snipers on nearby roofs and the "couple" posted near the door to the tourist office. There was no one watching the Plass, but the water tower area was open and besides, Ianto was fairly certain that the entry to the invisible lift was unknown even to Darby Fitzhenry. The garage they used to house Torchwood vehicles was equally well guarded, but that was immaterial. Vehicles were too easy to track, especially with Torchwood so flagrantly embossed on the gleaming black surface of the SUV.
Thinking he'd been clever enough to suss out the invaders, he was unprepared for a roaming sentry that caught him unawares as he ducked around a corner and into a dark alley that would lead him away from the Hub. The sentry was just as surprised as Ianto and reacted a beat slower, allowing Ianto a chance to use his taser on him to knock him to the ground. He paused long enough to rip the sentry's headset off and was on the move down the alley, taser in hand and heart racing in relief that he'd come through unscathed. What he hadn't counted on was the second sentry, who was entering the other side of the alley as Ianto came even with the edge of the building.
The butt end of the sentry's rifle hit Ianto squarely in the midriff, driving him to one knee. Gasping for air, he was able to deflect the sentry's second thrust with his shoulder, but not the third, a slicing blow that tore the skin of his right cheek and brought his teeth together with a resounding crack.
Anger at his own complacency and the guard's premature satisfaction that Ianto had been so easily neutralised turned the tide of the brief, violent battle. From his kneeling position, Ianto grabbed the bore of the rifle and yanked hard, pulling the sentry off balance enough for Ianto to shove the taser beneath the edge of the sentry's protective vest.
The sentry curled into a ball beside Ianto with a muffled moan that was just loud enough to encourage Ianto to hasten his departure. With one arm wrapped protectively around his sore ribs, he ran as fast as his lack of breath would let him, sliding through the darkened areas of the city until he reached the moonlit expanses of Pontcanna fields.
Keeping Jack's assertion in mind that the caravan site was unknown outside of Torchwood personnel, Ianto nonetheless enacted a thorough reconnaissance of the surrounding area, even forcing himself to pass close by the cricket field. His mistake back at the Hub ate at him—now Fitzhenry and Frobisher knew that Torchwood was on to them and had taken flight. Furious with himself that he'd tipped their hand, he was adamant he would not make that sort of mistake again.
Finally satisfied that the caravan site had not been compromised, Ianto took up a spot deep in the bushes and tapped his earpiece.
"Jack," he whispered. He waited a few seconds, then said Jack's name again, any hope that he'd hear a response fading into cold silence. He pulled out his mobile and checked for any voice mails or text messages and finding none, set back on his haunches and let the cool evening air clear his head and sooth his throbbing cheek.
As concerned as he was for Jack, he was more worried about Gwen and Rhys. They may still have no idea what was going on and could at any moment walk into an ambush. He thought briefly about going around to their flat, but if any of his messages had gotten through, this was where they'd show up. Since this was also where Jack expected him to be, he had no alternative but to open up the caravan site and hope that his teammates arrived sooner rather than later. Based on that knowledge, Ianto finally moved from his hiding place and slipped into the fake caravan that served as an entrance to Torchwood's new home away from home.
It took very little time to get the backup facility functional. The small Rift Manipulator had powered up automatically when the energy had been diverted, which in turn alerted the computers, lights, and air circulation to cycle on as well. After checking to see that all systems were working properly and scrubbing at the smears of blood that had dried on his cheek and dripped onto his collar, there wasn't much else for Ianto to do but wait—wait, and think.
If it had ever occurred to him that Jack had fathered children, it'd been no more than a fleeting thought, a random spark of his imagination as he'd try to picture Jack outside of the roles he currently held. Thinking of him as a father, raising a family, a loving wife at his side—it was hard for Ianto to comprehend. He knew that Jack was capable of great love—Jack's devotion to his Doctor was proof of that—and he knew that he himself was hardly the first, nor would he be the last recipient of that love. But to learn that just across town, living a life that could be anything at all, was Jack's daughter—it was as compelling as it was intimidating.
As Ianto wandered through the large, low-ceilinged room, keen eyes watching over green-lit control panels, he tried to envision what Alice might look like. Had she inherited her father's colouring or his sense of humour? How old was she? Ianto had once tried to research all of Jack's history through the Torchwood files but had been unsurprised to find that most of it had been deleted or coded beyond his deciphering abilities. Jack's services to Torchwood had been recorded—along with his many unexplained absences—but about his personal life, there was very little. Certainly nothing about a spouse or children.
And while Ianto was exceedingly curious about this new information regarding someone he cared for so deeply, he was also honest enough with himself to concede that his primary reaction was cautious satisfaction.
Here was no rival for Jack's affection and in fact, Ianto speculated that Jack had only recently inserted himself back into the life of his daughter. What wasn't certain was why Jack had chosen to do so. Up until the addition of Alice into Jack's life, Ianto would have been confident that Jack was content, but something must have happened to make Jack want to re-establish that link.
Or, maybe Ianto had been blind all along. It wouldn't be the first time that love had allowed him to see only what he wanted to see instead of the reality that surrounded him.
With nothing specific to do except brood about his domestic situation, Ianto switched over one of the monitors to the inside of the Hub, gratified to see that it remained empty of strangers. He'd also forwarded all the information Frobisher had sent regarding the 456 to the auxiliary site's independent server and had another screen compiling information for his review, though he had little hope of finding something Jack had not. Unfortunately, he currently had no way of seeing the outside of the Hub, since it appeared that Frobisher's operatives had managed to cut off some of the CCTV feeds that Torchwood used to monitor the city. It was as he was trying to hack into other security systems that his mobile phone rang.
Yanking it out of his pocket, he was dismayed to see an unknown number listed in the caller ID. As much as he wanted to ignore the call, there was no way of knowing if the person on the other end was friend or foe.
"Hello?"
"Yes, um." The voice was soft, female, and muffled.
"I'm sorry, can you speak up?"
"Yeah, sorry. Um, who is this?"
"Who's this?"
"I, uh, I work at, um, I work with Ms. Spears. Is this Ianto Jones?"
Ianto was tempted to end the call right then, but any damage he'd done by answering had already been accomplished.
"Yes. How did you get this number?"
"Listen, I could get sacked—no, I will get sacked, but—they're going to kill him."
"Who?"
"Your boss—" There was a loud clatter in the background, followed by some high-voiced conversation. Ianto waited impatiently until the woman continued. "Your boss, Jack Harkness, he's going to die. I tried calling him first but he's not answering. You have to tell him, you have to let him know."
Ianto rubbed at his forehead, thinking hard. This wasn't exactly catastrophic or even unexpected in their line of work, but since the person on the other end of the line was agitated enough to keep trying to reach someone, it could signify a much larger problem.
"Please, you need to tell me your—wait, is this Lois Habiba?"
It was a shot in the dark but Ianto was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath by the caller. "How did you know?"
"You were researching Jack yesterday, or trying to. Why?"
"We know about the 456 and what they're going to—" Again, there was a booming crash that drowned out some of Lois' words "—made a deal for the children."
"Who? What deal? Lois, please—"
"I have to go. She warned me that I might be followed. Can you meet me somewhere? This isn't my phone and I have to—"
"Listen to me." Ianto closed his eyes and took a quick, deep breath. "It's very dangerous for you to be calling this number."
"No, no, it's okay, at least for now. Ms. Spears delayed implementing the order to monitor your communications, that's how we got your mobile phone numbers, but we don't know how long it'll go unnoticed. Please, can you come to London? I'll meet you anywhere you like, I just can't leave the city."
"I can't—wait." Ianto scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He was torn in too many directions and had so few resources at his disposal he hardly knew which way to turn. "Can I call you back at this number?"
There was a tense pause. "Yes, all right, but only for a few more hours."
"Fine. Listen, it may not be me calling you back, do you understand? Can you find a safe place?"
"Yes, but I have to report for work in the morning."
"I'll figure something out by then, I promise."
"All right, just, please, Mr. Jones—hurry."
The line went dead.
"Shit," Ianto muttered. Killing Jack had not been part of the agreement with the 456, at least the part that Frobisher had revealed. If Jack did end up being turned over to the aliens, there wouldn't be any reason to kill him. And killing him before he was given up would defeat the whole purpose.
While Ianto was tempted to conclude that Lois Habiba had her facts wrong, it was never wise to underestimate the inventiveness of a British civil servant, and so Ianto once more tried to make contact with Jack. By now he'd hoped that Jack would have seen to his family crisis and joined him, but the fact that he wasn't responding to comms had moved beyond troubling with this terrifying new wrinkle.
Deciding he couldn't accomplish any more at Pontcanna Fields, Ianto was reaching for his suit coat when heard the chime on his phone that indicated a text message. Quickly accessing the message, his stomach twisted.
The message was from Andy, brief and ominous in its simplicity.
"All's well, everyone home for dinner. Stay for afters?"
There had been no accident. Alice and Stephen were safe at home, and Andy was offering to watch over them. Ianto considered it, but replied that Andy shouldn't indulge in any more sweets. If Jack's family were going to be used as pawns, they'd already have been placed under someone's control. And if there was a plan to do so still in the works, there wasn't a lot that an unarmed PC could do about it. He asked that Andy stop by for breakfast and after receiving an affirmative reply, slid his phone back into his pocket.
Now it was imperative that Ianto find Jack, but too much time had passed and he feared he was already too late. He headed toward the laddered entrance at a dead run, only to be stopped in his tracks when one of the caravan sensor alarms went off. Pivoting sharply toward the nearest computer station, Ianto brought up the camera feed that coordinated with the activated sensor.
What he saw there made his pulse race with gratitude. Clinging to the shadows as she made her way toward the fake caravan was Gwen, followed closely by the stolid figure of Rhys Williams.
Punching the button to release the lock on the hatch, Ianto was waiting at the foot of the ladder when the door opened above him. The heeled boots of Gwen Cooper clanged loudly on the metal rungs as she climbed down more quickly than safety required.
"Gwen!"
Gwen hit the concrete and launched herself into Ianto's arms to give him a hard hug.
"Sorry we're late," she muttered over his shoulder.
Ianto returned the hug and released her. "What happened?"
Gwen had turned away and was looking up into the false caravan entrance as Rhys lumbered down from above. "We were ambushed at the hospital. They got me as I was interviewing Clem and Rhys as he waited in the car."
Rhys turned away from the ladder and that's when Ianto saw his impressive black eye.
"Looks like you resisted," Ianto noted with a sympathetic frown.
Rhys shrugged. "Did my best. The damn thing was, I'd just gotten out of the car to stretch my legs when they grabbed me. Left my mobile on the dashboard. If I'd've seen them coming—"
Gwen took his hand and squeezed it. "Don't worry, we're here, that's what matters." She looked at Ianto and frowned. "What happened to your cheek?"
Ianto started to lift his fingers to his face, then dropped his hand. "How much do you know?"
"Nothing," she replied. "Nothing other than someone tried to take us into custody and they took all our things, keys, phones, ID, everything. They never identified themselves, Ianto, it was as if they were some kind of black ops."
"How did you get away?"
Gwen lowered her eyes as Rhys slung his arm around her shoulders, her fingers twisting her wedding band. "They kept us in separate rooms in the hospital, they didn't ask us anything. I was trying to find a way out when there was some kind of diversion. At first I thought it was you and Jack, but it was Clem. He'd seen them take me away and had gotten agitated, so they'd put him in his bed."
She raised her eyes to Ianto's. "He'd broken out and started a fire and while everyone was seeing to that, he got us out. We tried to convince him to come with us, but he wouldn't. God knows what they've done to him now."
"I'm sorry," Ianto murmured, "but I'm glad you're here. How did you get back?"
Gwen's expression lightened. "We jumped in the back of a potato lorry," she said with a small grin. "A potato lorry that only took us so far, then we took public transportation back to Cardiff."
"How did you manage the fare if they kept all your personal belongings?"
Gwen shared a knowing glance with Rhys. "We begged for it."
Ianto's eyebrows rose. "Seriously?"
Gwen nodded. "We made up a story about having been robbed and needing bus fare to make it back to my sick mother. It's amazing what people will believe. And Rhys, well, I didn't know he was a born actor, he stole the show."
Given Rhys' perpetually dolorous expression, Ianto didn't doubt it for a minute. "Very impressive. How did you know to come here?"
Pulling off her jacket, Gwen grimaced. "God, I need a shower." She closed her eyes and scrunched her nose, then looked at Ianto. "We had enough money to use a public phone so I retrieved my voice mail and got your message about moving operations here."
"Instead of calling in directly?"
"We'd just gotten away from some sort of goon squad," Rhys pointed out, "so Gwen here thought maybe Torchwood was in trouble again. I was all for getting in touch with one of you two," he added with a shrug, "but she said there were rules for things like this."
"Yes," Ianto agreed, "there are definitely rules. I just find it gratifying when someone actually follows them."
"So what's going on?" Gwen was rooting around in a cupboard. She pulled out a first aid kit and motioned for Ianto to sit on a counter. "Where's Jack?"
Instead of allowing Gwen to tend to his cut, Ianto took the kit away from her and set it aside. He'd already wasted precious time and Jack's current situation, whatever it was, weighed heavily on his mind. "There's lots to fill you in on and very little time to do it."
A few minutes later, Gwen was gaping at Ianto, hand over her mouth. Rhys had slumped into a chair beside her, mouth open and eyes just as wide.
"Oh my God, Ianto," Gwen breathed, "Jack has a family? And someone in the government wants him dead? We've got to find him, we've got to—"
"One of us needs to get to Lois Habiba and learn the rest of the story. Whatever's happening to Jack now, there's worse to come unless we find a way to prevent it. Here." He reached into a drawer and pulled out three pre-programmed disposable mobile phones. "We'll need to start communicating through these. We can't trust that the comms aren't or will be compromised. My regular mobile's over there, you can get the number to reach Lois on its memory."
Gwen nodded and took two, handing one to Rhys. "Right. We'll go." She gave Rhys an encouraging smile. "Fancy a drive to London?"
"London?" Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. "And how d'you expect us to get there?"
Gwen looked nonplussed for a moment, then her expression darkened as she gave Rhys a poke. "I know someone who owes you more than a few favours. You get Banana Boat on the phone and tell him you're taking his car, no arguments."
She turned back to Ianto. "We need food, we haven't eaten since breakfast."
Ianto nodded. "Food's in the cupboard next to the sink. There are also odds and ends of Torchwood supplies in the back room and I've unlocked the armoury, take whatever you need." He looked around, then back at Gwen. "I've got to go."
"I know," she murmured. She stood on her tiptoes and gave his uninjured cheek a kiss. "Be careful and find Jack."
"I'll find him," Ianto vowed. "I'll always find him."
Ianto discovered a neglected car in the driveway of one of the neighbouring caravans and, with a silent apology, hot-wired it. He abandoned it one block from the entrance to St. Helen's and then walked the rest of the way as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself.
It was now almost midnight, but the A&E department was busy. He had no direct idea where to look for Jack and no certainty that he was even there, since Jack had been lured to that location for purposes unknown. With his own injured cheek he knew that he fit in and as long as no one actually tried to treat him, he could move around almost unnoticed.
His first priority was to find Patanjali. The one thing Ianto knew for certain was that Patanjali had lied to get Jack to the hospital, but whether he was part of the conspiracy or had been coerced into lying had yet to be seen. However, right now, Ianto needed an ally. The hospital was too big to investigate on his own but since it was the last place that Jack had been expected to be, Ianto had hopes that someone remembered seeing a handsome man in a big wool coat. Walking up the harried admittance nurse, he coughed to get her attention. When she looked up, she frowned.
"That'll need stitches." She reached for a clipboard. "Fill out this information and then wait over there. Someone will bring you an ice pack."
Ianto took the clipboard and hugged it to his chest. "Actually, I was wondering if Dr. Mackenzie was on duty tonight."
The nurse nodded. "She is, but she's with a patient right now. I'm sure someone else will be able to help you."
"I can wait," Ianto said. He picked up the clipboard and wandered toward one of the waiting room chairs, slipping the clipboard behind a large potted plant before heading down the corridor that led toward the examination rooms. He peeked through the window of four of them before seeing the back of Mackenzie's head as she explained something to the mother of a small child who seemed to have an injured arm.
He turned the handle and opened the door. "Excuse me, Doctor, may I see you a moment?"
Mackenzie nodded without turning. "All right, Timmy, we're going to take a picture of your wrist to make sure it's not broken. You just wait here and a technician will be with you and your mum in a moment. And no more climbing onto the roof to watch for meteors, right? Good lad."
She stood and turned, tucking something into her lab coat's breast pocket. When she looked up, her eyes widened and then narrowed as she took in the damaged cheek and the dried blood on Ianto's clothes.
"Going to tell me it's the job again?" She shooed Ianto in front of her out into the corridor and closed the door behind her. "Another slimy beastie lost on his way home to Alpha Centauri?"
"Alpha Centauri?" Ianto asked, momentarily distracted and wondering if Mackenzie knew more than she let on. "Why do you ask?"
"They're always from Alpha Centauri in Star Trek, aren't they?" she reasoned. "Which doesn't change the fact that I was being facetious. Where's that no-good boyfriend of yours this time? Flirting with a nurse, I suppose."
"That's what I'm hoping you can help me discover," Ianto replied. "I was, um, supposed to meet him here and I can't find him."
"Mr. Jones, you are one hell of a bad liar. Now, if you want my help, tell me the truth." She took Ianto's arm and steered him toward another exam room. "And I'll have a look at that cheek now."
Ianto allowed himself to be led into the empty room, but stopped just inside the door. "There's no time. Jack was told that he had family members that had been taken here after an accident but it was a lie. It was Dr. Patanjali who contacted him and I need to find out what he knows."
Mackenzie snorted as she pulled a small torch out of her pocket. "Good luck with that. He stopped answering pages hours ago, even though he's supposed to be on duty right now. Open up those pretty blue eyes, there's a good lad."
"There's no time—"
"Listen, we're not going anywhere until I'm at least sure you're not concussed."
Fingers clenched, Ianto submitted to Mackenzie's brief exam, trying not to flinch when she gently probed his damaged cheek. "Satisfied?"
"Not by half." She tucked away the torch and crossed her arms. "But you're not going to hold still for more, so what do you want to do next?"
"Is there some place else Patanjali could be? Some other area of the hospital he's assigned to?"
Mackenzie scratched at her frizzy bun, further disarranging already disordered curls. "Doesn't matter, he's obliged to answer his pager no matter what. He does spend a lot of time in the morgue, though, morbid little sod that he is."
"Fine." Ianto put his hand on the door handle. "I'll start there."
"Not without me, you're won't," Mackenzie snapped. "That area's restricted and deserted this time of night, the coroner's only on call since most DOAs are sent to University Hospital. If she's not there, you won't be able to get in at all. Let me get the tests ordered for the little one while you ask around after that useless boyfriend of yours. If no one's seen him, then we'll go to the morgue together and find out if Patanjali's been sniffing around again."
Minutes later, Ianto was following Mackenzie down the lengthy corridors, her long legs moving so quickly that Ianto almost had to run to keep up. The hallways were mostly empty due the late hour and once they reached the morgue, Mackenzie only had to sign in with the night watchman to gain entrance into the facility. After listening to their questions if Dr. Patanjali or Jack had been seen here recently—and telling them no—the watchman buzzed them into the morgue's main room, which thankfully seemed to be empty of fresh bodies.
"So we've got the place to ourselves for a while." Mackenzie stopped in the middle of the room by a large table and planted her hands on her narrow hips, giving Ianto a gimlet-eyed glare. "Now what?"
Ianto swallowed as he glanced at the large metal drawers that filled one wall. He had no qualms about opening each of them in search of Jack, but it wasn't a task he relished, either. Nor did he know exactly how to explain to Mackenzie that if Jack were indeed behind one of those shiny doors, it was entirely possible that he was alive. But it was that exact thought that spurred Ianto to reach for the closest drawer and pull out its occupant just far enough to glance at his face and confirm it wasn't Jack. It wasn't so long ago that Jack had been buried alive and Ianto wanted to spare him anything that reminded him of that hellish experience.
"Here now," Mackenzie said behind him, "d'you really think Patanjali's dead? You can't just—"
"I'm sorry, there's no time to explain. Just help me look for them." He paused and turned to Mackenzie. "I think they're both in trouble and someone may go to any lengths to keep them quiet. Or silence them altogether. If we eliminate the obvious, then we can keep searching elsewhere."
"I don't know," Mackenzie said doubtfully, her eyes drifting toward the morgue's main door. "Maybe we should call the authorities."
"No!" Ianto took a breath and lowered his tone. "I came to you because I needed someone I could trust and right now, that's you. Only you. I've not broken any laws"—he mentally dismissed the stolen car, since it would be returned—"and so far I have no proof that anyone has been harmed. Please, just—just help me find Jack."
Mackenzie rubbed at her neck, brows knitted in a frown before she rolled her eyes and grabbed the handle of a drawer, wrenching it downward. "Didn't much like this job anyway," she muttered.
Between them, they looked in every drawer, finding neither Patanjali nor Jack. Ianto's sense of frustration and panic grew as he admitted he was no closer to finding Jack and that time was slipping away at an alarming pace.
Slamming shut the last drawer, Mackenzie grunted. "That's that, then. Now what?"
"I don't know," Ianto said. "Now that we've searched the morgue I guess I'll begin asking anyone who's been on duty for the last few hours. Nurses, orderlies—" He stopped as the enormity of his task began to overwhelm him. He was here on the flimsiest evidence and Jack could be anywhere in the city by now, hurt, dying, dead, or in the hands of those who wanted to use or harm him.
"Oh, lad," Mackenzie's hand fell on his shoulder, "St. Helen's ancient, we've barely scratched the surface. This is just the main exam room, there are more beyond that door, plus supply rooms, offices—I doubt either Patanjali or your Jack are here, but—"
She was interrupted by the dissonant buzzing of the pager from inside her lab coat pocket. Pulling it out, she frowned at the message before turning apologetic eyes toward Ianto. "I've got to attend to this. With Patanjali gone missing, we're short-handed."
"I understand. Do you mind if I keep looking? If I don't find anything, I'll leave. I'll be quick, I promise."
Mackenzie hesitated, then nodded. "Don't touch anything and don't take too long. I'll make up a story for the guard so he'll leave you alone, but it won't stand close inspection if you get into trouble."
"Right." Ianto held out his hand. "Thank you, Doctor. Maybe some day I'll be able to explain all this to you."
Mackenzie took his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Oh, I doubt that, I really do. And now that we're partners in crime, you can call me Mac." She gave him a wink. "And when you find that worthless boyfriend of yours, you make him take you out to a nice dinner after all this fuss, do you hear me?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good." She headed to the door, her coat flapping out from either side. "Still want a go at that laser scalpel," she called over her shoulder before the door closed behind her.
Ianto ran a hand through his hair as he looked around the room. Beyond the row of metal tables were three doors, one of which was connected to a glass wall. Dismissing it as some kind of office, Ianto walked toward the other two and saw that they were unlabelled. The only difference between them were the handles; one resembled the handle to a large refrigerator, the other a normal door knob. Taking a deep breath, he twisted the former and stepped inside a cool, dim space and found exactly what he'd expected, an ancillary room to the main morgue. There were several gurneys aligned against one wall, each one supporting a body covered in heavy plastic.
He found Jack on the third gurney.
As often as he'd seen Jack dead, it was always upsetting, and it took Ianto a moment to compose himself before he could strip away the sheet that covered him. Jack's coat had fallen away from his chest, revealing a blood-stained shirt and two visible bullet holes. Ianto felt Jack's neck for any sign of returning life and finding none, set about creating a place for a comfortable resuscitation. There was no use trying to move Jack out of the morgue until then but having no idea what had happened or how long Jack had been dead, Ianto's primary concern was getting Jack to a safe, private, and defensible area.
He ended up creating a nest of sorts behind a set of metal shelving that held supplies, including piles of the same sheets used to cover the dead. After arranging stacks of them against the wall to give himself support, he heaved Jack onto his shoulders into a fireman's carry, wincing a little as his bruised midsection protested, then conveyed him behind the shelves, settling in on the floor with Jack held securely in his arms.
As the familiar horror of finding Jack dead once more began to fade, there was room for relief, not just relief that Jack was back in caring hands, but that Ianto was no longer alone. Though he'd grown fully confident in his own abilities, Ianto knew that Torchwood worked best as a team, and that Jack was both the leader and the heart of that team. Ianto had long since learned to look past the brash and bright façade that Jack showed most of the world to the man beneath the showy wool coat, the man that cared far too deeply for a time where he didn't belong and a place that could neither understand nor appreciate him.
And now Jack was once again both a target and a pawn. The fact that he'd been assassinated was disturbing, but more disturbing still was that he'd been left behind. Ianto had reason to believe that the person or persons responsible for Jack's murder knew that death was only temporary and that he could either have been left behind by accident or for some darker purpose. Since corpses didn't require being strapped down to a table, Ianto guessed that someone was planning on returning to claim Jack whether he was dead or alive. But did the two bullet wounds in Jack's chest fulfil Lois Habiba's prophecy? Was his murder even connected to the 456's demand to turn Jack over to them?
Ianto let his aching head fall back against the wall, eyes fluttering closed with fatigue as he tightened his hold on Jack. They were gaining questions faster than they were finding solutions, yet as Ianto sat there in the semi-darkness, he wanted nothing more than to be holding a living, breathing Jack in his arms as they burrowed together beneath the covers of their bed at home, an all-too-finicky universe momentarily at peace and the expectation of annihilation held off until after their first cup of morning coffee.
Pressing a button on his watch to illuminate the face, he saw that it was past midnight and yet still too soon for Rhys and Gwen to have reached London. Just as he was considering calling them to say that he'd found Jack, he felt a slight warming in the skin beneath his fingers, and realised that Jack was at last coming back to join the living.
As in most instances, this resuscitation was announced by a violent shudder that ran through Jack's body, followed by a cry of equal parts fear and pain that tore Ianto apart to hear it. For a few precious seconds, Jack was disoriented, having died so many times and awakened under completely different—and sometimes horrifyingly violent—circumstances that he never knew what awaited him once his head had cleared. Ianto was used to this reaction and let Jack grab at him, knowing that by being the first thing that Jack latched onto, he'd be able to quickly calm those fears and ease the pain that accompanied Jack's revival. Whispering soothing words in Jack's ear and lightly stroking his face with his free hand, Ianto waited as Jack's breathing slowed down and the fingers clenching his other hand began to relax.
"Where are we?" Jack panted. He curled forward and dropped his head into his hands as Ianto placed his hand on Jack's back, rubbing gentle circles into the soft wool.
"The morgue at St. Helen's."
"The morgue—" Jack sat up and looked down at his chest before twisting to face Ianto. "I was shot."
Ianto nodded. "Twice. Do you know by whom?"
Jack ran a shaking head over his forehead. "Patanjali was first. The second time was someone I didn't recognize but trust me, I'll know her again when I see her."
"Where did it happen?"
Jack's face darkened. "Here, I think. The second time I was on a table. I came to and some woman in uniform shot me again."
"What kind of uniform? Military? UNIT?"
"Not sure, I didn't get a good enough look."
"Why would Patanjali shoot you?"
"I don't—God, Alice!" Jack struggled to rise to his feet. "Patanjali brought me to the morgue, said she'd—"
"Shh, she's fine." Ianto took hold of Jack's arm and eased him back to the floor. "There was never any accident. She and your—Stephen are safe at home. I've got Gwen's friend Andy keeping an eye on them."
"She's not hurt?" At Ianto's nod, Jack slumped back down beside Ianto, rubbing at his eyes. "Okay, good. Have you heard from Gwen?"
"Yes. She and Rhys are on their way to London."
Jack looked up sharply. "London? Why?"
Ianto filled Jack in on everything that had happened since they'd parted, except for his run-in with the guard outside of the Hub. By the time he'd finished, Jack's eyes were clear and his expression grim, the quintessential Harkness energy palpably gathering behind his eyes and flowing off his skin.
"And now we should be moving." Ianto pushed away from the wall. "Someone's either going to come looking for you or some other unfortunate soul is going to require the facility."
"Hold on." Jack reached out with two fingers and lifted Ianto's chin. "What the hell happened here? Who hurt you?"
Ianto ducked his head, unsettled by Jack's angry tone. "My fault. I got clear of the Hub and then went back to see if I could spot Fitzhenry's operatives. Needless to say, I was successful."
Jack got to his feet and extended his hand to Ianto. "Not your brightest move."
Ianto took his hand and let Jack guide him upward. "Obviously." He tugged his waistcoat into place. "My hubris alerted Frobisher to the fact that we'd bolted."
"That's the least of our problems, I think." Jack rolled his neck until it gave a satisfying crack, then paused, an arrested look in his eyes. "Something feels wrong."
"Wrong? Like what?"
Jack frowned. "I don't know, something's just—wait—oh, no. Damn it!" He yanked back the cuff of his coat and grabbed at his wrist. "It's gone."
"Gone?"
Jack removed his hand and held up his wrist to reveal a pale strip of skin where the vortex manipulator once lived. "Gone," he snapped, "damn it, Ianto, they took it."
Ianto swept back his suit jacket and placed his hands on his hips, frowning at Jack's upraised fist. "That's bad."
Dropping his arm, Jack rolled his eyes. "You are a master of understatement, Mr. Jones." He patted at various pockets. "Phone's still here, they got what they were looking for. God, I feel naked now. Those bastards had no right to do that."
"Bastards being the operative word, I'm afraid. I don't think we have time to look for it—"
"We don't," Jack agreed. He jerked his head toward the exit. "Let's get out of here."
Ianto nodded and after making a half-hearted attempt to brush the dust off his arse, took a step to lead Jack out of the room. They both abruptly froze when they heard the clunk of the door handle being turned, sharing a glance before Ianto shooed Jack back to kneel behind the shelves. Ianto followed, allowing himself just enough space to peek around the corner.
He let out a thankful sigh when he recognized the lanky figure of Dr. Mackenzie stepping gingerly into the room, careful to close the door behind her before turning up the lights.
"Mr. Jones," she hissed, "are you in here?"
Ianto straightened and stepped out from behind the shelving. "I'm here."
"Good. Did you find that nasty piece of work you call your—"
Jack pushed past Ianto, hand already outstretched. "Captain Jack Harkness," he declared, "and I am very glad to see you again, Doctor."
Mackenzie took his hand and gave it one hard shake, squinting at him suspiciously. "Captain, is it? I've been wanting to meet you, young man."
"I get that a lot," Jack said with a wink that seemed to have no effect on Mackenzie as she gave a snort.
"Aye, you'd like to think so," she grumbled. Turning to Ianto, she brightened. "Now you've found yours, any luck finding mine?"
"I'm afraid not, "Ianto replied.
"Figures." Mackenzie shot another glare at Jack. "What happened to you?"
Jack glanced down at his bloody shirt, belatedly wrapping his coat tighter around his chest to cover the damage. "Nothing, just a misunderstanding. No harm done."
"Jack, we really need to go." Ianto ushered them both into the next room, afraid that Jack's murderers would show up any minute. His mouth tightened with irritation when Jack started ducking his head beneath the metal tables, rubbing at his wrist as he searched for the missing vortex manipulator.
"What's wrong with him now?" Mackenzie snapped.
"He's missing a—a piece of leather jewellery, a family heirloom."
"I can't believe they took it," Jack muttered. "Damn it."
"Who took what?" Mackenzie was still addressing Ianto, who shot a warning look at Jack.
"Whoever found it after it fell off of Jack's wrist," Ianto replied. "The buckle was a bit loose—I've been meaning to fix it for weeks."
"Uh, huh." Mackenzie glared at Jack. "When was the last time you saw Dr. Patanjali?"
To his credit, Jack was quick to pin a look of bewilderment on his face. "I don't know, hours ago. There was some confusion about a family member of mine being in an accident, but it was just—"
"Another misunderstanding? Well, it's pretty damn hard to misunderstand you with blood on your shirt and me with a missing doctor."
Jack lifted a finger as if to offer an explanation, then raised his hands in surrender as he turned to Ianto. "I got nothing here. Help me out."
"Mac," Ianto said, "if we're right about Dr. Patanjali being used to lure Jack to the hospital under false pretences, he could either be on the run, in danger, or part of a conspiracy, but we don't know which." He exchanged a glance with Jack. "And we don't have time to find out right now."
Mackenzie jerked her head toward Jack. "And the blood on his shirt?"
"It's mine," Jack said. "Though I have no way to prove it right now."
"So what have you been doing down here by yourself, Captain? I can't imagine Patanjali would simply leave you here."
"He didn't." Jack let out a heavy sigh. "Look, I didn't want to tell you this, but Patanjali attacked me. I didn't see where he went because I was unconscious."
"What's that?" Mackenzie delved into her pocket for her small torch. "Why didn't you say you were injured? How long were you out? Is your vision blurry? D'you feel dizzy? Nauseous? Have you pissed any blood?"
Jack managed to look annoyed and amused at the same time. "Now that you mention it, I haven't had time to piss anything, thank you very—"
"I'm sorry," Ianto interrupted, "but whoever wanted Jack out of the way, they're liable to return at any moment. I know I promised explanations, but they will have to wait. We'll see if we can discover what happened to Dr. Patanjali and let you know what we find."
"All right, fine. Fuck me for loving that accent," Mackenzie muttered, then paused, yanking fretfully at a wayward strand of hair. "Don't know how I'm going to explain to the guard leaving behind one man and coming out with two."
"Is there another exit? Maybe an ambulance bay?" Jack asked.
Mackenzie shook her head. "Doesn't matter, I went in with Mr. Jones and I'll need to leave with him or the guard will get suspicious. He's already looking at me funny."
"Fine, you and Ianto go back out and create a diversion to draw the security guard away from his post long enough for me to slip past."
Mackenzie tilted an eyebrow toward Jack but spoke to Ianto. "Bossy thing, isn't he?"
"You have no idea," Ianto sighed.
"Right, then, come on." She waved for Ianto to follow him.
"She doesn't like me very much, does she?" Jack murmured out of the corner of his mouth as Ianto passed him on the way to the door.
"She thinks you beat me." Ianto hid a smile as Jack's expression of utter indignation intensified when he added, "but don't worry, I've explained that you're actually quite harmless."
For once, their plan went smoothly; Mackenzie turned out to have a flair for creative deception that Ianto couldn't help but admire. They lured the guard away with a false report of a sighting of a homeless person just outside the receiving dock, accompanied by a loud argument regarding the current state of the NHS. That allowed Jack to glide into the shadows unnoticed and after parting ways with Mackenzie, Ianto met up with him and led him back to the car he'd appropriated. They drove back to the caravan park, where Ianto returned the stolen car to its resting place, confident that its owner had never even noticed that it'd gone missing.
Once back in the friendly confines of the Pontcanna Fields site, Jack's energy increased as Ianto's began to wane. He tried to ignore his growing fatigue as he checked systems and studied the results of the programs he'd run on the 456 information, listening to Jack's phone call with Gwen with only a small part of his attention.
He started listening more closely when he realised from Jack's side of the conversation that Gwen had felt ill again after they'd made brief contact with Lois Habiba. Having nowhere else to go, she and Rhys had taken up residence at Victoria Station to stay out of the cold until six a.m., when they'd agreed to meet Lois at a café near Thames House. After what sounded like many reassurances on Gwen's part that she would be fine, Jack had ended the conversation and turned to Ianto.
"Listen, there's nothing we can do until Gwen hears what Lois has to say. Why don't you go kip out for while?"
Ianto shook his head. "We have to keep searching for answers, Jack. Surely there's something in the database about the 456 that we've missed, something that will explain what it is they may want of you. There." He glanced away from the computer. "I've erased all the CCTV footage from the morgue cameras."
"I take it the recording didn't show me getting shot or what happened to Patanjali."
"No," Ianto frowned, "someone else got to it first. There's a forty-five minute lapse that I assumed shows that part. It picks up again less than an hour before I arrived with Dr. Mackenzie."
Jack nodded, his gaze fixed on a distant point. When he again looked at Ianto, there was a shadow in his eyes that sent a chill racing across Ianto's skin.
"Ianto," Jack said, "we need to discuss contingency plans."
"Absolutely." Ianto motioned toward the computer screen. "Between the Torchwood records from nineteen sixty-five and Frobisher's files, I've been running a wide-open analysis on the 456, looking for anything that kicks out a correlation. Of course, I'm no Tosh, but—"
"Ianto."
Ianto took a step back from Jack, fear beginning to dry the back of his throat. "Yes. You mentioned contingency plans."
Jack slid his palm over his newly bared wrist, long fingers fretting at sensitized skin. "We need to figure out what to do if we don't find that alternative."
"Do? I'm not sure—"
"We can't ignore the possibility," Jack pressed on, "that I will have to go with the 456. If that happens, returning to Torchwood won't be an option for you or Gwen and not just because Frobisher says so. Retcon or rivenex, they'll break you both one way or the other if Darby considers you a threat."
"What are you saying?" Ianto slid back another half step. "That you may not come back? They returned you last time, why wouldn't they do so this time?"
"Whatever the 456 want with me is irrelevant. I'm talking about you and Gwen and the lives you'll need to live once I'm gone."
"While you're gone, Jack, there's no proof that this is permanent. The government doesn't even know why the 456 are asking for you."
"I don't believe that. I think Frobisher knows exactly why they want me but he's too much of a coward to say it outright. As for whether or not this is a permanent transfer, there's no proof that it won't be, either. And if, if, Ianto, I don't come back in your lifetime, I need to know that you'll be okay."
Ianto almost laughed. "Okay? If you're asking me to prepare to say goodbye to you, I won't do it. There's still time." He looked away from Jack's clear, calm gaze. "We can't give up."
"I'm not giving up. But right now, the odds are very much against us. Our inability to communicate with the 456 makes it impossible to reason with them, even if we'd ever find a way to get them to listen to an alternative. Given that they've killed dozens already, it's obvious that their threats are not empty."
"But maybe that's the key. All we know of the 456's demands are what the government has told us, and considering that someone within that same government wanted you dead and succeeded, I'd hardly call that trustworthy intel."
Jack leaned his hips against the counter, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. "So what are you suggesting?"
"That we find a way to communicate directly with the 456 ourselves." At Jack's raised eyebrows, Ianto's fatigue began to twist into desperation. "If we can find out why they want you specifically, perhaps we find something else to appease them."
"If we can find that path to communication in time, believe me, I'm all for it. But time is something we have very little of." Jack shook his head. "Besides, they've already told us what will appease them. And that price is too high."
"Then what do we do, Jack?" Ianto rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to fight the rancid tide of panic rising up inside him. "How do we fight an enemy we know nothing about?"
"Maybe there's only one way to find out."
"Give yourself up, you mean."
"I know it's not the answer you want to hear, but yes. If that's what I'm called on to do, I'll do it. Maybe once I'm there, face-to-face—or face-to-whatever—"
"No." Ianto stared at him, cold dread now spreading into every nerve. "There must be another answer."
Jack's eyes dimmed as they rested on Ianto's face. "If there is an answer, we'll find it, I promise. But sometimes, no matter how hard we want it to be different, bad things happen. You know that and so do I."
The firm tone of the softly spoken words battered against Ianto's weakening defences. He counted on Jack to be the strong one, to always promise victory against horrendous odds—to hear something close to resignation from Jack was almost a defeat in itself.
"Why are you so eager to sacrifice yourself?" Ianto whispered. He turned away, disheartened and exhausted, eyes blurring as he looked anywhere but at Jack. "Why is it always so fucking easy for you to leave?"
He flinched away when he felt Jack's hand grasp his shoulder, but when Jack's fingers wrapped around his neck to pull him into an embrace, he went willingly, blindly seeking the comfort he would only ever find in the arms of this man.
"Sorry about the drama," he mumbled against Jack's shoulder. "No excuse for that."
"You never have to apologize to me, you know that." Jack cradled him closer, the warmth of his skin chasing away the chill that had crept into Ianto's body. "Listen to me, Ianto," Jack's voice roughened, "I would do anything within my power to stay here with you, to spend your life with you and watch you grow into beautiful old age beside me. It fucking kills me inside to think of leaving you behind, of giving up all the years we should have together. But even I can't sacrifice the world for love, any more than I would ever risk losing you to some damn alien virus that no one knows how to cure. I'd run away with the 456 a thousand times over if it would prevent that from happening."
His arms tightened around Ianto. "So, yes," he continued in a fierce whisper, "it is fucking easy to leave, it is a fucking no brainer to walk out that door and never look back, if that's what it takes to keep you safe."
Ianto sagged against Jack, burying his face in his neck as his fingers clutched at Jack's shirt. He felt bruised and shaken, ashamed and exhilarated all at once as Jack's brutal confession replaced the emptiness in his aching heart with the comforting reassurance of love confirmed, albeit amidst the threat of oncoming terror. Jack slid one hand off Ianto's shoulders to rub at the tense shoulders of his back, his other hand cupped around the base of Ianto's skull, keeping them cheek to cheek. It was an embrace more intimate than a dance, more intimate even than sex, as Jack had stripped away every artifice, defence, and half-told truth from his own soul so that Ianto couldn't doubt his place in Jack's life and in his heart.
Realising he'd just heard something infinitely more precious and meaningful than a phrase he never expected to hear Jack say, Ianto lifted his head from Jack's shoulder to look into those wise, beloved blue eyes that were even now suffused with emotion and a little humour as Jack silently acknowledged how much he'd just revealed. Ianto's own eyes were dry and clear, the racing thud of his pulse slowing to a strong, level pace. He raised steady fingers to Jack's jaw, tracing a line that obligingly creased into a dimple as Jack turned his head to brush his mouth against Ianto's fingertips.
Ianto pressed a kiss to Jack's smooth cheek, then sighed when Jack shifted so that their lips met in a gentle caress. The kiss lingered, quiet and calming, their tongues rocking softly together, a tender conclusion to the emotional journey they'd just experienced.
"Well, then," Ianto murmured, "since I rather fancy the thought having you around to look after me in my dotage, we should probably get back to work."
"Dotage? Have you been watching Jane Austen adaptations again?"
"They have great cultural significance," Ianto insisted, then added more thoughtfully, "but I watch mostly for the costumes. You'd look good in Regency dress, by the way. Very Byronic."
"So would you, come to think of it. Maybe we should check out that costume shop near the Plass for our next night in."
"I don't see the purpose of renting costumes when our nights in usually don't require clothing, but I'll see what I can do."
"I'll look forward to it." Jack brushed his hand over Ianto's hair, laughing softly when Ianto ducked away in annoyance. "So when was the last time you ate anything?"
Ianto frowned as he pulled out of Jack's embrace. "Funny, I can't remember. Lunch yesterday?"
"Then that's our next order of business. Hey, I don't suppose you have any French Roast squirrelled away somewhere? And maybe a fresh shirt?"
"Once again, you underestimate me. You'll find a clean shirt in the back room and as for coffee, just yesterday, in fact, I—" He was interrupted by an electronic beep that signalled a sensor going offline. Ianto glanced at the monitor. "That sensor is just on the edge of the car park near the cricket field. I'll go switch it out."
"Hurry back or I'll be forced to make my own," Jack teased.
Ianto shuddered. "Heaven forbid." He took a step toward the ladder, then paused. "Jack, why do you think they left you alone in the morgue? Or even killed you in the first place?"
Jack shrugged. "My guess is that they wanted the vortex manipulator and knew I wouldn't give it up without a fight. The fact that they were willing to let me just walk out of there might mean that they're still hoping we'll come up with an alternative to the 456's demands."
"But they can't use the manipulator, only you can."
"Maybe they don't know that." Jack's expression turned grim. "Or maybe they're afraid of what I'll do with it."
Ianto nodded, then grabbed a replacement sensor before slipping out into the night. Walking swiftly to the sensor embedded in metal hull of a burnt out street lamp, he checked the wiring of the defective sensor before exchanging it for a new one. The whole exercise took less than three minutes but the cool, moist air of pre-dawn felt good on his face, so he slowed his stride as he began the return trip to the caravan entrance. He paused at the edge of the park to look back over the expanse of Pontcanna Fields, his gaze falling involuntarily on the area where he knew the cricket fields were laid out, musing that it seemed like a hundred years ago that Gwen had encouraged Ianto to talk to Jack about his father. Given subsequent events, not the least of which was Jack's revelation of a family he'd kept secret, Ianto's painful past seemed almost trivial.
He heard Jack approach, the sound of thick-soled boots crunching on brittle leaves giving him away. He walked up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ianto, his eyes roaming over lush green fields turned grey by the moonlight.
"So tell me, Ianto, why is it you don't like this perfectly nice place?" Jack murmured.
Ianto shot a surprised look at Jack. He hadn't expected Jack to remember his offhand remark about Pontcanna Fields and unpleasant memories. Stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets, he leaned back on his heels as he considered his answer. He briefly entertained the thought of downplaying those memories, of keeping them trivial in comparison to the dangerous world he inhabited, but dismissed it easily. After what he and Jack had just shared, there was no reason to keep any part of his past, present, or future from the man beside him.
Lifting his hand, he extended a finger toward the cricket field. "Over on that patch of grass," he said, "there used to be picnic tables, placed there for the families that came to watch their children play cricket, including mine."
"Yeah?" Jack nudged Ianto with his elbow. "And did young master Ianto like donning his cricket whites? I would've loved to have witnessed the first time you got a grass stain on your flannels."
Ianto smiled at Jack's teasing tone. "Say what you will about the sport, the players always have the best kit." His smile faded. "My father lived and breathed cricket," he continued thoughtfully. "Nothing would have made him happier than if I'd shown even the slightest athletic talent. Although it was painfully evident that I had none, he convinced himself that it was laziness and lack of focus on my part. Considering he'd ignored me for most of my life, you can imagine my excitement when he actually wanted to spend time with me, staying with me out here to practice long after everyone had gone home."
He paused as a memory of himself as an awkward ten-year-old drifted across his imagination. After the death of his mother he'd kept mostly to himself until his father had decreed that Ianto would learn to play cricket. Eager to please a cold and negligent parent, Ianto had complied, though the prospect had filled him with dread. He'd never had the courage to tell his father that he resented the time that cricket had taken away from his friends and school work, too happy with this fragile connection to risk tearing it apart and thus willing to bear the abuse heaped on him by his perfectionist father. Rhiannon had been so relieved that Ianto and his father had found common ground that Ianto had never confided in her, afraid of disturbing the newly found peace in their house and disappointing his sister as well.
"I take it this story doesn't have a happy ending."
Jack's words broke Ianto out of his reverie. He looked up at the moon, a fleeting smile playing around his lips.
"No, it doesn't." He glanced back at Jack, then out toward the field. "One night after a particularly difficult practice, one in which I distinguished myself only with my clumsiness, my father and I remained after everyone had left. He informed me that it was now obvious to him that I had no ability and was only hurting the team. Which, to be honest, was probably true. However, he wasn't going to allow me to leave the team, at least not by quitting."
Jack's voice was hushed. "What did he do, Ianto?"
"He ordered me to put my foot up on one of the picnic table seats. And I did so, thinking my shoelace had come untied. Instead, my father took my cricket bat and broke it across my shin. Then he carried me to the car and drove me to hospital."
"Jesus—"
"It was a clean fracture, no permanent damage done. On the way, he explained to me that it was for the best—now I no longer had to pretend I liked cricket and he could hold his head up at his local, telling his friends that I'd broken my leg on the field. We told Rhiannon it'd been an accident and that's what she believes to this day." He turned to face a wide-eyed Jack. "That was the last real conversation I ever had with my father. He died seven years later and I left for London almost the next day."
"Your father," Jack said through gritted teeth, "was an idiot, to put it mildly. Why didn't you just tell me the truth about him?"
Ianto shrugged. "Embarrassment, mostly. That's why I made up the story about him being a tailor, it was much easier to live in a world I created than deal with the reality I faced every day. Sounds crazy, I know."
Jack slid his arm around Ianto's shoulders and hugged him close. "Crazy, maybe, but also understandable. It's probably sillier for me to wish that your dad was still alive so I could wring his neck right about now."
"Not silly at all. In fact, I appreciate the sentiment. It's romantic, albeit in a twisted, parricidal fashion."
They stood quietly for a few moments, staring at the stars, until Ianto cleared his throat.
"Speaking of families," he said, "you seem to have gained one lately."
"Hmm, you noticed that, huh?"
"Hard to miss at this point. Even the government know about them now."
"I doubt it. Patanjali assumed she was my girlfriend. I think they just watched me for a couple of days and jumped to that conclusion."
"I can understand their inclination to do so. You've been gone quite a lot lately."
"Yeah, about that. You're probably wondering why I never mentioned them to you."
"Not really." Ianto could feel the surprise register through Jack's body and smiled to himself as he rested his head on Jack's shoulder. "I've come to accept that I'll never know everything about you, and wishing that I could is a waste of whatever time we have together. But I do have one question."
"Okay, shoot."
"Why now? I'd lay odds that you've only recently made an effort to spend time with them."
"Perceptive as usual," Jack replied. "But not entirely accurate. I've kept in touch with Alice over the years, but we've never been what you'd call close. It's always been hard for her, having me as a father, and when she had Stephen, she really pulled away. She wanted a normal life, so Stephen only knows me as Uncle Jack, but some day she's going to have to tell him the truth about me, her mother, everything."
"She's in a difficult position."
"Oh, I never blamed her for choosing to keep her distance. She didn't want me in her life and anyway, I didn't know how long I'd be around, so there was no point in maintaining a close relationship."
"Until?"
"Until a day not too long ago that I decided I wanted them to meet you."
Ianto twisted out of Jack's arms to stare at him, though the light from the waning moon falling through the leaves obscured Jack's expression with shifting shadows. This was completely unexpected, a blurring of some line that Ianto never knew existed until Jack had said the words. "Why?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Jack reached out and snapped a small twig off a nearby tree, stripping off its leaves and letting them fall to the ground. "You'll never meet my parents, Ianto. And Gray—" Jack's voice cracked, but he pushed on—"you've never met my brother, not really. That body we have in cold storage isn't him, it's the twisted result of unimaginable cruelty. Maybe some day—hell, I don't know."
Jack lowered his head and Ianto waited silently, knowing that since Jack's feelings about Gray were still raw, there were no adequate words of solace he could offer right then to ease his pain.
"Anyway." Jack tossed away the twig and lifted his chin to look Ianto in the eye. "I wanted to keep what I have with you separate from my past, basically because I'm a selfish bastard and I didn't want to give you the chance to know more about me than I was willing to reveal."
Ianto nodded. "Sounds rather familiar."
Jack looked startled, then his expression quickly changed into amusement. "It does, doesn't it? You lied about an abusive father, I hid the fact that I had a family—we make quite the pair, don't we?" Jack reached out and took Ianto's hand. "But here's the difference. I've been afraid that some day you're going to run across a secret of mine that might drive you away, and if you found out that I had a daughter and a grandson, you'd assume that I didn't want you involved in that part of my life. And up until we lost Owen and Toshiko, you'd have been right. Now I'm trying to change that."
"So," Ianto said slowly, "you've reconnected with your family because of me? Do they even know about me?"
Even in the semi-darkness, Ianto could see the gleam of laughter in Jack's eyes. "Well, let's just say Alice knows there's someone special I want her to meet."
"She's in for a bit of a shock," Ianto muttered. It described his own current emotional state as well, as all kinds of bizarre lines of thought involving awkward family dinners and desultory conversations about the weather over tea and biscuits ran through his mind. But it was also immensely appealing to imagine that he and Jack could carve out an almost normal life amidst the threat of world destruction, even if it did involve uncomfortable meals with disapproving in-laws.
"Nah, she's getting used to me," Jack replied cheerfully. "Nothing much shocks her any more. I bet when I bring her a tall, handsome Welshman, she won't even blink an eye." He pulled on Ianto's hand and began leading him back to the caravan. "Oh, by the way, the reason I came out here to find you was to let you know that Fitzhenry's people have finally broken in. The Hub has been breached."
He was having a hazy, disconnected dream, punctuated by the unfamiliar sounds and odours of the makeshift Hub. It was uncomfortable yet familiar enough to drag him unwillingly toward awareness, a light sweat slicking his cheeks and forehead as he blinked away the remnants of sleep. The cot beneath him was hard and cold and while he hadn't intended to sleep at all, once Jack had convinced him to lie down for a few minutes, he'd succumbed almost immediately.
A glance at his watch told him it was only five fifteen, meaning he'd dozed for just over an hour. Swallowing some moisture to ease his dry mouth, he turned his head to look across the room, spotting Jack as he sat near one of the computer stations, his eyes riveted to the screen, booted feet crossed at the ankle where they perched on the edge of the counter. The fingers of one hand were tapping his wrist where the leather strap used to be but Jack seemed unaware of the gesture as he continued to study whatever it was on the screen.
Despite the ever-present awareness that time was growing short, Ianto took a minute to observe Jack, mentally reviewing all that had passed between them yesterday and realising with a sharp twist in his chest that it was all in danger of being swept away in a matter of hours. He knew that Jack's decision to give himself over to the 456 had not been a frivolous one, but he also knew instinctively that there was something Jack wasn't telling him. Whatever the omission, Ianto suspected that it had been made out Jack's desire to protect the people he loved.
And because of that, Ianto knew that if the time came, he could let Jack go without recriminations or tears. Jack's immediate future would be full of unknowns and there was no way that Ianto would add to whatever burden Jack was agreeing to bear—even though his own future would be shattered in the process.
Pushing aside the scratchy wool blanket that Jack had draped over him, Ianto swung his feet to the floor as he fingered his swollen cheek. It was still tender but the ache in his teeth had subsided after he'd found some painkillers in one of the cabinets that lined the walls. He'd swallowed them down with a bit of soup that he and Jack had shared before Jack had ordered him to get some rest.
"Ianto." Jack didn't look away from the screen as he spoke. "That wasn't even a cat nap, let alone a decent night's sleep."
"I know." Ianto got up anyway and reached for his waistcoat. "But imminent global destruction tends to give me indigestion. I'll sleep when all this is over and we're home in our own bed."
Jack slanted a glance at him, then returned his gaze to the screen. "Sounds good," he said, but Ianto heard more than agreement in Jack's tone. Hidden within the casual reply was a warning that Jack didn't believe that a quiet evening at home that night was how this crisis was going to end.
Ianto finished buttoning his waistcoat. "Ready for more coffee?"
Jack looked at him directly, and even though there was no answering smile, the warmth in Jack's eyes was enough. "Always."
As he set about making fresh coffee, Ianto asked, "Have you found anything that can help us?"
"Nope." Jack dropped his feet to the floor. "But it has been a lot of fun watching Darby and her minions try and access the Torchwood computers. You left behind some pretty filthy error messages for them to find, and trust me, they are not amused. Your creativity never ceases to amaze me."
"As much as I'd like to take the credit, those are not my handiwork," Ianto replied. "Owen thought them all up one day last year and convinced Tosh to make them available for instances just like this. I finally put them to good use."
Jack frowned. "I don't remember that."
Ianto swiped a dampened paper towel around one of the mugs he'd found beneath the small kitchen counter. "You weren't here," he replied.
"Ah, right."
Ianto busied himself with the coffee things, keeping his eyes on his task. The time that Jack had spent away, while no longer a sore subject, was nevertheless a topic they rarely discussed. Ianto had long since been satisfied with Jack's reasons—or non-reasons—for leaving, so everything that had happened during that period was nothing but history.
"But hey, guess what?" Jack continued.
"Hmm?" "Two pieces of breaking news. One, the Rift decided that now would be a great time to wake up, but I think it was just the Sarkisian setting off the alarm. Probably lost again, he always did have a lousy sense of direction."
"Oh, dear." Ianto walked over to Jack and handed him his coffee. "Do we need to lend aid?"
Jack took the mug and gave it an appreciative sniff. "No, I don't think he made planetfall, but I've dug up that old footage we faked about film school students making a giant lizard movie in case we need to cover something in the media."
Ianto took a sip from his own mug, amused in spite of himself that a wayward, lizard-like alien roaming about unchecked was the least of their worries. "Very good. And the other news?"
"Clem MacDonald is dead."
Ianto's eyebrows rose at that. "Really? When? And how?"
Jack reached over and pressed a button, changing the image on the screen closest to him to what looked like a government form. "Apparent heart attack, eight o'clock last night. I was hacking into the mental hospital records to see if MacDonald had revealed anything about his experience with the 456 when I ran across the preliminary report. They have an autopsy scheduled for later this morning. I sent Gwen an email, letting her know."
"Interesting timing," Ianto observed.
"That's exactly what I thought, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's just a coincidence. Listen, Ianto." Sitting forward in his chair, Jack cradled his mug between his palms, "we never did get around to discussing those contingency plans."
"I will be happy to discuss contingency plans," Ianto countered, "if you will tell me why I get the distinct impression that you don't think you have any alternative to giving yourself over to the 456."
Jack's eyes dropped to the mug in his hands. "I never said that. I've been up all night trying to figure out—"
"Not saying you're not trying, Jack. But there's something you're not telling us and until we hear from Gwen, we're still at a huge disadvantage. What are you holding back?"
Jack looked up, then nodded toward the screen with Clem's death report on it. "All right. Here's the reason why I think Clem died of natural causes, if you can call it that."
Ianto swallowed hard at the bitterness in Jack's voice, suddenly regretting that he'd pushed the issue. "Tell me."
Setting aside his coffee, Jack rose to his feet. "Clem was just a kid when the 456 took him up. No one knows what happened to him up there, but it was terrible enough that every fibre of his being was scarred by the experience and every thread of his DNA knew that the 456 had returned. I imagine that he would do anything, including committing suicide, to avoid ever having to go through that again."
"I don't—"
"Evil, Ianto. The 456 are pure evil. And not dark evil. More like blank malevolence. Cold, immutable, horrific, and yet absolutely blank. My time with them was very brief, but I came away knowing that we have no common ground with them. And now I'm convinced that they'll keep coming back with more and more demands until they've sucked this planet dry."
Ianto's eyelashes fluttered as the blood drained from his face. Jack had spoken in a tone devoid of emotion, making his revelation all the more devastating. "Why—why didn't you mention this before?"
Jack shrugged. "They went away the first time. They returned me and they returned Clem and then they went on their merry way. When they were here, they made no threats, just an offer and we turned it down. But while I was with them—" he paused, his gaze losing focus until he blinked and looked at Ianto. "I've seen evil beyond human comprehension, but I've never encountered a race like the 456."
"Then you can't be serious about willingly walking back into that."
"We've already had that discussion." Jack's voice was curt as he picked up his mug and held it out to Ianto. "Round two?"
Ianto took the mug from Jack but made no move to refill it. "But what will you do once they've got you?"
"I'm not sure. I don't think they can be reasoned with and since I don't remember what happened the first time, I'm not sure that I'd even have the chance. Best case scenario is they'll lick me again, spit me out, and go away. Worst case scenario? I'll have to outlive their entire race before I'll be free."
"But that could take—"
"Millions of years. I know."
The mug in Ianto's hand slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. Words flew through his mind, words of horror and denial and anger, but they all became stuck at the back of his throat, leaving him unable to convey any of the emotions churning inside him.
Jack must've seen the desolation in Ianto's eyes. He reached out and hauled Ianto into his arms to hold him tight, but this time, instead of accepting the refuge he normally found there, Ianto remained unyielding within the circle of Jack's embrace, his mind a void as he tried to assimilate what Jack had just confessed.
"Come on, don't." Jack shifted his hands to Ianto's rigid shoulders and took a step back. "Like I said, worst case scenario, right? Even if I have to go with these bastards, that doesn't have to be the end of the story. I know it's easy to forget, hell, sometimes even I forget, but I have resources beyond this place and time. Just getting in contact with Martha when she gets back will go a long way toward ending this nightmare."
"It'll be too late," Ianto said. "We have less than twelve hours and UNIT said she and Tom are unreachable for two more days."
"I know, I know, she picked a hell of a time to backpack through Cambodia, but then she was always did enjoy a good walk." He lifted his palms to cup Ianto's face, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Anyway, I'm not looking for Martha to save me from the 456, but I am hoping she will be able to find the one person who can."
Ianto inhaled sharply as he looked past Jack to the murky corners of the facility. Jack was referring to his Doctor, the man he'd abandoned them to follow, the great enigma that haunted Torchwood history—and for the first time, Ianto felt the stirrings of hope. He'd experienced first hand the miracles this one—man? alien?—could accomplish, and so even if Jack was forced to leave with the 456, there was still a chance that he could be saved.
Lifting his hands, he encircled Jack's wrists with his fingers and gently led them downward. "Right," he said. "Then we've more work to do."
At seven oh seven, Ianto received a coded text message from Andy, telling them that Alice and Stephen were enjoying a normal breakfast together before school. That prompted Jack to call Alice and offer a plausible explanation for calling her the previous day and then not answering a voice mail she'd left while he'd been in the morgue. At seven twenty, a chime rang on the computer station that Jack had appropriated for his own, indicating an incoming email. There was no subject to the email, just a link, and when Jack clicked on it, it brought up a webcam shot of a tired-looking Gwen. Ianto slid a chair close to Jack's and sat down as Jack activated the camera on the station to open up two way communication.
"Good morning," Jack said. "Tell me you made contact."
"Yeah," she replied. She smiled up at whom Ianto assumed was an off-camera Rhys as a paper plate with a muffin was placed on the table in front of her. "About an hour ago."
"Where are you?"
Gwen tore off a bit of muffin before answering. "An internet café near Victoria Station, but I'm using Lois' laptop." She ate a small bite and followed it with a sip from a paper coffee cup. "Here's what we know. The government have been in contact with the 456 for almost a week, but it took them several days to establish a means of communication."
"And how did they do that?"
Gwen shook her head. "Lois isn't sure. She's very low level, basically used for errands, correspondence, fetching coffee and tea, things like that. Her superior, Spears, seems to be the key, though. She's the one who diverted the communications tap and gave Lois a phone to contact us."
"Why would she do that?"
"Again, Lois doesn't know for sure. She thinks there's a power struggle between Spears and Frobisher, but listen, Jack, here's the important part. We know where the government wants to hand you over to the 456."
"Great! Where?"
"An abandoned RAF airfield."
"Which one?"
"We don't know."
"Okay, not so great. Is there any way to narrow it down?"
"Lois was going to try and get that information and pass it on before our deadline so we'd have an advantage."
"We'll take what we can get, I guess. Does Lois know why the 456 want me back?"
Gwen lowered her eyes, her fingers picking apart her muffin. "Apparently, the 456 have spent the last thirty four years analysing data they took from you and Clement MacDonald." She looked back at the camera, her eyes shadowed and unreadable. "They found something that they like. I mean, really, really like, something that they crave. And we don't know how, but they've also discovered that you can't die. That's why they gave the government their ultimatum—one way or another, they want an unending supply of whatever it is they find so addictive. You, or a vast number of our children."
Ianto recoiled in his chair, his stomach churning into knots at the implication of both Jack's fate and the fate of the children at the hands of the 456. Beside him, Jack merely looked thoughtful as he tapped a finger against his chin.
"Well, that explains a lot," he said, then grinned at Gwen. "I tried to tell you that I was irresistible."
It was enough to tease an answering smile out of Gwen. "Nice to see your ego is still intact. But I do have one fantastic piece of news."
She pressed a button and the screen immediately dissolved into a scene of someone walking through an office, although the picture seemed to jump around as though the camera was being held in unsteady hands. It was only when the camera appeared to pan downward to a pair of pointy-toed oxblood stilettos that Ianto understood what he was seeing.
"Oh, that is fantastic," he muttered. "Excellent taste in shoes, by the way."
"I'd have to agree, on both counts," Jack said. "But how did you get the lenses out of the Hub?"
The picture switched back to Gwen. "I didn't. I found a pair of them there at the caravan site when I went looking for anything that Rhys and I could use on the road. Don't even know why I grabbed them, actually."
"While I'm damned glad you did, it does bring up an interesting question. Why is Lois Habiba, she of the lovely shoes, helping us?"
"She says," Gwen said, "that she learnt of the government's plan just by standing by and listening. Once she understood what they were proposing, she went to Spears with her concerns. That's when Spears recruited her for her own purposes, whatever they are. Lois is going to let Spears know that we're wired in now, by the way. It's the only way she'd agree to wear the lenses."
"That works," Jack said. "The more friends we have in high places, the better. Those lenses have a pretty limited range, though. Looks like you'll be staying in London for a while."
Gwen swept her hair off her face and nodded. It was clear to Ianto that she didn't feel well—there were circles beneath her eyes and her normally fair complexion looked ashen.
"We'll continue to monitor Lois' transmissions from here," she was saying, "and alert you as soon as anything happens."
"Sounds good. How's Rhys doing?"
Gwen turned her gaze away from the camera and smiled as she reached for Rhys' hand. "He's brilliant, that's how he's doing. Anything else?"
"Nope, just stay in touch."
Jack switched the screen back to the live feed from the Hub. Though the angle wasn't the best, one hidden camera clearly showed Darby Fitzhenry, one petite hand curled into a fist on her hip, the other clenching a mobile phone as she paced in Jack's office, snarling at whomever was on the other end of the line. As Jack panned the camera across the Hub, Ianto could see armed personnel standing at various levels but no one was seen at any of the work stations.
"Have they finally given up?" Ianto asked.
"I think it was the constant loop of the surprised kitty video from YouTube that finally broke them. I recognised your particular streak of sadism in that one and I have to say, I'm actually very proud."
"I do enjoy spreading the joy of viral happiness."
"Lucky you're stuck with me then, because that really could be interpreted the wrong way if you mention it on a date. Speaking of things that make us happy, if I do this—" Jack entered a rapid sequence of commands "—this, and this, I think we're finally back into the city's CCTV. Yep, there it is." Rubbing at his abdomen, he turned to Ianto. "Now let's see if you can find our missing doctor."
It took Ianto almost an hour to assemble the relevant recorded footage cobbled together from the CCTV cameras scattered throughout Cardiff. As he and Jack chewed on stale cereal bars, they watched Patanjali's progression from the outside walls of St. Helen's Hospital and through the streets of the city. At first, it looked very much like a young man going about his business—he'd changed into street clothes but wasn't seen leaving in a vehicle, and his first stop was in a pub only a block away from the hospital's main entrance. Ianto fast forwarded the footage until Patanjali emerged, dragging his sleeve across his mouth and looking very pleased with himself.
"What a jerk," Jack said. "He's just killed a man—namely me—and walked off his job without notice and he stops for a pint? That's cold."
It wasn't until forty-five minutes into the tape that Jack picked up on something. By then it was only ten-thirty at night and the foot traffic near the pub was heavy enough that Patanjali had to swerve to avoid several clusters of pedestrians. But at one point he couldn't avoid bumping into someone, and it was just after that when Jack had Ianto pause the tape.
"There!" He pointed at a dark smudge that had appeared on Patanjali's hip. "Can you zoom in on that?"
Ianto isolated the area and enlarged it, his curiosity at what Jack had noticed immediately appeased when he saw that the smudge was actually a very familiar strip of leather that was now dangling out of Patanjali's trouser pocket.
"Bastard," Jack muttered. "What the hell does he think he can do with it?"
"Sell it, I would imagine," Ianto replied. "That's what I'd do. Probably get a good price for it on the street, it looks valuable."
"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten about your brief but no doubt brilliant criminal history. You'll have to tell me that story some day."
"If you're very good," Ianto said with a sideways glance.
"That's what you always tell me," Jack said with a wink, then pointed toward the screen. "Okay, let's see where he goes next."
Ten minutes later, Patanjali had tucked the wrist strap away and had disappeared into a nondescript building of converted flats on an equally nondescript street. Ianto brought up a schematic of the building but informed Jack that they had no way of knowing which flat Patanjali was in, since the address didn't coincide with Patanjali's hospital personnel records.
"And that's where he's been ever since," Ianto said. "Phone records indicate several incoming calls from one number to his mobile and one outgoing to the same number. I'm following up on that number now."
"So the question is, why would anyone go to all the trouble of killing me for the manipulator and then just turn it over to our handsome yet morally corrupt doctor?"
"Maybe getting the manipulator was never the goal. Perhaps making sure you didn't have it was all they wanted to accomplish. Patanjali shot you, perhaps that was his payment."
"That's annoyingly prosaic," Jack said. "and doesn't answer anything. All right, you keep an eye on him and I'll keep analysing the data on the 456."
Several hours later, Patanjali still hadn't moved from his location. Worse, Jack informed Ianto that he'd reached a dead end with the 456 information and that he was certain the answers weren't going to be found amidst the scarce data that both Torchwood and the government had been able to assemble. Ianto had been able to discern one thing, that the phone number from Patanjali's recent records belonged to one of Cardiff's more successful purveyors of stolen items.
"He's fencing my vortex manipulator?" Jack stared at Ianto, indignation flaring from his eyes. "That's just wrong."
"Apparently a successful transaction has been completed. Patanjali has accessed his email account and sent a message to someone boasting about how much money he was going to receive tonight." He shook his head. "Amateurs."
"Thank God for that. Watch him, because as soon as he moves, you know he's gone to get his payoff." Raising his hands over his head, Jack stretched his arms and flexed his shoulder muscles. "All right," he said as he lowered his arms, "I guess it's time we contacted Frobisher and checked in."
Thirty seconds later, the furrowed, sweaty brow of John Frobisher was gleaming at them via webcam. On a cue from Gwen, Jack split the screen so that Lois' point of view was also available, giving them a view of Frobisher from the side.
"That wasn't very clever, Captain," Frobisher began, "I granted you twenty-four hours, there was no need to sabotage Torchwood Three. You've wasted a great deal of our time and tested Ms. Fitzhenry's patience to its very limit."
"Cut the crap," Jack said. "If you were going to give us those twenty-four hours, you wouldn't have sent Darby and her goon squad, so let's call it even."
"All right, for now. Have you discovered anything that you believe will convince the 456 to leave peacefully?"
"No," Jack snapped, "nothing. Your means of communication with them is less than optimal. Have they made any further demands?"
"We've had limited contact with them since they made their original requirements known. We have no more information to impart to you, unfortunately. The facility we built for them here at Thames House is problematic at best, so right now they are merely waiting for us to fulfil their demand to deliver you or the children to a location of their choosing."
"And do we know where that is?"
"Not yet."
There was a flurry of movement as a notepad and pencil appeared on the screen with Lois' point of view, partially blocking Frobisher's profile. One word appeared on the pad:
Lie
"I find that hard to believe," Jack said. "My time is up in five hours—are you telling me that they're going to wait until the last minute to tell you where you're going to hand me over?"
"That is correct, Captain. Please understand, we are playing by their rules, not ours." Frobisher paused to cough into his fist. "And I assume, when the time comes, that you will do the honourable thing."
"Don't worry about my end of the deal," Jack replied. "But I'll take every second of these last five hours to find a way to stop this and the only way I can do that is to confront the 456 myself. I'm coming to London."
"Jack—" Ianto began, but stopped when Lois scribbled on her tablet.
Trefil
"That would be inadvisable." Frobisher straightened his sleeve, fiddling with one cuff link as he glanced away from the camera. "Your time would be better spent—wherever it is you are. And by the way, you must realise it's only a matter of time before we'll find this hidden facility of yours, so there's no point in maintaining its secrecy."
"Yeah, nice try. No thanks, we'll keep our secret hideout a secret just a little longer. And Frobisher, since you're so concerned with honour, I'll expect you to forward any more information you get from the 456, right up to the last minute."
"Of course, Captain. Shall we plan on communicating again in, say, two hours?"
"Fine."
Jack terminated his connexion to Frobisher but kept the feed from Lois open. That allowed them to watch as Frobisher rose from his chair and signalled to a middle-aged woman to follow him. The woman stepped behind him but managed to catch Lois' eye, giving her a brief nod as Gwen popped up in a small window on the lower right quadrant of the screen.
"Who's that?" Jack asked.
"Spears," Gwen replied. "Wait a moment." She lowered her eyes to the keyboard as she typed a question that appeared across the bottom of Lois' view.
Is Trefil the new site?
Lois was on the move, following Spears and Frobisher through the halls of Thames House, but managed to scribble yes and then leaving for Trefil now.
"Finally," Jack said. "Gwen, do you know where that is?"
"Yeah." She was already pulling on her jacket and Ianto could see Rhys reaching past her, gathering up cups and other rubbish. "It'll take a few hours to get there."
"Okay, follow them, but be careful and stay in touch with the untraceable mobiles, got it?"
Gwen nodded, then paused. Though she didn't look as pale as she had earlier, the long night and growing stress were reflected in her dark eyes. "Jack—you don't really think you'll have to go through with this, do you?"
Ianto understood why there was a break in her voice. They were both looking to Jack to find that last minute miracle once more, the miracle that would allow him to stay with them. He watched as Jack smiled at Gwen, a smile so gentle that it took Ianto's breath away. It made Jack look uncharacteristically vulnerable and lost, and the fear that Ianto had been trying so hard to keep at bay crept closer.
"I don't know," Jack answered, and Ianto bit his lip in surprise that Jack had responded so truthfully. That, if nothing else, convinced him that Jack was preparing them for the alternative that no one wanted to contemplate. "But we'll do everything we can to avoid it, right?"
"Right," Gwen's answering smile trembled before fading away entirely. "Talk to you soon."
Her feed went dark as Jack and Ianto stood up.
"What now?" Ianto asked.
"We need to split up. I know the Trefil site, it was used as a refuelling base in World War Two and abandoned decades ago. Nothing much out there now but an overgrown airstrip and a dilapidated hanger. Plus, it's out in the middle of nowhere, which will make it easier for the 456 to slip in and out without upsetting the populace." He grinned when he realised that Ianto was already holding out his greatcoat. As he slid his arms into the sleeves, he continued. "My guess is that my only chance to communicate directly with the 456 will be at the Trefil site. If I can get there ahead of Frobisher, maybe I can get through to them and find out if there's any chance they'll let us make another substitution."
"Such as?"
Jack settled the collar of the coat around his neck. "I have no idea. I'll start by offering something we have too much of, like bureaucrats and reality show contestants."
"Right. I'll remain here and monitor—"
"No, I need you to go to after Patanjali right away. Find him, get the manipulator back and then meet me out at Trefil."
Nodding, Ianto gathered up phones, tossing one to Jack and slipping another into the pocket of his trousers. Jack began shutting down all but necessary systems to keep the caravan site online as Ianto found his suit coat and put it on, looking around for his taser and ultimately choosing not to take it in favour of a small semi-automatic that fit into the space at the small of his back. After checking the CCTV one last time to make sure that Patanjali hadn't left the building, they were ready to go, quickly ascending the ladder through the false floor of the caravan entrance and out into the sunlight, both of the them blinking as their eyes got accustomed to the glare.
"I can get to Patanjali using public transport," Ianto said. "Do you want me to re-appropriate the car for you?"
"Re-appropriate sounds so much better than stealing. No," Jack shook his head. "You take the car, I'll find a way out to Trefil."
Ianto didn't bother to argue; one the last mysteries he'd yet solve about Jack Harkness was his ability to move freely and quickly around a city without any visible means of transportation. He glanced toward the car parked nearby, relieved to see that it was exactly where they'd left it the night before.
"Ianto."
Ianto hesitated to face Jack, knowing that this was going to be very close to that one goodbye he wasn't ready to share with this man. Even when Jack dropped his hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, he remained resolutely turned away, tightening his lips as he fought to keep his composure.
"Ianto, I need you to promise me something."
Giving in to the wistfulness of Jack's tone, Ianto turned, practically bumping into Jack, who'd moved in close behind him. "What?"
"Promise me that you'll be there." Jack refused to look at Ianto, instead fixing his stare past Ianto to the verdant space of Pontcanna Fields, his throat visibly working as he struggled to speak. "Whether you get the manipulator back or not, you have to promise me that you'll be at Trefil by the deadline."
Ianto brushed his fingers over Jack's cheek, gently forcing that tortured blue gaze back to meet his own. He knew what Jack was asking and he also knew what he needed to do. Now it was his turn to offer comfort, to make promises, to give voice to the hope that all this was nothing but the next in a long list of challenges they were fated to overcome.
The next, but not the last.
Slipping his arm around Jack's waist, Ianto hauled him close in a fierce embrace, one hand curled around the base of Jack's neck. Jack clutched at Ianto, his own hands gripping the silk fabric of Ianto's waistcoat beneath his jacket. Ianto could feel the beat of Jack's heart against his own, strong and steady as ever, but that steadiness was belied by the shaky whisper of an indrawn breath that Ianto heard above the trill of birdsong as it drifted down from the trees above them.
"I'll be there," he vowed. He leaned back and smiled, letting Jack see the truth behind the tears he refused to let fall, then brought their lips together in a brief caress. "You won't be alone, I promise. Even if they take you, you won't be alone."
"I know." Jack kissed him then, a kiss that spoke of the aching despair that was gathering around them, a kiss that already tasted too much like farewell. It lingered just enough for Ianto to fear his hard-won equanimity would be lost, and then Jack was gone, the sway of his coat disappearing around the corner of the caravan.
As soon as the derelict car rumbled to life once more under his muttered urgings, a clock started in Ianto's head. He had less than five hours to retrieve the manipulator and find his way out to the Trefil airfield and now that he was on the move, he had no way to monitor Patanjali's whereabouts. And if Patanjali had managed to offload the manipulator, then Ianto's task would border on the impossible.
Because of cross-town traffic, the trip to the block of flats took longer than Ianto expected. By the time he'd found a parking place two blocks away from the building's entrance, almost forty minutes had passed since he'd parted from Jack. As he walked quickly along the tree-lined streets, he kept his mobile in his hand, willing it to come alive with Jack's voice, telling Ianto that he'd found a way out of this nightmare.
Reaching the front door of the building, Ianto unbuttoned his suit coat to allow easy access to the weapon at his back. Ignoring the phone and buzzer system, he went through the easily breached, greasy glass door that led into a small, unkempt foyer, bicycles stacked haphazardly against one wall and another adorned with tacked-up notices of lost cats, furniture for sale, and advertisements for sharing flats. At the end of the foyer was a door and beside it, a narrow, carpeted staircase, stained and threadbare, smelling of urine and cannabis.
Opening his phone, Ianto dialled the number he'd programmed earlier, then closed his eyes. Sending an inexpertly formed but fervent prayer heavenward, he waited for the call to be answered.
"Yeah?"
It sounded like Patanjali, but Ianto couldn't be sure. Nevertheless, he had no time to be cautious.
"I'm here for the item," he said, his voice pitched lower than his natural baritone. "My employer sent me."
"Who is this?"
Ianto's fingers tightened around the phone. "You have something he wants."
"Oh, yeah? Well, fuck off, mate, I told him I'd meet him in the park tonight. Tell him to wait."
Ianto sagged against the wall, nearly dropping the phone. He had to swallow twice to get enough moisture into his throat before he could respond. "He doesn't have time to wait, he has another buyer lined up. I've been authorised to increase the offer if you show up downstairs in three minutes."
"How did you find me?
"It wasn't that hard," Ianto answered truthfully, then remembered he was supposed to be in character. "Next time, use an untraceable phone."
"How do I know I can trust you?"
Ianto rolled his eyes, his sense of professionalism bruised as he began to relax. Patanjali was obviously out of his league and while that worked to Ianto's advantage, he was almost insulted at how easy it was to convince Patanjali that he represented some mystery man with whom the doctor had made an illicit agreement. Apparently a threatening tone and knowing manner were all that was required to convince Patanjali that he was dealing with a member of the underworld. No wonder whoever it was that wanted Jack dead had chosen such a gullible accomplice. What was it Mac had called Patanjali only two days ago? A numpty?
Numpty, indeed.
"Believe me, considering how simple it was to find you, if I'd wanted to take the item, we wouldn't be having this conversation. And now you have two minutes."
Ianto disconnected the call and ducked into the low, dank space created by the staircase. If his trick didn't work, if Patanjali wasn't even in the building, then more precious time would be lost—and he had a promise to keep.
The sound of a door slamming above him followed by the pounding of footsteps alerted Ianto to Patanjali's approach. He replaced the phone in his hand with the pistol and waited, heart beating faster as he tried to rein in the anger and adrenaline coursing through his body. Patanjali had a lot to answer for, but Ianto knew that he needed to be quick. Vengeance, if it was ever granted to him, would have to wait.
Bright white trainers and long, denim-clad legs were Ianto's first glimpse of the doctor. He let Patanjali get as far as one step toward the front door before he was on him, one arm wrapped around Patanjali's neck, the other pressing the muzzle of the semi-automatic into his ribs. Dragging Patanjali into the shadows beneath the staircase, he pushed him face first into the wall.
"Hello, Doctor," Ianto hissed. "Remember me?"
With a frantic shake of his head, Patanjali tried to dislodge Ianto's arm.
"No? Allow me to remind you." Ianto tightened his arm until he heard Patanjali grunt. "You killed my boss yesterday and that's something I really can't allow. Now, keeping in mind that I have a gun, I'm going to let you tell me who hired you to murder him and why."
Emphasising his point by shoving the gun's muzzle upward, Ianto loosened his hold until Patanjali had room to breathe. When Patanjali didn't speak right away, Ianto placed his fingers on Patanjali's neck and squeezed.
"Now would be convenient."
"I—I don't know, she didn't tell me her name."
"Why did she contact you?"
"I can't—"
Ianto removed his hand from Patanjali's throat and grabbed a handful of hair, knocking Patanjali's forehead into the wall. "Wrong answer. Why were you hired to kill Jack Harkness?"
"I have—I have debts, gambling debts, she knew about them. She said she'd pay them off if I lured Harkness to the hospital. I didn't shoot him, I swear! I just stole that compass thing!"
Ianto rapped Patanjali's head against the wall, hard enough to make the doctor grunt. "That's a lie, try again."
"Okay, okay! I shot him, she told me to, she said he was a threat to national security and she needed him dead!"
"So, gambling debts and a warped sense of patriotism are enough for you to shoot a man in cold blood?"
"Yes! I mean, I mean, no! Look, I owed someone a lot of money, he was going to kill me so she paid him off and said I could take the compass and sell it. Please, just take the damn thing and let me go!"
"Where is it?"
"In my jacket pocket, all right? It's there, I swear!"
Ianto switched the gun from his right hand to his left, fitting the muzzle into Patanjali's armpit as he dug his fingers into the pocket of Patanjali's lightweight jacket. Finding the manipulator, he quickly tucked it away into his trouser pocket, then switched the gun back to his right hand. Once he had it secured, he could feel Patanjali's muscles begin to loosen, and that didn't suit his purpose at all. Replacing his grip on Patanjali's neck, he pushed the muzzle against the vulnerable patch of skin behind Patanjali's ear.
"Why did Jack have to die? Why did someone need him dead?" Patanjali hesitated, and that's when Ianto knew that there was still more to the story. "I really don't have any reason to let you live," he continued softly, "now that I have what I came for. You're going to have to come up with something in trade. Something like the truth."
"Okay, okay, yeah, I—I shot him. Then this woman, the one who hired me, she and another guy showed up, they were both in some uniform."
"What other guy? What did he look like?"
"I don't know, big, ugly—military, maybe, he had scar tissue around his eyes."
"What happened then?"
"She, the woman, uh, she made me cut open the corpse, through the sternum. A clean incision, she said. I didn't want to, but that other guy, he had a gun—"
"Why? Why did she want you do that?"
"She had something, a small box, she said it was something to make sure that the body would decompose faster. It was strange, the other guy laughed when she said that, like she'd told a joke."
"What did this box look like?" When Patanjali paused again, Ianto grasped his arm and flung him around until they were face to face, shoving his gun beneath Patanjali's jaw. "Answer me."
Patanjali licked his lips as a bead of sweat dripped down his cheek. "It was small, like a jewellery box, and it had these little lights—"
"Lights?"
"Yeah, red and green ones, like, uh, like on a remote-controlled toy, you know?"
The magnitude of Patanjali's confession hit Ianto so hard that his sight went black. He stared at Patanjali but saw nothing as his mind lurched forward with a sickening sensation, his thoughts picking up speed and racing to a horrifying conclusion that no one could have imagined.
"Can I go?"
Ianto returned his attention back to Patanjali. "What?"
"Can I go? I've got to get out of here, the bloke I sold the watch to is going to pissed when I don't show up."
It went against Ianto's nature to set Patanjali free; some kind of justice needed to be meted out for Jack's murder. But this was neither the time nor the place, especially if Ianto's suspicions were true. Shoving his forearm under Patanjali's chin, he applied enough thrust to make Patanjali's teeth snap.
"Leave town. No, better yet, leave the country. In two days, I want to be able to track every move you've made until I find you in a country where you don't know the language. Are we quite clear on this?"
Patanjali's eyes had taken on the feral, dull stare of a caged animal. "Yeah—yeah, clear."
"Good." Ianto backed off but kept the gun in Patanjali's sight. "If you have anything you need upstairs, get it now."
Patanjali nodded, hugging the wall as he worked his way back toward the staircase. Ianto watched him but didn't follow as he struggled to work out his next moves. Listening absently to Patanjali's footsteps on the floor above him, he pulled out his mobile to call Jack and let him know what he believed Frobisher had planned for him all along.
Before he could press a single button, he heard a muffled pop, followed by the unmistakeable thump of a body falling to the ground. Disregarding his initial instinct to run like hell, Ianto pocketed the phone and pivoted to run up the stairs, taking them two at a time, pausing at the landing before plunging up the second set of risers. Facing a grotty, dingy hallway, he waited a few steps short of the top, having no idea how to proceed and afraid that the denizens on that floor were about to put themselves in harm's way.
The problem resolved itself when the door nearest Ianto flew open and an armed man ran out, a man Ianto instantly recognized from Patanjali's description. He was tall and muscular, dressed in black clothing that resembled an unadorned military uniform, and as he turned to glance down the corridor, Ianto was close enough to see the thick scar tissue that disfigured his eyes and nose. Those eyes, iron grey and emotionless, widened slightly as the man stared at Ianto, but it was the small smile that made Ianto realise he was in trouble. Before he could react or duck for cover, or even think to lift his own weapon, the man raised his gun and shot him.
The bullet caught Ianto low on his torso, just above his left hip, driving him backwards as he lost his footing and tumbled down the stairs to the landing. He came up hard against the wall, numb and breathless, curled over his knees as he choked back the pain. There was no time for reaction or strategy—he'd somehow managed to retain a hold on his gun and without thinking or even pausing to aim, he shifted around and pulled the trigger. The recoil drove him back against the wall, but his attention was riveted to the surprised look on the face of his assailant as he teetered at the top of the stairs, blood pumping from a ragged bullet hole in the centre of his chest. As Ianto watched, the man tipped over and crashed down the stairs, coming up against Ianto and crowding him into the corner of the landing.
Torn between pain-induced nausea and the panic clouding his eyesight, Ianto struggled to his feet, tripping over the corpse as he stumbled up the stairs. His side felt like it was on fire but the fact that he was still ambulatory gave him hope that he wasn't badly damaged. With his hand pressed to his wound, he fell through the doorway the dead man had exited and closed the door, leaning his back on it and closing his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. Every swell of his lungs brought a fresh wave of agony but he pushed back against it, gritting his teeth and concentrating on his next move.
He reopened his eyes to survey his surroundings. It was a dingy, one room flat, containing only a few odds and ends of furniture, including a low table with a laptop teetering on the edge. Beside it, sprawled in the uncoordinated gracelessness of death, lay Patanjali, a puddle of crimson soaking into the cheap carpet beneath him.
Ianto's time frame had just dwindled from hours to seconds. The authorities would be arriving any minute, alerted by the reports of gunfire, and knowing that gave him the burst of adrenaline that he needed to move. Biting his lip, he shoved his gun back into the waistband of his trousers and reached for his phone. Scrolling through his saved numbers, he dialled with his thumb as he walked toward the tiny bath, intent on finding anything to staunch the bleeding. He found a dirty scrap of towel hanging from a rack and as he pressed it against his wound, his phone call was answered.
"Yeah? This had better be good, it's my day off and I've eight yards of mulch to spread."
"Dr. Mackenzie, it's Ianto Jones. I'm in trouble and I need your help."
"All I have handy that will fit you are scrubs. Blue or orange?"
Ianto stared at the mobile in his hand, willing it to ring. "I don't care."
A set of blue scrubs was tossed on the table beside him. "There you go. Underpants and t-shirt too, courtesy of my late husband. They'll be too big, but not by much. You can wash off the rest of the blood in the bath down the hall. And don't worry about the towels, I've got plenty."
Looking up, Ianto managed a tight smile. "Thank you."
"Don't bother." Mackenzie scowled at him. "You can thank me by letting me take to you to A&E and fix you up properly. What I've done there—" she gestured toward the wide swath of bandage that circled Ianto's bare abdomen "—isn't much better than a sticking a finger in a fuckin' dam."
"It'll be enough." Ianto slid carefully down from his perch on Mac's table, his free hand pressed to his side. The world around him contracted when his ears started ringing, and as his eyes drifted shut, he was grateful for Mac's tall, sturdy frame as she slipped her arm around his waist and held him up.
"Steady on, Mr. Jones." She guided Ianto back until his hips rested against the table's edge. "Breathe through your nose, there's a good lad. Better?"
Ianto swallowed and nodded, even though the world was still a little grey when he reopened his eyes. "I'm okay."
Mackenzie removed her arm, surveying Ianto with a sceptical eye. "Far from it, but I canna force you to do as I say. By the way, that was the hospital administrator on the phone, informing me that Patanjali has been murdered along with another man. It's quite the story, it's all over the news, too, especially since the shooter is still at large."
Standing up slowly, Ianto was relieved when the room stayed in place around him. "When all this is over, I'll make sure no one can find a connexion to you."
"That's the least of my worries, it's you that's my main concern. Right now I'm wondering what you think you'll be doing next."
Ianto reached behind him for the pile of clothes. "Asking to borrow your car, quite probably."
Mackenzie stopped Ianto with a hand on his arm. "You'd likely pass out behind the wheel, and I'll not have that on my conscience, let alone risk my beloved Land Rover. No, any place you want to be going, I'll be doing the driving. Is that clear?"
Not bothering to answer, Ianto shuffled his way down the hall of Mac's cavernous house, finding the bath and closing the door behind him. Focussing on one task at a time, he kicked off his shoes and stripped off his bloodstained trousers. Just as methodically, he pulled on the borrowed clothing, careful to keep the elasticised waistband of the scrubs from tangling with the bandage that protected two small gunshot wounds, the one in front near the edge of his pelvic bone, the exit wound just above the swell of his buttocks.
He'd been doubly lucky, Mac had informed him as she'd tended his injuries at her kitchen table. A small calibre weapon and a through-and-through wound had probably saved his life, though she remained concerned at the loss of blood, most of which she'd had to clean out of the passenger side of the ancient Land Rover that she was so fond of. Ianto had hardly listened to her, being too intent on contacting either Jack or Gwen to let them know what he'd learned. Now, almost three hours after they'd parted, Ianto had yet to speak with either of them.
It took longer than he'd expected to change, but he had to stop numerous times to catch his breath or blink away the sweat that clouded his vision. The last thing he did before discarding the blood-soaked remnants of his suit was pull the manipulator out of his trouser pocket and buckle it onto his wrist. He moistened a cloth and ran it over his face and neck, then ran damp fingers through his hair, all the time glancing at the phone on the counter. When at last he was finished, he slipped the phone into his other pocket and opened the door, determined to show Mac that he was fully capable of taking care of himself.
When he reached the kitchen, Mac was sitting at the table, nursing a shot glass of whisky she'd poured from the bottle beside her. There was a white pill beside an empty glass in front of the opposite chair, and as Ianto pulled it out and eased his sore body down, Mac poured another shot for him.
"Right," Mac said, "Now what?"
Ianto stared down into the amber liquid, organising his thoughts. "I have to meet my friends out at Trefil." He glanced at his watch. "It should take no more than an hour to get there."
"Where is it exactly?"
Ianto ran his tongue across lips suddenly made dry with the echo of horrific memories. "Just south of Brecon Beacons, off the A465. There's an abandoned airfield there." He took a sip of whisky, grimacing as the burn hit the back of his throat.
"And what's waiting for you at this airfield, Mr. Jones?"
Ianto glanced up at Mac. In her buttoned-down denim shirt, her dull red curls piled on the top of her head, she looked like someone's doting nan. But her pale blue eyes were bright with shrewd intelligence as she waited patiently for Ianto to continue.
"There is a—a threat out there, a threat to everyone, and it's our job to neutralise that threat."
"And what did Patanjali have to do with all this?"
"He was hired to incapacitate Jack long enough for him to be implanted with some kind of device that the government wants to use against this threat."
"A device? What kind of device?"
Ianto hesitated. He knew his story was sounding more outrageous by the moment, despite the fact he was telling the truth. But he was running out of time and his only ally was sitting across from him, sipping whisky and expecting nothing less than complete transparency. He had no choice but to give it to her.
"A bomb."
"What?" Mac leaned back in her chair, her pale, freckled face slack with shock. "You're telling me Patanjali stuffed a bomb into your boyfriend?"
"I think so, yes."
"That's—that's—I'm sorry, but that's impossible. I saw Harkness, he was fine, there was no way a body could carry an explosive in that—"
"Jack isn't like any other man, he's not like you and me. I assure you, he is capable of surviving almost anything, including what Patanjali did to him."
"And Patanjali was killed because?"
"He was a loose end, obviously. You knew him, he wasn't exactly a model of moral fortitude."
"No, he wasn't, but to be involved in something like this..." Mackenzie shook her head. "You realize how daft all this sounds. Every time I meet up with you, you or someone you know is dead or bleeding. And I've no proof at all that you're telling me the truth."
"I know." Ianto fiddled with the pill, then popped it in his mouth. He downed his drink and stood up slowly, favouring his wounded side. "You have no reason to believe me or trust me. And yet I'm still going to ask for the keys to your car."
Mackenzie rose as well. "Aye, and you'll not get them, even if you threaten me with that wee weapon of yours. I'm not joking when I say you need more medical attention than I can give you here, and one good blow to those wounds will knock you on your arse in two seconds flat. Now, as much as the story you've told me would sound absolutely unbelievable to any normal person, no one's ever accused me of being normal or even particularly sane. But the first thing you learn from anyone in Cardiff, they all know what Torchwood's done around here, and so I'm willing to bet my life that what you're telling me is God's own truth."
She crossed the room and knelt on a well-worn corduroy sofa, reaching behind it and fishing around until she pulled back with a satisfied grunt. In her hands was a sawed-off, double-barrelled shotgun. Resting the stock on her hip, she pinned Ianto with a glare that brooked no opposition.
"This here's Gertie," she declared, "and she'll be coming with us."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Ianto replied faintly.
"Good, glad that's settled. Now, tell me about Trefil. Does it have a decent pub?"
Halfway to Trefil, the battery in Ianto's mobile died. Never taking her eyes off the road, Mackenzie handed hers over without a word, but there was no reply from either Jack or Gwen.
Ianto knew he was cutting it close. The time he'd wasted at Mackenzie's house with explanations and medical attention tore at him, bringing up all kinds of scenarios where he was too late to let Jack know that the government was using him to immolate the 456. Though he didn't say a word beyond giving directions to Trefil, his desperation must have communicated itself to Mackenzie. As they turned off the A465 toward Trefil Road, she reached across and gave his arm a clumsy pat.
"We'll make it in time," she muttered. "I promise."
Ianto glanced at his watch again and shifted in his seat. The light painkiller that Mac had given Ianto had initially helped to ease his discomfort, but it was beginning to fade, leaving him with an ominous ache in his abdomen. It wasn't quite four thirty and they had less than two miles to go to reach Trefil, then five miles on the access road to the old base. Twilight was beginning to gather in the east, painting the green hills with amethyst shadows as Mackenzie pulled off the main road and past the remnants of a guard shack. The road was pitted and cracked, bouncing them in their seats as they passed the footprints of long-vanished barracks and administration buildings to the one structure that was still standing, a cavernous hanger at the far end of the airstrip.
As Mackenzie drove toward the large doors, Ianto could see a small fleet of vehicles parked nearby, including military lorries, a motorcycle dumped on its side, and an acid green Vauxhall Frontera that belonged to the one and only Banana Boat.. His heart sank as he realised that Jack hadn't beaten the government to the new site and in fact, they'd probably been here for a while. But at least he wasn't alone—Gwen and Rhys had made it in time.
One SUV was partially blocking the road, and as Mackenzie rolled slowly toward it, a man in uniform got out and indicated—with the barrel of his rifle—that she needed to halt. She glanced at Ianto who nodded, then brought her Land Rover to a stop and rolled down the window.
"This area is restricted," the soldier told them. "You need to turn around."
"Turn around, like hell we will," Mackenzie barked, "we're Torchwood."
Ianto raised his eyebrows at her insouciant appropriation of the Torchwood name but to his surprise, it seemed to work when the soldier, after a brief conversation with someone on the other end of his comm, waved them forward.
She pulled up next to the overturned motorcycle and Ianto began to panic, wondering if he'd gotten it all wrong. The place was utterly silent and aside from the guard, seemed completely deserted. The hanger doors were opened just wide enough to walk through, and as Ianto set aside his weapon and unfolded his pain-stiffened body from the passenger seat, he noticed a lavender-tinted light emanating from the opening that seemed to pulse to a regular beat. Turning his gaze upward, he could barely make out an answering reflection in the cloud cover above the hanger, a lighter shade of grey that throbbed to the same rhythm.
He limped around the bonnet of the Land Rover, meeting up with Mackenzie as they both gazed at the huge building.
"All right, we're here," Mackenzie muttered. "What's the plan?"
"I'll go inside," Ianto said, "you wait out here."
"Oh, aye, that makes sense." Mackenzie looked over her shoulder at the road they'd just traversed and the guard leaning against the SUV, watching them. "If you're still planning on sneaking up on them, that is."
"Good point." Ianto shrugged, then winced as his muscles protested. "You may as well come inside then. But please, whatever happens, don't interfere. And Gertie stays behind. I don't want you to get hurt."
"She'll be disappointed," Mackenzie grumbled, "but if you insist."
They walked together toward the opening, then Mackenzie lagged back so that Ianto could go through alone. Once inside the facility, Ianto forgot about Mackenzie as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.
In front of him stretched the length of the hanger, the entire space infused all the way to the rafters with the purplish light he'd seen from outside. It emanated from an amorphous, glowing mass at the far end of the structure, its edges convulsing to an inaudible beat. Approximately fifty yards in front of it was a barricade of tables, each of them loaded down with electronic equipment, some of them with cables that snaked along the dirt floor and disappeared into the mass, others hooked up to an enormous generator. Dozens of people were gathered around the tables, watching monitors, making entries on keyboards, the entire room filled with frenzied energy.
Ianto began running toward the tables, eyes desperately searching out a familiar face. He nearly cried out in relief when a small figure separated from a knot of people that included Lois Habiba and John Frobisher and flew toward him.
"Ianto!"
Gwen crashed into his open arms, and the agony that shot through his body was nothing compared to the joy in finding her safe.
"You made it," she sobbed into his neck. "Thank God."
Ianto pulled back and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "You okay? Rhys?"
Gwen nodded and wiped at the tears on her cheeks. "Yeah, we're fine. It's just—" She choked and turned her face toward the glowing entity, another tear rolling down her cheek. When she looked back at Ianto, her eyes widened.
"What happened to you? Where are your clothes?"
"Doesn't matter."
"But—"
"Where is he, Gwen?" Ianto whispered. "Am I too late?"
"No, no," she said. "But, Ianto—he says he has to go."
"They've found nothing?"
"No, he...they...it's all over."
She put one hand over her mouth and turned away, trailing her other hand down Ianto's arm to tangle their fingers. Ianto stared at her bowed head, unwilling to accept what amounted to the closest thing to a death sentence that Jack Harkness could experience.
"No," he muttered. "It's not over yet. I won't let it be."
Pulling his hand out of Gwen's grip, Ianto began trotting toward the rows of tables, searching for any sign of Jack. Now he was glad he'd left behind his own weapon, for he'd surely use it to get at Jack, to go to any lengths to save him.
But deep in his heart he knew it wasn't to be. He'd known it almost from the beginning and he was convinced that Jack had known, too. There'd been no way to fight the 456, no way to reason with them or barring that, defeat them. The short deadline and the all too real terror of global annihilation had eliminated any chance for them to strike back, and now Jack was going to be sacrificed so that the 456 never threatened the planet again.
And so the one service Ianto had to give, the only act of love left for him to offer, was to tell Jack the truth.
But he also knew that his own time was running out. His embrace with Gwen, precious as it was, had caused his wounds to tear open. Wet, sticky warmth was seeping through his bandages and his vision was beginning to blur around the edges but still he plodded on, determined to get to Jack at all costs.
He met with resistance when he came abreast of the tables. Several men in the same dark uniform worn by Patanjali's assassin moved to block him, one of them pushing his shoulder hard enough to elicit a muffled grunt from Ianto as he swallowed back the pain and braced himself to try again.
"Jack?" He called out, desperate to get Jack's attention."Jack!"
The cavernous room fell quiet as the uniformed men parted just enough for Ianto to see past them to Jack, standing alone one hundred feet beyond the tables. Ianto attempted to get past the men once more, but when they moved into his way, another voice spoke up.
"Let him through."
The men hesitated and Ianto swerved toward the voice, ready to beg. Out from the same group of people that Gwen had rejoined stepped a heavy-set, middle-aged woman whom Ianto recognized only from the brief view he'd seen of her from Lois Habiba's eyes.
Bridget Spears.
Ianto took a step toward her, then stopped when another woman emerged from the small crowd to grab Spears' arm. Dressed in the same unremarkable black uniform, she had an aura of authority about her that Ianto immediately distrusted.
"You can't," she was insisting, "he knows."
Spears glanced at the woman and then wordlessly dropped her gaze to the hand gripping her arm. The other woman released her and backed off a step, hissing something too low for Ianto to hear as she raised one arm to point in Ianto's direction. Ianto watched as Spears nodded briefly and replied, but whatever it was she said to the other woman seemed to anger her even more as she backed further away from Spears. When Spears spoke again, it was as though she was directing her words to Ianto, even though she was looking at the uniformed woman.
"At this point," she said, "Captain Harkness will probably consider what we've done to be a blessing. It would be inhumane to deny him any advantage now." Then she nodded toward the men preventing Ianto from reaching Jack. "Stand aside."
The curtly spoken command had an immediate effect. Gwen took off at a run, skirting the tables and shoving people aside to get to Jack, who hadn't moved from his position in front of the mass. Ianto followed more slowly, hindered both by the growing conflagration in his side and the heartbreaking reality of what was about to happen. As he cleared the last of the tables, he watched as Jack and Gwen come together in a bone-crushing embrace, Jack's eyes tightly shut as he held her close. Ianto could see that Gwen's shoulders were shaking and his own composure began to waver. He thrust his hand into his pocket and clutched the manipulator, taking strength from what it represented—the only hope that he'd ever see Jack Harkness again.
Pausing ten feet away from Jack and Gwen, Ianto waited as they said their farewells. They were talking quietly now, forehead to forehead, tears slipping down their cheeks. After a final, trembling kiss to his lips, Gwen released Jack and took a step away, leaving enough room for Rhys, who'd stood by silently, to step forward and shake Jack's hand. Jack grabbed Rhys by the wrist and hauled him close for a quick hug before releasing him, then pivoted toward the pulsing mass, his back straight and shoulders square.
Ianto was barely aware of Gwen and Rhys moving off, Rhys' arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders as he led her away. He understood why Jack had turned his back to him—it was the same reason his own steps were slowing as he came to stand by Jack's side, both of them facing the energy mass together, shoulder to shoulder.
"I really thought I'd figure a way out of this," Jack murmured after a few moments. He swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. "I really did."
"The odds were against us from the beginning."
Jack glanced at Ianto out of the corner of his eye, his lips quirking into a wry smile. "That never seemed to stop us before."
Ianto stared up into the malevolent mass of lights and then deliberately dismissed it from his mind. Jack was right, this was evil unlike any he'd ever encountered before. He could feel it tugging at his skin, sucking at his breath as it writhed above him. He didn't dare imagine what it would be like to be taken up inside that horror and that's when he knew that everything had been leading up to this moment.
"You have a bomb inside you," he said evenly. A hot, saturating numbness was creeping up his body, making it difficult to concentrate, but he couldn't fail Jack, not now. "That's why you were killed at the hospital, so they could place it inside your corpse."
"What?" Jack turned to stare at Ianto's profile, a frown creasing his brow. "Ianto, what are you saying?"
Ianto took a deep breath and faced Jack. "You were correct, the government never intended on letting us find a solution to the demands of the 456. It was always their intention to turn you over to them, but first they had to implant a bomb inside you. My guess is that it is remote-controlled or on a timer, and at some point, the bomb will be detonated and the 456 will be destroyed. The manipulator was stolen so that you'd have no way to defuse the bomb yourself."
Jack's expression went blank as he looked past Ianto into the purple-tinged depths of the hanger. When he looked back at Ianto, his eyes filled with infinite sorrow, Ianto knew that Jack understood.
"I see," Jack murmured, and Ianto's heart shattered.
"Jack—"
"At least that explains the heartburn." Jack rubbed at his abdomen. "My body's been trying to expel a bomb and here I thought it was Alice's lousy cooking."
Ianto's broken laugh was involuntary but heartfelt, warmed by the certainty that Jack's sense of humour, along with his body, was indestructible. "Here." Ianto unbuckled the manipulator and held it out to Jack. He heard Jack's sharply indrawn breath, more expressive than anything Jack could've said that Jack had been counting on getting the manipulator back into his possession. "Now you have a choice."
"There was never a choice," Jack replied, his voice hoarse. "Not really. Some situations can't be saved."
"I wanted to save you," Ianto whispered, eyes on the object in his palm. He watched Jack take the manipulator from him and strap it onto his wrist, deriving a bittersweet satisfaction that he'd succeeded in seeing the manipulator finally back where it belonged, yet had failed to find a way to prevent Jack from having to sacrifice himself.
"You have, Ianto Jones." Jack reached out and brushed away a tear that had gathered at the corner of Ianto's eye. "Every day you wake up beside me, you save me. Didn't you know that?"
"But—" Ianto struggled to raise his gaze to Jack's, his emotions already ravaged by the tender stroke of Jack's fingers on his cheek. "It's not enough, is it? You still have to leave."
"Listen to me—whoa, hey, what's wrong? Oh God, you're bleeding—what the hell happened?"
Ianto clutched at Jack's outstretched arms, swaying as a wave of vertigo swept through him. He didn't have to look to know that blood had seeped through his bandages and was now spreading across the fabric of the cotton scrubs.
"It's okay," he said between clenched teeth. He fixed his eyes on a small stain near the collar of Jack's greatcoat. "I'm fine."
"Like hell you are—"
"Jack, it was—it was good, yeah?" Pain was clawing up his spine, but Ianto managed to raise his head. Still grasping Jack's arms, he gave them a squeeze as he smiled up into Jack's eyes. "Though I really would've preferred—" He stopped to cough, temporarily unable to continue as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Jack's face crumpled. "Don't—"
"—the dotage option."
"Oh, God, Ianto." Jack carefully folded him into his arms and Ianto sighed, closing his eyes and breathing in Jack's unique scent as he leaned into that solid, beloved strength one last time.
"Jack, listen, you have to know, that I—"
"No, shh, you listen to me. There's something—I can't go without you letting you know how much I—"
Beside them, the convulsing lights deepened to an angry purple-tinged black as a loud crack echoed through the hanger, drowning out Jack's words.
"Captain!" It was Spears' voice, rising above the growing hum in the room. "We are running out of time!"
Ianto lifted shaking fingers to Jack's lips. "It's okay," he murmured, "I know. I think I've known for a long time."
Jack took Ianto's hand and gently eased it away. He bent his head and touched his lips to Ianto's in a caress that left Ianto fighting back helpless tears.
"Oh, you think you're so smart," Jack teased, his cheek dipping into its familiar crease, then he sobered. "But you don't know everything, Ianto Jones, and I'm going to come back and tell you all the things you'll ever need to know about me, about you, about us."
"I believe you," Ianto whispered, "and I'll wait for you. As long as it takes." He saw the shine of Jack's tears and stopped holding back his own, his promise to be brave and dry-eyed for Jack lost in the understanding he found in Jack's bright gaze. Pressing his mouth to Jack's one last time, he tried to convey everything in one final, heartrending kiss as he cradled Jack close, ignoring the growing maelstrom beside them and the nervous mutterings of the humans behind them.
Too soon, Jack released him and stepped back. Forcing himself to ignore the blotches of red that now stained the front of Jack's blue shirt, Ianto lifted his head, furiously searching for anything to say that would ease Jack's path to voluntary destruction.
But Jack had one more surprise for him. Before Ianto understood what was happening, Jack muttered something and shrugged out of his greatcoat, draping it over Ianto's shoulders. Then he placed a warm, lingering kiss on Ianto's forehead before turning to the assembly behind him and levelling his broad shoulders.
"Let's do this."
There was nothing left to say or do, no last minute reprieve, no hope to cling to. Clutching the lapels of the greatcoat, Ianto stepped back to find Gwen beside him. She slid her hand beneath the greatcoat to link their arms and together they watched Jack stride directly into the pulsating light, disappearing almost immediately into the purple fog. There was another loud crack, more deafening than the first, before the lights combined into one tight column of blinding iridescence. The column paused, quivering and swirling, its colour now a roiling combination of blazing white and searing yellow, before gathering itself upward, disappearing into the ceiling of the hanger with a tremendous roar that knocked them all back.
Then the hanger was filled with quiet, broken only by the bass rumble of the generator and Gwen's quiet sobs. Ianto stared up into the now blackened shadows of the cavernous hanger, his thoughts a jumble and a hole where his heart used to be, but buried in his despair was one pure thread of hope, one tiny flame of childlike belief that if Jack said he'd come back to him, then Jack would find a way to make it happen.
His last thought before he passed out in Gwen's arms was that he had to get the bloodstains out of the greatcoat before Jack's return.
"Oh, God, not another one." Gwen held up a piece of paper and waved it in Ianto's direction. "It's a letter forwarded to us by the mayor's office, proclaiming that the bright flash in the northern sky three months ago was actually Elvis sending a signal to his followers. The writer is expecting to be taken up soon and wanted the city to know that he won't be recycling any more."
"How very civic minded of him," Ianto replied. He took the paper from Gwen and frowned at it. "I'll file this along with the others."
"Must be a drawer full of them by now." Gwen turned back to her computer, her left hand resting on her belly. "Paperwork never goes away, does it?"
"Nope."
Setting the paper aside, Ianto looked around the Hub, inwardly revising his list of things to be done. Minor items had been neglected in favour of larger projects, especially since the Rift, apparently feeling lonely after so much attention had been focussed elsewhere, had acted up not long after control of the Hub had been returned to Gwen and Ianto. Since then they'd been working almost non-stop, aided not only by temporary personnel sent their way by Martha Jones, but by the newest member of Torchwood.
Things had been rough since Jack had left, but some wrongs had been set right. After Ianto had lost consciousness at the hanger, he'd been transported to St. Helen's, Mac at his side and Gwen and Rhys following behind. It was only after he'd had surgery and was recovering in his hospital room that Gwen had been able to fill him in.
The power struggle between John Frobisher and Bridget Spears had resolved itself soon after they'd arrived at the hanger. Jack had been there for a while, working with the advance crew of scientists that had been sent by Frobisher once the 456 had chosen the site for Jack's retrieval. Gwen and Rhys had been close behind, arriving just in time to see the drama unfold.
Sitting in his hospital bed, a plastic cup of juice in his hand, Ianto's blood ran cold as Gwen had told him how Frobisher and his peers in other first world governments had concocted a secondary plan to meet the 456's original demand. Had they been unable to deliver Jack to the 456—and the explosive hidden inside him—they were fully prepared to gather up the requisite number of children in order to stave off the toxic attack threatened by the 456.
It was at that point that Bridget Spears, after years of standing by and watching the machinations of government and the life-changing compromises made every day in the name of order, decided to make a stand while at the same time cementing her own hold on the centre of power. Working with Lois Habiba, she'd contacted her own contemporaries amongst the world's greatest bureaucracies, showing them the recordings made by Lois that proved that the Frobishers of the world, with the tacit approval of their leaders, were making decisions that would impact the planet for decades to come. And since she hadn't disapproved of the plan to send Jack to his death, she had no issue with blackmailing Frobisher and his cronies into giving over their power in return for not revealing the plan to the media.
As for Torchwood, they'd come to believe that the change in dynamics at Thames House had worked in their favour. Spears had no use for Darby Fitzhenry and had routed her almost immediately upon assumption of Frobisher's duties, Frobisher having resigned for health reasons and relocated his family to Northamptonshire. Knowing they couldn't run Torchwood between the two of them, Gwen and Ianto had agreed that they needed help until they were fully re-staffed, so Spears had allowed Martha to arrange a series of highly-trained operatives to assist them, each one agreeing to be retconned once their rotation was complete.
It'd been mostly hit or miss since then. Many of the operatives, experts in the field of espionage and military strategy, had struggled with the vagaries of an alien-spitting, highly volatile shaft of energy that discharged with little warning. After recapturing Janet, Ianto had used her as a litmus test to see whether or not the operative was honestly receptive to the idea of alien activity. That seemed to ensure that a steady thirty percent of the personnel sent by Spears were retconned and delivered back to London by the end of their first day.
But there were a few winners, names that Gwen kept on a list of people that they may want to bring back for a second round, even possibly approaching them for a permanent position. These were operatives that not only seemed unfazed by the prospect of fighting aliens on a daily basis, but also had a flair for the kind of technical work that went along with the puzzles that the Rift presented. Yet it was slow going, hindered by a very real reluctance that Gwen and Ianto shared, a resistance to any suggestions that they accept a replacement for Jack.
On the positive side, they'd already found their own doctor. Or, more correctly, Leslie Mackenzie had found them, pounding on their metaphorical door, practically stalking them both until they'd agreed to give her a try. It had been a token resistance, as Ianto had known it would be from the beginning and Gwen had soon learned. Mac was a force unto herself, and nothing seemed to daunt her, not even her first alien autopsy. She'd thrown everything she had into the project, constantly updating Ianto and Gwen on her progress until they'd happily acquiesced to the inevitability that Mac was going to be a part of their team whether they wanted her or not. Luckily for them, they wanted her.
The arrival of Mac had brought on another crisis, and though not one of her making, Ianto knew it was going to change the future of Torchwood as profoundly as Jack's absence and as deeply as the loss of Toshiko and Owen, albeit for an entirely different reason.
It'd been some time during Mac's first week, less than a month after Jack had disappeared with the 456. Ianto had been down in the autopsy bay with Mac, doing an inventory of medical equipment. Mac had been very forthcoming with her opinion regarding Owen's method of storing his utensils and had been making furious notes on how she planned to redo everything once she was settled in. At first Ianto had felt protective of Owen's legacy, but once he remembered that he'd often had the same complaint, had allowed her to vent uninterrupted. She went up in his estimation when she'd listened as Ianto shared several stories of Owen's adventures as Torchwood's doctor and they'd ended up perched together on the autopsy table, sharing shots of whisky in Owen's honour.
It was into this cosy scene that Gwen had entered, looking completely done in, with dark circles beneath her red eyes and a grey tinge to her cheeks. Mac had taken one look at her and shooed Ianto off the table before ordering Gwen to hold still for a cursory examination.
"I'm fine," Gwen had insisted. "It's just this job, I can't get enough sleep."
"Huh." Mac looked unconvinced and after checking Gwen's pulse and blood pressure, had informed Ianto that he was needed either down in the archives or up the long-neglected tourist office and should plan on making himself scarce for at least an hour.
Worried and unsettled by Mac's vehemence, Ianto had gathered up their current temporary operative with the idea of taking her on a tour of Cardiff and its alien hot spots via the motorcycle Rhys had retrieved from the Trefil base. According to Lois, it was the same motorcycle that Jack had used to get himself out there, and after backtracking to find the original owner, Ianto offered him a facile explanation and a generous sale price in order to add it to the Torchwood motor pool.
An hour and a half later, Ianto had re-entered the Hub alone after dropping off his companion at the flat they used for the rotating staff of operatives. Glancing down into the autopsy bay, he saw Mac, scribbling in her notebook and muttering over a tray of scalpels.
"Mac?"
She looked up and scowled at him, sticking one hand on her fist. "Aye, she's in Jack's office, waiting for you."
Ianto nodded, bemused that even Mac, a newcomer, understood that Jack's office would never be called anything else. He walked to the threshold and paused, taking in the sight of Gwen sitting with her elbows resting on Jack's desk, her face cradled in her palms and her eyes wide with shock.
"Gwen?" Ianto took a step into the room, setting aside his motorcycle helmet and running a hand through his hair. "Are you all right?"
Keeping her hands in place, Gwen shifted her eyes toward Ianto.
"All right?" she said slowly. "I'm bloody amazing!"
Confused, Ianto came further into to the room. "Really? You don't look—"
Gwen shot to her feet and reached both hands toward Ianto. He grasped them automatically, allowing himself to be danced backward. "I'm pregnant!"
"Pregnant? As in you're having a—a baby sort of pregnant?"
"Yes!" She laughed and threw herself into Ianto's arms. "Oh my God, can you believe it?"
Hearing the unmistakeable joy in her voice, Ianto tightened his hold on her waist and picked her up, twirling her around the room. They were both breathless from laughing as he set her back on her feet, steering her back to the chair so she could sit down.
"So, this is a good thing, I take it?" He hitched his hip onto the edge of the desk, letting his foot swing free.
"Of course it's a good thing," she said with a playful slap to his knee. "It's fantastic! Rhys is over the moon, I couldn't wait until tonight to tell him. He's on his way here right now. Oh, my God, Ianto, a baby!"
And so they'd celebrated when Rhys, already a glowingly proud dad, had arrived with bottles of champagne to share and sparkling cider for his wife, which Ianto had quickly supplemented with a massive order of Chinese takeaway. That was the night they'd found Mac had no head for champagne, and by the time she'd started telling lurid delivery room stories, Ianto knew it was time to hustle Gwen and Rhys onto the invisible lift to continue their celebration in private.
That was also the night that Ianto learned that Mac was almost brutally intuitive. Cleaning up after the impromptu party in the conference room, a slightly tipsy Mac had joined him, plopping herself down into a chair, a half-consumed bottle in her hand.
"So, pretty soon, it'll be just you."
Ianto paused in gathering up empty cartons of food, turning to her with a frown. "Sorry?"
Mac took a sip of champagne straight from the bottle, then waved it in the general direction of the Hub's centre. "You, here, all by yourself. You've lost two friends this year, then Jack, now Gwen. Her days in the field are practically over and then you'll be the only one left."
"That's not true, you're here. And we'll have—"
"That's not what I meant and you know it."
Ianto sat down in the chair beside Mac, for the first time feeling irritated with her inability to pull her punches. Ever since hearing about Gwen's pregnancy, his own sincere happiness for her and Rhys had been tempered by the realisation that he was about to lose the last true friend that he had. That, coupled with the unspoken truth between all of them that Jack should've been there, had made Ianto's participation bittersweet.
"Yes, I know."
"Aw, sweetheart," Mac sighed. She set aside the bottle and rested her hand on Ianto's arm. "I know I'm not pointing out anything you don't already know. What I'm trying to say, in my own clumsy way, is that while I know you're happy for your friends, it's got be hard, so soon after losing Jack."
"It is." Ianto dropped his gaze to his hands. "I keep thinking he's going to walk through the door any moment. I see him around every corner, and at night—" his eyes drifted shut "—the nights are the worst."
"They are," Mac replied. "That's how I felt when my husband was killed. But it does get better, I promise."
"I don't want it to get better."
"What? Why not?"
Ianto rose to his feet, needing to end the conversation for fear of revealing too much and yet also wanting Mac to understand that losing Jack was something he couldn't accept. "I don't ever want to be comfortable with the idea that Jack isn't coming back. The day I don't listen for his footstep or expect to hear his voice will be the day I leave Torchwood."
It wasn't long after that night that Ianto had moved into Jack's old quarters beneath his office. The house they shared held too many painful memories and while he told Gwen and a sceptical Mac that he'd done it to be closer to the Rift in case of emergency, the truth was that if Jack came back—when—Jack came back, the Hub would be the first place he'd go.
There was one welcome change to Ianto's routine. Soon after Gwen's revelation, he'd managed to take some time and do something he'd thought he'd never have the courage to do, let alone the desire. On a crisp sunny morning, dressed in his best suit and finest silk tie, a bouquet of flowers clenched in one slightly sweaty hand, he knocked on Alice Carter's door.
If he hadn't been so nervous, he'd have been amused as her look of polite puzzlement when she'd opened that door. For his part, he was trying to hide his surprise—Alice resembled her father very little, save for her height and colouring. His first impression was that she'd inherited little if any of her father's charisma and in fact, she seemed rather ordinary, something Jack definitely was not.
"Can I help you?"
Ianto cleared his throat, unsure how to introduce himself. Hello, Ianto Jones here, I'm your father's—lover? Archivist and resident butler? And suddenly he was back to a time when labels had mattered, a concern last expressed when Patanjali had been alive and the 456 nothing but a number.
"Yes, my name is Ianto Jones. I believe your dad wanted us to meet."
Alice blinked a few times, then gave Ianto a polite smile. "You know my father?"
"Yes," Ianto shuffled his feet, "actually, I more than know him. You see, he and I, we're—he's my—I'm his—"
"Wait." Alice took a step back. "You—you're the someone special he's been going on about for weeks now?"
"Well, I don't know about special," Ianto said modestly, "on a good day, maybe."
"That bastard," she muttered. Ianto eyed her uneasily, wishing he'd never had the notion to connect with Jack's biological family but determined to let Alice know why Jack wasn't coming around any more. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but the look of annoyance on Alice's face wasn't promising. And then it was gone, replaced by a grin that was almost affectionate. "Come on in, Ianto. Sorry about the welcome, it's just typical of Dad to talk up someone like the sun rises and sets on them and then forget to mention that this someone happens to be a young, good-looking bloke in a three piece suit."
"I understand if you're uncomfortable," Ianto began, but Alice interrupted, waving him inside.
"No, I try not to be uncomfortable where Dad's concerned. Waste of energy. Would you like some coffee?"
It was slow going at first, but that wasn't surprising, given the tenuous link that held them together, and Ianto assumed that Alice had her own reasons for being somewhat reticent. But from that lukewarm beginning, Alice and Ianto formed a sort of friendship, a battlefield bond forged by the common thread of loving Jack.
Three months passed had passed like that, with Gwen, Ianto, and Mac holding Torchwood and each other together. At Mac's insistence, Gwen was relegated to desk work, much to her often-expressed dismay but to Rhys' obvious relief. That left Ianto and Mac out in the field with whomever Martha had sent them that week, and every day it was becoming more obvious that it wasn't going to be enough. Ianto was tempted to avoid Mac's concerned eyes because he was rapidly approaching a point of such deep fatigue that he was going to start making mistakes in the field. He knew as well as anyone that he wasn't suited to replace Jack Harkness and in truth, he was fast forgetting what it was like to be Ianto Jones. As much as Ianto wanted to stay, as devoted as he was to Torchwood, the day was coming when he would have to step away and let a new generation take over. Without Gwen, without Jack, Ianto's heart was no longer in his work. It couldn't be, because his heart was somewhere far away, but every day he managed to stay at Torchwood was a day closer to when Jack would return to him.
As soon as he opened the door, he noticed the difference. The air smelled fresh, not the musty scent that had started to permeate the small house since he'd more or less abandoned it for the Hub. As he stepped into the small foyer to switch on the overhead light, Ianto was half convinced he should be reaching for a weapon. The place just felt different. Not wrong, not scary—just off, as if he were in the wrong home.
The light quickly dispelled his feelings of unease as he walked toward the kitchen, turning on more lights as he went. He noted with disapproving eyes the layer of dust that had gathered on the surfaces of the furniture and counters and resolved to come back some time in the near future to give the place a thorough cleaning. He still loved this house, with its cracked plaster walls that he'd meant to fix last spring and the dripping spigot that Jack complained about but never got around to repairing. But without Jack it was a home with no life in it, just an echoing space that reminded Ianto of all he'd lost. Every room held a memory, from the kitchen where he'd taught Jack how to make coffee with a French press, to the lounge where on their infrequent nights off they'd dance in the dark and snog like teenagers. And upstairs, in the bedroom—that was the hardest of all. He spent as little time there as possible now, averting his eyes from the neatly made bed as he gathered up more clothes to take with him back to the Hub. He was careful not to open Jack's side of the wardrobe nor the drawer that held his T-shirts, afraid that seeing them exactly as Ianto had placed them there three months earlier would be too painful.
Once he'd loaded his wardrobe additions into the SUV, he decided to go back into the house to see if his discomfort returned. It was almost midnight and he was wasting precious time that he could've spent trying to sleep, but his restlessness was renewed as he roamed through the house. He knew he should return to Torchwood, if not to sleep, then to get a head start on the paperwork that would be required after a day like the one they'd had, a day that had come very close to posting the first Torchwood death since Jack had left.
The morning had actually started out quite promising. A lull in Rift activity had allowed Ianto to return to his favourite pastime, spending quality time in the archives. There was a large backlog of items to be catalogued and he'd looked forward to being alone downstairs for a while, especially since Mac and Gwen had gotten a severe case of pre-baby cuteness and were spending the morning online, shopping for nursery furniture and the associated accoutrements. The further he got away from Gwen's squeals regarding the overall adorableness of everything she looked at, the better. Besides, he knew she'd come to him sooner or later and ask his opinion, which he'd give and she'd follow, leaving everyone happy. Especially Rhys.
He was gratified that Gwen and Mac got along so well. After meeting Gwen's mum, Ianto was sure that having a more nurturing and pragmatic female friend in her life would help Gwen through this life-altering event. Those of Gwen's friends that he'd met at her wedding—and fended off several times—also struck him as too immature to understand the pressures of an expectant mum, let alone one who also happened to be part of an elite alien-fighting squad. Mac struck that perfect note of friend, mother, and doctor for Gwen, and in return, Mac had someone to fuss over besides Ianto, whom she seemed to have adopted almost from the day they'd met.
After spending several happy hours amongst the neglected artefacts, Ianto had emerged from the archives feeling as though he'd finally accomplished something. His well-being faded almost immediately upon seeing the worried faces of Gwen and Jarvil, their current associate from UNIT, as they stared at Gwen's computer screen. Jarvil was one of the operatives they were considering for one of the open positions; a quiet, steady man, he had a dry sense of humour and a searching, disciplined intellect. Combined with his six foot eight inch frame and a musculature scarcely contained by his clothing, he was a formidable but compassionate presence, and he seemed to like the work he was doing. The only fault Ianto could find in him was an incomprehensible indifference to coffee, a defect Ianto found annoying but forgiveable.
"What are you looking at?"
Gwen looked up as Ianto approached, then pointed at the satellite map of Cardiff on her screen. "Here, see?"
Ianto leaned closer. "See what?"
"Let me enlarge it." She isolated a portion of the map and then Ianto understood. On the edges of town, in a car park beside a wooded area, a small patch of asphalt was undulating. Upon higher magnification, the ground showed several large fissures, which wouldn't have been remarkable save for the tentacles that were inching their way out of the cracks.
"I don't suppose Simon Pegg is about to show up," Ianto muttered.
"Wouldn't that be nice." Gwen pulled on a headset and settled into her chair, folding one leg beneath her. "By the time you're on the road, I should have more information."
Ianto and Jarvil had exchanged a glance, then headed for the exit, gathering up Mac on the way. It had been the beginning of a long, long day.
Now it was past midnight as Ianto pulled out his mobile to check if Mac had texted him regarding Jarvil's condition. Jarvil had protested against going to A&E but Mac had insisted, stating flatly that she was the doctor and he was the muscle and she would tell him where to go and how long he'd stay there and if he had an issue with that, he could kiss her Scottish arse. Ianto would've laughed at Jarvil's mutinous expression if he hadn't been trying to prevent him from bleeding to death at the time.
The tentacles had been attached to another lost alien, this one not nearly so accommodating as Jack's Sarkisian friend. It had hatched out of its egg beneath the car park and had scrambled into the woods, where it began feasting on small mammals. That was alarming enough, but Gwen had located a school nearby, escalating the tension. Eventually, between the three of them, they'd managed to destroy the creature, but not before Jarvil's lung had been perforated by one of the alien's razor-sharp appendages.
Seeing no messages on his phone, Ianto took it as a good sign and slipped it into the pocket of his trousers. He looked around the house to see if there was anything else he wanted to take with him, any personal effects that would make the Hub feel more welcoming. But the weight in his stomach told him it wasn't worth it—the day was quickly approaching when Torchwood wouldn't feel like much of a home, either.
He was just turning to leave when he heard the sharp whistle of the Rift monitor that Tosh had installed in their house so many months ago. Suppressing a sigh, he loped back through the kitchen to the small area off the dining room that held the monitor, hoping that it was a false alarm.
Scanning the information put forth on the laptop hooked up to the monitor, it seemed as though his wish had been granted. The monitor had recorded a small energy surge near the Plass, but there was no evidence of alien activity anywhere in the area. He thought briefly about calling Gwen, but he'd grown more protective of her as time passed, determined that she and her family would have every chance at a normal life and afraid that every day she remained at Torchwood those chances were diminished.
Just as he was about to leave once more, his eye was caught by another, earlier entry recorded on the monitor's history. It showed a similar energy surge, this one much closer to home, almost in Ianto's own neighbourhood. But it too seemed to be harmless, and Ianto counted them both as one of the many anomalies that seemed to plague Cardiff on a regular basis.
After parking the SUV in the Torchwood garage, Ianto left his belongings and weapons inside and instead of returning to the Hub, decided to take a walk outside. The night was cold enough to see his breath, but the uneasiness he'd felt at the house had increased instead of diminished, like a low grade hum of electricity beneath his chilled skin. The idea of descending back into the depths of the Hub seemed oppressive, even claustrophobic, the work waiting for him there a load he was too tired to bear, so he moved out into the night, no destination in mind. This late at night the Plass was deserted, its surface slick with the remnants of a recently passed squall. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, his head down, he wandered along the familiar streets, letting his mind mull over unimportant things, like trying to anticipate what Gwen could possibly crave next and how he was going to convince Mac that while Gertie was an admirable addition to the armoury, there were other, more inconspicuous choices available to her now.
His meandering brought him to the boardwalk and he paused at the top of the stairs that led down to the landing and the tourist office entrance, his eyes scanning the far horizon. Weariness dragged at his bones, but he still felt slightly wired, almost light-headed. Wondering if the two recent energy spikes had anything to do with it, he descended the stairs and turned toward the tourist office door, thinking that some homemade—and generously spiked—hot chocolate would sooth his nerves and settle him down enough to get started on the paperwork.
He'd taken a few steps toward the door when he noticed that he wasn't alone. Standing deep in the shadows with his back to Ianto, huddled over the doorknob of the tourist office's door, was a man, obviously trying to pick the lock. It was too dark for Ianto to make out any distinctions at this distance and as he slowed his pace, he looked around for something to use as a weapon. It wasn't the first time someone had tried to break into the tourist office; given its location, hidden down and away from the main area of the Plass, it was an easy target.
Finding nothing useful nearby, Ianto decided to confront the man anyway. He was probably a drug addict or alcoholic, looking to score either cash or something he could steal. It wouldn't take much to convince him to move on, and Ianto figured that if he gave the man the ten or so quid he had in his pocket, they'd both have a better night.
He wasn't sure when he started to doubt what his eyes were telling him. Still moving unhurriedly so that he didn't startle the vagrant, the odd thought ran across his mind that the man's physique looked very much like Jack's, at least from the back. Wide shoulders, slender hips, long legs dressed in dark trousers—not the usual stature of someone living rough. Another step closer and Ianto could make out the colour of hair on the bowed head as the man struggled to crack the lock, it was brown, just like—
"Jack?"
The name slipped out of Ianto's mouth before he had time to assimilate what he was saying. Part of his mind was telling him that there was no way that was Jack trying to pick Torchwood's lock in the middle of the night. No, Jack wasn't here, he was gone, his fate unknown, and besides, one of Jack's greatest joys was making a grand entrance. This furtive attempt to get into the Hub wasn't like Jack at all—there were no fireworks, no death-defying situations to solve, not even the vaguest alien threat.
But as Ianto watched, his eyes wide and his heart slamming against his ribs, the man gradually straightened from his crouch over the lock and then just as slowly turned to face Ianto, leaning his shoulders against the peeling wooden door frame.
"Hello, Ianto Jones," Jack Harkness murmured with a crooked smile. "Fancy meeting you here."
Ianto stood rooted to the spot, drinking in the sight of Jack, now only a few yards away. He looked—Christ, even in the dark, he looked perfect, almost exactly the same as the day he'd been taken away, right down to his thick-soled boots and the brass fittings on his braces. It was surreal, a reunion not at all like he'd imagined it, yet he wanted to stay in this moment forever, to exist only in this brief moment of time where he could live in the reality that Jack had finally come back to him.
He forgot how to breathe when Jack pushed off and took a step toward him, his smile fading.
"Ianto? You okay?"
"No," Ianto whispered, unsettled by Jack's casual tone, "not even close."
Then he took a step, and then another, and finally another, not comprehending until the last moment that Jack was doing the same until they met, pausing just inches away from each other before Ianto found himself caught up in Jack's arms. If his knees gave out a little, it was Jack who held him up, all the while murmuring Ianto's name in a voice choked with tears and laughter. They clung to each other, Jack's hands gripping the fabric of Ianto's suit coat, Ianto bracing himself by clutching at Jack's shirt as they rocked each other in a wordless cataclysm of joy.
Yet Ianto found himself reluctant to look directly into Jack's eyes, afraid not of what he'd reveal but what he'd find there. Was this his Jack, returned to him as he'd promised? Or was he a wounded stranger, so afraid of his welcome that he preferred to sneak back into the Hub unnoticed?
It was Jack who answered his unasked question, eventually pulling back far enough to see Ianto's face but maintaining a painful hold on Ianto's shoulders. Even then, Ianto couldn't bring himself to look at Jack directly, terrified that this flawless moment was about to be ruined by unforgiving reality. Gentle pressure from Jack's fingers on his chin brought Ianto's gaze reluctantly upward until their eyes met and that's when Ianto saw that every fear he had about this reunion was mirrored there—the fear of rejection, of too much time having passed, of two paths meant to be one having diverged for too long. The stark emotion in Jack's face made a complete lie of his offhand greeting, telling Ianto that the heartbreak he'd carried all these months had not been his burden alone.
And still the words wouldn't come. Words seemed inadequate, awkward, even invasive as they instead found themselves expressing their emotions with touches and sighs and shared, soft laughter that ended when Ianto finally guided Jack's mouth to his. They let their first kiss tell each other everything that words could not, letting it wash away the months apart as if no time had passed at all. Jack felt the same, tasted the same, even that elusive scent that he claimed were pheromones hadn't changed, all of it overwhelming Ianto's senses.
Jack didn't seem to be faring much better. In fact, it seemed as though he was trying to pull Ianto into his skin, returning Ianto's kisses with such reckless, desperate passion that desire swept over Ianto and threatened to tow him under. Though his mind was reeling, his body was already responding to Jack, his cheeks flushing and his stomach tightening in sweet anticipation.
When they finally parted to breathe, Ianto shook his head in wonder. "I was right," he gasped, "I knew you'd think to come here first."
"Nope, sorry, you were wrong."
"But—but you are here, breaking into the tourist office. I like the old school approach, by the way."
"That's because the first place I went was home, our home. To you. But when you weren't there, I grabbed a change of clothes and headed over here."
"You—the power surges. That was you?"
Jack nodded. "I couldn't wait for you to show up, especially since it looks like the house hasn't been lived in for a while. I started imagining all kinds of horrible reasons—well, never mind, doesn't matter now, does it?"
"No." Ianto pressed his mouth to Jack's for a quick kiss. "But why pick the lock?"
Jack shrugged, hitching Ianto closer. "My skills have gotten rusty, so I figured this way maybe I could get in a little practice before everything got crazy. Besides, couldn't you just see me making a grand entrance downstairs?"
"You're right, I can." Ianto released Jack and pulled out his mobile, "Speaking of crazy, we really should call Gwen."
"She's okay, right? And Rhys?"
"Yeah, yeah, she's fine, he's fine, in fact, they're—no, I'll let her tell you—"
"Gwen can wait." Jack took the phone from Ianto and dropped in into his pocket before taking Ianto back into his arms. "I'm not done saying hello."
Fifteen minutes later, not even the heat they were generating was enough to stave off the encroaching chill, so they sought shelter down in the Hub. Ianto watched as Jack wandered around, touching surfaces, picking up objects, his entire demeanour that of a wanderer who'd truly come home. If Ianto noticed a glitter in Jack's eyes when he walked into his office and found it exactly as he'd left it, right down to his coat hanging on the rack, he didn't mention it. He let Jack have his moments alone, keeping himself busy by making coffee and imagining Jack's reaction to Gwen's condition. His ear was still ringing from Gwen's shout when he'd phoned and told her that Jack was back—the sound was probably heard in Bristol, underlined by Rhys' whoops when Gwen had passed on the news. They were on their way to the Hub and while Ianto was looking forward to seeing what was sure to be a gratifying reunion, a very large, admittedly selfish part of him wanted to pack Jack off and take him home, to keep him close for a while, all to himself.
"So it looks like we've got a new doctor." Jack came up from the autopsy bay and reached for the coffee Ianto offered him, pausing briefly to raise his eyes to Ianto's in acknowledgement when he saw it was his own blue-striped mug. "Anyone I know?"
"Yes," Ianto replied. "Doctor Mackenzie."
"Macken—you mean, the one who doesn't like me? Oh, great."
"Don't worry, she'll learn to appreciate you once she gets to know you better."
"Yeah, that's what they all say. And I figured out why the house looks un-lived-in. Why did you move in downstairs?"
Ianto shrugged, leaning his hips against the autopsy bay's railing. "Convenience, mostly. When we had Rift activity, it just made sense to have someone on site." He went on to explain the rotating UNIT members and how'd they'd worked out—or not—and that Gwen had compiled a list of possible candidates for a permanent post.
"Very clever," Jack said approvingly, "I suppose a fourth person out in the field made things easier."
"A third," Ianto replied without thinking, then backtracked at the puzzled look on Jack's face. "How about you? Do you know how long you've been gone?"
Jack took a deep drink from his cup, rolling his eyes in obvious pleasure before replying. "I checked the computer at home and I have to tell you, it didn't feel like three months, not even close. Feels more like I left only yesterday."
Ianto stared at the floor, worrying his lip. "Can you talk about what happened to you?" he asked, immediately regretting his question when he looked up to see that Jack's eyes clouded over.
But Jack nodded. "There really isn't much to say. The 456 were as hellish as I remember, but they didn't seem to need me conscious for whatever it is they wanted me for. I don't recall much of anything after walking into the light at the hanger."
Ianto frowned. "But the bomb detonated, NASA confirmed it. How did you survive for three months?"
"I didn't." Jack set aside his empty mug and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
"Jack, if it's too painful, you don't have to—"
"No, no, that's not it." Jack lifted his eyes toward the upper levels of the Hub, smiling slightly when he caught a glimpse of Myfanwy gliding through the shadows on leathery, outstretched wings. "From what I understand, the 456's ship was destroyed, along with everything and everyone in it, including me. That left bits of flotsam—also including me—floating freely in space."
"From what you understand?"
"Yep." Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets, the familiar, Harkness-like stance leaving Ianto blinking back the sting in his eyes. "You recall my misdirected Sarkisian buddy? Seems he was still hanging around, positive that at some point he was going to find something worth salvaging. When the 456 ship blew up, he thought he'd hit the mother lode. What he didn't expect was to pick up a signal from my manipulator in the middle of all that destruction. Scared the crap out of him, that's for sure."
"What did he do?"
"He threw a containment net over the entire debris field and hauled ass out of the solar system, dragging everything with him. He knew the reclamation job was too big for him, so he visited some other old friends of mine, the Arkans. Remember them?"
"Of course, your misbehaving guests from the Waverley. Some poor woman is still searching for her cat, you know."
"Hey, they were hungry! Anyway, culinary preferences aside, they are master engineers. When the Sarkisian showed up and pointed out that I could be somewhere in that mess, the Arkans knew what to do."
"They rescued you?"
"Not exactly. Like everything else, I'd been blown to hell, so the first thing they had to do was find me. All of me. That meant sifting through the detritus and filtering out everything that wasn't one hundred percent Jack Harkness."
Ianto stared at Jack, trying to wrap his mind around the image Jack was painting. He'd seen Jack die and come back to life so many times, yet Jack's immortality was still an enigma to him. The repercussions from the kind of death he was describing were difficult to comprehend.
"What happened next?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Lucky for me, the Arkans figured out that a low G environment would be the best atmosphere for me to reassemble. It took a hell of a lot longer, but..." Jack's voice trailed off as he gazed at the toes of his boots.
"But?"
Jack looked at Ianto, head tilted to one side. "But it didn't hurt as much."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
Ianto swallowed and nodded, silently vowing that if the Arkans ever decided to visit again, he'd upgrade them to the best suite the Waverley had to offer. It was the least he could do.
"Then it was just a matter of hitching a ride home. Unfortunately, word had gotten out that the 456 had been in the general vicinity of Earth and no one wanted to chance running into them until I explained that they'd been eliminated. After that, I had my pick of transports and took the quickest one here."
"Sort of an intergalactic taxicab service."
"Pretty much, yeah. So, Ianto," Jack continued, "you do realise that by returning the monitor to me, you made all the difference."
"I did?"
"If you hadn't made it to the hanger in time, I'd still be floating around up there in little, teeny pieces. You said you wanted to save my life? Well, guess what, Ianto Jones, that is exactly what you did."
Ianto had no idea what to say. He'd struggled all these months with the certainty that in the end, he'd failed Jack by not finding a way out of the government's trap. But Jack was telling him that it was his actions that had made Jack's return possible. Now it was his turn to look at his shoes, unable to formulate a response to Jack's statement.
"Right, so." Jack clapped his hands, changing the mood. "Gwen's going to be here any minute. Wanna make out until she gets here?"
By the time Ianto heard the soft rumble of the invisible lift's gears begin to turn, Jack had him perched on the nearest flat surface, his tie gone and Jack's braces down around his hips. They'd begun with playful kisses and sneaky caresses, but all the pain from the time spent apart was beginning to loosen its grip, and the emotions they'd been fighting since Jack's return were becoming too strong to hold off. Soon, very soon, Ianto knew they'd need privacy and time to deal with all that had occurred.
The next thing Ianto was heard was entirely expected.
"Oh God, can't you keep your hands off each other for five minutes?"
The laughter in Gwen's voice robbed her scolding of any malice and after stealing one last kiss from Ianto, Jack turned around watch her and Rhys descend, a huge smile on his face. Ianto jumped off the desk and rebuttoned his waistcoat, moving away so he could observe the scene from a clear vantage point.
Gwen was definitely showing now, her baby bump set off by stylish maternity wear that Ianto had found for her online. She was arm and arm with Rhys, who was looking terrified as always on the lift, even more so now that he was treating Gwen like crystal, much to her annoyance.
Jack did not disappoint, as the emotions that crossed his expressive face were priceless. From a wide open grin of excitement to a puzzled frown to burgeoning wonder, he conveyed everything in the space of seconds. Ianto also thought he saw a hint of sadness, that same sadness he'd felt when he'd realised that Gwen's life was moving beyond Torchwood.
As the lift came even with the floor, Jack turned to Ianto, his eyes as wide as Ianto had ever seen them.
"Ianto," he whispered, "we're having a baby?"
Ianto bit his lip against a smile. "Apparently."
Jack turned toward Gwen and opened his arms. She rushed into them and they held each other tight for long minutes, the two of them laughing and talking over each other, Rhys and Ianto standing back and observing indulgently, sipping from the lager bottles Ianto provided. After the embrace broke, there was much handshaking and back-pounding and Gwen-coddling until Rhys eventually played the husband card and carried Gwen off home, pointing out quite reasonably as they left that it was the middle of the night and they had plenty of time for storytelling.
"I'm debating," Ianto said, picking up the empty bottles, "on whether or not to call Mac."
Jack's response was prompt. "I vote for not. She already doesn't like me. Waking her up at three a.m. just to tell her I'm back doesn't sound like a great way to win her over."
Ianto was already pulling out his phone. There was a text there now, telling him that Jarvil was out of danger and that Mac had gone home two hours ago.
"On the other hand," he pressed her number on his speed dial, "I've learned that leaving her out of the loop is a sure way to piss her off."
Jack groaned. "So either way, I'm screwed."
"Nonsense," Ianto replied. "Trust me, she'll be thrilled. Eventually."
And she was. Eventually.
"Ianto? Are you asleep?"
"Yes. No. Depends."
"On what?"
"On what it is you want."
"Hmm. Nice to see some things haven't changed."
Ianto rolled over, finding himself quickly secured in the circle of Jack's arms. "I strive to be predictable."
"Oh, you're hardly that. But, if you're really more interested in sleep—"
Ianto put an end to Jack's speculation by winding his arms around Jack's neck and guiding him down for a searching kiss that left them both panting.
"You were saying?"
Jack stroked his hand down Ianto's bare torso and across the point of his hip, tucking his fingers beneath Ianto's knee and guiding it to bend upward.
"I have no idea," Jack replied, and kissed him again.
They made love slowly in the cool, blue-tinged light of pre-dawn, taking their time to reacquaint themselves with tastes and textures, once familiar and now almost like uncharted territory.
The time and privacy that Ianto thought they needed wasn't easily attained, not even when they walked in the door of their house. A strange awkwardness came over them both as Jack had wandered around, much as he had at the Hub, touching things and poking into places, almost as if he'd never lived there at all. Ianto had watched him with some trepidation, afraid that Jack was finding something lacking in this homecoming.
He needn't have worried. After a cursory glance into the room that held the Rift monitor, Jack had turned to Ianto, who was standing in the middle of the kitchen, wondering what he should do next. Something in his demeanour must have given Jack a clue, because the next thing Ianto knew, Jack was reaching for his hand.
"What's on your mind?"
"You," Ianto replied. "You've lived so many lives—why would you come back to this one? You were free of us, you could've gone anywhere, yet you chose to come back here."
"And you're afraid I only came back to fulfil some promise made in the heat of the moment, right?"
Ianto looked away, not wanting Jack to see the truth in his eyes. He hated the insecurity that drove him to question Jack's commitment, yet every day he was aware that Jack's tenure on Earth was hardly more than a blip in time. If he needed reminding, this latest threat that they'd managed to survive was more than enough proof.
Jack tugged at Ianto's hand, bringing Ianto's gaze back to meet his. "As long as you're here, I'll always come back."
"Why?" Ianto pressed. He had no idea what Jack could say to alleviate his anxiety, to dispel his fear that Jack's life was too big, too important, to be kept caged in a small city in Wales, or tied to a prosaic relationship that would end in death one day.
"Because I love you," Jack said with a shrug. "I may be a fixed point in time, but you're my universal constant, Ianto. You have been almost from the beginning. I can't fight what I feel for you any more than I can choose to die."
Overwhelmed, Ianto lifted his hand to Jack's cheek. "Well, then," he murmured, voice cracking, "I reckon that's sorted."
Jack's mouth turned upward in a grin that made Ianto's heart quicken. "You reckon? Then I guess it's time for me to make sure you're sure, isn't it?" Then he'd tugged at Ianto's hand, drawing him toward the stairs.
Once they were facing each other beside the bed, fingers of both hands entwined between them, there was no more discomfort, only a growing sense of urgency. Ianto undressed Jack first, his fingers suddenly thick and clumsy as they fumbled at buttons and flies. Jack was equally eager when it came to his turn, only stopping to pause for frequent kisses until they were both naked on the bed, Jack wrapped in Ianto's arms as he stretched out on top of him.
Only once did they falter as they tumbled headlong into passion, the craving and the wanting and the lost time combining to make this first act of love a hurried encounter. Jack had been driving Ianto higher with kisses that were masterpieces of eroticism, all the while using his fingers to equally devastating effect. Jack's mouth wandered over Ianto's neck and jaw, then to his cheek. That's when he'd paused, lifting his head to gaze at Ianto, the desire darkening his eyes not quite masking his regret.
"What is it?" Ianto gasped, his body thrusting upward.
"You have a scar," Jack whispered, "I can feel it." He bent his head and place his mouth against the slight ridge of rough tissue that crested Ianto's cheekbone, his souvenir from Darby Fitzhenry's guard so long ago.
"It's nothing," Ianto whispered. Spreading his legs, he pulled Jack closer, taking his lips in a kiss so deep that Jack would forget all about scars, both Ianto's and his own.
Afterwards, Ianto unwillingly drifted to sleep in Jack's arms, knowing that Jack would stay awake. Ianto wanted to stay awake too, to listen if Jack wanted to talk or merely join him in silent companionship. But Jack's solid warmth and caressing hands had lulled Ianto into a dreamless sleep, only to be awakened a few hours later by Jack's teasing bid for attention that Ianto was all too eager to give.
Ianto didn't mind the lack of rest, not a bit, now that Jack was home again. Jack couldn't offer him forever, he couldn't even promise the next hour or minute, but he'd give Ianto everything he had in the here and now. Ianto knew that he belonged at Jack's side as together they faced whatever tomorrow had in store for them.
When they ask will I stand
Right there beside you
And they don't see you and me
The way that I do
I'll say forever
I'll say forever for you