Plop.
That's what awoke him, the tinny, hollow sound of a drop of water, falling from somewhere above, hurtling into a puddle that sent forth a ripple of moisture to lap at his forehead. He had a moment to feel disgusted as his consciousness catalogued the familiar and oddly comforting odours of Torchwood's garage—disgust because he was quickly realizing that he was curled into a foetal position on its oil-stained floor, and he was cold.
The path from understanding to terror was short.
Pain cascaded through his body, pounding through his torso and spreading outward, manifesting differently in each portion of his body. It was too overwhelming to assess, too invasive to fight. Air that he tried to draw into his aching lungs was snatched from his mouth, and the futile clawing of his hands at his eyes gave no relief, since his fingers refused to uncurl, only managing to bat uselessly at his face in loose fists. Discomfort from the cold was rapidly giving way to a heart-stopping chill that only sharpened the agony and impeded any attempts to block it out.
First one breath, then two, then the fear slowly ebbed, giving way to a small measure of control as he concentrated on the calming reality that he was indeed in the garage. Knowing the Hub as he did meant knowing it intimately, from the sounds it made when everyone was gone—creaks and whistles, moans and sighs, like a rackety teapot—to the scent of every room. Tosh's perfume, Owen's fertilizer, Gwen's leftover coffee, every surface and the molecules of the air itself overlaid with the undeniable essence of Jack, he knew them all. He'd neatened the garage countless times and it was the rhythms and smells he found there now that he anchored his heart to, because that meant he was home.
He tried to call out and was unsurprised that he made no sound. His throat felt as though it'd been clawed apart, and the effort brought him perilously close to blacking out again. He didn't know why, but he knew that oblivion was not an acceptable course of action, and so he fought against the pain, concentrating instead on providing some kind of communication so that he could be found. Beyond everything else, he needed to be found, and quickly.
His body would not cooperate. The garage would be dark, but illuminated enough so that he would have been able to make out shapes or discern the difference between light and shadow. He knew that his eyes weren't closed because instead of the expected expanse of grey and black, he saw only shades of white, striations that varied from bright to almost yellow, passing horizontally within his vision. There was no light like that in the garage, and the raw torture feasting on his eyes and wringing stinging tears scared him more that the certainty that he was dying.
And really, he was just so very, very sorry. This wasn't the way he wanted to leave Torchwood, confused and resentful like a rebuked child. The problems and the yearnings and the disappointments, they were all on him. If he'd merely kept things to himself, if only he'd accepted events as they were bound to be, he knew he'd eventually end up back in Jack's bed, or maybe someone else's, someone not of Torchwood. But he'd grasped for more, that much he remembered, and somewhere his lack of judgement had brought him to this, his blood mingling with the oil, his breath freezing on his cheeks, and foetid water trickling into his ear.
He missed it at first. He'd drifted into semi-consciousness, his body convulsing gently as it fought the encroachment of its own death throes. A subtle screech, followed immediately by a loud clank, could only mean that someone was entering the garage. Irrational fear flooded through him, filling him with nerve-searing adrenaline.
Was he back?
He managed to plant one bare foot on the grimy floor and used it to push away, to where, he wasn't sure. A corner, beneath a workbench, anything to get away, to hide. He tried to muffle the moan that escaped anyway, and he froze, praying that he wouldn't be seen, even as his mind registered that he'd been left here, purposefully alone, waiting only to be found.
"Look, all I'm saying is, if he wants to take a vacation, then he should bloody well make sure that the supplies are stocked up! It's his fucking job, right?"
It was Owen, sounding aggrieved as always. Rapid footsteps hit the concrete floor, first one set, then another, lighter echo.
Relief made him light-headed. He heaved his body forward, trying to make any movement that would draw Owen's attention. I'm here! See me!
"He did," Gwen replied patiently. "It's not his fault we've been busier than usual and he did ask last week if we needed anything."
The footsteps stopped. "I know," Owen snapped, "but how was I supposed to know that we'd be chasing flesh-eating zombies for three days? And instead of killing them, Jack wants to rehabilitate them, but do we have enough raw meat on hand? No!"
"Well, they're gone now, so you can stop complaining. You just wanted to get out of work for awhile, admit it."
"Yeah, I'll admit it. Anything is better than putting up with that broody Heathcliff act. Do you think Jack's stopped pacing since Ianto left?"
Gwen's reply was obscured by the sound of the SUV door opening. Whatever it was made Owen laugh, and then the footsteps started again, coming closer. Another set of clipped noises and then the engine turned over. He began to panic, tears of frustration streaming from his burning eyes. They were going to leave him, he was going to die, and they'd all still be in danger. He was going to fail again.
Abruptly, the engine was cut off. He heard a door open and then the footsteps were back, so much faster, coming near. He screamed and screamed and screamed, and didn't make a sound.
"Holy Christ!"
"Oh, my God! Ianto!"
There was a scrape of frigid air across his skin and then Owen was beside him, poking two stiffened fingers into his neck.
"Oh, God, is he alive? Owen, tell me he's alive!"
Of course I am,, he thought fretfully, can't you see that? Didn't you hear me? Why can't I see you?
"Yeah, barely. Quick, hand me your jacket."
He was still trying to puzzle out why he couldn't see Owen when he felt slick fabric fall across his lower body. He had just enough time to think that someone's jacket was going to get soiled when another, softer material landed on his shoulders and over his chest. Although the warmth was welcome, even that light pressure on his body renewed the pain he'd managed to control, and this time when he opened his mouth to scream, there was a crushed noise, like the last breath of a dying animal.
Gentle hands brushed against his temple.
"Sssh, Ianto, you're okay, you'll be fine." Gwen's voice, soothing but trembly, distracting him from Owen's prodding.
"We're going to need the stretcher." Owen sounded angry. "Go upstairs and tell Tosh to clear off the bed."
"Got it."
"And for God's sake, find Jack." A firm hand rested on his shoulder, its comforting heat permeating his makeshift blanket. "Tell him to hurry."
Somewhere between being lifted onto the stretcher and being placed on Owen's table, Ianto had fallen into unconsciousness. Coming back from that meant more pain, but he was also dry and warm, covered with a sheet that hid his nakedness. He gasped a couple of times, aware that he was jerking at needles and tubes attached to his skin, but the pull of life was undeniable. Everything hurt and the inside of his mouth was coated with blood so he coughed, hunching forward as he attempted to spew it out.
Hands landed on him, one on each shoulder, guiding him back onto the padded bed.
"Easy, Ianto, easy." Yes, Owen again, his tone more compassionate than Ianto had ever heard, at least directed toward him. "Lay still now, yeah?"
It was an unnecessary request. Ianto's breath had flown out of him on a wave of fresh agony. A moistened cloth was held to his lips and cool water trickled in. He swallowed carefully, letting the water wash through his mouth and down his throat, taking the blood with it.
The cloth was removed and a cool palm was placed against his forehead. It was Owen, leaning so close that Ianto could smell the pretentious aftershave he favoured.
"Ianto, can you hear me?"
Ianto forced open his eyelids and shuddered. The white bands were still there, the light from the overhead lamp piercing them and drilling into his head. He closed his eyes on a muffled scream, trying to pull his arm up to cover his face. Owen grabbed his wrist and guided it back to the bed before carefully peeling back one of Ianto's eyelids.
"Jesus. Gwen, quick, hand me that black towel. Yeah, that one. Give it here."
Relief came as Owen draped his eyes in the soft, dark towel, blocking out the light. And more relief followed it, as something that Owen was pumping into his arm finally began to take hold. The folding back of the body-swamping agony allowed him to feel the pain more locally as the combination of warmth and painkiller began to ease through his muscles.
There was the fussiness of movement all around him and he'd seen Owen work often enough to know that he was practically dancing around the diagnostic bed, hands flying, mind racing. He heard the occasional order and since he hadn't yet heard Tosh's voice, he knew those orders were directed at Gwen. That was confirmed when he felt another presence near the bed, and the brush of hair on his cheek.
"Ianto, you're going to be fine, d'you hear me?" The tears choking her voice made that a lie. "You just have to hang on, okay? I know it hurts, but Owen will make it better, you know he will."
He tried to nod and then opened his mouth, running his tongue along the cracked and swollen edges of his lips.
"Jack?"
It was no more than a sigh, but Gwen heard him.
"I reached him and he's on his way. Tosh is heading down to the garage to scan for evidence. Can you tell me what happened?"
"Gwen!" Owen snapped. "Not now!"
"Yes now, Owen! We don't know if we've been breached!" Ianto felt a fingertip trail down his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Ianto, but I have to know. Is there something down there?"
"N-no," he croaked. "S-safe."
Gwen's presence receded. "Tosh, you heard him. I'll join you as soon as I can but I'll stay to help Owen."
"No, go with Tosh. I'll stay with Ianto."
The air crackled as Jack spoke from above. Ianto followed the sound of his boots thumping down the staircase and then Jack was beside him, his hands burrowing beneath the towel to stroke the hair above Ianto's ears.
"Ianto," he whispered, "I'm here. It'll be okay, I promise."
He wanted to revel in Jack's closeness, to be drawn inside Jack's warmth and feel safe, but that comfort had been taken from him. He settled for attempting to smile, regretting it when he felt his lower lip crack and begin to ooze.
The fingers remained, but Jack's next words weren't directed at him. "How bad is it?"
The silence that followed told Ianto what he already knew, only Owen was too much of a doctor to say that his patient was dying where he could be heard by the patient himself. Whatever was there to see on Owen's face must have been eloquent enough, because Jack stiffened beside him.
"Unacceptable."
"Jack, I'm doing what I can, but I've not even begun to discover everything that was—"
"You heard me. Failure isn't an option here. Tell me what you need."
"Well, for starters, I need to find out who or what did this to him. I'm getting some very odd readings off his body, a trace of something alien that the computers can't pin down."
"What about his clothing? Did you get anything off of it?"
There was a brief pause. "He wasn't wearing any when we found him. He was covered with dirt, debris and mud, but no clothes."
Another silence, this one more ominous, and if Ianto had possessed the strength to blush, he would have turned as pink as his favourite dress shirt. The thought made him want to smile again, but the trickle of blood on his lip advised against it.
"Why are his eyes covered?"
"They've taken some...damage. The light seemed to hurt him."
Again, he felt Jack draw close. He'd been dreading this moment, knowing he'd have to face down Jack's implacable will, something he'd mastered only once, with devastating results. But Jack's touch was gentle as he pressed his lips to Ianto's, breathing lightly into Ianto's mouth.
"Tell me what happened," Jack whispered against his cheek. A spark of energy twitched deep in his belly, then flickered out.
"C-can't."
"Yes, you can." Jack's tone became firm. "Consider that an order."
"W-won't. S-sorry."
The fingers stroking his hair never faltered. "Why not? Can you tell me that much?"
"Ch-cheating," Ianto admonished him on a pain-choked sigh.
Jack lowered his voice. "I never play fair, you know that. And if you won't tell me, that means someone's threatened you."
He couldn't help the quiver that passed through his body and Jack seized upon the tiny movement.
"That's it, isn't it? You're protecting something again. Or someone. Who is it this time, Ianto?"
Ianto knew then that he was damned. Jack had caught on too quickly, before he'd had a chance to either die or erect enough of a wall to keep Jack guessing. But he was too weak, and so tired, and when he heard Jack sigh, he knew the game was up. All he had left was the secret he'd sworn to himself he'd keep, because even if Jack couldn't die, he could hurt. And Ianto knew all about how much hurt could be inflicted by one man.
"It's me." A statement of fact, tinged with anger. Ianto didn't move, afraid to even breathe as he prayed that Jack would formulate another guess. But it was a futile wish, as he knew it would be. "Tell me who did this to you. Let me protect myself."
Ianto almost replied, but checked himself. Jack was trying to trick him and he had just enough willpower to defy him one last time. He slowly rolled his head from side to side, too exhausted to say the words.
Jack removed his hands and Ianto immediately felt bereft from their absence.
"All right," Jack was saying above him, "we'll do this the hard way. How stable is he?"
"Stable? That's optimistic. He's holding his own, though. For now."
"Then leave us alone. And keep Toshiko and Gwen out of here, too."
Owen instantly protested. "I can't do that, Jack, you know that! It's touch and go as it is! Leaving him now—what if I've missed something, or—"
"You have missed something, but it's not your fault. Go on, get out of here. Turn up the heat and don't come back until I call you, but stay close."
"He needs to be sedated and prepped—"
"Owen. Just do it. Five minutes."
"Three."
"Done. Now move."
Still limited to only what he could hear to tell him what was going on, Ianto heard a clank and then Owen was gone, leaving Ianto puzzled. This was the last thing he'd expected. In fact, he was vaguely disappointed that Jack hadn't put up more of a fuss once he'd figured out as much as he had. He swallowed and gathered what little strength he had left, preparing to do battle in order to keep Jack safe.
"Rather not d-die with you m-mad at me."
"Oh, you're not going to get out of this that easily. You are going to heal up, get well, and then you and and I are going to have a very long and very private conversation. But until then—"
The sheet covering Ianto was swept away and he cried out, not from the pain that was receding ever further away, but from the sheer vulnerability of being naked on the table. Jack was beside him in a heartbeat, one broad hand flat on his sternum, the other caressing the top of his head.
"Shh, hey, you're okay, and it's not like I haven't seen the goods before, right? So just relax, it'll be warmer here in a minute."
"Wh-what are you going t-to d-do?"
"Well, if you won't tell me who did this to you, I'll just have to figure it out for myself. I'm going to look for what Owen can't see with his machines. You know I'm not going to hurt you, but it may become...uncomfortable. Would you like some water before I begin?"
"Y-yes," he breathed. With Jack supporting his head, this time it was a straw held to his mouth and he let it rest briefly on his lip before slowly pulling in the cool water. Too soon it was lifted away, and he grunted in displeasure as he was resettled against the thin pillow beneath him.
"That's enough," Jack murmured. "Too much will make you nauseous and you could throw it back up."
"R-right. That w-would b-be embarrassing."
He was rewarded with a quiet laugh and another brush of Jack's lips against his own. This time the spurt of energy was stronger, quickly fading but not entirely dying away. "Smart ass. Now, let's get this over with. First, were you raped? And don't bother lying, because you know I'll find out the truth eventually."
"N-no."
A moment passed, then gentle fingertips floated across his cheek. "Thank God."
Ianto's right hand was gathered up, his elbow bending to accommodate Jack's inspection. "Your fingers were broken. I have a couple of enemies who'd find breaking fingers enjoyable, even poetic."
There was an odd touch to the back of Ianto's throbbing wrist. Not a finger, exactly—
"Are y-you sn-sniffing m-me?"
"Yes. There's a nasty species in the Colonies that likes to contract its tentacles around the limbs of its victims, leaving behind the faint scent of onions. This work is too precise for that and besides, they're snot-breathers, they'd never survive here for long."
His hand was returned to the bed, as tenderly as a mother tucking in an infant. Jack's hands skimmed quickly down his thigh, ghosting over the scrapes and contusions, down one leg as he crossed the bottom of the bed and then up the other. His touch was delicate but clinical, his fingers coming to rest lightly on Ianto's abdomen.
"Your fingers are broken but your arms and legs are intact. You have contusions on all limbs and your chest, some pretty deep, probably from internal bleeding. There are multiple burn wounds from a round weapon of some kind, painful but not fatal by themselves. There are many species that have weapons like that, so I'll have Owen take a closer look. Now here, we have—well, here..."
Jack's voice faded away, and Ianto knew what Jack was seeing. "Jack—"
"No, let me finish." He heard Jack take another deep breath. "Strips of skin have been removed from your ribcage, and they...they...God, Ianto, this must hurt like hell."
"N-not so m-much n-now, sir."
He felt a tap on his nose. "I know you're pissed at me but enough with the sir business, okay? And stop being so damn brave."
"Then, yes, J-Jack, it hurts like f-fuck all."
He heard a low rumble of laughter. "That's better. Hang on."
Ianto waited, listening as Jack rummaged around on the tray that Owen kept nearby.
"Brace yourself, this is going to be cold."
And it was, but the soothing cream also began to douse the remains of the fire burning along his skin. The relief was welcome, because Ianto could also feel the edges of his body beginning to grow numb. If Jack was going to find his answer, then he'd best hurry.
"Better, right? Okay, now listen closely. I'm going to remove the towel from your eyes, but I'll do it slowly, so you can adjust." Jack pressed his mouth to Ianto's ear. "And I wouldn't do it at all if you'd just stop being so stubborn and tell me who attacked you."
From somewhere, Ianto dredged up a laugh. It sounded more like a whimper, but he trusted Jack to know the difference.
"S-sorry."
"No, you're not. Not even the tiniest bit. Are you warm enough?"
"Y-yeah."
"Good, 'cause I'm sweating like a pig here. Okay, here goes the towel. Are your eyes closed?"
"D-dunno."
"Right. I'm going to slide it upwards and cover my hand over your eyes just in case. Here we go."
The cloth drifted slowly upward and Ianto bit down on his abused lip, fighting back the panic that crawled up his throat. True to his word, Jack cupped his palm over Ianto's eyes as the towel was removed, but it was unnecessary. Ianto's eyes were closed, so all he perceived was an uncomfortable but manageable level of light. At Ianto's nod, Jack removed his hand to massage the skin around Ianto's cheeks and temples with his thumbs.
"Okay, Beautiful, now the hard part. I'm going to lift your left eyelid. The lights are dimmed and I'll do it quickly, so try and hold still. Almost done."
Rigid with fear, Ianto waited as Jack's fingers brushed across his eyelashes to tug carefully at the thin surface of his eyelid. It was tempting to try and tighten his muscles, but his trust in Jack was complete, and he forced himself to concentrate on the gentleness infused in Jack's every touch.
When his eye was exposed, he recoiled. Even lowered, the light from overhead seemed to slice through him to the table beneath him, but as his last act of defiance to his torturer he froze and let Jack have his look. It was over quickly and Ianto expected some kind of summation from Jack, or at least a supposition as to what had caused the strange white lines. But Jack was noticeably silent, his only communication with Ianto the palm of his hand on Ianto's cheek.
"Okay, all finished." When Jack spoke again, his voice was shaking, something Ianto didn't expect. "Let's get you covered."
The sheet was again draped over his body and the towel replaced. Ianto breathed as deeply as he could, relieved that whatever Jack had found, if he'd found anything useful, it was now out of Ianto's hands.
"Owen! Get back in here!"
The bellow startled Ianto and he jerked, to be gentled quickly by Jack's hands on his shoulders. Jack's muttered "shh, take it easy" was overlaid by the sound of running footsteps, followed by the displacement of air as not only Owen, but Gwen and Tosh came running into the room.
Jack removed one hand, keeping the other tucked beneath Ianto's jaw. "I know who did this. And I'm going after him. Damn it, I should've figured it out when I saw the cuts."
Three voices rose in protest, drowning out Ianto's ragged cry of denial.
"No," Jack continued, "listen to me, all of you. The man—the creature—who did this, I know him. He's dangerous and I should've put him down centuries from now. I won't make that same mistake twice."
Owen had moved around Jack and was already refocused on treating Ianto's injuries. He spoke to Jack from somewhere near Ianto's hip.
"How do you know who it was? And why is he doing this?"
"The white blindness is his calling card. He knew I'd recognize it and know it was him. As to why, that's between him and me."
"Pardon me, Jack," Gwen interrupted angrily, "but no, it isn't. He's attacked one of our own, that makes it everyone's business. Do you even know where to start looking?"
That was Ianto's final shred of hope, that without his cooperation, Jack would be at a loss to find his attacker. Then that hope was taken away as well. The bastard had been thorough.
"I do. He not only left me a greeting, he provided me with a map. A map he drew with Ianto's skin."
Toshiko spoke up, correcting Jack with a voice that was straining with the need to be right. "You mean, on his skin, right?"
Jack ignored her. "He's probably not far and until I settle this, all of you are at risk. I'm going alone and that's final."
"Bugger," Owen muttered, just as Ianto felt a sharp prick in his arm. "That's all we need, another one of your wives come to fetch you home."
"Jack," Gwen pleaded, "think about this. We're a team, no one acts alone. We protect each other."
"No." His voice hushed, Jack continued, "You're wrong. We're not just a team, we're a family. You're my family. And this family is under attack again because of me. What did you find in the garage?"
"The locks were intact," Tosh reported. "So whoever it was knew the codes. We found Ianto's rucksack in a corner—"
"His rucksack?" Jack sounded simultaneously surprised and angry.
"Y-yes." Tosh paused, then continued in a firmer voice. "It was still packed, including weapons and communications devices."
Details that had been buried beneath the pain began to resurface, and despite the warmth of the room and the relaxing drugs coursing through his system, Ianto began to shake. Whatever emotions Jack was feeling, there was nothing but tenderness communicated in his touch as he stroked his thumb over Ianto's lips.
"What the hell did he do to you," Ianto heard him whisper before the touch was withdrawn. Louder, Jack continued, "All right. Tosh, I want that rucksack up here immediately. You and Gwen start going through it while I start working on deciphering the map. Owen, I need pics of those slices on his body fed to my computer asap. The sooner I figure them out, the sooner I can get out of here."
"No, Jack!" Gwen, of course. Ianto heard a loud slap, like flesh hitting metal. "You can't go alone!"
"I told you, this is my fault!"
"Then let us help you!"
Owen and Tosh chimed in, backing Gwen up. Jack argued with them and the noise level rose until Ianto's head began to swim. From some reserve of strength, he managed to lift a battered hand and knock the towel from his face.
"S-stop!"
The other voices ceased and he could feel them gathering around the table. As someone picked up the towel and laid it across his eyes once more, he tried to speak, coughed, and tried again.
"T-trap."
"Of course it is." Jack's voice was calm. "But that doesn't change anything, because if you're ever going to see this handsome face again, I have to go after him. Owen can fix every injury you have except that one and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you live the rest of your life as a blind man."
"You mean he," Owen asked, "whoever he is, has a cure for the blindness?"
"Yes, an antidote. It's in his blood and I'm going to get it. Lots of it, if I'm successful."
"I'm going with you." That was Gwen and Ianto almost smiled, for once feeling fond of her utter predictability.
"No, you're not. I'm going alone and that's the end of it."
"Jack—"
"And don't any of you try and follow me, or do anything stupid while I'm gone. I need all of you here, and I need to know you're safe. Anything less would be a distraction, and there's too much at stake this time." There was a pause, and Ianto sensed that they were all shifting position. When Jack spoke again, he sounded much closer. "Owen, do whatever you have to do. You know what I mean. Tosh, Gwen, I may not need you in the field with me but I could sure use some tactical backup. Let's get out of Owen's way and I'll give you everything I've got on this guy. As for you—"
Ianto tensed, then relaxed as Jack kissed his forehead. "I expect you to behave while I'm gone and do what our nice doctor tells you. Because the sooner you get better, the sooner we can have that nice, long chat."
"L-looking f-forward to it."
Soft laughter bounced against his cheek. "Liar."
And Jack was gone, sweeping up Tosh and Gwen as he went. With Owen preoccupied with whatever he was going to do next—something distasteful but necessary, most likely—Ianto was alone.
Alone with his failure.
"Jack," Ianto whispered. "D-don't go."
"What the hell is this?"
Ianto looked up from the dishes he was rinsing in the sink to see Jack's hand clutching a sheet of paper that he'd thrust beneath Ianto's nose.
"That? That is Form 8712 B slash C, also known as a request for time away."
"Gee, thanks. I can read, you know, but why was it filled out and sitting on my desk?"
Ianto reached for a towel to blot his wet hands. "I'd think that was obvious as well. I am requesting three days leave, starting tomorrow."
Jack waited until Ianto turned to face him, meeting Jack's impatient gaze with his blandest expression. He'd expected a reaction, but he hadn't expected Jack to hunt him down and confront him. One look at Jack's face confirmed that he was in a rare temper, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The requisition still tight in his fist, colour high on impossibly smooth cheeks, he exuded a lethal combination of enchantment and arrogance with almost obscene ease, and Ianto felt himself being dragged under Jack's seductive tide once again. Under different circumstances, he would've been tempted to instigate a light flirtation, perhaps see if he could ruffle that self-satisfied, charming demeanour. He'd done it before, much to the surprise—and, later, the intense satisfaction—of them both.
It had once amused Ianto how everyone else assumed that it was Jack who was always in control.
Looking into Jack's eyes now, he could almost convince himself that he saw a challenge in them, as if he were demanding that Ianto step up and re-establish the communication they'd let fade. When Ianto stayed silent, whatever emotion had been there hardened into guarded disappointment.
"Why tomorrow? Why not next week, or next month? What's so important about tomorrow?"
Despite his disquiet, Ianto had to hide his amusement. Jack was talking as though Ianto's request was a personal affront and he had every right to demand answers.
"Because tomorrow is the date of my request, sir. If it's a problem, I can consider another time, but tomorrow is convenient for me."
Jack's lips tightened. "Convenient. I see." He pointed the form at the dishes still waiting to be washed. "When you're finished up here, I want to see you in my office. Ten minutes."
Jack turned and left without the singular drama that seemed to accompany some of his more emotional comings and goings. Ianto sighed and surveyed the remaining dishes, knowing that ten minutes weren't enough to do the job properly. But ten minutes seemed to be an allotment of time that Jack favoured, so he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and redoubled his efforts.
When he entered Jack's office nine minutes later, he'd returned to form, his cuffs buttoned and his jacket once again resting snugly on his shoulders. Jack's back was to him and he thought of another conversation they'd had here, one of loneliness, and of love, one that had ended far differently than this one would. But that conversation had started Ianto on a path that had led straight to this moment and was the reason for his admittedly unusual request.
Like that night, Jack was fussing with papers, although Ianto could see that his request for leave was sitting by itself near the edge of the desk. He shoved his hands into his pockets and waited, his hips flush against the rail and knowing full well that Jack knew he was there.
When Jack finally turned to him, rotating his chair and flinging one arm over its back in a calculated, sexy slouch, Ianto could tell that his anger had not diminished. And that anger surprised him enough that he felt the first flicker of doubt about his decision. He'd expected Jack to be put out but given Jack's recent state of mind, the last thing Ianto had expected was this barely masked hostility.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Is there something I should know about? An illness in your family maybe? Or God forbid, a cousin's wedding you have to attend?"
Ianto shook his head. "No. Nothing like that."
Jack's brows lowered. "Is it you? Are you okay?"
That question caught Ianto off guard, causing him to stutter a little when he replied. "No, no, I'm fine."
Jack's hand came down on Ianto's requisition with a loud slap. "Then I'll repeat my earlier question. What the hell is this?"
Ianto paused. He could've called upon any of the terrible cases that Torchwood had handled lately. He could've even dredged up some memories of Lisa to explain his reason for needing some time to himself. But none of that would've been true. He wanted to be away from Torchwood—no, away from Jack—because he needed time to sort out feelings that he could no longer afford to keep. The cost had simply become too high.
Something of his struggle must have shown on his face, because Jack rose from his chair and approached him, the anger in his eyes finally giving way to something very like concern.
"Are you in some kind of trouble?" Jack's voice had softened and Ianto swallowed, wishing this interview was over. Though a lot of time had passed, he realized that Jack had no reason to trust him and probably never fully could. If he were in trouble, the kind of trouble that would threaten Torchwood, and he didn't confide in Jack now, that trust would be broken forever.
Luckily, there was no threat to Torchwood, and Ianto was able to look Jack in the eyes as he replied. "No trouble. I'd just like three days off."
Another step brought Jack nearly toe to toe with Ianto. "Why aren't you talking to me?"
Because you don't want to hear what I have to say.
It was on the tip of Ianto's tongue to tell Jack the real reason for his request, but he knew if he said anything, Jack would be contrite, and would make an effort, but only for Ianto's sake. Not for his own.
And Ianto had too much pride to ask for more than Jack would willingly give.
"Perhaps I should've followed your example and disappeared without saying goodbye. A lot less paperwork that way, you know."
Jack took a half step backward, eyes widening, and Ianto knew with miserable certainty that he'd scored a direct hit. One side of his mouth tilting upward, Jack pivoted away from Ianto and returned to his desk, where he grabbed a pen and signed off on Ianto's request with a flourish.
"There." Jack thrust the paper at Ianto, who took it and folded it into precise thirds before tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket. "Three days. Make them count."
"Thank you. If you don't need anything else, I'll get back to work."
He began to move toward the stairs, but Jack stopped him with an iron tight grip on his arm.
"I'm not sure I like this."
Ianto nodded, even though he was unsure exactly what it was that Jack found disturbing. "Understood, sir. But you will get over it. You always do."
"All right, one last thing before we finish up. I believe Ianto has something to add."
Startled, Ianto looked up from the contemplation of his folded hands and straight into Jack's face. Everyone was seated except Jack, who was standing behind Gwen, arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Ianto with a crooked grin. The remnants of lunch were scattered across the conference table and Ianto had been lost in thought, thinking of all the chores he needed to complete before he left, which at this rate would be midnight or later. Jack's announcement had been unexpected. Ianto had planned on telling the team members individually, after the staff meeting, nothing more than a throwaway comment in passing. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to his request and judging from the glint in Jack's eye, Jack was fully aware of that.
Glancing around the table, he was met with expressions of mild curiosity, more on Gwen's part, considerably less on Owen's.
"Well," he said slowly, "I will be away for a few days."
"Is everything all right?" Tosh asked.
"Fine, yeah. I'll be back on Friday."
"With a tan, I expect," Gwen teased.
Ianto gave her his best innocent look and tagged it with a quick wink. "Don't expect I'll be seeing much of the outside world while I'm gone," he lied.
Gwen's smile widened and Ianto tried not believe that her expression of friendly amusement could too easily resemble relief. He steadfastly refused to look at Jack.
"Yeah, whatever," Owen said. "What I want to know is, who's going to feed the bird?"
"Owen!" Tosh rebuked him with a laugh, but Owen was unrepentant.
"Well, don't look at me! That beast hates me, all right? And I suppose this means I'm back on ruddy coffee duty, too."
"I'll take care of the feeding," Jack said. Ianto threw him a grateful glance, since he'd planned on leaving the instructions for Owen in an email. Jack looked back without expression, then clapped his hands.
"That's it, let's get back to work. Ianto, I'll expect you to stay wired, just in case we need you. Understood?"
Ianto rose and began gathering up the dishes. "Of course."
Everyone moved off except Tosh, who began helping to clear the table. They worked in silence for a few moments, picking up silverware and plates and stacking them for removal to the kitchen. As Ianto swept away soiled napkins into the bin, Tosh spoke up.
"So," she teased, "not going to see any sun, you said. Got a girl stashed away, have you?" The moment she said the words, a look of horror crossed her face and she began to stutter. "Oh, Ianto, I'm so sorry, I—I'm—"
"It's all right." He took a cup from her and set it aside, taking a moment to touch her shoulder as he passed behind her to the other end of the table. "Common misconception that stashing girlfriends is habit forming. I assure you, once was quite enough for me."
Tosh smiled, a tentative but sincere effort. "This is sudden, though, isn't it?"
Keeping his attention on the dishes he was attempting to balance, he replied, "Not really." He threw her a quick glance without meeting her eyes. "It's simply been a while since I've had any time away from this place. Not including the occasional suspension without pay, at any rate."
Toshiko dropped one more spoon on the pile he was holding. "What are you going to do?"
Such an innocent question. And in reality, he had an equally benign response. But just as he was on the verge of giving her a somewhat edited version of his plans, he caught sight of a flash of dark blue in the hallway beyond Tosh's shoulder. With a nod of thanks to Tosh, he balanced his armful and began his journey to the kitchen.
He was relatively certain that Jack hadn't wanted him to know that he was there.
At the doorway, Ianto turned and answered Tosh's question.
"My laundry."
Midnight had been an optimistic estimation. It was closer to one before Ianto felt ready to leave, and even then, he lingered alone in the centre of Torchwood, glancing around for one last dirty mug or misplaced file. The Hub gathered itself around him, electronics whirring quietly, lights lowered to a level of illusive intimacy, the faintly mouldy smell that lay so delicately on the air brushing his nose. He loved this place, its every emotion and breath, and leaving it was only slightly less difficult than leaving Jack.
He'd asked for three days and he'd meant it. Come Friday, he'd be back at his post, perhaps sporting a new tie, and no one would notice anything different about him. On the list of goals he'd made for his brief vacation, that was near the top. He figured that part would be easy, since it wasn't as though he was getting a tattoo or piercing a body part. There wouldn't be any visible alteration, no mark, not a change of expression, not a word out of place. The others he could fool, he knew that. Jack, however, was another matter.
He really should be going. Jack roamed in and out of Torchwood all night and could return at any moment. And still Ianto lingered, hands on his hips, suit coat swept back, eyes sharp as they roamed over familiar surfaces both shiny and dull. Everyone had long since left. Owen had been the first to go, stating he had a date when Ianto was fairly sure he didn't, given his current condition. Gwen had been next, bouncing out to meet Rhys who'd been waiting near the water tower. After Jack had made a brief appearance to say farewell before returning downstairs, Toshiko had also left via the tourist office. Ianto hadn't said anything, but he'd speculated that Jack had once again had to urge Tosh to quit for the day. He felt a kindred link to Tosh that he kept well hidden, for although they had similarities—desperately wanting something they couldn't have—Toshiko's yearnings were more undefined, a constant search for something her heart had yet to truly recognize in anyone. Ianto wanted her to find whatever it was that would fit that hollow space inside her, because he knew how it felt to have that happen.
He also knew how it felt to have it slip away.
By the time he'd closed the office and gone back downstairs, he was alone except for Myfanwy. But even the pterodactyl had settled for the night, no doubt sated after devouring the extra rations Ianto had set out for it in a blatant attempt to curry favour in advance of his absence. Again he reviewed his mental list of everything that had needed to be accomplished before he left, still harbouring a few niggling doubts that he'd managed to complete them all. The kitchen was spotless, everything put in its place, a state he expected wouldn't last much after breakfast the next day. He'd stocked food and drinks beyond what was needed for his days away, even going so far as to tuck a few extra supplies in one of the empty vaults, just in case. He'd set out a folder of takeaway menus, meticulously labelled and filed alphabetically according to ethnicity. All the other things that everyone else took for granted had also been restocked, pens and towels, coffee filters and hand soap, M&Ms and ammunition.
What was there left to do? Nothing, except leave.
Turning, he'd only taken one step when he realized that he was no longer alone. He let his gaze slowly travel upward until he saw what he knew he'd see. Jack, on the landing by the front entrance, staring down at him. How he'd gotten up there—how he'd even returned at all without Ianto noticing—was a mystery. And typically Jack.
"I'm surprised you're still here," Jack said. He descended a few steps, then paused. "Thought you'd have been eager to start your vacation and left hours ago."
Ianto shrugged. "Would have, if that Weevil hadn't gotten loose in Debenham's after dinner. Put me off my schedule."
"Yeah." Jack loped down a few more steps. "They are inconvenient, that's for sure. Who knew they had a weakness for silk knickers? Looks like you're ready now, though."
Jack reached the main floor and grabbed his coat from where it had been tossed over the railing. He pulled it on and settled it around his shoulders.
"Walk you home?"
Ianto stared at him, nonplussed. This was an unprecedented request and Ianto wasn't sure how it was intended. It felt rather like the night that Jack had proposed they go out on an actual date, and Ianto, just as flustered now as he was then, again took refuge in feigned indifference.
"Suit yourself," he replied. He took one last glance around, then followed Jack out into the night.
It was misting lightly, the surface of the deserted Plass shiny and slick. Ianto was tempted both to slow their pace and to speed it up, his reluctance for Jack to see where he lived wrestling with his desire to have this unlooked-for time with Jack come to an end as quickly as possible.
But he couldn't fool himself. It was exactly this kind of attention from Jack that he'd missed so keenly over the past weeks, and it would be very easy to wrap himself in Jack's presence and forget that he'd planned to spend the next few days clearing out every corner of his life that Jack had managed to invade. Having no illusions about his current place in Jack's life had left Ianto determined to neutralize his own confused feelings before they became too unruly for him to master. When all else failed, he had distance and discipline to rely upon. Except, of course, where Jack was concerned, maintaining that distance seemed an impossible task and discipline usually flew out the window.
Suddenly, Jack veered away. He walked a few yards beyond Ianto and then pivoted to face him. "Are you in a hurry to get home?"
"No," Ianto answered cautiously.
"Good." Jack thrust out his hand, palm down. "Let's walk along the water."
Ianto started to reach for Jack's hand, then stopped himself. Holding hands wasn't something they'd attempted before, at least not in the way of sweethearts, and he wasn't convinced that Jack wasn't just offering his hand to ensure that Ianto didn't bolt for cover.
Then Jack, with that damnable intuition that confounded and intrigued Ianto in turns, slowly rotated his wrist until his hand was no longer in the dominant position. Still Ianto hesitated, his resolve to keep Jack at arm's length in serious jeopardy.
Exasperated, amused, Jack wriggled his fingers. "It's just a walk, Ianto. Not a marriage proposal."
"Well, in that case," Ianto slid his hand across Jack's and tightened his grip, "I accept."
Jack rewarded him with a bright grin as he drew him close. "Good."
Cutting through an empty carpark, they made their way across Bute to the thin strip of parkland and the walkway beyond. Jack remained silent, his enjoyment of the brisk night air in every stride and swing of their joined hands. Ianto walked beside him stoically, trying to keep his thoughts centred on his purpose and not read too much into what was merely another example of Jack's quicksilver moods. That in itself didn't bother him; to know Jack was to accept the wayward path of his thoughts and actions. It was the many facets of Jack's personality that Ianto had come to treasure, except in those moments when that intellect, with all its cleverness and curiosity, was focused upon him. Ianto wanted to believe this romantic stroll was Jack's way of reaching again toward something they'd come so close to achieving, but what he feared was that Jack was simply on a fact-finding mission.
"Beautiful night," Jack murmured. "The rain's lifting."
"Supposed to be sunny for the next week," Ianto replied.
"Only three days, actually. Starting tomorrow, but then you knew that. You've been checking the weather report almost hourly for the past month." It was a mild accusation, not an observation, and Ianto tried to extract his hand. Jack responded by gripping him his hand more tightly and guiding him off the path to a grassy spot beneath a canopy of sheltering trees. When Ianto yanked on his hand again, he was released.
Facing Jack, he shoved his hands in his pockets, aiming for a nonchalant tone. "You reviewed my online history. That's bordering on stalking."
Unsmiling, Jack crossed his arms over his chest. "Not when it involves the well-being of a member of my crew."
"Your crew. Of course. Yeah, well, as my boss, you must understand I'm entitled to at least the illusion of privacy, even if it was invaded with my best interests at heart."
Jack stared at him and Ianto had the impression that his bitter words had definitely had an effect. His guess was confirmed with Jack's next question, whispered in a tone underscored with confusion and hurt.
"Why are you so mad at me?"
That simple question cut the ground from beneath Ianto's feet and he fought to keep his composure. He wasn't mad at Jack, but he knew that an easy denial wasn't going to be accepted. All of his efforts to keep Jack out of the equation of his own emotions and decisions had merely alerted Jack that something was wrong in Ianto's world. Whether he felt obliged as a lover or as a co-worker to ferret out the root of Ianto's discomfort was a distinction that Ianto did not want to discover.
"I'm not." Dropping his gaze, Ianto inhaled deeply. To tell Jack the truth was unthinkable, but to continue to deceive him was not an option. Before he could formulate a response that would tread that thin line in between, Jack had crowded into him, stepping into Ianto until his back hit the trunk of a tree. He opened his mouth to protest but the words were lost as Jack placed his mouth over Ianto's in a kiss of gentle entreaty that stopped the breath in his chest. Ianto dissolved into it, his hands instinctively sliding beneath the folds of Jack's coat to latch onto the shirt beneath.
The kiss ended but the intimacy of the embrace remained. Jack was warm beneath his hands, solid and unyielding. Ianto knew that if he let his head fall forward to rest upon a broad shoulder, he'd be accepted without question. The temptation was almost overwhelming but he kept his spine straight, his eyes resolutely closed.
"You're unhappy," Jack murmured. "Tell me why."
It was hard to think with Jack's hands cradling his head, his fingers rubbing Ianto's skin through the hair at the base of his skull. After that one kiss, Jack had kept his mouth tucked against Ianto's ear, his heated breath a caress all its own. This was the one thing Ianto had feared: that being alone with Jack, being touched and held by Jack, would remind him that Jack did care for him. It would've been so much easier if he'd been able to convince himself that Jack was, if not indifferent, at least ready to disentangle himself from a relationship that had grown cumbersome.
But there was no indifference in Jack's arms tonight. He was wholly focused on Ianto and once more, Ianto felt the armour he'd put in place begin to slip. He'd begun to suspect earlier, given Jack's unprecedented response to Ianto's request for time off, that he'd underestimated his importance to Jack, and that the role he'd assigned himself of cast-off lover was, in fact, far off the mark.
And still Jack was waiting for his answer, his fingers never wavering, the comforting bulk of his body shielding Ianto from the night air.
"I have to figure out some things." Ianto winced at the feeble excuse and tried to turn away, but Jack held tight.
"What kind of things?" came the inevitable question, softly put but insistent upon an answer.
Why I'm afraid the next time your Doctor calls, you'll leave again and never return.
Why you sometimes watch Gwen like a possessive lover, following her every move.
If you'd let me go if I asked you to.
Ianto felt the skin on his cheeks flush as one of Jack's hands drifted across his shoulder to land on the knot of his tie. There was a gentle tug and the knot loosened, giving Jack room to slip loose the top button on Ianto's shirt. There was nothing sensual in Jack's touch and Ianto was grateful for that, then apprehensive as he remembered that he was just as vulnerable to a caring Jack Harkness as he was to devilish smiles and seductive glances.
"Things that I need to find answers for in order to do my job."
"Your job?" Jack's hushed tone was disbelieving. "This isn't about your job and we both know it."
Ianto released Jack's shirt and laid his palms flat on his chest. "Nevertheless, they're my answers to find." He gave Jack a push and Jack fell back. Ianto turned away, pressing one shoulder against the rough bark of the tree, too emotionally drained to go further. When Jack placed his hand on Ianto's head, he didn't move.
"You're not asking the right questions."
Ianto spoke over his shoulder. "How would you know?"
"I know because I know you. And because this is exactly what you did with Lisa."
Ianto whirled. "What? This is nothing like that."
Jack didn't back down. "You're trying to solve a problem all by yourself. No matter what it costs you, you won't let anyone in, anyone that can help you, including me. Or maybe especially me. You're bound and determined to work this out alone, even if asking the right questions could save you."
"This isn't like Lisa," Ianto whispered. Eyes stinging, he shook his head. "With Lisa, I lost control. Every day I went down there, I knew she couldn't come back, but she was the best thing that'd ever happened to me. Losing her, giving up on her—it meant that I'd never know anything good and pure and right ever again. There was no meaning to anything any more."
"Is that still true?"
Swallowing, afraid to meet Jack's eyes after hearing the sorrow in his question, Ianto dropped his gaze to the grass at his feet. "No. I have meaning, and purpose, again. You gave that to me." The words fell quietly, and Ianto shivered, sliding the back of his hand across his forehead as if to capture a phantom touch. He blinked away the sensation of deja vu when Jack spoke, another question laden with wounded bewilderment.
"Is that all you think I've given you?"
God, how he'd wanted to avoid this. Jack was going to have his confession and there was nothing Ianto could do to prevent it. He squared his shoulders and raised his eyes to Jack's face.
"You gave me more than I could've dreamed, and probably far more than I deserved. I'll always be grateful for that. But I made a mistake, I became greedy. I lost perspective. And that's what I need to find."
Jack eased toward him, hands at his side. "What do you mean, perspective?"
That elicited a sharp, humourless bark of laughter. "Come on, Jack, you can't be that thick. I loved Lisa and when I lost her, I wanted to die. Then I lost her again, and I wanted to hate you. And after all that, the pain and humiliation, the loss of your trust, I was sure I'd never love anyone ever again. What a joke it was when I realized that what I felt for Lisa was only a fraction of what I'd end up feeling for you."
There. It was done and past time to get home and finish packing. He managed to dredge up a small grin as he turned away, sure that Jack's silence was the best reply he'd get. All the better for them both, he thought.
He was unprepared when Jack seized him from behind and flung him around. He stumbled on the rough ground and Jack steadied him with quick touch on his wrist. Ianto tried to read the expression on Jack's face, but the darkness allowed him to only see planes and angles of bone structure that had always seemed somewhat other worldly, not quite crafted for the time he was living in. The wet night air had plastered Jack's hair to his skull, allowing his off-kilter beauty to shine through in the uncertain light of a nearby street lamp. Don't go there, Ianto chastised himself. If beauty was all that he'd needed, then they wouldn't be standing here, staring at each other, a chasm of misunderstanding between them.
And then Jack, ruthlessly disregarding the box that Ianto was trying so hard to place him in, gave it one last shot.
"Stay. Stay here, with me. Don't come to work, take your three days but just don't leave. Leaving is never the answer, Ianto. Please."
Temptation was back, more seductive than ever, but Ianto knew if he gave in now that nothing would be resolved. Jack could make love to him until the world and everything in it was obliterated from Ianto's consciousness, but the problems would remain.
Jack must've seen the determination in Ianto's face. His expression was one of resignation but instead of setting Ianto free, he yanked him into a tight hug.
"Fine," Jack whispered into his hair, "take your three damn days. But know this, Ianto Jones. You're still asking the wrong questions, and when you get back, I'll be here waiting for you. Waiting and ready to answer the right ones."
Six hours later, Ianto was making his final preparations to leave. He looked around the spare room he called home, his glance drifting over the precisely made bed and neatened bookshelves. Nothing was out of place and unlike the Hub, he could keep things that way. By the door sat his rucksack, khaki jacket draped across it. Everything was ready.
He'd never invited Jack here, nor anyone else from Torchwood. Owen figured his life was pathetic enough as it was and Ianto had no desire to confirm his suspicions. Ianto knew Owen had a posh city loft with great views, he'd visited Gwen and Rhys' cosy flat and the first time he'd seen Tosh's place was when she'd had a cold and he'd brought her chicken soup and brandy. Compared to those domestic spaces, his own rented room had all the charm of a monk's cell. He had a few mementos around—a framed photo of him and Lisa in front of the London Eye, smiling like a couple of tourists while a stranger took their picture. A pile of magazines with the interesting articles marked by bright green sticky notes, a few neglected plants, a dog carved in wood that he'd carried around with him since his childhood—nothing too personal, a place for his clothes and a place to sleep. He hadn't needed his own space when he'd first arrived, because everything Ianto had lived for was at Torchwood.
It still was.
True to his word, Jack had walked him home. It had been a silent journey, until Ianto had dismissed Jack with an awkward nod a few yards from his door. Jack had looked as though he wanted to continue his argument, but Ianto had too swiftly walked down the street. When he paused at his door, key in his hand, he turned to see that Jack had gone.
He'd stripped off his suit and hung it in the closet, then placed his shirt in the bag to take to the laundrette. Wrist watch and phone went to their assigned places on the dresser, along with his wallet, stop watch, earpiece and spare change. The fact that his fingers shook during the entire exercise was something he chose to ignore. Dressed only in his shorts and white tee shirt, he'd laid down on his bed without drawing back the covers, his forearm over his eyes as if to block out the memory of the past hour.
What had once seemed like the perfect answer to the confusion in his life had been revealed to be the fraud he'd always expected it was. There was no escaping his feelings, no refuge in a headlong rush into physical activity that would exorcise the demons he'd welcomed into his life. Three days or three years, it wasn't going to matter. Jack had gotten beneath his skin so deeply that only quitting Torchwood completely would come close to resolving his dilemma.
And that wasn't going to happen.
All he had left was a small gift of time to come to some kind of agreement within himself. All of the resources he'd used to hide the fact that Lisa lay dormant in the tunnels beneath the Hub would have to be found again; only this time he wouldn't be putting Torchwood and his co-workers at risk. The only thing he sought to save now was his sanity—and his heart.
He'd drifted off into uncomfortable dreams of rain-slickened alleys and flashing green lights, waking up in a sticky sweat minutes before his alarm was set to go off. He went through his morning routine quickly, packing the last bits of the things he'd need. Pulling on his jacket on over his plain cotton shirt, he slipped a pair of sunglasses out of one pocket and put them on, then grabbed the straps of his rucksack and stepped out into the bright light of day.
Knowing he was early for his bus, Ianto had breakfast and coffee in a small cafe he'd never visited before, one too far from the Hub to be used by anyone there on a regular basis. The restaurant was busy and Ianto was sure that no one would take notice of him. He looked like a student on holiday, or a struggling musician, completely anonymous and forgettable. It would take him most of the morning to reach his destination, a trip he could've made quickly if he'd borrowed a car from work. But ease of transportation wasn't his goal. He was going to the trails of his youth, and he was going to walk.
The bus dropped him off on the outskirts of Cardiff. He'd planned his journey with his usual assiduous attention to detail and he knew exactly how long it would take to hike to the place where he'd decided to camp for the night. Furthermore, he was going to walk outside of the pathways set out in the travel guides, paralleling them from a distance instead. This was a time for solitary contemplation, not an opportunity to meet up with tourists determined to stay in touch with the world via their cell phones and iPods.
As predicted, the weather was fine and by midday, Ianto was warm enough to strip off his jacket and tie it around his waist. The first few miles of his journey were spent stretching his muscles and retraining his legs to walk over rugged hills and valleys instead of slick metal and smooth pavement. For a while he let his mind wander, purposefully concerned with nothing more than the next step. He drank frequently from his water bottle and stopped several times to eat an energy bar when the view was pleasant. Despite his father's enthusiasm, Ianto hadn't enjoyed camping as a child, but he'd done it often enough to be comfortable with the routine. The country wasn't his natural habitat and he accepted that, admitting as well that after one certain case he'd have been pleased to stay out of rural environs for the rest of his life. But that was a silly fear, easily conquered, and by the time he'd come upon the sheltered valley he'd chosen as his camp for the night, he felt as comfortable as he was going to be.
Making camp was a simple thing. He had a bedroll and would use his rucksack as a backrest, but there would be no tent. He gathered enough wood to supply his fire through the night and prepared a plain meal over its flames. With his gun tucked beneath his jacket as a makeshift pillow and his earpiece firmly in place, he allowed the day's exertions to weigh on his body and let himself slip into sleep.
Birdsong and wood smoke awoke him and he was at first disoriented to see a deep lavender sky above him instead of a cracked plaster ceiling. Then the stones and twigs digging into his back brought him around to the reality of his whereabouts and he sat up slowly, wincing at muscles that had stiffened during the night. Within minutes he had the fire burning again and a small tin of water sitting on a makeshift grate was going to eventually be coffee. The fact that it would be instant coffee coaxed a smile from him—Jack had never gotten the hang of making good coffee and depended on Ianto's special skills in that department.
It was the first time since he'd left that he'd allowed himself to think of Jack. This was, after all, his reason for trading in his immaculate dress shoes for lumpy, thick-soled boots, and while he washed out his fire and repacked his rucksack, he realized that it was time to get on with it.
But he wouldn't start with Jack. As the sun began to crest over the horizon, Ianto's first order of internal business was Toshiko. He thought of her as a friend and assumed she returned the sentiment. She'd had a hard go of it lately, what with lovers being either aliens or misplaced young men from another era. She'd recently been misplaced herself, but since one thing Ianto admired about her was her ingenuity, he hadn't been surprised when she'd figured out a way to communicate with her own time. Of course events after that had proven that messing with time had huge consequences, and those consequences were something he wasn't up to revisiting on this trip.
Unfortunately, Tosh had her Achilles' heel, and after tucking her away in one of his mental file drawers, Ianto turned his attention to Owen. With him, the term friendship was a little more dodgy. They sniped at each other fairly often and Ianto had never thought Owen's bedside manner to be one of his better qualities. But he'd also seen real concern from Owen, and a true passion for finding answers. How he conducted his life was another matter. He treated Tosh with offhand affection, only matey and never romantic, and Ianto wished that she'd give up and find someone more suitable. But the little voice that whispered "pot, kettle" in his ear reminded him that he was a poor judge of anyone's private feelings.
By noon, Ianto had placed his invisible file marked Owen on a virtual shelf labelled co-worker, with the option open to re-file it later. After all, their relationship had survived Ianto shooting him, so surely they'd gotten over the roughest patches by now.
As he went down his mental list, the task got harder. Gwen Cooper had thrust her way into their lives and had made a home for herself there. Ianto hadn't minded, even though he remembered liking Suzie and being just as shocked as everyone else when she'd turned traitor. Gwen had been a breath of fresh air, and if Jack had seemed a little more fascinated with her than was normal for a boss and his new recruit, that also was none of Ianto's business, especially since at that time he'd been consumed with his own terrible secret. But Gwen had earned her place and beyond that, had provided an anchor for them all when Jack had disappeared.
Of course, by the time Jack had disappeared, Ianto had been so confused that Amy Winehouse could've taken over Torchwood and he would have barely noticed.
Descending into a small wood that scattered the late afternoon sunshine and offered some welcome shade, Ianto struggled to categorize Gwen. That Jack found her intriguing was obvious, but so was the fact that Jack both respected and protected her relationship with Rhys. What wasn't so obvious, except perhaps to Ianto, was that the interest flowed both ways. Even with Rhys' ring on her finger, Gwen couldn't stop drawing Jack's attention. Not overtly, but there was a thread between them that pulled taut any time they were in the same room.
It was something Ianto could hardly denounce and, seeing as he had no hold on Jack, he couldn't prevent it, either. That kept Gwen listed under the category of friend, but Ianto could see a day when he wouldn't be so generous. If he couldn't get command of his emotions in these next few days, that day may have already arrived.
When had he first noticed that Jack's fascination didn't end with Gwen? What was the weather like, what Rift activity had them tied up in knots, what had Ianto done to draw Jack's attention himself? And why, against all good reason, had Ianto responded to the invitation in those remarkable blue eyes? Silly games with stopwatches aside, they'd served as a diversion for each other but not much more. The intimacies had been freely offered and freely taken, but there was always coffee to be made or aliens to be caged, and that hadn't changed.
Until Jack nearly died for good. Maybe it was then, in the long nights while Jack fought his way back to life, when Jack had decided that he needed more from Ianto. When he'd thought he'd lost Jack forever, Ianto had grieved not only for the lover who'd died but his last chance at finding a safe harbour. Torchwood without Jack was unthinkable, but Ianto without Jack was a death sentence for his soul. Then Jack had triumphed once more, and a clumsily offered handshake had been pushed aside in favour of a lover's kiss, as completely unexpected as it had been tenderly passionate.
Whatever it was, since Jack's return, Ianto had experienced such a constant state of exhilaration and despair that he'd finally had to admit that his feelings for Jack had pushed beyond borders they'd never formalized. Sometimes it took every ounce of energy he had to be the Ianto the rest of them expected him to be. Their job was always first and foremost and, for them to work well together, they all had assigned roles. It was only when the lines blurred that Ianto felt his control slip, and in those times, anyone with any sense could see the truth written on his face.
And it was from Jack most of all that he hid his secret, a secret that could hurt no one but himself. But sometimes it was too hard, and he couldn't stop from communicating some of his emotions. Most of the time it went unremarked, but then there was that one night, when Jack had confided about the lives he'd touched and the loves he'd treasured while serving in this time. It had come as a shock to Ianto when he'd realized that he wanted to be included on the second list. Knowing that he wasn't had been devastating.
As twilight fell, Ianto began making his camp in the woods, no closer to fitting Jack into a pigeonhole than when he'd started. Jack Harkness would not be sorted, filed, or delegated. If Ianto could just find a place to lock it all up, Jack and all the inconvenient, improbable, impossible yearnings that went with him, then Ianto felt he could return to Torchwood with a new and hopefully more manageable view of things.
Ianto built his fire, prepared and ate his dinner, then settled back against a tree trunk and took out his diary. Clipping a small light to its edge, he began to write, hoping that clarity would come with the effort to get it all on paper. He wrote until his eyes were drooping and the fire was waning, rousing himself just enough to feed the flames and arrange his sleeping bag. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the ground.
This time it was the welcome scent of coffee that awoke him. Face plastered to his jacket and eyes still closed, Ianto smiled at the thought that, for once, someone else had taken the initiative and had begun the morning ritual.
Clarity returned with a smack and he bolted up in his sleeping bag, rubbing his eyes as he surveyed the area around him. He wasn't alarmed, only envious, the aroma probably coming from someone else's nearby camp site. It was just after dawn and his fire was crackling, despite him having no recollection of recently adding fuel.
"Hey, good morning!"
The accent was as aggressively American as Jack's. Startled, Ianto twisted until he was facing away from the fire. Sitting on a boulder only a few yards away was a young man, a paper Starbucks cup in his hand and a friendly smile on his face. Black hair worn long and curly, high, sculpted cheekbones and darkly lashed eyes of an undetermined colour, the man was, if Ianto had to be honest this early in the morning, annoyingly attractive. With his unshaven cheeks and rumpled clothing, he felt at a distinct disadvantage.
"Hallo," Ianto replied. He inched his hand toward his jacket and the gun beneath it. His visitor seemed non-threatening and had no visible weapons, but Ianto had learned long ago not to be too careful.
The man saluted Ianto with his coffee and stood up. That was Ianto's first clue that he might be in trouble. Long legs encased in black leather trousers and knee-length boots were topped with a black silk shirt and a dull gold cutaway coat draped in black braid and sporting shiny epaulettes on each shoulder.
Showy. Militaristic. Slightly shabby.
"Another one," Ianto sighed. "Fabulous."
"Allow me to introduce myself," the man said with a bow. "My name is Captain Jethro Hardy."
Ianto nodded. "Of course it is." He slid his hand closer to his jacket and made sure that his other hand was unencumbered. This could all be an innocent coincidence, he figured, but given his luck, it probably wasn't.
"And you are Ianto Jones, keeper of the gate, maker of the coffee, cleaner of the cages. Am I right?"
"Sorry, no. My name is Tom Quinn, and I think you have me confused with someone else. Rather chilly morning, though." He rose to one knee and made a casual move for his jacket, assuming that Hardy wouldn't know his gun was there. Then again, he already knew Ianto's name, so the odds weren't in his favour. His fears were confirmed when he heard a loud crack, followed by a searing pain in his left hand. He fell back on the sleeping bag and clutched his arm to his chest, hunching over in agony.
"That's enough of that, okay, Tom? You don't mind if I call you Tom, do you?" Hardy asked. "Your real name is kinda strange."
Panting, struggling to regulate his breathing, Ianto lowered his hand and looked at it, expecting to see at least one finger missing. They were all there, but his smallest finger was rapidly turning purple, obviously broken. He looked up through a haze of hot tears to see Hardy uncovering Ianto's gun and sliding it into the high waistband of his pants.
Still reeling from the pain, Ianto tapped his earpiece. "Jack! Gwen, anyone!"
Hardy backed away from him. "Uh, that doesn't work any more. I sort of had some insider information on those gizmos. You want to take it out for me?"
Ianto swallowed and pulled out the earpiece, tossing it onto the ground. Hardy crushed it beneath his boot heel, then crossed his arms over his chest. The coffee was gone and in his right hand was a thin black wand that tapered to a glowing knob at one end. He was close enough now that Ianto could see that his eyes were dark green, set off by strong black brows and a wide, smiling mouth.
"Look," Hardy said, "I just want to say this upfront. I'm sure you're a great guy and all, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. At least, if he were a man, which I'm not really, but the concept is the same."
Cradling his hand, Ianto crawled back to his knees, the sleeping bag bunching into folds around his legs. He'd gone to sleep fully clothed save his jacket, only going so far to untie his boots. When Hardy didn't object, he struggled to his feet and kicked the bag out of the way.
"What do you want?"
"Well, you and I are going to spend a little time together, then I'm going to take you back to Cardiff."
"That's all?" Ianto asked, knowing full well it wasn't.
Hardy tossed the wand from one hand to the other. "Not exactly."
Another loud crack presaged the breaking of another finger and Ianto cried out. He hadn't seen it coming, but as he struggled to keep upright, he saw a sinuous black fibre disappear into the wand.
"What is that thing?" he choked out.
Hardy held it out. "This? It's a whip. I picked it up a while back and let me tell you, it is great for maintaining discipline in the herd. You know, with this thing, I can pick a fly off your nose and you'd never feel a thing. On the other hand, I can remove your liver without making a hole much bigger than the size of a dime. I just love technology, don't you?"
"What do you want?" The throbbing in his hand was growing, climbing up his wrist. With two fingers broken, he was rapidly loosing the ability to defend himself. He had a stun gun in his rucksack, but it was at least five feet away and zipped up tight.
"You know what?" Hardy smiled at him. "John was right. You are damn cute. And that accent? Sexy as hell. I can see why he'd think you'd be the biggest prize of all."
The first tendrils of real panic started to swirl in Ianto's belly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Really?" Raised eyebrows signalled polite disbelief. "Okay, then let me remind you. Not too long ago you had a visitor, my old friend Captain John Hart. Now, I gotta tell you, he did not have a very good time here and when I ran into him, he was drunk and pissed off. But it also made him kinda talkative and that's how I learned about how my other old friend, Jack Harkness, had found himself a sweet little piece of paradise right in Cardiff. And I'm just beginning to figure out that John wasn't referring to the Rift."
Ianto used his forearm to wipe at the cold sweat of shock gathering on his face. "Yeah? So?"
"So, I decided that it was time I paid old Jack a visit. Hey, does he still have all that hair? Guy always had really nice hair."
So that was it. Ianto was going to be a hostage to make Jack do whatever Hardy wanted him to. Ianto knew that his best defence lay in getting Hardy to talk and try and exploit any weaknesses he could find.
"Hair's still good, yeah," Ianto said through clenched teeth. "I'm sure he'll be glad to see you. He's always happy to run into old comrades. Were you a Time Agent as well?"
"Those yahoos? Hell, no, I just ripped off their dorky names to annoy them. Anyway, they had way too many rules that I decided not to follow and so they asked me to leave. What gave it away?"
"The uniform, of course. Tell me, why do you all dress as though you belong to a gay circus fraternity?"
Hardy threw back his head and laughed. Ianto caught the flick of his wrist this time but it was too late to move out of the way. Sharp pain exploded across his chest and he collapsed once more to his knees, his vision beginning to turn black at the edges. Fire spread along his ribs as he wrapped his arms around his waist, gulping in large amounts of air. This was going to get old very fast if he didn't come up with a way to learn what Hardy planned.
"You...you should stop by and say...say hello. He'd l-love to c-catch up on old t-times."
"I'm sure he would." Hardy wasn't laughing any more. "Especially after the way we parted last time. That son of a bitch not only conned me out of my entire ship's cargo, he turned me over to the local authorities, who had some pretty archaic views about trafficking in live bodies. Do you know how hard it is for a half-human guy like me to keep a steady job?"
"Half?"
"Yeah, I got a little snake in me, makes everyone uncomfortable when they find out. Man, people and their prejudices, right? But whatever, it's not like I have a forked tongue or anything. And merchandise is merchandise, that's what I always say."
"Slave trader," Ianto muttered. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to clamp down on the pain and concentrate.
"Well, I was, until Harkness shut me down. Didn't mind that so much, but prison was a bitch, lemme tell you."
"So now...ahh, God, that hurts. N-now you want revenge."
"Wouldn't you? Besides, I hear the motherfucker can't die, so that makes this deal even sweeter. I can pay him back a hundred times over for every fucking minute I spent in prison. And that's what I call a win-win."
Ianto planted his good hand on the ground and forced himself to rise to his feet. He canted to one side and thought he was going to fall, but he managed to straighten up and look Hardy in the eyes. What he saw there scared him more than the agony pulsing through his body. Hardy was still smiling but his green eyes had turned golden yellow, filling the spaces around the pupil that had once been white.
"You're g-going about it all wrong, then."
Hardy grinned at him, showing perfect white teeth with a hint of fang. "Yeah? How so?"
"I'm just the office intern. S-something happens to me, Jack will just find a new one. Only been there a few months myself. You picked the wrong guy, sorry."
"Did I? Hmm, not according to John. See, he described all of Jack's team to me and while he wasn't very complimentary, he did seem to think that Jack had a definite favourite. John even had a nickname for him, liked to call him Eye Candy. Sound familiar, Tom?"
"Nope, doesn't ring a b-bell."
"Aw, come on, don't be so modest." Hardy inclined his head confidentially. "To tell you the truth, I think John was kinda taken with you himself. Pity you two didn't have more time to get acquainted, but if you live through this, maybe I can set you up, 'cause you're definitely not my type. That little Gwen, though, she'd do me just fine. Well, to be honest, any one of Jack's pets would've worked. You just made it so damn easy and I do want to thank you for that."
Ianto moistened his lips. He could taste blood at the back of his throat and one side of his chest felt like it was caving in.
"Fine," he grated out. "I'm due to call in soon and you've destroyed my only means of communication. They know where I am and they'll come looking for me."
Hardy nodded. "Yup, that would be your next move, make me believe the cavalry is coming over the hill. Thing is, right now I have them so tied up with some flesh-eating friends of mine that even if you could contact them, they couldn't get away. So I'm afraid it's just you and me, sweet pea."
"I think I'd prefer it if you people would just use my real name," Ianto murmured. Raising his voice, he continued. "So what happens now? You knock me around a little, dump me on Jack's doorstep and then call him out? How clichéd."
"Yeah, that's essentially the plan. But unfortunately for you, I gotta make Jack mad. Real mad. And I also have make it worth his while to come after me, in case you aren't lying and you aren't as special to him as John said you were. Jack is such a soft touch, not even he could leave the office gopher in the state you're going to be in, not if he can do something to fix it."
Ianto realized that he had only one course. Whatever Hardy had in mind, Ianto would do his best to disrupt it. He wasn't going to let Jack or anyone else walk into a trap, no matter what the personal cost. It was a simple decision to make.
"I'll do everything I can to try and stop you, you know. I won't make it easy."
"Oh, I know you won't. Which pretty much confirms everything John said, if you think about it. If you were just the errand boy, you'd flip on Harkness in two seconds flat. But I'm getting the feeling that you'd do just about anything to protect Jack, which I truly admire. He does have that effect on people, doesn't he?"
The blood in Ianto's throat had risen to clog the back of his mouth. He turned his head and spat into the dirt, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "What happens now?"
Hardy sighed. "Nothing good, I'm afraid. On the bright side, if your doctor is as sharp as John says he thinks he is, you have a pretty good chance of surviving. Most of the damage, anyway."
"What do you expect me to do? Just allow you to torture me for the next few hours?"
"That is the general plan. Which reminds me." Hardy held up the whip and Ianto threw his body sideways, too late to avoid a hit to his calf muscle. He screamed, tumbling face down into the dirt, convinced that his leg had been sliced apart, but finding no blood as he clutched at a non-existent wound.
"Can't have you running away, right? Like I said, this baby is precise. I can do all kinds of things to your insides and hardly leave a mark. I gotta mess you up, of course, but it's nice to have options."
Hardy went down on one knee next to Ianto's head and tapped him lightly on the ear with the end of the whip.
"Way to take one for the team, Tom."
The first time Ianto awakened, the experience was so distasteful that he uttered a mental no thank you and fell back into a darkness that was much more inviting. The second time he was more aware of his surroundings but completely confused. In bed, yeah. Every portion of his body hurting one way or another, check. Various electronic burps and beeps, obviously. It would follow that he'd be in a hospital bed, but every sound and smell that he took in told him that he was in the Hub. It hardly seemed worth the bother to figure out, but it was rather comforting, and he went back to sleep on that happy thought.
The third time, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find his way back into the darkness and so with a vague sense of annoyance, he began a true assessment of his current state. The first thing he understood was that he was still blind. He tried opening his eyes and met resistance, which was slightly reassuring. That meant his eyes were bandaged, and that meant hope.
The rest of him seemed to be intact, if not in perfect working order. He learned that his hands were also bandaged as well as splinted when he tried to wiggle his fingers. It was a small setback, since everything else seemed to be attached in the proper places. He held on to that, concentrating on these small victories, because the last thing he wanted to do was relive his reason for being there. And yet he found himself doing just that anyway.
It was all surprisingly clear and yet he felt very detached from the whole thing. The hours he'd spend with Hardy seemed like they'd happened years ago instead of hours. Many portions of it he didn't recall at all, huge black spots in his memory that ended when Hardy had thrown water on his face to revive him. There were large passages of time when Hardy didn't touch him at all, choosing instead to let the pain sink in while he rattled on about everything including that his childhood had been barren of love, his favourite food was rice pudding and he enjoyed killing his victims via vivisection. At times Ianto had even missed the physical torment, preferring that to Hardy's horrific monologues, but soon enough his wish was granted and the torture would resume.
But now it all felt as though it'd been done to someone else.
With an effort, he pushed aside the memories of what had happened in the woods and focused on his current whereabouts. If not in hospital, that must've meant that he hadn't been too injured after all. But where he was in the Hub exactly eluded him. The sounds around him didn't have the echo that he associated with Owen's operating theatre. In fact, the whole environment felt much more intimate, as though he was in a small room. But he was definitely on a large bed, with tubes and needles attached, and he was warm.
"Finally, Ianto. I was beginning to think you were faking it. Be just like you, anything to get out of mucking out Weevil cages."
Three days earlier, if someone had told Ianto that he would be glad to hear Owen's reedy voice, Ianto would have politely called that person a liar. Now he felt almost light-headed, like he wanted to laugh and cry and indulge in all sorts of inappropriate behaviour.
Instead, he ran his tongue around his parched lips. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be derelict."
Those few words exhausted him but he knew that Owen wasn't concerned with keeping up a conversation. Ianto felt slight tugs and pokes, then fingers were wrapped around his wrist. In fact, Owen seemed disinclined to say anything more, so Ianto rallied enough energy to speak once again.
"When can I go home?"
His reply was silence.
"Owen?"
"Yeah, yeah, hang on."
Ianto waited impatiently as Owen continued to attend to doctor-type things around him. He realized his first question should be have been about his sight, but since he had utter faith in Jack, Ianto assumed that the antidote had been applied and that the bandages were a technicality. At this point, all he wanted was to shower, to sleep in his own bed for a week, and get back to work.
"Right, okay, going home. That's not going to happen. In case you hadn't noticed, you're blind."
The brusque words fell like ice chips into the centre of Ianto's heart. "Jack—"
"Jack isn't back yet, so we have no cure for the white blindness."
Blind. He couldn't actually be blind. Panic overwhelmed his senses. Seized with the uncontrollable need to move, Ianto tried to sit up. Halfway there, he felt Owen catch him and guide him firmly back to the bed.
"Now, now, that's enough of that. I've spent the last five days putting you back together, so don't go screwing up my work, okay? Jack'll mount my head on a wall otherwise."
Ianto lashed out with his bandaged hand and felt it hit against Owen's chest before it was taken in a careful grip.
"F-five."
"Yeah." Owen folded Ianto's arm at a comfortable angle across his torso. "Whatever that bastard used on you, it wasn't anything we've seen before. Every time one organ would begin to heal, another would start to fail. Was like surgical Whack-A-Mole there for a while."
Five days. He'd lost five days—and Jack hadn't returned.
"Where?"
"Where what? Oh, where's Jack. We don't know. We lost contact with him three days ago. He's still tracking down that sadistic bastard. Gwen and Tosh are out trying to recreate Jack's steps with the map he deciphered, but it's slow going. They're supposed to be checking in here in a few minutes but in the meantime, I need to know how you're feeling."
Ianto tried to think of an appropriate cliché—run over by a bus, building fell down on me, you should see the other guy—and failed. "Like shit."
"I'll bet you do. But the good news is, you are making a hell of a comeback after nearly dying on me twice. You even had a trip to the hospital but I doubt you remember it."
"Where am I?"
"Tosh did a little remodelling. She cleaned out the storage room next to my lab and we've set you up in there. Sorry to say you'll have to put it all back. On second thought, you'll probably enjoy that."
Ianto heard a faint beep and tensed as Owen patted his arm.
"That'll be the girls, I hope. If it's Rift activity, we're screwed."
Left alone, Ianto tried to calm down his racing heart and make sense of what he'd learned. Jack was missing and Gwen and Tosh were out searching for him, all of them in danger and he couldn't help them. He didn't waste time blaming himself for what had happened—he'd seen too many horrible things that could only be attributed to bad timing to think that this was his fault. Hardy would've attacked one of them eventually, and in a way, that made Ianto almost glad that it'd been him. Almost.
He grasped onto that concept as he began to sink back into unconsciousness, his last thought one of annoyance that Owen had slipped a sedative into his I.V. just when he needed to be awake. He'd slept enough.
"And then the blind man says, yeah, but only if I get to drive!"
Ianto became aware of two things at once. First, Jack was again amusing himself without needing anyone else's participation and second, that Jack was stretched out on the bed beside him, his back pressed to the tiled wall, one palm cradling Ianto's splinted hand.
Even in his fear that his blindness wasn't going to be cured, Ianto started to feel as though this nightmare might actually have an end. The physical discomfort had receded to a tolerable level and he was grateful for that. He rolled slightly until he was more firmly pressed against Jack's body, so close that he could feel Jack's physical reaction to Ianto's wordless revelation that he was awake.
"Only you," Ianto muttered, "would tell a blind joke to a blind man. Who's unconscious."
He felt Jack's lips touch his temple. "No, I'm telling a blind joke to a man who's going to see again. Welcome back, by the way. You sure took your damn time."
"Could say the same about you, couldn't I."
"Bitch, bitch, bitch."
"Always the snappy comeback with you."
"Man, you're a tough audience. I think I liked you better when you were unconscious."
"I've often held the same opinion about you." He felt Jack shift beside him and heard a small grunt. "Comfortable?"
"Not particularly, but it was my turn on the Ianto watch and I figured what the hell. I've been on my feet for six days straight and it was time to take a load off."
"Ianto watch?"
Jack didn't respond and Ianto felt the atmosphere in the room shift. When Jack's mouth touched his own, the mood between them lost its sense of light-hearted avoidance.
"How are you, Ianto?" Jack murmured. Ianto remembered that tone of voice, that tender inflection that told him that Jack was asking more than the obvious. He wanted to shout that he was terrible, and scared, and that he'd failed in his self-appointed mission to archive all his feelings and dreams and replace them with cold reality.
"Haven't we had this conversation?"
A caress the weight of a butterfly landed on his cheek. "I don't remember getting a straight answer from you then. Will I get one now?"
Ianto burrowed his face into Jack's neck, mindful of the bandages that still swathed his eyes. "All the better for having you back—"
"I'll take that as a no and if you call me sir I'm gonna kick your ass as soon as you're healed."
Ianto stifled a smile against Jack's skin. "Empty threats. Kicking isn't your style. Biting, yes. Kicking, no."
Jack sighed. "Fine. I'll bite your ass later if it means that much to you. In the meantime," Jack disentangled himself and pushed upwards to slide off the end of the bed. "Let's see about getting you back into the land of the seeing, okay?"
Ianto resettled into the middle of the bed, wincing as his body protested. A snuggle was all well and good, but being able to see certainly trumped it.
"You got the blood, I take it?"
"Oh, not just the blood. I got the original packaging. Hardy's down in the vaults and he is spitting mad, if you'll pardon the expression."
Stupid. He should've expected that, should've anticipated that Hardy would be taken alive. But Ianto hadn't, and the terror that raced through him knowing that Hardy was only a few levels beneath him robbed him of speech and breath. He could barely hear Jack's voice through the ringing in his ears and every instinct was screaming at him to flee, his body rigid as it fought its own weakness.
"Ssh, Ianto, relax." A voice pierced through his panic. Hands on him, not Jack's, too clinical and firm. Owen's. "Jesus, Jack what the hell did you say to him? His heart rate's gone through the roof!"
"I said that—oh, hell," Jack was nearby, sounding stricken. "Ianto, I'm sorry."
Ianto lifted his hand off the bed and felt it gathered in a careful hold. His initial reaction passing, he was beginning to feel rather foolish. "No worries. Just tell me when I'll see again."
"We're working on that," Owen said from behind him. "But we've run into some complications."
"Brilliant." The hold on his bandaged fingers tightened. "What kind of complications?"
It was Jack who answered. "Hardy altered his blood. He ingested some kind of organic compound that has changed its basic chemical make-up so that the antidote is inert."
Ianto swallowed. "That doesn't sound promising." At least his voice didn't shake.
"Buck up," Owen said cheerfully. "It's only a matter of sussing out the altering compound, separating it from the blood and then refining what we have left into the antidote. And lucky for us, we have a practically unending source of original material. But I do have some good news."
"Yeah?"
"In two minutes you won't have to piss through a tube any more."
"Okay, that's my cue." Jack patted Ianto's arm, then laid it on the bed. "I'll be back in a little bit. In the meantime, I'll check and see if Tosh has isolated the compound. Don't go anywhere."
"Funny, Jack. Please keep your day job."
Jack didn't reply, but Ianto was sure there was a smirk sent in his direction.
It was after midnight. He didn't know how he knew, but he was sure of it. The Hub breathed differently when no one was around, as if it too could relax for a few stolen moments.
Two days after coming awake to Jack's stand-up routine in his bed, Ianto was no closer to regaining his eyesight and the failure was taking its toll on everyone. Mistakes were being made, tests were being done over and over in a useless attempt to find an answer. Things were dropped and harsh words were said. Add to that a flurry of Rift activity and the team was bordering on full out exhaustion, and Ianto knew that Jack had finally sent the other three home hours ago, even Owen, who'd insisted that dead men didn't need naps. Jack had countered that dead men still required the occasional attitude adjustment and that had been that.
Ianto didn't begrudge any of them their time away, even though the answer to the compound that had modified Hardy's blood was no closer to being discovered. Even from his tiny room, Ianto heard them sniping at each other as the hours dragged on, their research interrupted by alien intruders and Weevil sightings and their frustrations with their own limitations.
Gwen and Toshiko had been scrupulous about visiting Ianto, and at first he'd appreciated it. But soon their conversations would dwindle to assurances on their part that they were making progress and assurances on his part that he had faith in them. Owen showed up often as well, but as expected his visits were as a doctor to his patient, short on niceties and long on prying and poking.
Jack was in and out, relying on the others to keep Ianto updated on their progress. He'd seemed more concerned with rallying Ianto's spirits, but the constant flow of incoming otherworldly guests had stretched even Jack to his limits. After a quick visit to Ianto after the others had left, Jack had gone out as well, promising Ianto he'd return after checking on an alien sighting at the morgue.
As soon as Ianto was sure that Jack was gone, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He'd been out of bed a few times but always with someone to guide him. Now there was no one, and that's exactly how he wanted it.
He let his legs slide slowly to the floor, aiming for the approximate position of his slippers. With a little fishing around he found them and slid his feet inside. He'd been given a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt not his own—Jack's, judging from the size— but nothing else, so as he stood up from the bed, he gathered the blanket that had been keeping him warm and draped it around his shoulders.
This was the last thing he'd wanted to do, but he knew that he was running out of time. No one had said anything, but Ianto was aware that his eyesight was degenerating and the window to finding a cure in time was closing. He'd traced the path a hundred times in his head, but actually making the journey was altogether different. Once past the threshold of his makeshift hospital room he paused to get his bearings. To his right should be a set of steps leading up to Owen's autopsy room, then stairs leading to the levels above. He waited for a few moments, listening for any sign of human movement. When he couldn't discern any, he turned away from the path leading to the higher areas and began to make his way down into the vaults.
It was slow going. Knowing the sounds of the Hub and hearing them without benefit of sight were two entirely different things. Despite Ianto's intimate knowledge of his environment, every step was fraught with unknown dangers as he walked with his arms extended, afraid to crash into something or worse, break it. His confidence grew as he overcame each obstacle, imagined or real, and by the time he'd keyed in the combination to the vault's entrance, he was moving with considerable agility.
He listened as the thick door rolled aside, waiting for the definitive clunk that would signal that he was clear to enter. Now his steps lagged again as he crossed the threshold, one still-bandaged hand using the wall on his right to guide him. Down here the sounds were muffled and dissonant, but he could still make out the belly-scraping snores of at least one Weevil coming from the first cell. Feet dragging, he kept moving, the entire right side of his body sliding along the wall as he crept forward, his blanket providing less than adequate heat.
He knew partially what had driven him to confront Hardy, but he also knew that explaining that compulsion to anyone, even Jack, was impossible. Maybe it was just a terrible fascination with the kind of things that could destroy someone's life so casually, whether it was advanced alien technology or a half-man, half-snake with inferiority issues. But beyond that, there was terror, so much of it that Ianto knew that if he couldn't conquer it, he'd be useless, to the team, to Jack—to himself. All he wanted to was to hear Hardy's voice and know that Hardy could never touch him again.
He estimated that he'd passed the second cell when he got his wish.
"Hey, Tom? That you? Hey, over here."
Ianto froze, his hand slipping against the wall, searching for something to grip. Nausea churned up from his stomach to choke him and he fell backward until his shoulders were flush to the tiles. Breathing through his nose, he fought back the horror that threatened to drive him to his knees and forced himself to stand straight.
"Tom, you okay?"
The voice was coming from further down the corridor, soundly oddly electronic and muffled. With his hand still flat to the wall, Ianto took a few steps toward Hardy's cell. His toe slid across a slick patch and collided with a hard surface. He recalled storing some boxes down here a few weeks ago and he ran his hands over their angles, finding that there were two stacked together that would make a workable seat. Carefully, mindful of bandages and still-healing wounds, he dragged himself up onto box and pulled his blanket tightly around his shoulders.
"Hey, sorry about the eyes, okay? Well, and the other stuff, but at least you're still alive, right? Jack says you've had a pretty rough time but you must be doing better."
"I highly doubt that Jack would be discussing my condition with you."
"Well, he didn't say it, exactly, but every time he slaps me around I get the idea he's been pretty worried about you."
"Slaps you around?"
"Yeah, that whole blood removal process is a drag. Do you know how they're doing that? They—"
"Taser you until you're nearly dead, shackle you to a wall and open a vein. At least, that's how I'd do it."
"Wow, so much for the sympathy angle. Thing is, Jack seems to think that's a great time to use me as a punching bag, which is a pretty damn rude way to treat an old friend. Unless you're into that kind of thing."
"Is that why your speech is affected?"
"My—nah, that's this stupid mask they have me wearing, so I don't spit in anyone else's eyes."
"Right." Ianto crossed his arms over his chest, holding tight onto sore muscles to fight off the waves of shivers that were beginning to slide through his body. "This didn't work out as you'd expected, did it?"
"Not really, although you have to admit that messing up my blood so you can't regain your sight was a cool idea. Sure has pissed off everyone around here, anyway. Unfortunately it's only Jack and that weird guy that come down here now. Jack banned the girls, I guess. Seems he thinks I was uncouth."
Ianto swallowed, the tremors rocking his body growing more violent. "They can't determine the nature of the compound that is altering your blood. If they don't find it, I will remain blind."
He heard Hardy sigh. "Yeah, I know."
"Will you tell me what it is?"
When Hardy laughed, Ianto had to bow his head as a wave of dizziness swept through him. That laugh was the soundtrack to this nightmare, and hearing it now brought him back to a sun-dappled wood and horror almost beyond his comprehension.
"Now why would I do that?" Hardy was saying. "Kind of defeats the whole purpose of making Jack's life an unending hell, doesn't it?"
"True, but it would be worth it if he let you go afterwards. Wouldn't it?"
Ianto heard a clanking sound before Hardy spoke again. "Let me go? Are you nuts? He'd never do that, he's already promised to kill me eight different ways, and that was just since this morning. It's much more fun watching him sweat over whether or not his boy toy ever sees the light of day again."
"But in the end," Ianto persisted, "it won't matter. I could regain my eyesight today and get struck by lightning tomorrow. Or I could live to be ninety and remain blind the rest of my life. Regardless, my life will go on. You, on the other hand, will spend the rest of your life in that cell, entertaining the occasional house mate who may or may not eat you. Or make you its girlfriend, for that matter."
"So, what you're saying is, this is what they call diminishing returns. Also known as sucking out all the fun of my little plan here."
"Yes, essentially."
Ianto let his offer sink in, understanding that he truly had no bargaining position. Hardy was dangerous to everyone and he knew that even if Jack would agree, Ianto couldn't live with himself if Hardy was released. The only thing he could imagine being worse than remaining blind was if someone else suffered the same fate. He was lying about releasing Hardy and he could only hope that Hardy didn't recognize that.
"So, how about it?"
Ianto jumped, twisting his body so violently at the sound of Jack's voice that he bit off a cry as his wounds protested the movement. Jack was beside him instantly, one hand steadying his shoulder, the other grabbing the edge of the blanket to arrange it more securely around Ianto's neck.
"Hey, Jack," Hardy whined, "is this the real deal? I give up the info and you let me walk out of here?"
"With certain conditions," Jack said. "One. Nothing happens until Ianto is completely cured. Two. Owen removes your fangs and venom glands. Three. I take you out and dump you anywhere I like. You'll have no money, no I.D., no weapons. Four. You tell me everything you know regarding the whereabouts of John Hart."
"And if I don't agree to your terms? Tom there will still go blind."
"Not necessarily. My team will figure it out eventually and as soon as you're no longer needed, I will kill you. If Ianto is permanently blinded before they find the cure, I'll kill you then, too."
"Just like that?"
Jack's soft laugh chilled Ianto to the bone. "No, first I'll take that whip of yours and use you for target practice. Then I'll strangle you with it. Repeatedly."
"Jesus, Jack, vindictive much? Yeah, okay, whatever. I got no beef with Tom, he was a good soldier through the whole thing. And since this isn't any fun any more, I guess my answer is yes. Gimme a piece of paper—"
"No. You'll dictate the information to Owen."
"Jack—" Ianto stopped when Jack tightened his grip in his shoulder.
"It's okay, this will work. I'm going to contact the others right now. Think you can make it back upstairs before Owen gets back? Otherwise he'll have your hide and mine for letting you roam around."
Ianto shook off Jack's hand and got to his feet. "I arrived here here on my own, didn't I? Go on, I have something I want to ask Captain Hardy."
Ianto could sense Jack's reluctance, but was relieved when Jack agreed.
"Sure. Since you're so smart, meet me in my office when you're done. And don't call him Captain. He hasn't earned the privilege."
Ianto waited until Jack's footsteps had faded before turning back in the direction of Hardy's cell.
"Was it worth it?"
"What's that, Tom? Sorry, wasn't paying attention. They keep it pretty cold down here and it makes me sleepy."
"Was it worth it. Did it give you any pleasure to see Jack upset."
This time Hardy giggled, and it contained a tinge of such evil that Ianto backed up a step. "Pleasure? Oh, hell, yeah. And upset doesn't begin to describe it. Ask him some day to tell you what he said to me when he found me. Better yet, ask him what he did to find me in the first place. He made more enemies in five days than I've made in five years, and that's saying something. So don't be surprised if Jack isn't due a little cosmic payback for his sins."
"I don't understand."
Hardy hissed impatiently. "Deals were made, Tom. Promises, too. I think it's safe to say that if Jack Harkness had a soul, he'd have sold it ten times over to find me. He's a crafty bastard in the best of times, but take something that belongs to him and watch the fuck out, that's all I'm saying."
"Oh, good, you're here. Took you long enough." The tart words were softened by Jack's guiding touch as he led Ianto to a chair.
"Sorry, Jack. Still blind, you know."
"Excuses, excuses. Can I get you something? You want some tea?"
"Coffee. Double espresso, actually. Just a hint of foam, maybe a light dusting of cinnamon—"
"Right, tea it is. Hey," Jack continued over Ianto's protest, "don't get mad at me. You're recuperating and I know for a fact that you're still on a restricted diet. And enough with the pouting, it's not getting you anywhere." Ianto felt a light kiss pressed to his lips. "Hell, who am I kidding. I'll be right back."
Almost as soon as Jack had left to make tea, Ianto felt the Hub begin to stir. Sitting there with nothing to do, he made a bet with himself that Owen would be the first to return and was rewarded when he heard the doctor's familiar steps rattle through the main portion of the Hub.
"Jack!" Owen yelled.
"Here!" came the reply. "Hang on, be right there."
More ringing sounds, Myfanwy's cry, power cycling up. Ianto imagined lights coming on all over the Hub, monitors blinking alive as they dropped their screen savers, all the comforting signs that Torchwood was coming awake. The next recognizable sound was a set of softer footsteps, which could be either Tosh or Gwen. Ianto made another silent bet that it would be Tosh, simply because Tosh had no one at home to leave behind.
"Good, you're here." That was Jack, his voice coming closer as he approached his office. "As soon as Gwen is here, we'll have a meeting in my office."
"Do you have the cure?" Tosh asked.
"Not yet, but Hardy's decided to cooperate."
"Yeah?" Owen asked from somewhere close. "What made him decide to do that?"
"We made a deal."
"A deal?" Gwen, from further away. "What kind of deal?"
"Look, everyone inside and we'll fill you in."
"'We'?" By the nearness of his voice, Owen was walking into Jack's office. "What the hell are you doing out of bed?"
"I'm fine." Ianto wrapped his blanket more tightly around his shoulders, feeling more vulnerable now than he had since he'd come awake. As the team gathered in Jack's office he could feel all of them watching him with various levels of pity. All of them except Jack, who matter-of-factly handed him a large mug and made sure Ianto had it secured between his wrapped fingers before moving away.
In clipped, measured tones, Jack explained the deal that he'd made with Hardy. In his mind's eye, Ianto could picture him, standing tall, arms folded over his chest and feet spread apart in a military stance. His chin up, making eye contact with his team, his utter conviction in his decision swaying each of them in turn. It was what Ianto secretly called Jack's St. Crispin's delivery, the one that rallied the troops to ever higher achievements, that made them believe in Jack when everything else in their world was falling to pieces.
Not that any of them were protesting. Once they understood that Hardy would be left without his inborn weapons and thus essentially defenceless, Ianto could sense their rising excitement.
"So that's it," Jack concluded. "Owen, you and I will go down and get the information we need and then take a fresh batch of blood. Gwen and Tosh, clear off everything we've got cooking and get ready. Whatever it is that Hardy has used on himself, chances are it's exotic or alien or both, so counteracting it could be problematic. Everyone set? Great, let's move."
In ten seconds, Ianto was alone, his cooling tea forgotten, his gaze turned inward. He would see again. Hardy would be neutralized and banished somewhere suitably horrible, and then Torchwood 3 would be back to normal, business as usual, everyone back in their assigned roles.
If only he could say the same for himself.
"Okay, ready? Right, stupid question. Here we go, slowly now."
Ianto held his breath as the first layer of bandages was carefully peeled off. Owen was being more gentle than Ianto expected, making sure that the delicate skin around Ianto's eyes didn't stretch as the adhesive slowly gave way. His left hand gripping the arm of the chair, his right held tight to Jack's chest, Ianto waited for light and life and all the things he'd been missing, all the things that had been hidden in the black hole his world had become, to be made clear again.
He knew that Toshiko and Gwen were nearby and he took comfort in that. Regaining Ianto's sight had become a team goal, and while part of him was deeply embarrassed to be the centre of so much attention, it went a long way toward smoothing something inside him that had been rough for too long. These people did care for him and he didn't bother to correct himself that it was strictly on a professional level. They were no longer simply comrades in the foxhole, the office contingent taking up a row at Gwen's wedding, the people he swept up after. They'd put in endless hours of work and driven themselves past the point of exhaustion, all in aid of helping out a friend. It was almost overwhelming now, and Ianto knew that the first time he had to clean up after one of Owen's messier alien autopsies or remind Gwen once again not to leave her dirty cup in the sink without at least rinsing it, he'd forget what this moment had meant.
And there was something comforting in that, too.
It had taken nearly two more days to isolate the organic compound from Hardy's blood. During those days, leaving Gwen in charge of monitoring the Rift while the other two members of his team played to their strengths in science, Jack had hardly left Ianto's side. He must've known that the suspense would be terrifying, so he did everything in his power to keep Ianto distracted. The first thing he'd done was take him out of Torchwood altogether. He'd made a trip to Ianto's flat and procured a set of his own clothing, something Ianto found vaguely unsettling. There was a reason he'd never invited Jack to his home, but it seemed ungrateful to make a fuss about it now.
They'd walked around the Plass, their arms linked, as Jack made up outrageous stories about the people passing by. Some of them had been silly and most of them scandalous, and Ianto had gotten into the spirit of things as well, adding his own bit of history and making Jack laugh in turn. If it hadn't been for the poison rotting his eyes, Ianto would have believed that they were just two lovers enjoying a sunny day.
It'd been after midnight when Ianto had been awakened by Owen's triumphant yell. His hands unable to navigate the ladder that led to Jack's quarters, he'd simply remained in the room that Tosh had created for him, even though his health had improved significantly. Jack had moved out of his own room for the duration and when Ianto was forced to rest on doctor's orders, Jack had laid down beside him and ordered him not to steal the covers.
"I've got it!"
Jack was gone from his side immediately, leaving Ianto to follow more slowly as he pushed aside the blanket and got to his feet. By the time he'd made his way to the staircase, Jack was there to meet him and guide him to the main floor. He could feel Owen's impatience as Jack stopped Ianto's progress to stand behind him, hands on Ianto's shoulders.
"Go," Jack commanded.
"Right. Well, it's all Tosh's doing." Owen paused and Ianto imagined that a smile had been shared between the doctor and Toshiko. "Brilliant girl realized we were going at this the wrong way and began reversing some of our earlier attempts—"
"The cure, Owen," Jack prompted.
"It'll be ready in two hours, tops. We don't even need any more blood from that bastard."
Jack's grip on Ianto's shoulders flexed and fell away. "Good. How will you apply it?"
"Straight into Ianto's bloodstream. If it works the way we think it will, Ianto's vision should be perfectly clear within three hours after that."
A touch on his arm and the scent of patchouli announced Gwen's presence. "Thank God, Ianto," she murmured. He'd placed his hand over hers and nodded, swallowing hard and wishing it was already five hours in the future.
In reality, the time had flown. Again Jack had entertained and teased Ianto, and as the tension had grown thicker, he'd hauled him down to the archives and made him identify the contents of various bins strictly through Jack's cockeyed descriptions.
Right on schedule, Owen had set up Ianto with an I.V. drip that contained the antidote, making Ianto stay in the operating theatre so he could monitor his patient. It had been painless and boring, but it'd only lasted twenty minutes before Owen had disengaged the drip and ordered Ianto back to bed. Ianto had ignored him and had wandered into Jack's vacant office. At that point it was only him and Owen in the Hub due to a Weevil sighting that had taken Jack, Gwen and Tosh into the field. There was nothing left for him to do again but wait.
Now the moment had arrived and Ianto's heart was beating painfully fast. Owen had checked the status of Ianto's vision over the course of the past few hours, reporting that the white striations were fading as they'd hoped. But each time he'd re-bandaged Ianto's eyes, which had begun to itch, and told him that he wouldn't completely remove the wrappings until the full measure of time had passed.
Finally, the bandages were removed and all that remained were two cotton pads secured with thin strips of medical tape.
"Right eye first, okay, Ianto? But don't open it, not until I tell you to."
Ianto nodded and held still as Owen peeled away the tape. Around him the room was silent but Owen's hands were steady as he removed the cotton pad. Ianto kept his eye closed and waited as Owen moved on to his left eye. He listened as Owen disposed of the trash, then tensed when he felt fingers brushed his eyelids.
"Steady, now. If you feel any pain, let me know immediately."
As Jack slid his hand behind his neck, Ianto replied, "You'll be the first to know."
"Any time you're ready."
Ianto held his breath and opened his eyes. The white lines were gone and while the world wasn't exactly in focus, a few quick blinks cleared his vision completely and allowed him a straight shot of Owen's pale, worried face.
"Well?" Owen demanded impatiently.
"Having you as the first thing I see really wasn't what I had in mind, but yes, I can see you perfectly." Owen grunted and stepped back, revealing Toshiko directly behind him, her eyes wide and flushed with tears.
"Please don't cry. You're much prettier to wake up to than Owen, trust me."
"Hey, enough with the flirting," Jack whispered in his ear. "I am right here, you know."
Then Jack was pulling him out of his chair and into his arms, laughing and lifting him off his feet. In turn he was hugged by Tosh and an equally damp-cheeked Gwen, who didn't seem to want to let him go. Finally extricating himself, Ianto offered Owen his hand and was surprised when he too pulled Ianto into an awkward embrace.
"This calls for champagne," Jack announced. "Doesn't this call for champagne?"
Ianto rubbed at his eyes until Owen slapped his hands away and said, "None for my patient. I need to do some tests first and make sure that the blindness has retreated completely. Plus I should take some blood and—"
"Hold on," Jack interrupted. "Check his eyes, then blood tests, then champagne, a little champagne." Jack turned to Ianto. "We do have champagne, right?"
"Of course we do," Ianto replied, insulted.
"Sorry. Silly me. Hey, Owen, can you spare Ianto for a few minutes before you start digging into him again?"
Owen looked at Ianto. "Depends. How do you feel?"
Ianto rocked back on his heels as he gave Owen's question consideration. Since he'd opened his eyes he'd been greedily taking in the sights around him, reacquainting himself with the touchstones of his life. He was sure that that walls of Torchwood had never been so shiny and that the blue of Jack's eyes had never been so bright. His body was still sore in spots and he tired easily, but except for his fingers, he was in remarkably good shape.
"Fine."
"Great." Jack took him by the arm and started to lead him away. "We won't be but a minute, folks. Go ahead and break out the bubbly."
"It's next to Gwen's yoghurt, behind Tosh's sprouts," Ianto said over his shoulder before Jack ushered him into his office. He waited in the middle of the room as Jack gazed back into the Hub before turning toward him.
"That's better," Jack said. Before Ianto could ask what Jack was referring to, he found himself again in Jack's arms and Jack's mouth settling against his own.
It was a kiss of celebration and abandon, and Ianto lost himself in it. He slung his arms around Jack's waist and pulled them closer as Jack released his mouth to kiss along the line of Ianto's jaw, the light touches interspersed with whispers and laughter. It was frantic and beautiful, with no grace to their actions, no sense of going anywhere beyond the expressions of relief and joy. Ianto brought Jack's mouth back to his and kissed him deeply, trying to convey more in his touch than could possibly be discerned. Love and gratitude, fear and relief, and suddenly everything was beginning to sink in. His sight was truly back and furthermore he'd survived an attack of unimaginable cruelty, and the world around him was contracting to Jack's office, Jack's sheltering presence, Jack's heart pounding against his own. Jack must've guessed that he'd have a reaction that he wouldn't want the others to witness, because his arms were holding Ianto more tightly than ever, his kisses gentling to soft caresses as Ianto began to shake.
"You did it, Ianto," he whispered. "You did it."
"Not me," Ianto began to argue, then stopped. Giving in to an impulse that he'd had since the night before he'd left, Ianto closed his eyes and laid his head on Jack's shoulder. In turn he was cradled against Jack's chest with tender care, broad hands running up and down his back to help chase away the tension.
He could've stood there forever, holding Jack and soaking in the comfort that Jack offered so generously, but the moment ended when Jack's phone rang. With a swift kiss planted to Ianto's ear, Jack released him and picked it up, reading the caller I.D. with a grin.
Winking at Ianto, he answered, "Hi, gorgeous."
Eyebrows raised, Ianto held up his hands and began backing out of the room. He'd taken no more than a step when Jack was beside him, sliding his arm around Ianto's waist and pulling him close.
"Yep, that's right. Your boy is going to be just fine." Jack caught Ianto's eye and mouthed "Martha." "Thanks for your offer of help, though. No, after I defang Hardy I'll be sending him on a little trip. No, don't bother thanking me. You found one? I'll look forward to getting it. What's that? Yeah, I'll tell him that, too. Take care."
Jack closed the phone and tossed it aside, then took Ianto back into his embrace. This was somewhat un-Jack-like, since Jack's attention span would normally have him going after the champagne by now. But Jack didn't seem inclined to release Ianto any time soon. It almost made Ianto uncomfortable, as if Jack was trying to communicate something that he simply wasn't getting.
Pulling back to look into Jack's eyes, Ianto said, "I haven't heard the cork pop yet. I think they're waiting for us."
"Let them wait," Jack murmured. "I really don't want to let you go right now, if that's okay with you."
"Perfectly fine," Ianto replied faintly. "Take your time."
They stood for a few minutes, leaning against each other, swaying slightly to music only they could hear. Regardless of what happened next and despite Ianto's inability to reconcile all the emotions he held for Torchwood and Jack, he knew at that moment, maybe for only that moment, that he was cherished.
Finally, noticing the growing commotion from the others moving about below, Ianto finally broke the silence.
"I quite liked her, you know. Martha."
"And she liked you. In fact, before she left, she and I had little chat about you."
To his dismay, Ianto felt a blush rise in his cheeks. "Really? About me? I can't imagine why."
"You can't? That's funny, because she was pretty forthcoming about what the two of you discussed."
Unprepared for the hint of wistfulness in Jack's voice, Ianto tried to backtrack. "I'm sure I don't recall anything—"
"The interesting thing is, she approves of you. You must've done or said something to impress her, because having Martha's approval is something worth keeping. Hell, she approves of you more than she does of me."
"That merely reinforces my opinion that she is a woman of exceptional tastes."
"Welcome back, Ianto." Jack emphasized his reply with a wicked kiss that left Ianto dazed. "I've missed you."
"Ianto! We're out of sutures again."
Ianto reached for his Blackberry and added sutures to the list of items to be picked up at the medical supply store. He had three lists going currently and each one was growing with every passing hour.
"And alcohol!" Owen continued, shouting from his work station.
Rubbing alcohol was duly added to the list, which in turn reminded him to jot champagne, demi-sec and ice cream, rum raisin down on his list of required groceries. The third list consisted of office supplies and was considerably shorter than the other two.
Leaning back into the sofa, he set aside the Blackberry and sighed. It seemed as though everything had been used up since the day he'd left on his hike and it was going to take hours to do all the shopping. His three team mates had been emailing him constantly about items running out as well as leaving notes attached to his workstation. Jack had left a couple of notes of his own, but they had nothing to do with resupplying the larder or replacing light bulbs.
It was after he'd read the second one, a dirty, charming limerick found folded beneath his keyboard, that Ianto had begun to wonder if he was being courted, Jack Harkness-style.
Ianto believed it had started in those few stolen moments in Jack's office. At first Jack's reaction hadn't surprised him. Jack's honest joy at Ianto's recovery was something to treasure, but he wasn't too sure that reaction wouldn't have been much the same for any of them in the same situation, save for the kisses. Then again, Jack being Jack, the offer of celebratory kisses for everyone was standard operating procedure in many cases.
But it hadn't ended with one lingering embrace. In fact, it hadn't ended at all.
Two days after regaining his sight, Ianto had officially returned to work. Unofficially, he'd never really left. No one had suggested that he take time off to deal with recent events or stay away from Torchwood to recuperate. The splints had been removed from his fingers and after many physical tests and bright lights shone in his eyes, all administered by a now markedly unsympathetic Owen, he'd been declared fit enough to go home as long as he didn't over-exert himself in any way.
Jack had entertained other ideas.
The makeshift hospital room wasn't dismantled and instead was upgraded, giving Owen an option for space other than the room where he performed his autopsies and exams to patch up their various scrapes and cuts. Things that had been stored there had to be moved, and Ianto had been a strict taskmaster as he'd directed the other four as they moved boxes and bins and arranged them to his liking. More than once he heard muttered threats (from Gwen) unflattering descriptions of his biological heritage (Owen), plaintive complaints about broken nails (Tosh), and dark promises of retribution (Jack) but it was all done efficiently and with enough good grace that Ianto knew they were simply teasing and didn't really mind. He didn't bother to tell them that as soon as he was able, he was going to rearrange everything anyway.
Since his one-time hospital bed was now purposed for Owen's exclusive use, Ianto had decided to go home. He wanted to return to some kind of normalcy and that meant watering his plants and washing the clothes he'd been wearing since he'd been returned to the Hub. The extra clothing he'd taken on his hike and all of the other items in his rucksack—and the rucksack itself—had been incinerated at his request except for the weaponry, the electronics and his diary.
But late that afternoon, when he'd expressed his intention to drive himself home and take care of personal matters, Jack had asked him to wait and instead had invited him to join Jack down in his quarters. Unfortunately, he'd made his request within earshot of everyone else, causing varying degrees of reaction. Gwen had shaken her head and rolled her eyes, Tosh had blushed and Owen had grumped that Ianto hadn't been "cleared for that sort of thing quite yet." Ianto had canted an inquisitive eyebrow in Jack's direction and Jack had accused them all of having sex on the brain before shepherding Ianto into his private domain.
He'd dutifully climbed down the ladder and joined Jack in the cramped space. Jack had seemed almost nervous, a definite rarity. Ianto hadn't seen him so uncertain since they'd had been searching for Captain Hart's cluster bombs and Jack had thrown him off balance with a request for a date. Jack had looked at him, the right side of his generous mouth crooking upward in as diffident a smile as Jack Harkness ever managed, and had directed Ianto's gaze toward one wall.
Tucked between the tubes and wires and papered-over holes that held Torchwood together, Jack had put together a gallery of pictures. Ianto stepped closer, eyes wide, trying to take them all in. There were old photos and pen-and-ink drawings, many sepia-coloured, some black and white, some tinted with soft chalk. Many of them were stained and creased and they came in different sizes and shapes. Most were formal portraits of single subjects, men and women alike, and in the centre of the haphazard cluster of pictures were two photos set directly side by side, the only ones properly framed.
Ianto was immediately drawn to the photo on the left. It was Jack, looking solemn but with that unmistakable Harkness glint in his eye, seated in front of a young woman in a wedding dress. It was almost painful to look at, the love shining from the woman's face echoed in the softened lines of Jack's expression. Ianto wondered what Jack was thinking at that moment, if he'd hoped that he'd found the love of his life, what he'd expected that life to contain, how long it would last.
A memory of a more recent wedding drifted across Ianto's imagination, and like the soft slip of a knife's edge slicing into his heart, painless and true, Ianto finally understood what he could not have understood before that moment.
"You were remembering," Ianto murmured. "At Gwen's wedding, you were remembering. That's why you were—"
"Yes."
"She's lovely." He'd deliberately used the present tense.
"Yes. Look at the picture beside it."
Reluctantly, Ianto had turned to view other the photo. At first it didn't register, what he was looking at. The picture was washed in pale brown, like the sepia-toned prints nearby, allowing it to blend seamlessly into the collage that Jack had constructed. But the subject matter was entirely modern—it was a rendition of the picture of Ianto and Lisa in front of the Eye, copied from the same picture he kept at home.
Ianto had taken a step backward and Jack had taken that step with him, obviously uncertain of Ianto's reaction. They'd remained like that for several moments, two feet between them, Jack waiting for Ianto and Ianto praying that Jack wouldn't see the one tear he hadn't been able to control. The impasse had finally broken when Ianto had swiped his cheek against his shoulder and cleared his throat.
"It's crooked." He'd reached up and given the bottom of the photo an infinitesimal nudge, settling into its proper place and hoping that Jack hadn't noticed the slight tremble in his fingers.
"You said you had questions." As Ianto had brought his hand down, Jack had wrapped one arm around Ianto's waist and kissed his cheek. "I'm trying to answer them the best way I know how."
"And bog roll!" Owen called out. "D'you have that on the list?"
"Bog roll," Ianto muttered, too low for anyone to hear, "is always on the list."
Gwen appeared in front of him, wordlessly holding out a canister of sugar. Ianto took it from her and turned it upside down, allowing the last few grains to trickle onto his palm.
"I stocked that before I left, I swear I did."
Gwen shrugged. "Sorry," she said. "Owen couldn't get the coffee right, so I had to make it drinkable somehow."
"I heard that!" was Owen's irritated response.
Ianto shared a smile with Gwen and rose to his feet, dusting off his hand with a tissue. "I'd better get going. At this rate, it'll take me the rest of the afternoon to finish these errands."
"That's all right, we'll make do while you're gone. Take your time, just remember to have someone else load up the groceries." Gwen started to move off, but turned back place her hand on Ianto's sleeve. "It's nice to see you properly dressed again," she added with a wink.
She walked away and Ianto glanced into the nearest shiny surface to straighten his tie. The knot wasn't as properly as he'd liked, but his fingers had yet to regain all their strength. It was one of the few things he hadn't managed to completely conquer, but compared to everything else, it was only a minor setback.
After all, there were so many other things to think about. Like Jack taking it in stride when Ianto had insisted on driving home alone to his flat the past two nights yet making sure that Ianto was thoroughly mussed from his kisses before he left. Like Jack flirting with him so openly that the others had started completing even Jack's most innocent sentences at staff meetings with silly innuendo until it became a game to see who came up with the most outrageous scenario. Like watching Jack's eyes darken that morning, the first day Ianto had returned wearing a suit, reopening the long-neglected tourist office and scolding everyone for leaving wet rings on the furniture. That look in Jack's eyes had lingered there all day and he'd made no effort to glance away when Ianto had caught him at it.
Those were the things worth pondering.
Slipping the Blackberry into his pocket, he took a quick, assessing glance around the Hub and decided that if it wasn't on the list now, they could all damn well live without it for a while. He grabbed the keys to the SUV without a second thought, since he had so much to purchase and haul back, and slipped out the back door into the garage. Deliberately blanking out his last memory of being there, he concentrated on the task at hand and began his rounds.
Halfway between one stop and the next, he realized that he'd forgotten to check his secret supply of Sharpies, the ones that everyone always stole and then promptly lost. Somewhere, he mused, the other side of the Rift was burping out black, felt-tipped pens. He decided to call in and ask someone to check, with the understanding that he'd have to find another hiding place for them one more time. He pulled out of traffic and made his call to the main line, annoyed that his time schedule was being delayed.
No one answered.
At first unperturbed, he tried the earpiece before starting to go through his speed dial with a growing sense of panic. Jack, Owen, Tosh, Gwen, none of them were answering their phones. By the time he'd tried every number he had for each of them, he was already breaking speed limits to get back to Torchwood.
None of the regular entrances to Torchwood would offer any cover if the facility had been compromised. He parked on a side street near the one of the abandoned entrances that only he and Jack knew about. It took him precious seconds to remember how to disengage the security lock and then he was through, a torch he'd grabbed from the SUV his only source of light as he traversed a low-ceilinged corridor that hadn't seen a human since Ianto had discovered them two years earlier. More like thin tubes, they criss-crossed the outer limits of Torchwood, both reinforcing it and allowing access in case of emergencies. When he'd found them, he'd dutifully informed Jack of their existence and after wiring them with sensors, had promptly filed away the information.
Disengaging the sensors as he went, he approached the middle of the Hub and turned off the torch, setting it aside when the light seeping in from the main rooms assured him that he wouldn't trip over his feet. The slender corridor wound around Jack's quarters, then turned sharply upward and aided by a metal ladder attached to the wall, Ianto was able to gain access to the level of Jack's office. There was a grate there, covered with a sheet of plywood, that separated him from the room itself and he paused, gun drawn, straining to hear anything that would give him an idea of what he was about to face. Hearing nothing, he set aside his weapon and began scrabbling at the plywood, trying to be as fast and as quiet as possible. The plywood was warped and damp in places and gave way fairly easily, even with Ianto's weakened fingers. His hands were torn by the rough edges but he set the pieces aside and took out his pocket knife to begin working on the screws of the grate. They too had been damaged by time and the elements and in minutes he had the screws removed, though he kept the grate in place as he paused to listen.
At first there was nothing, but Ianto knew instinctively that Torchwood was occupied. The air currents were unsettled and the place was almost too quiet, holding its breath. He was just about to change positions when he finally heard a voice, and it was the last thing Ianto expected to hear.
"All right, look," Captain John Hart drawled, "this is getting silly. Your phones were ringing like mad not fifteen minutes ago, so you know he knows something's going on. I've asked each of you nicely to ring him and invite him back to play, and yet you all refuse. Now how am I supposed to take that? Rather rude, don't you think?"
"John, listen to me." Jack, sounding calm, almost bored. "Take Hardy and go. I promise you we won't come after you. Either of you."
Hardy spoke up and Ianto pressed his forehead to the grate, eyes squeezed shut. "Sounds like a good deal to me, John. Why don't we—"
There was a loud crack and Hardy screamed. "Shut up, Jethro! I'll deal with you later. Right now I want all of Jack's little band of merry elves right here, right now. Call him, Jack, or I'm going to take my new toy and slit Gwen's lovely throat with it."
Ianto carefully moved the grate aside and slid onto the floor of Jack's office. He couldn't see anything from this vantage point and when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket, he backed into the corridor and answered it.
"Yes," he whispered.
"Ianto!" Jack's voice sounded simultaneously in his ear as it carried up from the main hub. "Hey, where are you?"
Ianto didn't know if he'd been placed on the speaker or if Jack had his ear piece on, so he replied cautiously, listening for his own voice to come from inside.
"Finishing my errands."
There was no echo.
"Yeah, sorry if you tried calling earlier and no one here answered. We had an electromagnetic hiccup that took out local communications for a bit. Look, why don't you come on back now, okay? Owen doesn't want you getting overly tired."
Swallowing hard, Ianto took a chance. "I'm already here. In your office."
There was a brief pause. "Stuck in traffic, huh? Yeah, I hate that. When do you think you'll make it back? Ten minutes? Oh, hey, did you get those three rivets we needed for Tosh's monitor? I'd hate to have it fall on her head."
"Hardy or Hart?"
"Nah, it wasn't that difficult. All right, see you in ten."
Ianto set the phone aside and slid belly first onto the office floor. He crabbed across until he had a clear view of the space in front of him, part of his mind counting backwards from one eighty, the other nearly blank with fear. Through the glass he could see Tosh, Gwen and Owen herded against one wall, on their knees with their hands behind their backs. Owen had positioned himself in front of them, trying to shield them both with his dead body. A few feet away stood Jack, all straight lines and indignation, staring across the room at John Hart. Hart had the whip in one hand, several feet of it extruding and swaying slightly. In his other was a semi-automatic, aimed at Owen.
Slowly raising his head, Ianto arched his neck until he had a view of Jethro Hardy, standing near Tosh's workstation. As far as he could tell, Hardy wasn't armed. When the countdown in his head reached sixty, he levered his arms into position, praying that Hart wouldn't look up.
"So what's the plan when Ianto gets here?" Jack was asking, and Ianto silently thanked him for keeping Hart's attention on him.
Hart snickered. "Wouldn't you like to know. The thing is, Jack, you got yourself a nice little set-up here and I'm just a bit envious. So envious, in fact, that I seemed to have gotten a little maudlin in my old age."
"Maudlin?" Jack mocked him. "You get drunk and give up one of my crew members to a homicidal maniac and you call that maudlin?"
"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. Look, when Eye Candy shows up, I'm going to apologize like a gentleman and then take Hissy Boy over there off your hands. Oh, and I'm taking this handy little tool as well. We'll call it a souvenir of my adventures here since Jethro won't be needing it."
"I've only just removed his venom glands," Owen spoke up. "I haven't de-fanged him yet."
"Oh, don't worry about that, mate. I've got it all figured out."
Twenty. Jack's orders had been to take out Hardy, so Ianto took careful aim, holding his weapon in a tight, two-handed grip. As he counted down toward zero, he willed his fingers not to shake and sighting Hardy once more, took a deep breath and waited for Jack's signal.
It would never come.
Ten seconds before Ianto expected Jack to make his move, Hardy shifted out of Ianto's line of sight. Ianto, his target now missing, could only watch in horror as John Hart swung his gun around and took aim at the same time Jack threw himself toward Hart. Before he could bring his own weapon to bear on Hart, Ianto heard a scream followed by pounding footsteps and realized that Hardy was coming straight for him. Springing up from the floor, he caught Hardy just as he entered Jack's office, tripping him hard. Hardy flipped onto his back and lunged toward Ianto, lips pulled back in a snarl that exposed two-inch fangs. Knowing that the venom had been removed was reassuring as Hardy strained and coughed, like a cat trying to spew a hairball. The incongruous image and the terror in Hardy's eyes stayed Ianto's trigger finger at the last second and he settled for resting the tip of his weapon against Hardy's nose.
"Don't move."
Hardy retracted his fangs and seemed to shrink into himself. Ianto closed his eyes briefly and waited. He had no idea what had gone on behind him. He'd heard no gunshot and now everything was eerily silent again. Motioning wordlessly with his weapon, Ianto directed a wide-eyed Hardy to get to his feet.
"Is that you, Ianto Jones?" Hart called out. "Is Jethro still alive?"
"Yes," Ianto answered through clenched teeth. There was no use in pretending that everything hadn't just gone to hell. His only hope was that no one had gotten hurt.
"Then both of you get in here and join the party! Oh, and do leave behind anything that goes boom, please."
Ianto spoke over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving Hardy's. "Why should I?"
"Take a look."
Ianto backed slowly toward the window and looked out. Everyone was exactly where they'd been previously, except that Hart had extended the length of the whip until it was looped around Jack's neck, its prehensile tip stroking Jack's cheek.
"Here's the deal, Eye Candy. We all know that Jack has this ability to live forever, he can't die, blah blah blah, boring. However, I do wonder—do you think that includes decapitation? Does he just pop out another head with pearly white teeth or does he walk around with his old one in a bowling ball bag? Stay in there if you want to find out."
Sick to his stomach, Ianto motioned Hardy toward the main floor and as soon has Hardy had cleared the threshold, he set his own weapon aside and followed him into the Hub. Hart was beaming at him, a smile on his face like a man who was seeing his best friend returned to him after a long absence. In front of him, Hardy scuttled back to his original spot, but Hart didn't spare him glance.
"There you are," Hart purred. "Have I mentioned how much I admire your resourcefulness? Oh, you are wasted on this place, and that's a crime."
He gave the whip a little tug and Ianto's gaze flew to Jack. Jack didn't flinch, but his eyes bored into Ianto's and he managed the tiniest shake of his head. Ianto scanned the faces of the others and found reassurance as each of them looked back, silently offering support. They were all getting twitchy, especially Gwen, who looked like she was ready to make a move of her own, her eyes desperately trying to convey something to Ianto.
Ianto ignored her and turned back to Hart. "What is it you want?"
Hart's smile widened. "Now there's a loaded question. But my guess is that what I really want isn't available, so I've come to apologize."
"Apologize?"
Hart sighed and gave the whip another flick of his wrist. Ianto jerked forward, prepared to grab the whip with his bare hands, but stopped when he saw that the whip was rapidly uncoiling from Jack's neck. It fell away with one last caress of Jack's inner thigh before returning into the wand. Yet Ianto didn't dare move—Hart still had his gun pointed toward the others.
"I wanted to apologize for this whole misunderstanding, actually. If it wasn't for me, poor Jethro wouldn't have known where to find Jack and cause all this ruckus. But I was feeling sorry for myself, what more can I say?"
"You can leave."
"Well, thanks, Jack, I know that, don't I. And I intend to, just as soon as I take care of a little housekeeping."
Hart pivoted in Ianto's direction and struck out with the whip. Diving away, Ianto heard Jack cry "No!" and then he was hitting the deck and rolling off his shoulder, coming into a crouch just in time to see Jethro Hardy, with a neat little hole in the middle of his forehead and a look of astonishment in his eyes, crumple to the ground.
"There, you see? Like a gentleman."
Jack reached Ianto's side and helped him to his feet, steadying him when Ianto bit off a moan as his ribs protested.
"You okay?"
Ianto nodded, raising his eyes from Hardy's corpse to John Hart, who had yet to lower his gun.
"Why?" he asked.
Hart shrugged. "He was an embarrassment. All this talk of revenge—and oh, by the way, Jack, just how many people have you pissed off?—this revenge business annoys the hell out of me. You, Ianto Jones, do not. Now, get over here."
Jack took a step forward, blocking Ianto. "No."
Hart rolled his eyes. "My God, Jack, relax. I just want the lad to walk me out. That way, none of you will try and stop me. I'll return him in a few minutes, without a wrinkle in his pretty togs, or anything else, for that matter. However," he held up the whip and let it slide out in Tosh's direction, "I can always find other ways to make you cooperate."
Ianto walked around Jack. "Let's go."
"A little closer, that's better. And Jack, please join your plucky crew of misfits over there and wait." Hart pointed his gun at Ianto and jerked his head toward the passageway leading up to the tourist office. "That way."
Ianto raised his hands and backed toward the entrance. When the back of his heel hit the ledge of the inner door leading upward to the office, he stopped and chanced a look at Jack, who was staring back at him as if they were the only two people in the room. Ianto smiled a little and was rewarded with an answering twist of Jack's mouth.
Hart joined him at the threshold, but paused and turned back, offering a slight bow. "So, time for the sad farewells. Gwen, still not sorry about the kiss. We'll have to try it again sometime without the paralytic, don't you agree? Toshiko, no hard feelings, I really dislike threatening a lady. And you, Doctor—well, you're not quite right any more, are you?"
Hart shoved the barrel of his gun into Ianto's ribs but addressed Jack. "And Jack, just one thing. Watch your back. That little rampage you went on didn't go unnoticed, you know."
Caressing the barrel of the gun against Ianto's cheek in a replay of the earlier incident that had given Ianto nightmares, Hart grinned. "Not that I'm not saying it wasn't worth it, mind you, but be careful, all the same. Now, I want you to give us five minutes before any of you come rushing upstairs to save the day. Any sooner than that and I'll kill the office flunky and then all my heroics will have been for nothing. All right, Mr. Jones, take us up."
Hart made Ianto lock everything behind them as they proceeded upward, but Ianto felt certain that it was unnecessary. Five minutes wasn't enough time to mount a rescue and what Hart had said was probably true. He'd gone to a lot of trouble to break into Torchwood to murder Hardy and could've killed the rest of them at will. If he was intent on killing Ianto, killing him in front of Jack would've been more his style.
When he'd secured the last door that led into the office, Ianto turned to Hardy and put his hands on his hips. His apparent lack of fear brought an appreciative smirk to Hart's face but his gun remained steady.
"What did you mean about Jack going on a rampage?"
Sliding his gun into his pocket but keeping the whip pointed at Ianto, Hart groaned. "Jack this, Jack that, it's always about Jack bloody Harkness. Why don't we talk about you and me? I have an offer for you."
"An offer?"
"Don't look so disgusted. Listen, there are only a few constants in the universe and one of them is that Jack was born with wings on his feet and wanderlust in his heart. Oh, he talks like he's dedicated to this backside of nowhere outpost of losers, but when the wind changes, he'll be gone again. And you'll be left behind, just like everyone else Jack has left behind."
Hart's words were painting a picture that Ianto already knew well. Jack's absence, still unexplained, was like a splinter beneath his skin that worked its way in deeper every day. But Jack had come back, and Jack had come back for him, and that was what he held on to as he replied with confidence. "He isn't like that."
"Oh, isn't he? The queue of lovers he's forsaken would reach from here to London. Tell me, how do you think it's going to feel to be at the end of that very long line, knowing there's someone coming right behind you?"
"Just because he left you—"
"Oh, don't throw me in with his adoring crowd. Our parting was quite mutual, I assure you. But let's get back to my offer." Hart lowered his voice to a seductive rumble. "Come with me."
"Come with you where?"
Hart flung his arms wide. "Out there, Ianto Jones. The big out there, the one you'll never see if you stay here, brewing tea and cleaning up everyone else's rubbish. This place can't offer you anything close to what I can." His glance swept over Ianto, intimate and knowing. "Frankly, neither can Jack."
Ianto took a step behind the counter and began sorting through piles of maps and post cards. "As repulsive as the idea is, I'm going to have to decline."
Hart shook his head mournfully. "Well, it was worth a shot. I really didn't expect you to say yes, considering the way you and Jack make googly eyes at each other. Oh, and you were pretty happy when you thought I was going to explode, should've taken the hint then. What the hell, nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that. But if you ever change your mind, well, just ask Jack how to find me."
"I can't imagine that ever happening."
Hart shook his head. "Oh, there's so many things you don't know, Eye Candy. You've fallen for the package but you have no idea about the contents. He's damaged goods, you see. Hiding behind ridiculous heroics and noble sentiments and taking you along for the ride. You think you know him? You think he's shown you his heart? Ask him about Grey and watch how fast your champion crumbles to dust."
Suddenly exhausted, Ianto pulled a stool out from beneath the counter and sat down. He knew Hart was taunting him, teasing him by throwing out names and circumstances from Jack's past and future. He found he didn't care who Grey was to Jack—enemy, lover, probably both—and the liberating admission eased some of the knots he'd been carrying inside for weeks.
"You should leave," he advised. "Jack will most likely show up any—"
The door opened and Jack burst through, revolver in his hand. Ianto and John Hart looked over at him and Jack stared back, obviously not expecting to find the two of them chatting so cosily.
"So much for my big entrance," he complained. Holstering his gun, Jack continued, "You're still here. Why?"
Hart held up his hands. "Just leaving, Butch. That is, if I'm allowed now that you've come to young Ianto's rescue."
"He does just fine without me, but that doesn't answer the question. Why are you still here?"
Hart winked at Ianto. "Just making conversation, and maybe a date for some time in the future. But for now, I think it's time I was on my way. If that's okay with you."
"It isn't. This was all your fault and don't think I'm going to forget that any time soon." Jack kicked the door back open and stepped aside. "But I owe you for rectifying your mistake and saving me the trouble. That makes us even. For now."
"For now, then. Don't forget what I said, Ianto Jones."
Hart sauntered to the door and blew Ianto a kiss before giving Jack a two-fingered salute. As soon as he'd slipped through and disappeared into the twilight, Jack grabbed the door and slammed it shut, driving home the lock in one smooth movement before whirling to face Ianto.
"What did he offer you?"
"Oh, the usual." Ianto contemplated the ceiling above Jack's head and lifted one shoulder. "Everything."
"That's all? And you said no, right?" At Ianto's pause, Jack's grin faded and he insisted, "Right?"
"His prospects do seem limited," Ianto admitted, rising to his feet. "Unemployed, poorly dressed, given to holding deadly weapons to various parts of my body."
"See?" Jack beamed. "I'm a much better deal."
"Yes, you are employed, I'll give you that."
The last remnant of Jack's smile disappeared, to be replaced with a speculative gleam in his eyes. He took two long strides until he was within touching distance of Ianto, who hadn't moved and was watching him with feigned indifference.
"I think I've just been insulted."
"If you aren't sure, then I apparently need more practice."
Another step brought Jack close enough so that Ianto could see the small indentation in Jack's right cheek that delineated the beginning of that breath-stealing, mercurial smile.
"You haven't lost anything." All traces of humour evaporated as he caught Ianto's gaze and held it. "You haven't lost anything at all. And it's time I proved it to you."
Reaching up, Ianto cupped Jack's cheek in his palm. He rubbed his thumb against the side of Jack's mouth, fighting back a smile. "You have nothing to prove to me, Jack."
Jack slid his hand over Ianto's, entwining their fingers and bringing Ianto's bruised knuckles to his lips for a caress. "I think I do. I do because you still have questions."
"Yes, but—
Jack silenced him with a swift kiss, then drew him close to whisper into his ear. "I still have to prove to you that we can find the answers together."
Wrapping his arms around Jack's waist, Ianto swallowed and then chuckled, amused in spite of himself. "Your ego never ceases to amaze me."
He felt Jack's answering laughter ripple through his body. "Yeah, me either." He pulled back and they kissed again, until the edge of a more serious hunger began to make itself known and they mutually, silently agreed to stop.
"Not now," Jack said with regret. "We've got work to do."
"Right." Ianto extricated himself and tugged at the edge of his vest. "It's been a while since I've had to dispose of an alien corpse. At least his death was tidy, no cleaning intestines out of the air filters this time."
Jack tapped Ianto's chin and turned toward the door leading back downstairs. "Forget about that, this one's on me. Get Owen to clean up your hands and then we'll need to reconnect the sensors you must've disabled earlier. Smart thinking, coming up through the crawl spaces."
They'd made it halfway down the stairs when Ianto stopped Jack with a touch to his shoulder. Jack pivoted on the step beneath him, his eyes alight as he looked up.
"I seemed to have missed a memo," Ianto started, then paused to clear his throat. "I didn't know that Owen was operating on Hardy today."
Jack didn't answer immediately, as if weighing his response.
"You weren't meant to know," he replied quietly. A small smile played around his lips and vanished. "Check around. We're not out of sugar."
"Reports are done and uploaded, Jack."
Ianto looked up from the artefact database he was updating and glanced at Tosh, who'd spoken in a voice hoarse with fatigue. She looked as exhausted as they all felt as she removed her glasses and rubbed at the space between her eyes. Behind her, he could see Gwen stretching her arms above her head as she yawned, then tilting her head from side to side to relieve the strain.
Jack turned from his conversation with Owen and swept them all with a measuring glance.
"I know it's been a long day. Why don't you all head for home and we'll start fresh in the morning."
"It is morning." Owen was already reaching for his jacket. "But you don't have to tell me twice." Ianto wondered what Owen did with his time, now that all his erstwhile favourite pastimes were off limits. He sped past Ianto without saying goodbye, unlike Tosh, who took the time to straighten her workspace before calling out an all encompassing goodnight, gathering a sleepy-eyed Gwen with her on the way out.
Ianto turned back to his computer, determined to finish at least this portion before getting on with the rest of his duties. It was going on one a.m., but as long as there were dirty dishes to wash and weapons to be cleaned, he was still on duty.
Jack came up behind him and Ianto shot him a look over his shoulder.
"Almost finished, but I still have to cross-reference the files."
"Why don't you leave that until later?"
Ianto leaned back in his chair and dug his palms into his still sensitive his eyes. "I suppose it can wait." He rose to his feet and reached for an empty mug on the table. His hand was intercepted by Jack's grip on his wrist.
"That can wait, too. You need to rest."
"I feel fine, Jack."
Jack's slid his hand down into Ianto's and gave it a little tug. "I know you do, but not that long ago you weren't so fine. Your body needs a chance to recuperate."
"All right." Too tired to argue, Ianto gave the hand in his a brief squeeze and released it. He spotted his suit coat on the couch and began rolling down sleeves he'd pushed up when they'd returned earlier that night. Jack wandered away, obviously preoccupied with his attention elsewhere, and Ianto watched him as he buttoned his cuffs, wondering if he'd been dismissed when all he wanted to do was stay.
Trouble had erupted in the Rift almost as soon as Jethro Hardy's body had been destroyed. As a final legacy to his interference in their lives, a new pack of flesh-eaters had arrived, apparently looking for their recently banished kin. It had taken all the resources of the Torchwood team to round them up and send them on their way, but they'd left behind some weaponry that none of them had seen before. That was what had kept them working so late as they tried to identify the origins of the weapons, since clean-up had been extensive. This time, however, despite damage to a deserted pier, no one had died, so it was counted as a win.
Making no move to retrieve his jacket, Ianto stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, knowing he didn't want to spend one more night at home alone yet not sure how to ask for anything from Jack. The times in the past that he'd stayed the night had been a mutual choice, a natural conclusion to whatever he and Jack had gotten up to that evening.
But Jack was right, he was beyond tired. Where he'd spent the last few nights at his flat as a way of distancing himself from the trauma he'd experienced, now he wanted the comfort that Jack had seemed eager to offer. But to ask for that comfort, that sense of safety that Jack exuded without thought, could put things out of balance.
Or would it? As he picked up his coat, Ianto caught a glimpse of Jack in his office. Ianto sometimes thought it was the loneliest place in the world, where every burden Jack bore settled on broad shoulders that weren't quite wide enough on the bad days. They all looked to him to define their existence in many ways—father, leader, saviour, lover—and he gave back as best he could. But could he want something more from Ianto, something beyond what they already shared?
Instead of putting on his suit coat, Ianto walked over to the small cubby he used for his work and hung it on a wooden hanger. He removed his vest and slid it beneath the coat, followed by his tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, as were the just-fastened buttons on his cuffs. He rolled up his sleeves and after taking a moment to hide away one of the treasured Sharpies, he took a steadying breath and headed into Jack's office.
Jack didn't turn when Ianto joined him, though Ianto knew that Jack was aware he was there. A tumbler of Scotch in his hand, Jack's attention was focused on one of the wall mounted screens where he was running loops of the CCTV footage they'd taken from the pier. It was busy work, non-essential, and the disquietude it signified gave Ianto a small measure of courage.
He spoke softly, unwilling for this conversation to be held in normal tones. "You once asked me if I'd miss you if you left."
Jack lifted the glass to his lips and took a hefty swallow before setting it aside and facing Ianto.
"I remember."
Slipping his hands into his pockets, Ianto took a step deeper into the room. "I don't think you believed me when I said yes."
Jack lifted his chin, his brows drawing together in a frown. "Really? That's funny, because I don't think you believed me when I said that I wouldn't change loving you for the world."
Ianto managed to prevent his jaw from dropping, but barely. That wasn't how he remembered that conversation. He remembered the twist in his gut, hearing the regret in Jack's voice when he'd spoken of people that he'd loved. He remembered wanting desperately to be on that list and trying to convey as much to Jack but lacking the necessary words. And most of all, he remembered his heart cracking apart, everything inside him withering just a little bit more as his suspicions regarding his place in Jack's life had been confirmed.
And now Jack was telling him that he'd got it all wrong, and everything that had proceeded from that conversation had been based on an incorrect assumption.
"I didn't know." Ianto's voice roughened. "God, Jack. I didn't know that you meant me."
He turned away, embarrassed and dismayed that he'd missed something so precious. With an inarticulate curse, Jack hurried across the room and planted himself in front of Ianto, blocking his retreat.
"No more running away, Ianto. For either of us." He grabbed Ianto's arms. "Tell me what you want."
Ianto stood riveted, pinned to the floor by the fire in Jack's eyes. "It's not just about what I want any more."
"I thought I'd made it pretty clear what I wanted. I thought you wanted the same thing."
Ianto nodded, dropping his gaze. All along, he'd thought Jack wanted nothing more than fun, a warm and willing body to fight off the loneliness, not the encumbrance of a lovesick co-worker who needed more than he was prepared to give.
"It's not enough," he whispered. "What I want from you now is more than I have the right to ask."
"Try me." Jack's grip tightened."Ask me."
Resolutely staring at the button in the middle of Jack's shirt, Ianto spoke. "I thought I knew what I wanted. I thought I was safe, feeling what I did about you. Then you left—us—and when you came back, something between us had changed but I couldn't figure out what. I couldn't define it, didn't dare put a name to it. It was getting harder and harder to view our...extracurricular activities as meaningless amusement."
"You mean our dabbling?"
Ianto's eyes flew up to meet Jack's stern gaze. "Martha told you I said that."
"She did." The clipped tone revealed deep hurt that Jack's impassive expression did not and Ianto winced.
"I'm sorry. It was easier to minimize our relationship than expose my feelings to a stranger."
Jack moved closer, crowding Ianto until his back collided with a flat surface. He slammed both palms against the wall next to Ianto's shoulders, effectively caging him. "What do you feel, Ianto?"
Gone were the anger and hurt from Jack's voice, replaced with an intensity that told Ianto more than words that Jack would accept nothing less than total honesty from him, whatever the cost to them both. He let his gaze drift over the beloved, troubled face, the bright, discerning eyes, the mobile mouth currently drawn tight.
"When you returned, I wanted to be content with what little pieces I had of you." Ianto summoned a tiny smile that died almost immediately. "I told you before that I'd become greedy. I don't think you had any idea what that meant until now."
"And you think that's asking too much?"
"Isn't it?"
Jack slid his hands upward along Ianto's arms, stroking his neck until his palms were cradling Ianto's jaw, thumbs scudding lightly over his cheeks. "Why don't you ask me anyway?"
"I don't know!" Ianto tried to elude Jack's grasp but he was held fast. "You tell me, Jack. Tell me what you're willing to give. Can you answer that question?"
"Yes, I can. And until you ran away, I wasn't sure you were ready to hear it. Or that you even wanted to."
"No choice any more, is there, for either of us," Ianto murmured. "And I didn't run away. I just needed some time to think. I'd always come back to you, you have to know that."
"Do I?" Jack's mouth quirked upward. "Listen to me, Ianto. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I don't give my heart easily. My body, sure, that's the simple part. But I've learned to guard myself against feelings because each and every time, it only ends in pain. There has never been an exception, not one. I've loved and lost a hundred times over, and every time I swear that I won't go through that again. People change, they leave, they die, and after so many losses, there was nothing left of my heart to give. Torchwood was supposed to be a place to hide, a place to pass the time. No commitments, no emotions, just a job."
It was a desolating confession, and Ianto felt the blood drain from his face. Jack was finally answering his questions, all of them, and it was killing him inside. He didn't want to hear any more but when he tried to escape Jack's hold, he instead found himself enfolded into a fierce embrace that he instinctively returned with equal fervour.
Jack pressed his mouth to Ianto's ear. "And then the fucking universe hands me this beautiful, broken boy with a heart far too big for this world, and dares me not to love him. And I tried, Ianto. God, I knew you were trouble the moment we met and I tried so hard to keep you at arm's length, for your sake as well as mine. Even after we became lovers, I fooled myself into thinking that was all either of us wanted."
Jack pulled back and Ianto was shocked to see that his eyes were red, the lashes beneath them starred with tears. "You said John offered you everything," Jack continued hoarsely. "I can't match that offer. The only thing I can offer you is me, all of me, for as long as we have."
Eyes wide, Ianto whispered, "It can't be that easy, can it?"
"It will never be easy. But understand this. If I leave you, for any reason, it won't ever be because I want to. That burden will rest entirely on you."
"I don't understand. You have to know that—"
"Shhh, listen to me. You're so young and you have so much life inside you, chances are pretty good that you will grow tired of me long before I'm ready to let you go. All I ask from you is that you're honest with me when that day comes. Loving me will be harder for you than anyone who's come before you and harder than you can possibly imagine. I wanted to spare you that, but God help me, I couldn't."
Ianto slipped his hand beneath the collar of Jack's shirt, searching out the warm flesh above the edge of his undershirt. "It's not your fault that I fell in love with you."
Jack leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "No, but it is my fault that I didn't fight hard enough to stop from falling in love with you."
"Are you saying that I'm irresistible?"
Jack smiled as Ianto had intended, but the shadows remained in his eyes. They were still tightly entwined, their mouths separated by mere inches, and Ianto held himself back from kissing away the taut lines that framed Jack's eyes, waiting for the words that would give him the right to offer such comfort.
"I think that's my line," Jack replied lightly, then turned serious again. "Be sure, Ianto. You can walk away at any time, but it'll be a hell of a lot easier if you decide to call it quits now."
For the first time in years, since before Canary Wharf, Ianto felt the first stirrings of peace. All of his miserable attempts at locking away every part of his life into neat little boxes, his failure to see what Jack had been trying to tell him for so long—it all drifted away, scattered by the warmth in Jack's eyes. Jack was offering him everything he'd been missing—a home, as much stability as their work allowed, and love enough to fill up the emptiness inside them both.
"I'm not going anywhere, but I'd ask the same of you. I realize that time passes differently for you and what we'll have together isn't much more than a blink. But it's all I have, and all I'll have of you. When the day comes that I'm not enough—"
"That won't happen."
Ianto shook his head, for once feeling older and wiser than Jack. Nothing was certain, in this life or the next. And Torchwood proved that to them every day. "How can you be sure?" he asked, not really expecting a serious response and stunned by the one he received.
"How?" Jack brushed his mouth over Ianto's, a teasing promise of a kiss. "I'll love you for eternity, Ianto Jones. I have no other choice."
Strong arms encircled him from behind, closing gently over his abdomen and drawing him close.
"What's the matter? Couldn't sleep in the new digs?"
Ianto leaned back into Jack's embrace, closing his eyes as he folded his arms over Jack's, basking in the warmth that Jack carried around him like a cape. Even bare chested beneath an unbuttoned shirt, the heat from his skin enveloped Ianto, instantly relaxing muscles that he'd unconsciously tensed. The Hub was running cool, the air flow dancing around them tinged with the inescapable hint of algae. Dressed in nothing but a tee shirt, trousers and a pair of socks, Ianto hadn't noticed the chill until Jack had wrapped him within the welcome cocoon of his body heat.
"Myfanwy seemed restless, so I thought I'd check to see if a cat had gotten into the ducts again."
"That's strange, I didn't hear anything."
Ianto smiled at Jack's mock-pouty response. "I'm not surprised, the way you were snoring."
"I do not snore." Jack's embrace intensified, his voice lowering ominously but the effect was ruined when Ianto felt a kiss on his temple.
"Of course not. Those were merely the gears of your vast intellect I heard grinding in my ear."
"Ha, very funny. Did you find a cat?"
"No, so now you'll have no reason to flirt with the animal rescue veterinarian again."
"I did not flirt with him! I was just being appreciative!"
"To borrow a phrase, is that what they're calling it these days? But don't worry, Jack. I'd never expect you to stop flirting. That would be like the sun rising in the west. Unnatural, and faintly disturbing."
"The sun rising in the west is just disturbing? You have interesting priorities." Jack released Ianto but snagged his hand as he wandered toward the couch, keeping Ianto in tow. "By the way, it goes both ways, you know. Don't think I haven't noticed the intimate little tête-a-têtes you've been having with the new pizza delivery girl."
"Samantha?"
"See? You know her name! I didn't know the vet's name."
"That would be Colin."
Jack used his hold on Ianto's hand to yank him into his arms. "You're a menace."
Affronted, Ianto defended himself. "No, I'm thorough."
The teasing smile faded, replaced with something much more intimate, and Ianto's breath caught in his throat. He knew that look. He coveted it, he worked for it, he saw it a hundred different ways every day. He saw it when he brought Jack a report or handed him his gun. Sometimes he'd look up from dinner, or his computer, or a file he was reading, to find Jack's gaze resting on him.
That in itself wasn't new. Jack could seduce him with nothing more than a glance across the room, but those heated, broody stares were nothing compared to the love that suffused Jack's expression when Ianto caught him looking now. More often than not, just like now, that love had more than a little bit of rueful lust lingering behind it.
"I hate to disagree with your self-assessment," Jack murmured, "but I find that there are some things around here that have been left undone."
Ianto frowned, knowing what was coming and resigned to playing Jack's straight man for the foreseeable future.
"Really? What?"
"Me."
"Shocking," was as much as he managed to say before Jack's mouth descended on his.
The first time they'd made love after the attack had been the night they'd admitted everything to each other. There'd been no berets, no games, none of the distractions they'd both hidden behind, nothing but the two of them using their bodies to reaffirm the choices they'd made. It'd been more emotionally intense than any encounter they'd previously shared, infinitely more tender. Jack had always been a considerate, generous lover, but that night he'd been reverent, worshipping Ianto with his hands, his body and his words.
Almost a week had passed since that night, and many things had changed, and many had not. If the others noticed a difference in their relationship, they kept it to themselves, or more likely gossiped about them behind their backs. The only real evidence of a physical sort was the appearance of a slightly larger bed stuffed into Jack's quarters, something that Ianto assumed he was the only one to witness, for which he was profoundly grateful since he'd never hear the end of it from Owen.
Of course, he'd made sure to demonstrate his appreciation of Jack's thoughtfulness as often as possible.
The Rift had belched out more than its usual mischief and the team had been on the run for three days straight. It'd been business as usual, including the occasional kiss stolen in a convenient corner, or the brush of hand as a coffee cup was passed. Before, those gestures had been a tease. Now, they were a promise.
Jack's hands were at Ianto's waist, gathering the hem of his tee shirt and pulling it over Ianto's head and throwing it God knew where. His own hands were busy stripping off Jack's shirt from his shoulders, exposing the glowing, smooth skin that he adored.
"So beautiful," he whispered. He pressed his mouth to Jack's throat, licking and tasting and revelling in Jack's moans, unaware that Jack had unfastened his trousers until a cool breeze slid across the skin at the base of his spine. Jack had one hand buried in Ianto's hair, the other low on Ianto's bared hip as they kissed, tongues duelling, desire that was always only a touch away igniting the air between them.
"Are you ready—whoa—," Jack panted, then paused to suck in a deep breath as Ianto unsnapped his trouser button. "Yeah, okay, that answers that question. Let's go back to bed."
"No." Ianto slipped his leg behind Jack's and twisted, controlling Jack's fall to the couch. "Too far away."
"I like the way you think," Jack gasped, and the wrestling began in earnest.
Later, properly in bed and with Jack asleep in his arms, Ianto remained awake, listening to the sounds of Torchwood creaking and sighing around him, his muscles lax in the aftermath of Jack's artful lovemaking. He'd taken Ianto to the edge again and again, breathlessly demanding love words and over the top romantic promises until Ianto had been forced to turn to threats of withholding coffee. Then the fun mood changed as Jack had slowly entered his body, with exquisite care and attention to Ianto's every need, and then the words between them were no longer playful, but honest, heartfelt expressions of a love neither of them had ever expected to find again.
Ianto dozed for a bit, but awoke before Jack once more. He slid from their bed and paused long enough to run his fingers over Jack's cheek and pull the blanket higher across the broad shoulders. Then he gathered up his chosen attire for the day—charcoal grey pinstripe, blue shirt, blue and lavender striped tie—and ascended the ladder to Jack's office. After starting a pot of coffee to brew, he flipped on the lights and began powering up everyone's station before heading off for a shower and a shave.
Just another day at Torchwood.
Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you,
The love of all man's days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life,
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours—
And the songs of every poet past and forever.