Torchwood: Time Enough

Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, adult (for language, violence and non-graphic sex), ~66,100 words, September 3, 2008

"There is a time for departure, even when there's no certain place to go."

—Tennessee Williams

Time Enough

by Veronica

Time enough for being braver

Time enough for all our fears

Time is tougher than we both know yet

Time enough for tears

Prologue

They'd left him nothing of Lisa Hallet, the girl he'd once loved. Her mortal remains had been removed and the cybergenetic portions of her body had been confiscated. All of the small mementos and trinkets representing their life together that he'd placed in her chamber had been destroyed. He had a few pictures of the two of them together, the chain necklace she'd given him for his birthday, a key chain, and his memories.

Returning to Torchwood after she'd died hadn't been a choice. He'd merely yielded to the inevitability of his situation. He could no more outrun the consequences of his actions than he could change the phases of the moon, and when he'd shown up for work that day, he'd had very clear expectations. At the very least, he assumed he'd be retconned and removed from Torchwood Three completely. That was his best hope; in truth, he'd expected indefinite imprisonment in a UNIT facility or exile. He had no reason to believe that anyone at Torchwood would speak for him, nor would he expect them to ever trust him again.

At first, it was almost like any other day. Most of the destruction had been swept up or patched over, and the bodies had been removed from below without Ianto's participation, a small boon that Ianto knew he would one day appreciate when the wounds weren't so raw. Only Jack and Gwen were there, Jack's silent nod of approval that Ianto would be allowed to serve one more day his only communication with anyone for hours. He concentrated on the job at hand, in his own way saying goodbye to Torchwood as he worked alone through the levels, searching out anything that he could touch for the last time. Gwen eventually left and neither Owen nor Toshiko were around as he toiled on, his mind carefully blanked, his emotions temporarily banished.

When the call came, he felt a curious sense of relief, as if he'd been waiting for this moment since he'd first dragged Lisa out of the hellish depths of Torchwood London.

Jack's quietly polite request was Ianto's first clue that his time had come. Jack had a way of bellowing his name so that Ianto could hear him from practically anywhere in the Hub but this time, Jack had waited until Ianto was passing close by his office with an armful of clean linen for Owen's medical bay to summon him. Setting the linen on the couch, Ianto straightened his waistcoat with trembling fingers and walked into Jack's office, unsurprised to find two uniformed members of UNIT and a third person, a petite, middle-aged woman in street clothes, standing by Jack's desk. He glanced at Jack and finding nothing for him there but a cold, terrible nothingness, Ianto turned to the woman and held out his hands, wrists pressed together.

The woman smiled, revealing small, white teeth. Her hair was fashionably cut with expensive blonde streaks and her neatly pressed navy suit fitted her precisely, with a hint of pale yellow lace at the neckline and cuffs.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Jones. We have many hours ahead of us, so you may as well be comfortable." She held out her hand. "My name is Darby Fitzhenry and I've been asked to investigate the recent happenings here at Torchwood Three."

Ianto hesitated, then grasped her hand briefly. Deliberately turning away from Jack, he joined his hands behind him, feet slightly apart, and addressed the space above her head.

"I want it known that at no time did anyone here know what I was doing or aid me in any way. I take full responsibility for my actions."

Fitzhenry nodded. "Understood. Rest assured, we've gone over everyone's role in this unpleasantness, but right now, we are concerned with questions only you can answer. Jack?"

Ianto stepped aside as Fitzhenry approached Jack, who didn't move from his position, slouched against the wall with his gaze turned outward toward the centre of the Hub, hands tucked behind his back. "Yes?"

He led them down into the interrogation room and Fitzhenry motioned for Ianto to sit down in the chair facing the entrance. The UNIT members stayed behind, and when Jack took a seat at the far side of the table and made himself comfortable, Fitzhenry shook her head.

For a moment it looked as though Jack was going to argue with her. His hands clasped on the table in front of him, his eyes locked with Fitzhenry's and his jaw clenched, it was an unexpected battle of wills that Ianto was surprised to see unfold. He fully believed that Jack was anxious for Ianto to be removed from his employ, but there were undercurrents here that he couldn't fathom.

Finally, Jack shrugged, his mouth twitching in a humourless smile as he slapped his hands against the table's cold metal surface. "Right." He walked behind Ianto and up the steps back to his office without a backward glance.

Fitzhenry pulled out her chair and sat down. Elbows on the table, she steepled her fingers, tilted her head to one side and smiled.

Three hours later, Ianto's voice had dwindled to a hoarse whisper. He'd answered every question with no thought to avoiding punishment but had made sure that at no time did he come close to implicating anyone else. Fitzhenry was a friendly but deadly interrogator, wringing out not only the details of how Ianto had saved Lisa from the destruction of Torchwood London and her subsequent installation in Cardiff, but every motive that Ianto had experienced along the way. The only time he managed to evade her probing was when it came to how he was eventually hired by Jack for a job that didn't exist. Assuming that Jack was watching and listening from above, Ianto excised almost all of the details from their first meetings and distilled the story down to Jack merely being worn down by Ianto's persistence and excellent coffee-making skills.

Exhausted, Ianto completed his recitation with a final retelling of Lisa's last few hours, including the team's efforts to stop her and the tragic loss of an innocent young woman. He spared no detail, not even his attack on Jack, the entire story revealed in a flat monotone that asked for nothing in return. He was beyond anger, beyond grief, and only the stark truth that he'd ultimately betrayed not only Jack but Lisa kept him from falling apart. That was the coward's way out, to get lost in his own misery when he'd brought so much on everyone else. He'd face his punishment gladly, his only reward that after today, he'd never have to see Jack Harkness again.

Fitzhenry reached for the carafe and poured a generous amount of water into Ianto's empty glass.

Startled, Ianto's gaze flew to Fitzhenry's face. She looked back, her expression the same, bland front she'd used since the beginning of the interrogation.

There was a soft cracking sound from above, but Ianto didn't raise his eyes from Fitzhenry's.

Ianto saw the trap and sidestepped it. "Captain Harkness is—was—my superior, nothing more. And I hardly see how this is relevant."

"It isn't up to you to decide what is relevant and what isn't. Jack has shown a singular lack of judgement regarding you and it is my duty to ensure that it doesn't interfere with his mission here at Torchwood Three. Meanwhile, you have gone out of your way to absolve him of any misconduct in this situation and in my experience, that kind of loyalty indicates a relationship of a more personal nature than two mere co-workers would normally share."

Ianto dropped his eyes to his lap, afraid of what they may reveal. Fitzhenry was only half right, but even that could jeopardize Jack's standing at Torchwood. There was no way that she could know the agony Ianto had lived with over the past months, the constant, painful comparisons that divided his days between dark and light, between cold metal and artificial life and the blazing, life-demanding reality of Jack Harkness.

There was no way that Fitzhenry could know that Ianto's betrayal of Lisa had been complete almost from the beginning.

"Are you aware of any mitigating circumstances that would prevent your immediate imprisonment? Perhaps some indication that the activity you were engaged in was tacitly approved for the sake of scientific discovery."

Fitzhenry stood up and placed her palms on the table, leaning toward Ianto to speak confidentially. "You don't seem to be aware of the gravity of your situation, Mr. Jones. If you can think of anything that may help explain your unconscionable actions, or any reason why they may have been excused, it may help you at some point in what is sure to be a very bleak future."

Ianto looked back at her, an unnatural calm soothing his ragged nerves. Whatever it was that Fitzhenry wanted from him, he wasn't going to give it to her. It would be his last service to Jack and Torchwood.

"As I stated earlier, I acted entirely on my own and went to great lengths to conceal my activities from everyone else. At no time did Captain Harkness nor any of my co-workers discover, enable or approve of my actions."

Fitzhenry straightened with a regretful sigh. "Very well, you leave us no choice. If you are determined to bear the brunt of your situation by yourself, then so be it. Please rise."

Ianto slid his chair backward and rose to his feet, eyes straight ahead as Fitzhenry walked to the bottom of the steps and called for the UNIT guards to join them. When they didn't respond, she tried again, annoyance seeping into her voice.

She was about to storm up the stairs when Jack appeared above her to lean one shoulder against the wall, thumbs hooked in his braces.

"I hope you two are about finished," he said lightly, though his eyes were still devoid of warmth. "Because I'm starving. I was thinking about ordering Chinese."

"Fred and Ethel? I'm not sure, one of them said something about doughnuts and that was about an hour ago."

A bloom of ugly red crept up Fitzhenry's pale neck. "What's going on, Jack? You were told not to interfere."

Jack shrugged. "I get told a lot of things. What I decide to do about them is my business." Jack descended into the room and stopped directly in front of Fitzhenry, all trace of false bonhomie replaced by a searingly cold anger that Ianto could feel from across the room. "And right now, my business is getting you the hell out of my house."

"What? Of course it is, that's the reason I'm here." Fitzhenry turned to Ianto. "Please empty your pockets onto the table—"

"Jack," Ianto began, but was instantly silenced as Jack raised his hand, palm toward Ianto, his eyes never leaving Fitzhenry's rage-reddened face.

Fitzhenry stared at Jack and Ianto stared at them both, unable to comprehend how everything had just changed. Nowhere in his thought processes did he envision a scenario that included him remaining at Torchwood, but that was exactly what Jack was stating in a voice that allowed no opposition.

Yet Fitzhenry was unmoved as she inhaled deeply and tried a different tack. "I understand that you're embarrassed that this happened on your watch, but it'd be best for everyone if you'd let us remove what you can only view as a cancer to your team. Surely they aren't willing to remain working side by side with someone whose complete lack of judgement, not to mention utter disloyalty, came close to destroying everything you've sworn to protect."

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "My team is my concern. Whatever issues we have, we'll deal with them in private. I don't need you and I don't need UNIT to clean up my mess." He held up his wrist and glanced at his watch. "Anyway, this whole conversation is about to become moot in about five minutes or so. I was just trying to save you some grief, but if you want to continue arguing about this, I have nothing but time."

For the first time, Fitzhenry looked uncertain, but she quickly hid it as she turned toward Ianto. "Have you nothing to say, Mr Jones? By your own account, you've betrayed your teammates and threatened to kill your superior. And all for what? To rebuild the killing machine that'd once been your girlfriend? That's pathetic."

"No," Ianto snapped, surprising himself. Since he'd walked away from Lisa's ravaged body, he'd enclosed himself in a shell that had prevented him from functioning beyond the basic requirements of breathing, of placing one foot in front of the other, of answering when spoken to. Fitzhenry's remark struck home and he felt the first small tear in the shroud he'd wrapped himself in, and some small part of his consciousness realized that behind that curtain was pain so vast that once he let it loose, it could kill what little was left of him.

But he wouldn't allow Lisa to be remembered as a monster. He'd failed her in so many other ways, the least he could do was defend that which he'd tried so desperately to protect.

"She was never a monster to me," he said quietly. "Never. She was a living, breathing, beautiful girl who didn't deserve what had happened to her. I thought I could save her. I thought I could redeem myself for failing at Canary Wharf." He looked up to find Jack gazing back at him, the awful blue blankness finally giving way to something approaching understanding. Ianto shrugged, directing his words to Jack as if Fitzhenry wasn't there. "I did it because I loved her."

A shadow passed through Jack's eyes and Ianto could only surmise that Jack had also done foolish, maybe even unforgivable things for that very same reason. Fitzhenry's presence faded further away as Ianto experienced once again the unfamiliar, bittersweet yearning to know the man who'd captivated him before they'd ever met. Now he'd never get that chance.

"Pathetic and irrelevant," Fitzhenry sneered. "Given a choice in the matter, I would think you would prefer retconned exile to remaining amongst people who must hate you."

"I haven't been given any choice," Ianto replied. He glanced at Jack before continuing. "I am entirely at your disposal."

Jack held up one finger. "Uh, that's not entirely true. See, I have a little pull with Darby's handlers and they owe me more than a few favours. I called one of them in and arranged to have you stay here, under my supervision, as my personal responsibility."

"That's insane." Fitzhenry marched over to Ianto's side, one hand grabbing him by his arm, the other delving into the pocket of her suit coat. "Let's get this over with."

"I hope that's just a breath mint you're reaching for." Ianto looked up to see Jack's revolver pointed at Fitzhenry's head. "Or this could get awkward."

Fitzhenry froze, her grip on Ianto's arm tightening. "Don't be an idiot, Jack. You will never be able to trust this man again. Why are you doing this?"

"Let him go, take your hand out of your pocket, slowly, and drop whatever it is you're holding on the table."

The pressure on Ianto's arm increased until he could feel the manicured tips of her nails digging into his flesh.

"I lost friends at Torchwood London," Fitzhenry spat. "Good people died and I owe it to them to punish the monsters that killed them."

Jack's expression softened but his aim never wavered. "I know, Darby. And I'm sorry. But you can't punish an innocent man for that. Ianto Jones was a victim, just like your friends. Just like Lisa Hallet. Did he use bad judgement here? Certainly. But Canary Wharf wasn't his fault. And in his way, he was trying to make something good come out of that tragedy, just like you are."

Fitzhenry released Ianto and pulled her hand out of her pocket to reveal a small syringe. She hesitated briefly, then set the syringe on the table. Jack pulled back, the barrel of his gun dropping toward the floor.

"Don't bother," Fitzhenry replied bitterly. "You are merely postponing the inevitable. Not everyone can be saved, Jack. Why are you wasting your time with this?"

"It's not retcon," Jack said quickly. "Retcon wipes your memory. If that's what I think it is, it does more than wipe your memory. It wipes your personality. Permanently."

"Removing your personality makes you malleable. A blank slate that anyone can write on for their own purposes. You retain your hard skills but everything else—memories, emotions, likes and dislikes, dreams and desires—they're all erased."

"It's called rivenex and you've never heard of it because I won't allow it here at Torchwood Three." Jack slipped his revolver into its holster and shouldered Fitzhenry aside to stand closer to Ianto. "It has no use other than destroying life. Give it here."

Ianto took a step back, his eyes on the slender cylinder. It was so tempting. No memories, no emotions, no sense of himself. No disappointments, no misbegotten feelings, no love. One little prick and he'd come out the other side a different person, someone who'd never met Jack Harkness, who'd never betrayed the woman he'd sworn to make whole. Someone who'd never loved anyone, nor caused anyone any pain.

"Ianto." Jack spoke softly, like a man soothing a spooked animal, his hand extended. "I know what you're thinking and this isn't the answer. Who will remember Lisa if you erase yourself? You owe it to her to keep your memories alive. So come on, hand it over."

"Don't listen to him," Fitzhenry hissed. "Save your captain the trouble of killing you some day, Mr. Jones. Save us all the trouble of maintaining your miserable existence. Take the drug and let us make something useful out of your life."

His eyes never leaving Ianto's, Jack spoke over his shoulder. "Say one more word and I will shoot you. Understood?"

Fitzhenry laughed, an ugly, grating sound. "Shoot me? Over this piece of rubbish? I don't think—"

Jack pivoted, throwing out his forearm until it connected to the base of Fitzhenry's throat. Using his greater height as leverage, he shoved her backward, the momentum of his arm thrusting her head upward against his open palm, cushioning her backward movement so her head didn't collide with the wall.

"I asked you nicely to shut up." Jack pressed harder and Ianto could hear the clack of Fitzhenry's teeth as her jaw snapped together. "Now I'm asking not so nicely. You are here as a courtesy, nothing more, a courtesy you chose to abuse when you brought that crap onto my turf without my permission after I explicitly told you not to. I should toss you out on your tailored ass for that."

"You're too close to the subject, Jack. You've lost all sense of proportion over what should be a simple personnel issue."

"Personnel issues are my responsibility and if you don't think you can be professional about this, I will gladly walk you to the door."

Fitzhenry twisted her neck, trying to escape Jack's hold, then rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself, Jack. It's your funeral."

"Forget about her, Ianto," he said calmly, "listen to me. Taking that drug won't change the past for anyone except you. Lisa's parents will have still lost their child. Annie will never live out whatever dreams she had beyond delivering pizza. Leaving us behind to live with the consequences of your actions—that's nothing but cowardice and I don't think you're a coward. You have to live with it, Ianto. You owe it to all of us."

The rip in the thick cloth that Ianto had wrapped around his emotions widened. Tears he wasn't ready to shed filled his eyes and he blinked them away to concentrate on the man in front of him. "It's so hard, Jack," Ianto whispered. "So fucking hard."

"I know. I'll help you. We all will." Jack was practically shaking with the need for Ianto to believe him and Ianto took a moment to marvel that Jack, who'd so recently promised to put a bullet through his head, was now fighting for Ianto's life more than Ianto was himself.

Like a man hypnotized, Ianto raised his hand and dropped the cylinder into Jack's outstretched palm. Jack's fingers closed over the syringe and Ianto turned away, unable to bear the relief in Jack's eyes. He felt empty, exhausted, more unsure of his place at Torchwood than he'd been when he'd walked in so many hours ago.

Jack pocketed the syringe and turned to Fitzhenry. "And you've overstayed your welcome."

"I'm not done—" Fitzhenry was interrupted by the trill of a mobile phone. Jack plucked it out of his other pocket and handed it to her.

Ianto watched dully as Fitzhenry's brows drew together in a deep frown. She listened without commenting, uttering a terse "very well" before ending the conversation and handing the phone back to Jack.

"It seems that you are correct. You've gone above my head and now you're risking your career and the future of Torchwood over this unfortunate incident. I hope you think it's worth it."

"Time will tell, won't it?" Fitzhenry walked toward the stairs, then paused to address Ianto. "I hope you appreciate your good fortune, Mr Jones. Not many people are given a second chance after such a complete betrayal."

Fitzhenry smiled, a tight, pinched expression. "And now you have to live with your failure. I certainly do not envy you." She ascended the steps and turned to face Jack at the threshold. "You've won this round, Jack. I only hope you won't regret it some day."

"Whatever happens is no longer your concern. By the way, you can pick up your guard dogs outside the tourist office. They're probably not in the best of moods."

Fitzhenry nodded and walked out, leaving Ianto and Jack alone for the first time since Lisa's death. Ianto thought about the syringe in Jack's pocket and how easy it would be to give in to the desire to wipe away the past few years. But when he finally raised his eyes to meet Jack's stern gaze, he knew that perhaps the hardest punishment was still ahead of him.

The statement, starkly spoken and lacking any inflection, hit Ianto like a slap. "Leave?"

"Yes. I don't want to see you back here until I say you can come back. During that time, I expect you to decide if this is where you want to be. If that answer is yes, you'll be welcome to return but you will be monitored. If the answer is no, I will let you undergo retconning and start a new life somewhere else. If you don't return, I will hunt you down and retcon you back to your nappies."

"I don't care. Visit your family, get drunk, get laid, I don't give a damn. You call in every day, twice a day, at ten and five. Miss just once and I'll haul you back and strap you to a wall until I figure out what to do with you."

"I'm not finished. If you decide to come back, you return with the understanding that nothing like this can ever happen again. That means you do what I say, when I say it. And if you come back, Owen gives you a complete physical and you get a psych eval as well. He says you're unfit, you're gone. Do I make myself clear?"

"Right." Ianto nodded. He drew in a shaky breath and started to leave, but stopped when Jack spoke up once more.

He came back a week later, sneaking in late one night when sleep again proved to be elusive. There'd been something in the wind, a brief change in air pressure and humidity, that had driven him from his bed to his window to gaze out at an uneasy sky. His years in London hadn't dulled his sensitivity to the weather patterns of Cardiff and he was familiar enough with the taste and texture of every breeze that he knew this night was different.

He had debated whether or not to chance a return to the Hub. He still had the Rift activity locater and had been monitoring events from afar during his enforced absence. He'd even shadowed Jack and the team when he thought he could get away with it, but stopped when he began to notice that Jack seemed to have some idea that Ianto was near. Even from a safe distance away, and hidden from a casual glance, Ianto could see Jack pause in whatever he was doing to look around as if homing in on Ianto's presence.

But on this night, something was wrong. He checked the locater and found nothing, but instinct drove him to his closet, where he grabbed the first suit he touched and got dressed. It was entirely possible that Jack would fire him on sight, but what he sensed in the wind made him uncomfortable enough to go back anyway.

It was after two when he entered Torchwood, relieved to find it as empty as he'd hoped. All he needed to do was confirm that there either was or was not unusual weather activity in the area. If he was wrong, he could slip out with no one the wiser, as long as no one had any reason to review the CCTV. If he was correct, if there was something unexplained happening, he could report it and then let Jack decide if this transgression was worthy of dismissal.

Not much had changed during his suspension and he paused a moment to look around, simultaneously annoyed that no one picked up after themselves and gratified for the same reason. As he waited for the computer to compile the information he'd requested, he went back to the old files and found one folder listing weather anomalies. He was just about to cross-reference the paper report with what the computer had come up with when he heard Jack's voice coming from his office.

Ianto froze, trying to read Jack's mood from that one softly spoken sentence. Dressed only in an untucked white tee shirt and trousers, his braces down around his hips and his hands in his pockets, Jack appeared unaccountably young and vulnerable and Ianto found he couldn't look away. Jack almost always had a cheeky grin and a tart remark at the ready, something Ianto assumed was his way of keeping people at arm's length. But there was no sharply-pressed, well-groomed façade hiding Jack tonight—he just looked like a man who'd been entertaining sad thoughts, and some of Ianto's nervousness faded as he fought a surprising impulse to offer comfort. Given their last parting, he knew that wouldn't be accepted, but at least there was none of the hurt-fuelled animosity that Jack had shown toward Ianto the last time they'd been together.

Ianto's mouth went dry, knowing that his future could be decided in the next few minutes. "Neither should you." It's two in the morning, he wanted to add, and you're supposed to be asleep, not finding me disobeying your direct order.

They stared at each other for a moment, and when Jack didn't seem inclined to fire him straight away, Ianto decided to continue his self-appointed task and hope that when explanations were called for, he'd have one that Jack could accept. He was unsurprised when Jack followed him to Tosh's workstation, because whatever personal feelings Jack had about Ianto, he wouldn't let them get in the way of doing his job.

And then, the unexpected. Absolution offered in a gentle hand on his shoulder, startling him and scattering his concentration. He looked at his shoulder and then up at Jack, who was steadfastly studying the computer screen.

Jack glanced at him, then back at the screen, all business—except for the pat that he bestowed before removing his hand completely.

And that's when Ianto began to believe that maybe he'd found a life worth living after all.

Part One

Chapter One

The first thing Ianto did during his suspension from Torchwood was find a new place to live. In the months that he'd kept Lisa hidden away, he'd rented a room from a bad-tempered old man who'd demanded six months rent up front and had a list of rules that Ianto was happy to follow. No guests after midnight, no loud vehicles, no parties, no music, no hot plates, no pets. Ianto had paid him, not caring about the threadbare sheets, the mysterious stains on the carpet or the mouldy bathroom that he'd shared with three other boarders. When he was there, he really wasn't—he was always at Torchwood.

That had changed with Lisa's death. The room was too small, too dark, and he'd had enough of small dark places. He found a small house to let in a slightly shabby neighbourhood within walking distance of the Plass and moved in his few personal items in between shadowing Rift activity and the team's movements throughout Cardiff. The kitchen sink leaked a bit and the tiny back garden wanted some attention, but it suited his purpose.

The other task he assigned himself was much more important and he planned it accordingly. It hadn't taken him long to locate the perfect spot. He checked out websites and satellite maps to get a feel for each area, discarding some as being too close to other buildings and others for being too far from Torchwood. Ideally, he required something very secluded but convenient enough to serve his purpose. It needed to be somewhere where he could slip in and out easily, often, and without being noticed. Going unnoticed had become his speciality.

After returning to work, he began keeping several changes of clothing in the back of the tourist office to save time. When nothing was on below stairs and after Tosh, Owen and Gwen had left for the day, he'd tidy up the desk and then slip behind the beaded curtain, quickly removing his suit and donning dark, sturdy clothing that would blend in with the night.

Things had been odd but bearable since Jack had allowed Ianto to come back. His other co-workers seemed to have taken a vow to treat him as though nothing had happened and aside from a few uncomfortable initial conversations and the occasional mistrustful glance sent his way, Ianto was able to slip effortlessly back into his routine. Everything seemed normal, just as it should be, except for Jack.

Estelle's death and the abduction of Jasmine had hit Jack hard, and he was on Ianto's mind as he walked out into the warm evening air. The cemetery he'd chosen was within walking distance but was still far enough away that it allowed Ianto to use the travel time to good purpose. Some nights, he simply listened to music as he made lists in his head of tasks to accomplish the next day. Other times, he let the long walk smooth out the rough edges that day's work had caused, easing himself out of the constant darkness that Torchwood dwelt in by its very nature. He could've paid for a plot in any cemetery or mausoleum and for the right price he could've purchased a headstone or a plaque, engraved it with something suitably solemn, and had the right to visit it during normal business hours.

But that seemed inadequate to him, almost blasphemous. For so long, he and Lisa had lived in a twilight of existence, somewhere between life and destruction, everything dependent upon Ianto's ability to deceive. It was in those black hours, as Ianto had kept vigil at Lisa's side, that he'd gotten into the habit of talking to her, whether she was conscious or not, telling her everything and eventually, telling her too much. Now, even though she was truly gone, she was still the only person Ianto could talk to. Even in death, she remained his only friend.

A small, ancient cemetery had been his final choice. Situated beside a ramshackle church perched on the edge of a bluff overlooking Cardigan Bay, it was surrounded by a stand of trees that screened out the noise from the busy streets nearby. The cemetery itself was enclosed by a low rock fence, the older parts of it overgrown and neglected in comparison to the well-groomed, newer portion that Ianto disdained.

There was one particular tree, a thick-branched beast with gnarled, exposed roots, that Ianto had decided would do as a suitable sentinel. It was just outside the cemetery proper, many of its branches hanging over to shield the crumbling headstones from the strongest midday sun. Between one twisted root and another, in barely a foot of space, Ianto had installed Lisa's memorial. A simple plaque with her name, no dates, no flowery inscriptions, simply a marker for the objects that Ianto had buried beneath it in a weather-proof canister. A postcard they'd purchased while camping, a cheap red dragon key chain and the metal necklace she'd given him for his twenty-second birthday—these were all that remained of his life with Lisa.

He came as often as he could, work and weather permitting. He didn't dare bring flowers since he didn't want to draw attention to a grave marker installed just beyond hallowed ground, so instead he brought stones that he gathered randomly, whether on his way to the cemetery or when out in the field, performing clean-up. So far he'd edged the square plaque once and was starting on the second row the night after Jasmine had been taken up by the forest creatures.

As always, debris had gathered on the surface of the plaque. A slender torch with a narrow beam in one hand and a small brush in the other, he dusted off the surface, making sure to dig out the wet dirt that had gathered around the raised letters. Then setting aside his tools, he pulled out the small bag of stones and dumped them out onto the grass to begin arranging them by size.

"He's having a hard time of it," he began. In the back of his mind he knew that if anyone caught him at this—talking to a square of metal in the dark next to a graveyard—that he'd be judged a nutter. But one of the many things both Torchwoods had taught him was stealth and so he continued on, unconcerned with being discovered.

Stones arranged in an order to his liking, he settled back on his knees and looked around. It was a beautiful night, a three-quarter moon reflected in the surface of the bay and enough starlight to dazzle the eyes. Somewhere in Cardiff, he mused, on a high building or steeply pitched rooftop, Jack Harkness was once again mourning the loss of a loved one.

Pressing the rocks into the soft, damp soil, he told Lisa about the fairy-hunting old woman who'd captured Jack's heart so many years ago. He didn't know much about Estelle and out of respect hadn't asked Jack, who'd also been dealing with Gwen's anger over releasing the child to the creatures. Ianto wondered how Jack did it, loving over and and over, assured only of losing that love in the end. Ianto had barely survived losing Lisa—how did Jack manage to survive from one day to the next? It was a question for which there was no answer, just like there was no justification for Ianto revealing everything to Lisa while she still lived. The need to confide his growing confusion and the constant vigilance against discovery had worn him down, and in those long, lonely hours, the basement where Lisa had been entombed had turned into a confessional.

What had been unexpected was that Lisa had figured it out long before Ianto had.

"I'd better be going," he said at last. He rose to his feet, stuffing the torch, brush and empty bag into the pockets of his denim jacket. "Strange disappearances in the country have piqued Jack's interest, so I don't know when I'll be back. It shouldn't take long, though, a couple of days. Probably nothing but a wild goose chase."

And, as he did every time he left Lisa's makeshift grave, he stooped to stroke his fingers over her name. Deliberately forgetting the last few months of her existence, he recalled the sometimes silly, often brilliant girl he'd met in the Torchwood London cafeteria after spilling coffee on what she'd icily informed him was a new and expensive pair of shoes.

He'd stopped saying I love you to her after Lisa had told him that she knew how he felt about Jack.

God, it hurt. The shot of painkiller had worn off long ago and there was no one at Torchwood to administer another. Jack had left with Toshiko to see her home, Gwen and Owen had long since disappeared, and Ianto found himself once again disobeying Jack's direct order.

"Go home," Jack had told them all, exhaustion etched deep into the laugh lines around his eyes. "Barring an apocalypse, nobody comes back until you're needed. Of course, with our luck that means the apocalypse will start tomorrow morning, but if you're late for it, I'll understand. Ianto, I'm taking Toshiko to her place. Lock up behind you, okay?"

"Certainly," Ianto had replied. In fact, he'd had every intention of doing exactly that, as anxious as the rest of them to get properly cleaned up and into bed as quickly as possible. At that point, the painkiller that Owen had appropriated from the medical van and administered to Ianto had still been working and he'd managed to ignore the persistent twinge in the vicinity of his ribcage.

He'd just been about to turn down the lights in the empty Hub when a thought occurred to him. Jack had taken the sedan and the SUV had been left parked in the garage, stuffed full of the hastily retrieved packing gear. That meant that if they were called out for Rift activity, the SUV wouldn't be ready.

Ianto debated postponing the task until he'd had some sleep, but ultimately rejected it. He didn't believe that Jack would consider waiting a dereliction of duty, but Ianto was still unsure enough of his standing at Torchwood to leave it to chance. He figured that as long as the SUV was emptied, he could disassemble and repack the gear at a later time.

He'd vastly overestimated his stamina. It had taken all five of them to unload the camping gear when it'd been neatly packed in the back of the Range Rover. The emergency personnel who'd gathered the remnants from the camp site had done a poor job of it and as Ianto had surveyed the jumbled mass shoved every which way, he sighed and reconsidered his decision. Fatigue was dragging heavily on his muscles and the twinge near his abdomen was growing worse, but if he worked swiftly enough, he could be finished and in bed within the hour.

The first wave of dizziness caught him as he was dragging one of the heavy canvas bags into a corner of the garage. He gasped and clutched at his ribs, doubling over and instantly forcing himself upright when that caused the pain to intensify. Reaching out blindly, his hand landed on the Range Rover's cold metal hull and slipped over its surface. He twisted around until his back collided with the bonnet and he pressed against it, fighting the dark nothingness nibbling at the edge of his vision.

His sight cleared quickly and his heart rate began to return to normal as he forced himself to breathe slowly, if not deeply. One incautiously drawn breath had convinced him that wasn't a good idea, but as long as he was careful, he assumed he could finish his job. There were only a few items left in the SUV and they were lighter than the rest, so he rolled his shoulders to loosen locked muscles and pushed on.

Job complete, he forced himself back into the Hub, all thought of going home forgotten. The most he believed he could manage was a shower and then he'd kip out on the lumpy couch that served as the lounge, utilizing one of Owen's medical blankets as cover. He had just enough energy to grab a change of clothes from the tourist office before making use of the shower on the greenhouse level. The hot water felt wonderful against his mottled skin as long as he didn't let the spray hit the contusion on his forehead, placed there courtesy of an expertly wielded rifle stock.

Once clean, he didn't bother to dress beyond an old pair of jeans and a blue tee shirt. It was as he pulled the tee shirt over his still wet hair that the second bout of dizziness hit him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He managed to grip the edge of the bathroom sink and lower his head, swallowing against an unexpected tide of nausea. The pain near his ribs where he'd been kicked was turning into a full scale conflagration and as he fought to remain conscious, he realized that maybe he'd been injured more than any of them had realized.

The pain and dizziness subsided enough so that he was able to stagger out of the bathroom, but instead of heading toward his original destination of the couch, he descended instead into Owen's medical bay. They'd all had some basic medical training and Ianto knew what could help him and what could kill him, but that was roughly the extent of his knowledge.

The combination to the drug locker proved to be his undoing. He knew what it was—in fact, he'd reprogrammed the code himself after Suzie's death—but recalling the sequence was beyond him. The cool tiles of the floor were beckoning to him, calling him to lay down and rest before he tipped over and broke something. Somehow he knew that it wasn't a good idea, but making a decision was rapidly becoming beyond his capabilities.

A rattle and clank beneath him penetrated his fog-filled mind. It could only be Jack, and the relief that flooded Ianto was almost as breath-stealing as the agony that clawed across his ribs and pounded through his head.

He turned away from the locker and bumped into a tray of instruments, sending its contents onto the hard floor with a horrific clatter.

"Shit," Ianto muttered, just as a white-faced Jack, revolver drawn and sweeping the area, appeared at base of the steps leading up from the lower levels. Ianto, clutching the lowest loop of the metal chain surrounding the bay to keep from keeling over, attempted a smile. "Excellent timing, sir."

Jack ignored him and rushed to his side, managing to slip an arm around his waist just as Ianto's knees gave way.

"Sorry," Ianto muttered. Jack took his weight onto his own hip and manoeuvred Ianto to the metal table.

Jack's hand on his arm to steady him, Ianto clutched the table's edge and closed his eyes, willing the dizziness to pass and filled with relief as it faded away. Reopening his eyes, he looked directly into Jack's concerned gaze and this time when he tried for a smile, he almost succeeded.

Jack's mouth creased in annoyance, even as his eyes filled with concern. "What's going on, Ianto? I told you to go home."

Ianto bit his lip, torn between telling the truth and minimizing his situation. "That was my intention, but the Range Rover was still packed, so I thought I'd—"

Jack stared at him. "You think your ribs are cracked? What did Owen say? Or the medics at the scene?"

Ianto shook his head and instantly regretted it. "Bruised, they thought. Owen didn't have a go."

"I did say something, but Owen and the medics were busy since you'd just shot almost everyone else. They needed more medical attention than I."

"Great, so now it's my fault." Jack reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. "I'm calling him right now."

Ianto released one hand from the table and plucked the phone out of Jack's hands. "I'd rather you didn't."

"Look, I don't need you playing the martyr card here. You need medical attention."

"It's not martyrdom, it's self preservation. He's sleeping or otherwise engaged and interrupting either of those pastimes will likely get me on his shit list for a month."

Jack nodded. "I'm no doctor, but I think I can provide that much." Jack took off his coat and tossed it over the railing. "Want to look at those ribs first, though."

Ianto slowly turned his torso until the base of his spine met with the table's metal edge. His head was still pounding as he reached for the bottom of his tee shirt, only to have his hands batted away. Jack lifted the fabric upward, high enough to reveal the bruises that painted Ianto's abdomen from breast to hipbone. He went down on one knee to get a closer look and Ianto tried not to flinch as Jack ran his fingers over the inflamed area.

Emitting a soft whistle, Jack glanced up from his perusal. "Pretty spectacular colour you've got there. I'm thinking x-rays are in your future."

Ianto shook his head. "Not here. The last thing Owen x-rayed had eight nipples and bled bubbly orange goo."

"In your deposition with Darby. You said you had to go to A&E after you'd found a place to hide Lisa."

"Yes, but I didn't mention why." Nor would he. Let Jack speculate that he'd suffered his injuries during the battle, when in truth it had been Lisa, lashing out in pain with her accentuated strength, catching Ianto across the chest and knocking him across the rat-infested basement that he'd dragged her into in the first few, chaotic moments of their escape.

"I checked out every part of your story after Darby left." Returning to his examination of Ianto's ribcage, Jack unsnapped the top button of Ianto's jeans and folded the waistband past his hipbone, exposing more bruised skin. "And hospitals keep good records."

"Which made it only slightly more difficult for me, but I did manage to talk to one of the nurses who had no trouble remembering the cute Welsh kid who said he'd been in a construction accident and went AWOL before his doctor released him." Jack straightened from his crouch and guided the tee shirt back into place. "Let me see your eyes."

Obligingly, Ianto widened his eyes and let Jack have his look, trying to ignore the staccato beating of his heart. Jack was so close that Ianto could see the small freckle that punctuated the crease at the edge of the generous mouth.

It took longer than it should have, but Jack seemed intent on being thorough in his examination. He was perfectly still as he looked into Ianto's eyes, his hands resting on Ianto's shoulders. The tiniest inclination of Ianto's head and their mouths would touch, and for one brief, breathless moment, Ianto thought he could give in to the temptation that he'd had since the night they'd met. He wanted to believe that he saw hopeful acceptance in the vivid blue that stared back at him, but in the end he dropped his eyes and tensed beneath Jack's hands.

Hearing a small sigh, his painful ribs and sore head were forgotten as Jack stroked his thumb over Ianto's lower lip, his gaze touching on the small cut there before lifting to look at the larger bruise on Ianto's forehead.

"Shhh, not done yet." Jack used his thumb and forefinger on Ianto's chin to tilt his head first one way, than another, before ending his examination with one last look into Ianto's eyes.

"Damn," Jack muttered. Then, louder, "Okay, now for the happy drugs. Let's see what we've got."

Jack moved away as Ianto attempted to catch his breath, berating himself for reading more into Jack's gently inquisitive touch than was actually there. He told himself that even the slightest bit of tenderness was bound to impress him these days—he'd been so long without any that even the smallest gesture was blown out of proportion.

"Tell me again why we lock up the drugs when everyone knows the combination to the locker?" Jack looked over his shoulder and gave Ianto a quick wink.

Ianto slumped against the table, exhaustion slowing his tongue. "Protocol, sir."

"Oh, right, protocol. We're so good at that around here. Ah, here we go, these should work." Jack returned to Ianto's side, a small pill bottle in his hand. "I'm going to get you some juice."

Jack came back from the kitchen with a small glass of orange juice and handed it to Ianto, followed by two pills dropped onto his palm. Ianto swallowed the pills and set the empty glass aside, watching as Jack rummaged through a few drawers until he found a roll of wide gauze and another of medical tape.

"Given the state of those ribs, I'd say yes. Now come on, lift your arms, or I'm dragging you off to get x-rayed."

Ianto began to raise his arms but the pull on his abused muscles was too severe. Biting back a moan, he shook his head. "Sorry, that's not going to happen."

Jack blew out an annoyed breath. "Then I hope you're not too attached to it." He picked up a pair of scissors that had landed on the floor and clipped the banded top of Ianto's tee, then set them aside. Pausing long enough to catch Ianto's eye, Jack nailed him with a mischievous grin, eyebrows arching.

"We'll have to try this again under more pleasant circumstances." Grabbing the ragged edges, Jack ripped the shirt in two.

Looking down at his ruined shirt, Ianto sighed. "I can't imagine any other scenario where this would be appropriate."

"Really? I can think of half a dozen without trying. We've got to get to work on that imagination of yours." Jack slipped the remnants of the tee shirt down Ianto's arms and threw them away. Working quickly, he wrapped Ianto's ribs with the gauze and taped it off as Ianto stared straight ahead, worrying his lower lip with his teeth as the wrapping was drawn tight.

"Stop that." Jack cut off another piece of tape and carefully attached it to the trimmed edge of the gauze.

"Because it makes me want to kiss you and now just isn't the right time." Jack tossed aside the scissors and tape and surveyed his work. "Okay, you're doped up and taped up, so let's find you a flat surface to sleep it off."

Jack gripped Ianto's bare upper arm with both hands and led him slowly up the steps. Whatever painkiller he'd given to Ianto was already making its presence known and he was beginning to feel slightly detached from his limbs. Without really thinking about it, he aimed his body toward the couch, so when Jack steered him toward his office, it took a moment for Ianto to catch up.

Jack let Ianto go and reached for the latch of the cover that led down to his quarters. "Not in the fun, getting to know you sense, but we can discuss our options later. I'm going to go down first. Take your time, I'll be right there if you need me."

Jack was already halfway into his quarters, but he took a moment to look up at Ianto with a scowl. "You're not going home and that couch will play hell with your back. Come on, I promise it'll be worth it."

He disappeared and Ianto stood there for a few seconds, trying to recall the last minutes of this conversation. He was pretty sure that Jack had flirted with him rather pointedly and he knew that once he was more lucid he'd have to revisit everything that Jack had said. Knowing Jack's predilection for flirting with almost anyone or anything, he reminded himself not to give too much credence to Jack's comments.

Giving himself a mental shake, he gingerly lowered himself to a sitting position near the hatch, his legs dangling into the room below. Taking a careful breath, he grasped the ladder and began the short climb down into Jack's quarters. He'd been there before, gathering up laundry and for general maintenance, but never while Jack was there at the same time.

True to his word, Jack was waiting at the bottom, looking up at him, one hand grasping the ladder, the other lifted toward Ianto, who was feeling woozier with each step. Halfway down he felt Jack's hands cradle his hips as he guided him down with quiet words of encouragement. By the time his feet touched the floor, his head was swimming and he paused to rest his cheek against the nearest rung.

Ianto didn't have breath to reply, so he nodded, waiting for the vertigo to subside. Before he could gather enough energy to move, he felt Jack shift beside him, and then Jack was enfolding him from behind, the soothing warmth of his body washing over Ianto's weary frame and chasing away the last of the dizziness.

"Just a little further and you're there." Jack turned Ianto away from the ladder and led him the few short steps to his bed. "Easy now. Sit down slowly. Pillow's on your right."

Wincing, Ianto stretched out on Jack's bed, grateful for cool sheet and thick blanket that Jack drew over him. Jack was right, his bed was entirely more comfortable than the second-hand, lumpy couch would have been and he snuggled into Jack's pillow with a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," he murmured sleepily. "I expect after I wake up and the drugs have worn off I'll feel quite awkward about this, but I do appreciate it."

Ianto yawned and burrowed his head deeper into the pillow. "If you call getting captured by cannibals, losing my composure and concocting a brilliant plan to let Toshiko escape that failed miserably a good job, you are a much more lenient boss than I'd anticipated."

"Losing your composure?" Jack stroked two fingers between Ianto's eyes, easing the furrows of discomfort. "Tosh didn't mention that."

"She is a generous lady, then." Ianto's eyes fluttered, lulled by Jack's caress.

"She did mention that you were willing to sacrifice yourself in order to give her a chance to run away. You kept your wits despite the most horrible circumstances imaginable and that's doing pretty damn well in my book."

"Really?" Ianto whispered, his eyes closing. "Always like to impress my superiors."

Ianto was fading fast, so when he felt the bed dip followed by the soft slide of Jack's mouth over his, he had to fight to reopen his eyes. Jack was smiling at him, not a toothy Harkness display but something much more compelling.

"Sleep well," Jack said as he started to rise to his feet. Ianto managed to reach out and stop him with a clumsy reach for his hand.

Ianto nodded, allowing himself to submerge into the darkness. Just before he was completely taken under, his entire body jerked and a thrill of terror ran through him. He tripped out of sleep with a grunt and his eyes flew open, searching out any light to reorient himself. Mouth dry, heart trying to climb through his throat and choke him, he was suddenly battered with images from the previous day and he blinked against the sweat stinging his eyes. Dull yellow light on a silver blade at his throat, the blood-stained, vomit-soaked bag they'd placed over his head, the taste of his own blood in his mouth. Filthy, groping hands, sweat and spit—his breath caught and his chest heaved as he tried to sit up, stopped only by the echo of pain in his ribs.

Jack appeared from out of the shadows, his face unreadable in the gloom. "Ianto? You all right?"

"I—yeah, okay. It's just..." Ianto's voice trailed off, unwilling to put the horror into words and make it more real. "Sorry, sir."

"Ianto." This time, Jack's voice was laced with amusement. "You're half naked in my bed, so let's drop the formalities for the duration, shall we? Jack will do just fine."

"Jack." Ianto tasted it on his lips, letting the word soothe his throat. Jack. "I started thinking about them—"

"Don't." The humour was gone, replaced by a sharpness that Ianto could tell Jack was using to mask something else. "Don't think about them ever again. Not one more thought, not one memory—I don't even want you to look in that direction. That's an order. Sleep now."

"Right." Ianto shifted deeper into the mattress, knowing this was yet another direct order from Jack that he wouldn't be able to follow. "But, S—Jack—"

He closed eyelids that were gritty with exhaustion. "It would've been easier if they'd been aliens."

Chapter Two

"It's going to be sunny tomorrow." Ianto yanked at a tuft of grass poking through the stones around Lisa's plaque, the tiny spikes revealed by the light of the torch lying on the ground beside them. "Was it sunny that day? I don't remember. I do remember that you were angry with me that morning for drinking all the milk and placing the empty container back in the refrigerator. Did I apologize for that? Sorry, didn't mean to be a stereotypical boyfriend. You'll be happy to know I don't do that any more."

He was babbling and he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself. A trickle of sweat was making its way down his face and he swiped at it with the back of his dirty hand, belatedly realising he'd be leaving a smear.

"Things have been quiet at work. I think there may be something going on between Gwen and Owen, they're much too ready to amuse each other. Tosh has noticed something too, but she seems so withdrawn these days, I'm not sure she cares. Jack, well, Jack is Jack. He's been dividing his time between the alien artefact they pulled from the construction site and going on about something with the Prime Minister. Nothing and no one intimidates that man."

Abandoning the act of keeping busy, Ianto leant his body weight on one bent knee and bowed his head. The next few days were going to be a trial that he knew he couldn't share. Even if his current co-workers remembered the tragedy, only Owen had been part of it and only tangentially, part of the team Jack had sent to salvage the remains. This anniversary wouldn't mean as much to them, if they even noticed it at all.

He left the cemetery earlier than usual, feeling guilty but unable to remain alone with his memories. He thought about going to the cinema but ended up instead in a small restaurant where he ordered a sandwich he couldn't eat and a pint that went untasted, a day-old newspaper his only companion. He read it forwards to backwards and back again three times, letting every black-inked word sink in so that he didn't have to think independently. He read about lost cats and job openings, sales on bananas and skin lotion, wars and local politics and Jack's planted story of a gas leak to explain a small weevil infestation at the post office. When finally the young man behind the counter began shutting off the lights, Ianto paid his tab and went home.

The pain was coming back and there was nothing he could do about it. For days, he'd managed to keep it at bay, and even the nightmare trip to Breton Beacons and its aftermath had been a diversion of sorts. He wanted a reason to fight off the despair that was sometimes only a breath, a heartbeat away, but couldn't find one. Not even Jack's ongoing, teasing, meaningless flirtation was alleviating the terrible blackness that was descending on him. He'd known the date was approaching and had thought he was strong enough to withstand it, but as he went to work the next day, he realized that the following hours were only something to endure.

Yet somehow he managed to paste on a smile when he greeted a preoccupied Toshiko in the tourist office before she descended to work. It was perhaps a remnant of all those weeks he'd dissimulated in front of everyone every day, keeping his secret and convincing them that he was good for nothing but providing food and mopping up messes. That was where he went in his mind, to the days of simple invisibility, though Lisa was long gone and Jack had for some reason decided that Ianto was worth keeping.

It was another comparatively peaceful day, for which Ianto was thankful. No one seemed inclined to talk to him and that's what he preferred. Of course, a quiet day meant that there was more to clean up than usual, and he found himself discovering dirty dishes and plates in the oddest places. He was about to begin gathering his third load of cups when Jack went flying past him, then skidded to a stop and turned to face Ianto, arms flying out from his sides.

"Ianto!" he cried, as if they hadn't spoken less than an hour previously. "Just the man I want to see. Listen, any chance you could rustle up some coffee any time soon? I've got eighteen reports to wade through before I go another round with Downing Street."

"Are you all right?" Cocking his head to one side, Jack frowned. "You look tired."

"Perfectly fine, sir, thank you for asking. Coffee in your office in five minutes."

Jack slapped him on the shoulder. "Great. Thanks." And he was gone, striding away with that single-minded purpose inherent in almost every thing he did. Ianto watched him, wondering yet again if he'd imagined the tender Jack Harkness who'd seen to his injuries and tucked him into bed like a worn-out four-year-old. He knew he hadn't, but Jack hadn't mentioned anything since then about sharing either beds or kisses, and Ianto chose to be relieved rather than disappointed. Or so he told himself.

But on this day, his feelings for Jack, for all of them, were irrelevant. This was a day for private mourning, for remembrance of so many lives destroyed, and judging from the laughter coming from the medical bay, he'd be the only one commemorating the dead of Torchwood London.

He was in the archives when Jack contacted him, telling him to be ready to converge on the centre of the Hub at his signal. He'd also had Gwen and Owen on the comm line and had quickly explained the situation of the alien felon that Tosh had unwittingly allowed access to Torchwood. Ianto set aside his clipboard and checked his weapon, chambering a round and praying that the situation wouldn't require it.

Even as Ianto ascended the steps behind Owen, he doubted that he could be of much use. That Jack had included him at all spoke of the seriousness of the situation, but as soon as he realized what a danger the alien was to them all, the waves of sick panic began. Today of all days, he didn't think he could survive the loss of another friend. The knife pressed to Toshiko's throat, the manipulative, honeyed words of the intruder, it was making him shake inside. He wanted to run away, as far and as fast as he could, but found that the terror and courage in Tosh's eyes gave him the strength to stay, to help, to withstand what was rapidly evolving into a tragedy.

And then, in a blaze of eye-searing streaks of colour, it was over, and all that was left behind was a broken-hearted Toshiko, looking more lost than Ianto could ever remember seeing her. She could only stand there and watch as Jack stalked away, and that's when Ianto noticed that Gwen and Owen were wrapped up in their own drama, a veritable flurry of eye contact and head nods signifying their mutual need to find somewhere to talk.

So it fell to Ianto to place a comforting hand on Toshiko's shoulder, to guide her into the conference room and get her seated. She looked around blankly, the amulet clutched in her palm, its chain dangling over fingers that trembled. He didn't bother to ask after it, instead leaving her alone only long enough to brew them some tea and spiking Toshiko's mug liberally with brandy. Only after she'd consumed almost all of it and could meet his gaze with a tremulous smile did he begin the process of filling out the archival paperwork.

It didn't take long, but Ianto understood that for Toshiko, the process was excruciating as well as humiliating. He tried to be as gentle as possible, letting her go off on self-excoriating tangents and bringing her back to the subject with soothing words and nods of encouragement. She cried quietly through most of her recitation but ploughed through it without pause, leaving out nothing as far as Ianto could tell. When she was finally done and Ianto had no more questions regarding the properties of the artefact, he slid the affidavit toward her and handed her his pen.

Toshiko's gaze flitted toward Ianto, then away. "This is so embarrassing," she muttered.

Ianto leaned toward her confidentially. "Don't worry, you're in good company," he assured her solemnly. That garnered a hiccupy little laugh as she blotted her nose and scooted the paper closer. She signed her name but hesitated over the space for the date, looking over at Ianto with a wobbly smile.

"It's—its—" Ianto stuttered to a stop. The words would not come out. In the confusion of the last few hours he'd managed to forget what this date signified, a day in his life that meant nothing less than the destruction of everything he'd loved. The job, the girl, the life he was finally building after years of wandering alone—it had all come to an end on this date.

It was becoming too hard to breathe but he knew he had to get a grip on himself, for Tosh's sake. She was looking at him with concern and he glanced down to see her slender hand on his wrist.

He moistened his lips and waited for the ringing in his ears to fade before replying. "Sorry. Haven't eaten anything lately. I'll hunt down a biscuit later."

To his surprise, Tosh looked unconvinced. "Are you sure? " She slipped her hand into his. "Tonight might not be the best time, but if you need someone to listen, I am here for you, you know that."

There was something more intense in Toshiko's offer than Ianto expected and Ianto realized that at some time or another, she must've read his thoughts as well. It was a violating feeling at first, but judging by the compassion shining in Tosh's eyes, he knew that his black thoughts had fallen on forgiving ground.

Ianto gave the hand in his a brief squeeze. "I think I'm the one who should be offering a shoulder to cry on, but I appreciate the thought. Let's finish this up so that you can go home. What would you like done with the amulet?"

Ianto shrugged and closed the binder with her statement inside. "You'll have to ask Jack. It is, essentially, yours to do with as you please."

Wiping away a fresh batch of tears, Tosh nodded and rose to her feet. "Thank you," she whispered, and left the room. Ianto remained seated, staring into space, blocking out the furious, half-whispered conversation going on somewhere behind him.

His preoccupation with his own sorrows had to stop, he understood that now. Lost in his own misery, he could've been a serious hindrance to the dangerous events that had just played out in the Hub, and if he'd failed his co-workers in any way, he'd never forgive himself. He had no excuse of shielding a dying lover in the basement this time, no reason for not being what Jack and the rest of them expected him to be. They'd accepted him back into the fold, and seeing Toshiko's agony had finally broken through Ianto's self-inflicted wall of wretchedness. The non-stop roiling in his stomach, the constant dull ache between his shoulder blades—it was no way to live. Lisa was his past and he'd cherish her always, but his future was Torchwood, it was Gwen, Tosh, Owen—it was Jack.

Rising to his feet, he gathered up the paperwork and began mentally listing the last round of chores he needed to complete before going home. Once there, he intended to mourn the loss of his friends in private and then get on with the business of life.

Ianto looked up from the tea towel he was folding, surprised to see Jack striding toward him. After the emotional events surrounding Tosh and the alien prisoner earlier in the evening, Ianto had expected Jack to resort to his own particular form of therapy, that of roaming around the tall buildings and slick streets of Cardiff, an avenging, sensual angel with a short attention span.

Ianto set the towel on the rest of the neatly folded laundry sitting on top of the conference table and put his hands on his hips, mentally reviewing his options. "Not even that, I'm afraid. I cleaned out the refrigerator yesterday and haven't had a chance to restock it. Would you like me to order something for you?"

"Nah." Jack picked up a folder, glanced inside it, and set it aside. "Just want something, you know?"

This was something Ianto hadn't encountered before, a Jack Harkness with a case of the munchies. It was endearingly prosaic for a man who'd journeyed amongst the stars. "Sweet or salty?"

Jack shrugged, stripping off his greatcoat and draping it over a chair. "Doesn't matter, does it? You said we don't have anything."

"Well," Ianto said slowly, "that isn't exactly true. There are the dark chocolate kisses that Tosh keeps in her bottom drawer, the roasted peanuts in Gwen's locker and an unopened bag of Fig Newtons that Owen has hidden in the cryogenic chamber that you've been promising to repair since April."

One eyebrow lifted, Jack's tone was infused with respect. "You know where everyone's secret stash of food is? Once again, you impress me. Come the end of the world, I want to be on your side, because you'll have all the good snacks."

Turning away so that Jack didn't see his smile, Ianto picked up another towel and began folding it. "Let me know if you have a preference so I have an idea what I'll need to replace in the morning. In the meantime—"

"Ianto, hold up. I was wondering—" Jack was interrupted by the ring of his mobile. Rolling his eyes, he plucked it out of his pocket and read the caller ID, his annoyance instantly dropping away. "Toshiko? Are you all right?"

Ianto kept his eyes on his hands as they pressed a sharp crease into the towel, expecting Jack to wander into the corridor to conduct what was surely a personal conversation with the traumatized member of his team.

But Jack didn't, instead hitching his hip onto the table next to the pile of folded towels. "Okay, that's good. Do I what?" Jack's tone changed and Ianto glanced at him. The smooth brow was furrowed, his gaze resting somewhere in the middle distance. "No, I didn't remember. And I should have, you're right. We all should have. No, listen, that's not your fault."

Uneasy, Ianto scooped up the stack of towels and turned to move around Jack's swinging leg. He'd just cleared the booted toe when he felt strong fingers curl around his elbow and he looked up to see Jack staring at him, phone still held to his ear.

"Thanks, Tosh, you did the right thing. I'll take care of it. Get some rest, we'll see you in the morning."

The phone was blindly tossed aside as Jack slid off the table, his hand still clutching Ianto's arm.

"Something wrong?" Ianto asked, taking a step backward as Jack crowded into him. "Is she all right?"

Jack released Ianto and snatched the stack of towels out of his arms, dropping them on the table and ignoring them as they slid across the slick surface to tumble off the edge. Ianto just had enough time to open his mouth to protest the undoing of his work when he was yanked into Jack's arms, caught in an embrace so tight that he felt his newly healed ribs creak.

There was no answer, just a shift in Jack's arms as he brought up one hand to cradle the base of Ianto's head. Alarmed and confused, Ianto tentatively rested his hands on Jack's waist, wondering if any offer of comfort would be enough for whatever turbulent emotion Jack was feeling. He hoped that Jack was finding consolation just by holding him, but for what purpose, he had no idea.

Finally, Jack loosened his hold enough for Ianto to put some space between them, though Jack's arms remained locked around his waist and shoulders. Ianto pressed his cheek against Jack's and then pulled back far enough to see Jack's face, afraid he'd see a sorrow there that he wouldn't know how to ease.

Jack's eyes were bright with tears and now thoroughly alarmed, Ianto slid his hand up over Jack's chest to rest on his heart. "What's wrong?" he whispered. "Tell me."

Mutely, Jack shook his head and looked away, swallowing hard. "On this date," he started, his voice cracking so severely that he swallowed again before attempting to speak. "On this date, seven hundred and ninety-six brave men and women gave their lives to defend their world. There were only twenty-seven survivors."

The death toll from Canary Wharf—Ianto knew those numbers like he knew his own name. They were etched on his heart, carving a wound that would never heal. Tosh must've have made the connection between Ianto's thoughts and his reaction to the date and called to let Jack know.

"Twenty-eight." Ianto whispered, eyes drifting shut as the memories flooded back. "There were twenty-eight survivors." He began to writhe, trying to extricate himself from Jack's hold, but Jack was immovable, his arms never giving Ianto an inch.

It wasn't fair. He'd spent hours struggling to keep his memories blocked out, waiting only for privacy and time to release his grief so that it wouldn't be witnessed by those he'd only recently come to regard as friends. He'd already displayed so much of his pain to them, and to Jack, that the thought of once again being that vulnerable was horrifying. He didn't want to do this now, with nothing to shield him from the wide open sympathy that Jack was generating with every fibre of his being.

Jack shook his head, his jaw clenched. "No way. You have a right to mourn them."

"I will, but not here." Avoiding Jack's gaze, he pushed at his chest. "Not in front—not here. "

Jack pulled him close again. "It's okay," he whispered fiercely. "It's okay, Ianto. I've got you."

I've got you. Like a puppet whose strings are cut, Ianto's legs gave way and Jack guided them both to the floor, gathering him close to his chest and rocking him like a child. Ianto had no tears to shed because this wasn't the way he wanted to remember this day, in a graceless heap in the middle of the conference room. But as Jack cooed soothing nonsense into his ear, the words started to tumble out despite his intentions and not caring if he made any sense, certain that Jack didn't care whether he did or not, he let them go.

"It was so different there," Ianto began, closing his eyes. "Lighter than it is here. Sterile. Plastic. Even the plants were fake. Hundreds of people coming and going, like a bank or an insurance firm. We knew what we were there for but we'd forget, get caught up in the research and the paperwork and who was shagging whom in the accounting department. I shared a tiny cubicle with David, he was from Truro and his dad was a dentist. He'd just found out that his wife was expecting their second child and we'd planned to celebrate with a pint at the end of the week. He—he was killed in the first wave, along with half the people on my floor. And Carrie, she dyed her hair a different colour every week but she was an impeccable researcher. She knew all the good gossip and had a crush on Daphne in Medical. They both died, I saw their names on the list they posted..."

On and on he went, Jack's fingers never faltering as they stroked his hair, his strength never wavering as he supported Ianto through the rambling, brokenhearted recitation. When Ianto finally ran out of words he slumped in Jack's embrace, his head tucked into the warm pocket between Jack's chin and shoulder.

"I do remember them," he resumed quietly. "All of them. I hear them at night, you know, their screams, their cries for mercy that was never granted, for help that never came."

Jack shifted his hold on Ianto, settling him deeper into his arms. "But you got Lisa out."

Ianto nodded, his cheek rubbing against the crisp fabric of Jack's shirt. "Dumb luck, mostly. By the time I'd found her, the battle had moved on and she and the other converts had been abandoned. Some of them weren't far gone—they begged me to help them, to come back for them, too. They called me by my name, and I still left them there." A solitary tear slipped down his cheek unheeded. "I failed them, Jack. Every one of them. I should've gone back, I should've—"

"No, no," Jack soothed, "there was no failure here. It was a tragedy that you couldn't prevent, an attack against us all. And you lived, Ianto Jones. That's the miracle—you lived and you found your way to me and I'll never forget what a gift that is."

Jack dropped a kiss on Ianto's hair. "Like you said, you did it for love. But great love sometimes brings great tragedy and then the only thing we can do is hang on and find something worth living for again."

Jack's forgiving assessment hit too close to the truth. Ianto had found something worth living for, but that was a confidence he wouldn't break. What Jack had found that kept him going day after day, Ianto had no idea, but he prayed that whatever it was, it would never fail the man he'd come to care for so deeply.

The cold floor was rapidly becoming uncomfortable for him and he imagined that Jack must be in worse shape, wedged against a leg of the conference table. Ianto scooted out of the circle of Jack's arms and got to his feet, reaching down a hand that Jack used to pull himself up. Ill at ease now that the emotional storm had passed, Ianto bent to pick up the fallen towels, unsurprised when Jack knelt down on one knee and reached for the ones that had slipped beneath the table. Rising to his feet, he handed the towels to Ianto, who took them with a nod of thanks.

"Why don't you get out of here, go home and get some rest." Jack said, his voice flat. Ianto stole a look at him, confused by the distance he saw on Jack's face. No doubt Ianto's memories had stirred up painful recollections of his own, and Ianto wondered briefly if he'd dare ask.

"Too much to do." His courage failing him, Ianto set the towels on the table and picked up one to fold. "But I'm better, sir, really. Thank you."

Jack didn't reply and Ianto had the strangest feeling that he'd somehow let him down. Concentrating on his task, he was unaware that Jack had come up behind him until Jack spoke again, his chest brushing up against Ianto's shoulder blades.

"I don't want your thanks," Jack murmured. "I want a lot of things from you, but appreciation for basic human compassion isn't one of them."

"I wanted to mourn them alone." Ianto dropped the towel, his fingers clenching as he lowered his eyes to the table's shiny surface. "You were right, it's better that I didn't, and I am grateful for that. But it's not your concern, I can—"

"That's enough." Jack grabbed his arms and turned him, giving him a shake. "It is my concern because you are my concern, Ianto. Why haven't you figured that out yet?"

"I have," Ianto protested. Jack's feelings about his team were both obvious and subtle, manifested in so many different ways. It had taken Ianto months to learn to separate them all, to be able to see that Jack, for all his flirting and teasing and often insensitive flippancy, felt everything more deeply than was probably wise. "You care about us all."

Jack growled and shook him again, fingers bruising the flesh of Ianto's upper arms. "I'm not talking about my duties as anyone's leader. I'm talking about me, Jack Harkness, the chump who fell for the cutest boy in class who won't give him the time of day."

"You—what?" Ianto frowned at him, unable to follow the twist the conversation had just taken.

Jack's smile was self-mocking. "Don't look so shocked. You set out to seduce me from the beginning and you did a hell of a job."

it was true, but Ianto had convinced himself that Jack had never caught on, especially in the long weeks after Ianto had been hired. Oh, Jack had teased him with comments about his suits or his blue eyes or his accent, but Jack had never shown any real interest in Ianto as a man, or even a person. After deliberately making himself known to Jack in several humiliating ways, Ianto had put just as much effort into fading into the woodwork once he'd been hired. And he'd learned soon enough that he'd more than succeeded.

But Jack's lack of reaction to Ianto had never prevented the growth of Ianto's own turbulent feelings. After following the team for days while Lisa remained sedated with drugs that Ianto stole whenever he could, Ianto had developed a terrifying fascination for the leader of Torchwood. That fascination had given way to something far more powerful on the night they'd captured Myfanwy, and Ianto had been fighting it ever since.

But it seemed as though Jack had known anyway. Tired of denying it to himself, Ianto nodded. "I didn't want to. I did it for—"

"For Lisa, right. That explains why you showed up. But it doesn't explain why you stayed."

Jack's eyes darkened and Ianto looked away. As long as the attraction went one way, the situation was controllable. But if all of Jack's flirting had something more serious behind it, then Ianto knew he was in trouble.

"That was my hope." Jack leaned forward until their foreheads touched, his breath scudding across Ianto's lips, his unmistakable scent suffusing Ianto's senses. "When I sent you away after the interrogation, I prayed that given the choice, you'd come back to me. I kept seeing you in the streets, kept picturing you at my side, scared that you'd return and ask to have your memory removed because there was nothing I could offer you to make you want to stay. You have no idea how hard it was to send you away, or how it made me feel to see you back at the Hub that night."

"I couldn't stay away," Ianto confessed. "Even if you banished me. Even if it was just to get fired."

Jack laughed softly and pulled back, one side of his mouth creasing in amusement. "Banish you? I've become addicted to you and I haven't even had you yet, so no, banishment wasn't in the cards, unless it was your decision."

Ianto swallowed, easing moisture into his throat gone suddenly dry with Jack's statement. "Have me?"

Jack cupped Ianto's cheek and leaned toward him. "Thanks, I never thought you'd ask."

Ducking away, Ianto winced inside at Jack's disappointed sigh. His body was betraying him, wanting nothing more than to lose itself in what Jack was offering, but this was Jack, after all, and Ianto knew that if he gave in to all that meant, he could be inviting more than he was ready to handle.

"I don't need a mercy fuck." The audacious declaration was weakened as Ianto's voice broke on the last word.

"I'm not offering one. Maybe I'm the one who needs mercy, did you ever think of that? I've wanted you for so long and I've watched you tie yourself into little Welsh knots since Lisa died. And all this time I've been hoping, just waiting for the time when you'd let me in a little, let me be something more to you than the guy who helped you catch a pterodactyl and who signs off on your time card."

Ianto bit his lip against a burgeoning smile. "Capturing a dinosaur isn't usually considered a traditional way of beginning a relationship."

"Oh, I don't know. Seems to me the Rift owed me some serious payback for all the grief it's given me over the years and coughing up a pet dinosaur is a twisted way to fit the bill. And hey, I've done stranger things on a first date."

"First date?" Ignoring the hopeful pounding of his heart, Ianto was beginning to understand that Jack had been keeping secrets of his own regarding Ianto's place in his life. "Well, when you put it that way, sounds rather like it was fate."

"Oh, I'm a strong believer in fate," Jack agreed. "Fate is a cold-hearted bitch but once in a while she gets it right. Like the night she dropped you into my life and said here's something special, don't screw it up."

Ianto stroked his fingertips across the smooth skin of Jack's cheekbones. "Talk to fate often, do you?"

"All the time." Jack captured Ianto's hand and brought it to his lips, placing a kiss in the curve of his palm. "But right now, my fate is in your hands. This is totally your choice, Ianto. Tell me this isn't what you want and I'll still flirt with you because you're too damn cute not to, but I'll keep my hands to myself."

Jack took a deep breath, his eyes falling shut for the briefest moment. "Then we'll find out what that means together."

Still Ianto hesitated, braving one last confession. "That night, when we caught Myfanwy."

"Yes?" Jack had turned Ianto's hand around and was sucking on the knuckle of Ianto's forefinger.

Jack's eyes lit up. "Really? Then it wasn't just me? Because I was about two seconds away from making a really inappropriate suggestion."

"It wasn't just you. But if you hadn't offered me a job that night, you'd have never seen me again."

"Found me? You'd just threatened to wipe my memory and then run me over with an expensive black vehicle."

"What, a guy can't change his mind while he's being carted around like a chew toy by a prehistoric animal?"

"Okay, not really. Maybe it was a little sooner than that. Regardless, I was planning on keeping my eye on you."

Jack shrugged. "You were different that night. It was like I was seeing the real Ianto Jones for the first time, and every good intention I had of getting you out of my life went straight out the window."

Jack's laugh was quietly seductive. "Not exactly. Some day I'll tell you what a pair of tight jeans and a studded belt did to my work ethic."

"Uh, yeah, you might say that I noticed the belt, but we'll keep that story for another time. Right now, I've got other things on my mind."

The decision was his, but it was a decision that had been made long ago. Since the attack on Torchwood London and all the agonizing days and nights since then, Ianto had turned away from any thought of happiness, any hint that he was deserving of something good. And now Jack Harkness was watching him, beautiful eyes alight with hope and something more, something that offered Ianto everything he'd thought he'd been denied forever.

His one hand still entwined with Jack's, Ianto raised his other to cup Jack's cheek. Jack closed his eyes and leaned into Ianto's touch, his contented sigh sending a frisson of desire tumbling through Ianto's blood. To touch, to hold, to have the warmth of Jack soaking into his palm, it made Ianto dizzy and powerful, hot and cold and terrified all at once.

Jack's eyes remained closed as Ianto inclined his head, using his mouth to lightly graze the tender curve of Jack's upper lip. Ianto heard Jack's swiftly indrawn breath but didn't react, intent on discovering every nuance of this first intimacy. Jack's fingers tightened around his hand as Ianto continued his delicate exploration, gently sucking at Jack's lower lip until Jack sighed and tried to capture Ianto's mouth with his own.

But Ianto would not be rushed. He slid his fingers into Jack's hair, finding it surprisingly soft and springy against the pads of his fingers. Jack's free hand cradled Ianto's ribcage as they slowly drifted into a kiss that stole Ianto's breath with its hesitant tenderness. Jack was still passive, allowing Ianto free rein to explore the taste and texture of his skin, retaining his grip on Ianto's hand as Ianto took his time, nuzzling the corner's of Jack's mouth, teasing with his tongue until Jack's happy sighs turned to soft groans of impatience.

But for Ianto, who'd been so long without an intimate touch, this simple, sensual pleasure fell like cool rain on parched soil. His head was swimming, his nerves coming alive as he finally gave in and took Jack's mouth in a deep kiss, a desperate hum of need tangling in his throat.

Jack reacted immediately to the change in pace. No longer passive, he released Ianto and slid his hands beneath Ianto's coat to catch him by the hips, pulling them tightly together. Now it was Jack who was in control, his kisses deep and wet and hungry, his tongue pushing inside Ianto's mouth with possessive strength. Dazed by the carefully leashed power behind Jack's loving assault, Ianto didn't realize at first that Jack's grip was forcing him backward until the back of his thighs hit the table's edge, and even then, Jack kept coming. Having no room to manoeuvre, Ianto twisted his hips as Jack gripped his belt, helping him onto the table. His mouth never leaving Ianto's, Jack shoved Ianto's legs apart and stepped between them, pressing another searing kiss to Ianto's lips before drawing back to take in a shaky breath.

"Wow," Jack muttered. He looked like a mischievous kid who'd received everything he'd asked for and more on Christmas morning, with his hair tousled, his mouth swollen and a wicked gleam in his eye that made Ianto's stomach clench with anticipation.

Jack grinned and kissed Ianto again as he slipped Ianto's coat off his shoulders, letting it puddle on the table. "We get naked."

Ianto looked around the brightly lit conference room as Jack reached for the knot in his tie. "In here? Bit draughty, don't you think?"

Jack stripped Ianto's tie from his collar and draped it around his own neck before turning his attention to the buttons at Ianto's cuffs. "Well, maybe not here, but there's no reason we can't get lose some of the layers, right?"

Jack reached for the top button of Ianto's shirt. His gaze intent on his task, he looked up in surprise when Ianto stroked his hand over the top of Jack's head to cup the base of his skull. Before Jack could give words to the frown forming between his eyes, Ianto gathered him in for a fervent kiss that was enthusiastically returned as Jack wrapped his arms around Ianto and drew him close. The kiss was slow and deep, communicating more in its touch than Ianto had thought a mere kiss could accomplish. But Jack was right there with him, taking and giving pleasure with his mouth and hands, telling Ianto that he too was caught up in a moment they'd both been wanting so badly. It was as if he understood that as much as Ianto was committing to this, he needed to go slowly, that there was more that could be lost in these next few moments than found.

"Of course," Ianto let his lips rest against Jack's, eyes closed, breathing in that elusive, seductive scent. "About what in particular?"

"Let's save the games for another time." He leaned back and Ianto saw that the teasing, bright glow in Jack's eyes had deepened to something far more dangerous. "Will you come downstairs with me?"

"Yes," Ianto's eyes drifted shut as he dropped his head on Jack's shoulder, turning just enough to kiss the bared skin above his collar. "Yes."

Chapter Three

It was the first time he'd visited Lisa's memorial in the daylight, and he felt conspicuous as he knelt down beside her marker. It was a cool, foggy morning and as far as he could tell the cemetery was deserted, but he still felt exposed. It was also the first time he'd been able to steal away since the night he and Jack had become lovers, and he'd felt guilty about the neglect. He looked over the plaque, noting that the last good rain had washed away some of the stones, giving it a ragged, abandoned look. He gathered up the stones he could find and bent to his task, determined to make his confession before he was expected back at the Hub.

It was right after he'd told Lisa that he'd made contact with Dr. Tanizaki that she'd accused him of being in love with Jack Harkness. It had been a gentle accusation, full of understanding and forgiveness, and it had torn Ianto's heart in two. He'd denied it, because he wasn't sure what he felt for Jack at that time wasn't much more than hero worship. But Lisa hadn't backed down, pointing out all the stories that Ianto had brought back to her had centred around what Jack had said or done. He'd argued with her, quietly and firmly, afraid that upsetting her would bring out that horrible, flat intonation that told him her cybernetic nature was getting stronger.

But now, as he divided the stones into neat piles and kept watch for the groundskeepers, he knew he had to speak the truth.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. It wasn't necessary to vocalize the reason for his apology—it incorporated too much to put into words. "But it doesn't make any difference. We're—good—for each other, that's all. It won't last. It can't—Jack doesn't believe in relationships, I think. Not that I want one, of course."

As soon as he said it, he knew it was a lie, so he corrected himself. "It has to be enough," he whispered. Closing his eyes, he clutched the stones in his palm, feeling some of them slip through his fingers. "It will be."

After that he concentrated on his task and remained silent, quickly replacing the rocks and giving the plaque a quick brush before leaving in time to get changed into his suit and have coffee prepared in anticipation of Jack's morning bellow for caffeine.

It was an abnormally quiet day at work, with only Tosh in the Hub. Jack was out with John Ellis, Gwen had taken Emma shopping and while Owen simply hadn't shown up for work, Jack didn't seem bothered by his absence. In fact, Jack seemed rather subdued himself and Ianto wondered if there was something about their three visitors from the past that had brought back uncomfortable memories from their time.

But so many of Jack's memories seemed to be sad, Ianto thought, then struggled to put Jack out of his mind as he went about restocking the tourist office and doing a casual clean up in the back room. He thought he heard Jack's voice and then there was silence, but when Ianto came into the office, John Ellis was standing there alone, looking a little confused. Ianto provided him with with the bus schedule he requested and sent him on his way with the hope that he'd find work at the DIY store, anything to give meaning to the man's life. If there's one thing that Ianto had come to understand all too well, it was that a life without meaning wasn't worth the bother.

His stomach had dropped when he'd realized that John had taken the keys to the sedan and he'd immediately contacted Jack, who'd left without a backward glance once he'd figured out where John had gone. Feeling badly that he hadn't noticed earlier, Ianto lingered around the Hub after Tosh had gone home, but Jack didn't return and didn't call in, so there wasn't any reason to stay. After securing everything for the night he left, wishing there was something he could do to help.

After changing into a black button-down shirt and jeans and finishing off a simple dinner, Ianto grabbed a bottle of lager and moved out into his tiny garden. The cool night air was soothing and there was just enough ambient light from the houses around him to make the dark navigable. He made himself comfortable in an old lawn chair he'd found at the local Oxfam shop, angling the back so that he could gaze on the stars. Like so many nights before and despite his best efforts not to, his thoughts turned to Jack. Or, more specifically, trying to define what it was they had together.

It still wasn't love, Ianto decided. Or at least not love as it was conventionally defined. Affection, yes, liberally dosed with trust, respect, loyalty. Lust, most certainly. But most of all, it was a hell of a lot of fun. Ianto had never had a partner without any sexual inhibitions whatsoever, but then he knew that few people ever had. Jack treated sex with a joyous abandon that was never cruel and always dedicated to bringing Ianto as much pleasure as his twenty-first century body could handle. Which, thankfully, was quite a lot. Even now, weeks later, Ianto's body reacted to the memories of that first night together, memories of Jack's hands touching him, of Jack using his mouth and his body with such erotic precision that Ianto had to work hard to remember his own name. And once he'd remembered it, Jack had made love to him and he'd forgotten it all over again.

And Jack had certainly made it clear that he was strictly looking for a willing bedmate, not the love of this or any other of his lives. Outside of bed he treated Ianto with much the same offhand fondness that had marked their relationship since the night Ianto had returned to the Hub. Ianto was always there to catch whatever object Jack threw his way, to guide the greatcoat from his shoulders, to make sure the revolver was cleaned and loaded. If Jack's smile lingered a little too long or if his eyes sought out Ianto first during staff meetings or mealtimes, Ianto made sure he read nothing into it. If he did forget, he had only to watch Jack's interactions with Gwen to be reminded that there was a world of difference between sleeping with Jack and being loved by Jack.

He did know that the heaviness that had weighed him down since Lisa's death was slowly lifting. He found himself saying things where once he'd kept silent, gratified and faintly surprised that the others took this new aspect of their once taciturn co-worker in stride. Owen, who'd always liked to bait Ianto anyway, continued to do so but when Ianto started sniping back, he seemed more pleased than annoyed.

There were other changes as well, although Ianto had convinced himself that it had nothing to do with Jack and more to do with his desire to make this life work. There was no denying the pleasure he felt when he did something that Jack liked or appreciated outside of their personal involvement. He was keenly aware of where Jack was at all times and it became almost a game to anticipate Jack's needs. At first that only meant making sure there was a file ready before Jack called for it, or brushing off the dirt that constantly accumulated on that coat he was so fond of.

Then there were the private times with Jack. Ianto had never had a male lover but somehow Jack made that distinction irrelevant. He never pushed Ianto into doing anything uncomfortable but the more time they spent together, the easier it was for Ianto to relax, to trust that Jack was generous and accepting of his boundaries. If there were some intimacies that Ianto wasn't ready to share, Jack never seemed to mind. It seemed he had enough of a repertoire to keep them amused and that gave Ianto some breathing room. Jack's easy acceptance of those limits also made it comfortable for Ianto to use their relationship as something Jack could rely on—in their world of alien entities, weevil infestations and murderous, dead co-workers who manipulated their way back to life, the fact that he could offer Jack a distraction gave Ianto a sense of satisfaction that he'd never expected.

But Ianto refused to let his life be all about Jack, as tempting as the idea was. Getting lost in someone else was never a good idea, a lesson painfully learned, and with Jack it seemed especially dangerous. Ianto believed that Jack was committed to Torchwood, but he sensed—as they all did—that there was something out there more compelling to Jack than his work at the Rift. Ianto didn't know what it could be and didn't speculate, but he knew he had to guard his heart more fiercely than ever, now that they were, in fact, lovers. He knew that Jack trusted him, but he was just as sure that Jack didn't need him.

He decided to turn his attention in his off hours to his house, beginning with small repairs. After the massive amounts of maintenance required by the Hub on a daily basis, replacing leaky sinks and regrouting tile were simple, mindless and satisfying chores. His landlady was a single mother who lived with her two kids next door and when she saw the repairs Ianto had made, began asking him to do the same at her house for a reduction in rent. The sheer normalcy of it all gave him perspective that was too often lost in his real life, when planes landed fifty years after they'd taken off and hunting razor-toothed weevils meant it was a slow day at the office.

Draining the bottle, Ianto rose and turned toward the house, pleasantly tired and still no closer to putting a name to his relationship with Jack than he ever was, but accustomed to his lack of success. He'd just secured the back lock and was moving to turn off the kitchen lights when he heard a frantic knock on his front door. Glancing at the wall clock, he saw it was after eleven, and he hurried to answer it. There on the small stoop stood Marcy, his landlady, one fussy toddler perched on her ample hip.

"Ianto, I'm so sorry to bother you." She hitched the baby higher. "The door is stuck closed on the wardrobe again. I wouldn't bother you but I saw that your light was on and I was up with Sean because he's teething—"

Ianto brushed his hand over her shoulder. "It's no problem. I take it you need something that's inside?"

Marcy nodded. "I think Tessy's book bag is in there, and she'll need it for school tomorrow. D'you think you could come take a look?"

Ten minutes later, Ianto realized that he wasn't going to be able to fix the door without the proper tools. As Marcy stood behind him, the now crying Sean wailing in his ear and Tessy, the owner of the missing book bag awake and fighting back tears, he knew he'd have to find a way to solve the situation. The screws had been stripped and he couldn't get a grip on them to pull them out, and he knew he lacked the right tool in his own scanty collection.

But he knew where he could find one. Promising Marcy that he'd be back within half an hour, Ianto stopped long enough grabbed his denim jacket and headed to Torchwood, figuring he could be in and out quickly enough that he could remove the door and be in bed before one a.m., planning to reattach it at a later date.

He knew what he was looking for and exactly where it was. Torchwood's tool cabinet was a source of some pride for Ianto and he was always on the lookout for the latest handy invention, knowing it could be used either to fix the toaster or prevent an alien invasion, depending on the day.

Ianto was on his way out when he saw Tosh's half-empty teacup perched on her workstation. He picked it up and ran it to the sink, then paused again to set out a strip of rawhide for Myfanwy. He was finally heading toward the exit when he heard Jack calling to him from the catwalk.

Ianto looked up as he hid his hand holding the screw extractor behind him, fully aware that Jack had seen it. "I'm...absolutely not borrowing company tools for a bit of home repair."

Jack descended the stairs leading to the main floor. "Home repair? At midnight?"

Drawing level with Ianto, Jack clasped his hands behind his back. He was still wearing his waistcoat, but the watch fob was missing and the buttons were undone. As he drew closer, Ianto could see that the skin around Jack's eyes was pinched and dry, his jaw muscles drawn tight.

"Oh, I approve of hobbies." Jack's mouth curved into a brittle smile. "Everyone needs a distraction now and then."

"No, Ianto, I am not all right." Jack raised his gaze above Ianto's head, the mirthless smile still on his lips. "It's been kind of a long day."

A terrible cold began to form in the pit of Ianto's stomach. "Where's John? Did you find him?"

Jack glanced at him before turning away, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. Ianto watched as those hands rolled into fists beneath the soft fabric.

The cold in Ianto's stomach spread, slicking his palms with icy sweat. He put the screw extractor aside and moved closer to Jack, who stepped away, angling his body so that Ianto couldn't see his face.

"What happened?" Ianto repeated. He approached Jack again, his heart sinking as Jack continued to keep his distance.

"He couldn't handle it," Jack stated bluntly. "Couldn't handle being displaced from his own time. Everything was alien to him, he had no reference points. Nothing to anchor himself to. He literally had nothing to live for."

Ianto swallowed. "There's always something to live for." It was a cliché but Ianto said it anyway, hoping that Jack would ignore the fact that Ianto had once taunted Jack with his own preference for death over a life that had seemed unbearable.

"Is there?" Jack shot him an unreadable look. "That was my argument, too. And you know what? I was wrong. Absolutely, one hundred percent wrong in this case. He wasn't meant to be in this time and he knew it. Only he had the guts to do something about it."

There was such cutting anger in Jack's words that Ianto felt sick to his stomach. John's suicide didn't surprise him. It wasn't just that John had lost his home and his family—he'd lost any hope of a better day, of a future where he could find any meaning. Suppressing a shiver, Ianto moved quickly, planting himself in front of Jack and moving with him when Jack tried to move around him. Jack raised his eyebrows and took a step backward, but when Ianto followed again, he faltered and looked away.

"You were with him, weren't you, when it happened." Ianto kept all shades of accusation out of his voice, unwilling to force Jack into lying to him. A horrible thought came to him and against his will his eyes welled and he blinked furiously. Jack neither needed nor wanted his tears. "You died, too."

Jack finally looked at Ianto, his own eyes widening as if seeing Ianto for the first time. "You know?"

"How? I really thought I was more careful than that." Jack didn't seem angry, just resigned, but Ianto knew that Jack was also merely trying to divert him.

"At first it was just an educated guess." Ianto took another step closer to Jack, relieved when Jack didn't retreat any farther. "You covered your tracks well, but there were some references in the command logs that didn't make sense, so I kept digging. Besides, you are from the fifty-first century, Jack. Immortality isn't that much more of stretch."

Ianto fought back a sigh. "I've read everything in the archives. Files, electronic media, notes on napkins, scribbles on matchbooks, everything. Changing your name and identifying marks over the years made it more of a challenge, I admit, but once I knew what to look for, there was no other explanation."

"There hasn't been a need, has there? You've chosen not to let the others know, that's your business."

Jack pulled his right hand out of his pocket and held it at waist level, turning it backward and forward as if unfamiliar with its structure. "I held his hand and we died. It was very quiet, very peaceful. We just...fell asleep. I envied him, just for a moment. He saw the end and he welcomed it. Embraced it. Even when I told him that there was no one waiting for him, he still wanted to go. He had nothing to keep him here, Ianto." He curled his fingers into his palm. "Nothing at all."

"You have something, don't you?" Ianto's breath hitched hard in his chest and he forced himself to speak around the knot in his throat. "Something that keeps you here?"

Jack opened his mouth to answer but turned away when Ianto's mobile rang. Cursing softly, Ianto pulled the phone out of his jacket pocket and read the caller ID. He hesitated to answer it—Jack was moving away, putting space between them again, the last thing Ianto wanted. But he felt he had to let Marcy know there was no way he was returning to help her that night. He was needed here.

"Ianto, listen, just wanted to let you know Tessy found her book bag and I've finally got the baby down, so don't worry—"

He hung up and looked around to find Jack. He hadn't moved that far away but the distance between them now could be measured in light years.

"Marcy, huh?" Jack was watching him, the bright, fragile smile back in place. "Never wise to disappoint a lady, Ianto. You'd better be on your way."

Ianto stared at him, confused by the hostile thread woven into Jack's voice. "No, she's my landlady. She has a broken door that needs—"

"Ah, a lady in distress, even better. And I bet she took one look at you and saw the proverbial knight in shining armour."

"It's not like that." Ianto was floundering, unable to navigate the choppy waters of Jack's mood.

"Ianto Jones, rushing in to save the day." Jack leaned his shoulders against the tile wall and folded his arms over his chest. "But then you're always there when someone needs you, aren't you?"

There was a bitter undercurrent to Jack's rhetorical question and Ianto paused, not sure where to take the conversation next. He wanted to comfort Jack but he was unsure that Jack was in the mood for sympathy. The choice was taken away from him when Jack continued.

"Ah, well," Jack was saying, "another day, another new way to kick the bucket. Guess I'll scratch carbon monoxide poisoning off my list."

Throwing his phone onto Tosh's desk, Ianto crossed the floor and placed himself directly in front of Jack once more. Unreasoning, fear-fuelled anger spilled through his veins, anger at Jack that he'd talk about his death so cavalierly, anger at himself that he wasn't enough to make Jack want to choose life.

"Stop it," he demanded. When Jack dismissed him with a glance and took a step toward his office, Ianto grabbed him by the elbow and spun him back to face him, shoving him back against the wall. "Stop talking about death like it's a new flavour or something you fit in between staff meetings and brushing your teeth."

Jack tilted his head, his empty smile taking on an edge. "Walk a mile in my shoes, Ianto Jones, before you start making judgements on my attitude toward life. Trust me, you get used to this whole death thing."

"That's a lie." Ianto scrubbed his fingers through his hair, desperate to find a way to break through Jack's defences. "You're still just a man, Jack! You still bleed!"

He was unprepared when Jack seized him by his upper arms, dragging him around so that he was the one with his back pushed to the slick tile walls. Jack crowded into him, shoving his knee between Ianto's thighs, his hands tightening around Ianto's arms as he pressed his mouth against the curve of Ianto's temple.

"Yes," Jack hissed, "I bleed. And I hate and I cry and sometimes I get so goddamned tired of hurting that it takes every ounce of willpower I have just to care enough to breathe."

Ianto forced himself to remain motionless in Jack's suffocating embrace. "How you do it, then?" he whispered. "What makes you keep going?"

A soft, humourless laugh danced over his ear. "Oh, you don't want to ask that question, because you really might not like the answer."

Ianto manoeuvred his hands between their bodies, beneath the open waistcoat, twisting his fingers into the folds of Jacks' shirt. The hot pressure against his thigh and the sharp, spicy scent coming off Jack's skin had partially answered his question already. "Tell me anyway."

Jack's mouth crashed onto his, forcing his lips apart and shoving his tongue inside. Ianto twisted his head so the angle was easier, his body arching into Jack's, the hands still clutching Jack's shirt dragging him closer. Gone was the gentle, fun lover that Ianto recognized and in his place was a man vibrating with furious pain. The unexpectedly erotic onslaught brought Ianto up hard in his jeans and he wanted to surrender to it, to tease out the darker side of Jack. Something angry in Jack was calling to an equal fury in Ianto that was unexpected but at this moment, it was also terribly wrong.

Jack tore his mouth away and pressed it against Ianto's jaw, biting and kissing as his hand burrowed beneath Ianto's shirt, searching out the gap between the small of Ianto's back and his unbelted jeans and sinking into the soft cavern to caress vulnerable flesh. He used his other hand to pull at the jacket's denim collar, exposing Ianto's neck. Placing his mouth on the strong muscle beneath Ianto's ear, he pressed his tongue to the skin there and sucked hard.

"You want to know what keeps me going?" Jack yanked the jacket off of Ianto's shoulder and scrabbled at the neckline of his shirt, stripping the top button as searching fingers slipped around the edge of the waistband of Ianto's jeans to undo the top snap. "Right now, it's wanting to fuck you against this wall. It's wanting to sink myself so deeply inside you that all I feel is you and nothing else."

Ianto bit his lip and bore down against the knee between his legs, his body urgently seeking friction as his mind raced to keep up with Jack's rapid mood changes. They'd never done what Jack was talking about, but Ianto had thought about it often enough that under other circumstances, he'd be eager to try. But not like this, not even with Jack unzipping his jeans with one hand and his mouth searching out the space beneath Ianto's jaw to place another searing kiss. If that was where they were going, then the last thing Ianto wanted was for something so intimate to be defined by Jack's pain.

"You walk into the room and I get hard," Jack panted against his throat. "God, it's bad enough when you're in a suit but you're a walking wet dream in jeans and you damn well know it."

It would be so easy to give Jack what he wanted, to let him find transitory consolation in Ianto's body, but Ianto knew that the pain simmering beneath the lust in Jack's eyes would still be there when they were done. As much as his body was responding eagerly to Jack's fierce seduction, Ianto chose to try and subvert it, to get Jack to release his pain, not bury it in what would be to him nothing more than mindless sex.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Ianto slid one arm around Jack's waist and pulled their bodies flush.

"A warm body, Jack?" He kissed Jack gently, patiently, waiting for Jack to catch up to what Ianto hoped was a change of direction toward something more tender before pulling back to make sure that Jack was listening. "Is that all you need to feel alive? Because I can find one for you, if you like."

Jack froze. He lifted his head and stared at Ianto, the mist of arousal clearing from his eyes, replaced by a clouded contrition that made Ianto's heart ache. Jack's gaze fell to Ianto's bruised neck and his face crumpled.

"Oh, Ianto," he whispered, "if it was just any warm body I needed then this'd be a hell of a lot easier."

Cupping Jack's face, Ianto kissed him again, trying to tell Jack with his touch that it was all right, that he understood, that he could ask Ianto for anything and it would be given to him, in its proper time.

Jack relaxed into Ianto's touch and the angry desire that had erupted between them settled into a sweeter, slower burn. Ianto let the kiss linger, hoping to lead Jack away and down into his quarters where Ianto could love him properly. But when he tried to push off from the wall, Jack stiffened and held firm. Never breaking the kiss, he slid his fingers over the smooth slopes of Ianto's hips, beneath Ianto's cotton pants to slip them down along with Ianto's jeans until Ianto was bared to the tops of his knees.

"Shh," Jack murmured. He used one hand to unfasten the remaining buttons of Ianto's shirt, the other to stroke and tease Ianto's erection. "Let me."

It wasn't his exposure to the cool air of the Hub that made Ianto shiver. It was Jack's mouth as it travelled over Ianto's body, tongue swiping at his nipples and dipping into the hollow of his belly button as he went down on his knees. Then Ianto was taken into that hot, wet space and he cried out, curling his fingers into fists on the tops of Jack's shoulders as his head fell back against the wall.

God, Jack was good at this. He played Ianto perfectly, demandingly, fingers digging into his thighs, bringing him to climax almost before Ianto realised it was happening. He was slumping into Jack's arms between one shaky breath and the next, left so utterly boneless that he barely comprehended the kisses raining down on his lips and cheeks. But as good as he felt in the wake of Jack's skilful lovemaking, this wasn't what Ianto had wanted. Jack was the one who hurt this night, who wanted to strike out against heartache that Ianto couldn't begin to imagine.

Rousing himself, Ianto curved an arm around Jack, forcing him to hold still. He could still feel the hard bulk of Jack's arousal against his naked thigh and he pressed his palm against it, scratching lightly with his nails through the fabric of Jack's trousers. Jack bucked against him, his lower lip caught in his teeth, and Ianto knew that at that moment Jack was lost, unsure as to what Ianto would allow him, unknowingly giving over an enormous amount of power to Ianto as well. Somehow responsibility of the well-being of the man in his arms had fallen to Ianto, and the thought both humbled and challenged him. Right now, at this moment, Jack needed him—and Ianto would not fail him.

Bestowing a tender kiss on Jack's swollen mouth, Ianto swiftly undid Jack's blue shirt from top to bottom, not pausing as he reached the buckle of his trousers. He kept Jack distracted with deep, wet kisses that Jack returned with enthusiasm edging on desperation. He took down Jack's zip and slipped his hand inside, stroking it down the warm skin of Jack's abdomen in a caress that made Jack suck in a deep breath.

With so little leverage it was awkward and uncoordinated, but Ianto didn't want to draw it out any longer than necessary. Using quick, firm strokes, keeping Jack centred with consuming kisses, Ianto put all his recently learned skills into pleasuring Jack with equal amounts tenderness and efficiency. Jack was straining into him, his hands gripping Ianto's bare hips, his mouth seeking out Ianto's for one last kiss before he came, burying his face in Ianto's neck with a hoarse cry.

"It's okay, love." The endearment slipped out unnoticed. Jack was still thrusting, his entire body shuddering, his open mouth working against Ianto's throat. "I've got you. Let it go."

Jack shuddered again and went limp. Ianto caught him close and supported him, his own eyes tightly closed as he tried to absorb some of the pain that poured off Jack like sweat. He ran his hand over Jack's hair and murmured nonsense into his ear until Jack finally raised his head.

Jack kissed the tip of Ianto's thumb before leaning in to nuzzle Ianto's jaw, licking the bruise he'd placed there earlier. "Getting there."

Ianto let Jack rest against him until he began to grow uncomfortable. The cold tiles at his back and the cool air drifting up from the water channel, the stickiness coating his fingers and their general state of debauched disarray finally convinced him to nudge Jack upward until there was a few inches of space between them. Jack slowly lifted his eyes to Ianto, looking more tired than Ianto could remember seeing him in a long time. He felt there was more to the story of John's death than Jack had told him, but the terrible sadness that had turned Jack's usually warm blue eyes so cold had eased.

Jack raised his eyebrows and Ianto's spirits lifted at this small sign that the Harkness arrogance was returning.

"Only if you behave." Ianto began straightening Jack's clothing. "Maybe I'll tell you a bedtime story."

Jack began to return the favour, tugging Ianto's shirt back into place without buttoning it as his first genuine smile of the evening played around his lips. "I'd like that."

Shirts and trousers made marginally functional, Ianto herded Jack toward the hatch leading to his quarters. He followed Jack down the ladder and they took turns cleaning up before Ianto stripped Jack down to his tee shirt and shorts. Jack was unusually docile, letting Ianto turn him this way and that, stepping out of various pieces of clothing as directed before being seated on the edge of the bed that Ianto had turned down.

After hanging up Jack's clothes and setting his boots aside, Ianto turned and knelt beside Jack, who'd leaned his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands.

Face still covered, Jack shook his head. Ianto rose to his feet and stroked his fingers along the side of Jack's head, letting the touch drift away as lightly as he could. He turned to leave, cursing his inability to do more for Jack, to find anything to help alleviate the weariness that was still apparent in the droop of the wide shoulders.

Before he'd taken a step toward the ladder, Jack's hand shot out and grasped Ianto's wrist. Ianto stopped and looked over his shoulder as Jack, his eyes still on the floor, tightened his grip.

Without hesitation, Ianto disengaged from Jack's grip and pulled off his shirt and jacket together as he toed off his trainers. He folded them and added his jeans and socks to the pile, setting them on the floor beside the bed before crossing the small space to turn off the overhead lamp. There was still enough light leaking in from the Hub to cast the room in stark shadows, one shaft of reddish light landing on Jack's bowed head. Bare-chested, wearing nothing but his cotton pants, Ianto crawled onto the narrow bed behind Jack and placed his hands on Jack's shoulders to gently ease him back and down, settling him on his side. Once Jack was stretched out, Ianto curled his arm beneath Jack's and over his abdomen, drawing him close to his chest.

For a few long, quiet minutes, Jack's body lay rigid against Ianto's. Just when Ianto feared that Jack would remain awake or worse, get up and leave, Jack shifted until he was laying on his other side, facing Ianto on the narrow bed. They stared at each other in the partial darkness, Ianto's hand resting lightly on Jack's hip. The silence lengthened and Ianto waited for Jack to break it, slowly circling his thumb on the skin beneath Jack's tee shirt.

Finally, Jack reached over and stroked his fingers over Ianto's forehead, letting them drift down to ruffle his eyelashes.

Ianto's reply was equally hushed. "There's no need to apologise. I didn't mind."

"I do. I let my demons get the better of me tonight and you were collateral damage."

"Hush." Ianto rested his fingertips against Jack's lips. "You don't have to be strong all the time. Even the great Jack Harkness is allowed to have a bad day once in a while."

That earned him a wan smile. "That doesn't give me the right to use you or anyone else."

Ianto paused, wondering if he'd be able to put his fear into words, yet choosing to speak the truth. "I'm afraid that dying is more attractive to you than living."

"It wasn't," Jack replied. "I don't want you to think that. It's just that I want to know that I have that choice. Like John. He had control over his life and he chose to end it. I'll never have that."

Ianto lifted his head and placed a soft kiss high on Jack's cheek. "I can't begin to know what that's like."

"No one can." Jack pressed his face into the pillow, avoiding Ianto's gaze. "Almost no one, anyway."

The wistful words were barely whispered yet they hit Ianto like a punch in the ribs. He knew instinctively that Jack was referring to that ephemeral someone that put the faraway gleam in his eye, and Ianto's stomach churned as he realized that he could never compete with that unknown yet powerful presence. He nodded and pulled the blanket up higher over Jack's shoulders and tucked it beneath his chin, almost imperceptibly putting space between them but telling himself he was only giving Jack more room.

Something in his withdrawal must have communicated itself to Jack. The dark lashes flew upward and even in the murky darkness of Jack's small room, Ianto could see the uncertainty in Jack's eyes. He took back the space he'd just given up and wriggled on to his back as he insinuated his arm beneath Jack's body. A couple of tugs and squirms and he had manoeuvred Jack until his head was comfortably situated in the hollow between Ianto's head and shoulder. Jack nestled against him, his arm curled on Ianto's chest, his palm resting over Ianto's heart. Ianto placed his lips against Jack's hair as Jack sighed and relaxed into Ianto's embrace. Within a few minutes, he was breathing deeply, apparently asleep.

Ianto stayed awake a while longer, eyes open and unfocussed as he considered the events of the evening, wondering if he'd ever understand the man who now slept peacefully in his arms. Hard on that thought was the realization that it was a useless desire to understand Jack, his past or his future. It wasn't that long ago that Jack had held a gun to Ianto's head, promising to kill him—and Ianto had sworn to watch Jack die if given the opportunity. Now they were lovers, finding consolation in each other's arms, connecting in the most intimate way.

Yet there was still a barrier between them. While Ianto hoped that he and Jack shared more than a healthy lust for each other, what that exactly entailed was unclear. More uncertain was whether it would stand both the challenges inherent in their job and the many unknown qualities of Jack himself. An immortal, time-travelling lover with a wandering eye and an easy heart wasn't exactly what Ianto had expected to find at Torchwood, but having found one anyway, he vowed to cherish what he had as long as possible.

Part Two

Chapter Four

Jack had been missing for three days when Ianto made a visit to Lisa's marker in the middle of night. Sleep had eluded him since Jack had left, and since on this night the skies were clear, he gave up staring at the ceiling to roll out of bed and throw on some clothes, grabbing a small torch and his ear piece on his way out the door. Quickly navigating the deserted streets, he waded through wet, knee-high grass to find Lisa's memorial, using his torch to assess the latest damage from the recent rains. He swore softly when he saw that a miniature mudslide had obliterated most the lettering, and since he'd left behind his other tools, he had no recourse but to use his fingers.

It felt good to be digging in the dirt, to accomplish a simple task. Dealing with Jack's disappearance was wearing on them all, but for Ianto, it was becoming unbearable to show up for work. He saw Jack in every room, caught his scent on the air currents, heard his voice echoing in the vaults. His presence was inescapable and yet he was very much gone from Torchwood. There'd been no note, no call, no messages, nothing to tell Ianto that he'd ever mattered to Jack Harkness at all.

They'd all suffered with Jack's absence but Ianto had mostly kept his thoughts to himself, trying to stay clear of the others as much as possible. He wanted to appreciate Gwen's unshakable optimism that Jack was coming back at any moment, yet there were times when her sunshiny outlook rang too false. Owen, with his pessimistic view and oft-cited opinion that Jack had left them for good was actually easier to take, if only because Ianto believed that Owen was just as ravaged as everyone else but chose to cloak it with acid-drenched commentary. And Tosh—Tosh simply looked lost when she wasn't hiding behind her computers and projects, often observed gazing at nothing, her fingers tapping out a rhythm that only she understood.

Watching his co-workers deal with the loss was hard enough, but there was a very large part of Ianto that was furious with Jack, so furious that if Jack appeared before him Ianto would be hard-pressed not to crack him across the jaw as hard as he could. But that anger couldn't compete with the fear Ianto had that Jack had been taken against his will or stolen to serve some larger purpose. Without any communication from Jack, it was the anger that kept Ianto walking into Torchwood every morning with the hope that this would be the day Jack would come back to him. Then he could either hit him or kiss him or both—but at least Jack would be home.

As Ianto pulled out the few tiny weeds at the edge of the rock border, Ianto admitted to being glad that Tosh had been the one who'd started the remaining members of Torchwood back on the right road earlier that morning. They'd been at loose ends for hours, finding busywork, in the case of Ianto and Toshiko, or idling about, waiting for something to happen. There had come a time when all four were near the centre of the Hub and Tosh had turned away from her monitors, her arms crossed tightly over her midsection.

They'd all looked at her and for his part Ianto had been relieved that someone had finally put words to what they were all thinking. They'd spent the intervening days as if Jack's return was imminent, keeping up the façade because it was easier than facing the truth.

"He'll be back," Gwen had answered. She tossed her hair out of her eyes and smiled as if she believed what she was saying. "He wouldn't leave us just like that."

"He did leave us just like that." Owen drifted over to the couch and sprawled on it, propping his legs over one end. "Or hadn't you noticed."

"Orders," Owen mocked, "who cares about his bloody orders? And since when does Jack Harkness follow orders he doesn't like? He's not gone because of anything outside of Torchwood Three. Face it, he's gone because of us."

There it was, the thing they'd all ignored up to this point, the event that haunted Ianto's nights and twisted his stomach to the point where food was something he could only occasionally tolerate.

"That's true." Tosh set her glasses aside and rose to her feet. "He did forgive us, but we certainly didn't give him any reason to trust us ever again."

Ianto loosened his tie and leaned against the doorway of Jack's office. "Maybe he had to forgive us in order to leave us. Like a farewell gift or something."

"We don't know what Jack is like." Owen plucked his pen from behind his ear and began drumming it against his thigh. "We don't know what anyone would be like after being stuck in the past, betrayed by his co-workers, killed by a big, ugly monster and then, oh yeah, dead for days. Maybe he just got fed up with the lot of us." The pen was thrown aside. "Really, I can't think of a single reason he'd want to stay."

Ianto had swallowed hard, Owen's bitter pronouncement following the line of Ianto's own thoughts almost to the letter. He believed that Jack's forgiveness had been sincere, just as he was positive that each of the rest of them had been truly contrite. For himself, his actions during that dark period when Manger had manipulated them were a source of sorrow and deep humiliation, and when Owen pointed out that Jack had no reason to stay given the betrayal of his entire team, the guilt was enough to drive Ianto to his knees.

"I told you," Gwen snapped, "there was nothing in his manner or words that indicated that he had any thought of leaving us. He was the same old Jack, I swear."

"But that awful hand is gone." Toshiko inclined her head toward the now empty space where the cylinder had once resided. "Jack must have taken it with him. That sounds premeditated to me."

Owen folded his arms behind his head. "Which is irrelevant now, isn't it? We've been lucky so far, but at some point the Rift is going to act up again and we don't have a leader. Any ideas what the fuck we're supposed to do then?"

They'd all stared at each other before their gazes had fallen one by one to the floor. It was Gwen who'd eventually spoken up.

"How?" Nudging Owen's legs off the arm of the couch, Tosh sat down beside him. "Compared to Jack, we know practically nothing about Torchwood, the Rift, alien creatures—how can we possibly do everything he did?"

"Well," Gwen began slowly, "we'll have to take over Jack's job. Fill in where needed, each to our strengths."

"You mean," Ianto asked, "things like signing his name to reports, logging on with his password, like that?"

Ianto shrugged. "Most of the day to day things, requisitions, artefact logs, daily reports. As to his password—"

"I can help with that," Toshiko chimed in. "If I can't crack it, I can at least block it and report it as a malfunction. We can blame a lack of communication on programming issues until I find a way to bypass the system."

"Hold on a minute." Owen rose to his feet. "Why not just inform the powers that be that Jack is gone?"

"They'll investigate us," Ianto said. "They'll send examiners to look over everything. We'll essentially be taken apart, brick by brick."

"Right," Gwen added, "and then, if we still have jobs afterwards, they'll send a new leader. That Darby Fitzhenry's been wanting to get her hands on Torchwood as long as I've been here. Do you really want that?"

"No, I don't." Owen's mulish expression didn't change. "But we're still short-handed. Three of us in the field is stretching us too thin."

"Him?" Owen rolled his eyes. "That's just what we need, someone to polish the silver in the middle of a fire fight."

"As opposed to someone who'd rather snark the enemy to death," Ianto pointed out, ignoring Toshiko's decidedly unladylike snort of laughter. He nodded at Gwen. "Of course. I'll help however I can."

"Wait," Owen interrupted. "You've got it all worked out, except for the fact that no one is in charge. Or are you nominating yourself for that honour?"

"Why not?" Gwen bristled. "I don't see you doing anything constructive except playing video games and complaining about everything else. Someone has to organise us—"

"Oh, and organisation means so much when you're dealing with an alien predator who wants to destroy the planet first and ask questions later. Out in the field is where leadership counts, not in here trying to account for every pencil."

"We have to start somewhere," Gwen said. "And until Jack gets back we have to stick together."

Tosh and Ianto exchanged glances, both uncomfortable with the nasty turn the conversation was taking.

"Listen," Tosh broke in, "Gwen is right, we have to stick together, whether Jack comes back or not. Maybe that means that the role of leader isn't as important as getting the job done right. Owen, you have more field experience than Gwen, but Gwen has more experience working with outsiders than the rest of us."

"That's true," Ianto added. "Leadership may be something that changes depending on the situation."

Ianto slowly crossed the room to stand in front of Owen, clasping his hands behind his back. "A leader has to act like one in order to be followed."

Owen's mouth tightened. "So says the part-time shag. Looks like Jack didn't need you so much after all, did he?"

Ianto held up his hand and gave Tosh a brief smile."It's all right," he said, turning back to Owen. "I don't care what you think about me. All I want to know is that when you're in that position, you'll act like a leader and not the wanker we all know and attempt to tolerate." He stepped closer and leaned toward Owen to whisper in his ear. "And if that doesn't work, I'll just shoot you again—only this time, I'll aim somewhat further south." He lowered his voice even further. "And I have an exceptionally sharp eye."

He retreated and they stared at each other until Owen's mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. "I consider myself warned. Look," he included them all, "the truth is, I want this to work. Just because Jack abandoned us—"

"All right, went missing doesn't mean that Torchwood can't move on. All I want are some ground rules."

"Well then," Gwen said, "are you satisfied that we at least have a direction to go in?"

"It'll do for starters, yeah. But we may want to consider spending our down time cross-training if we're going to be depending on each other more."

Owen held up his hand and ticked a list off his fingers. "First aid. Everyone gets a refresher course. Weapons and defence. Everyone spends time in the shooting range, everyone gets proficient in everything we have. Computer skills. If we're going to pretend that Jack's still here, we'll need to be on the same page, technologically speaking. We're going to need a protocol when dealing with anyone on the outside and that means we all have to make damn sure we've got our stories straight. Someone calls looking for Jack, what do we tell them? We'd better know before we're put in that position and what the hell are you grinning at, Gwen Cooper?"

Toshiko stood up and grabbed Owen's discarded pen, tapping it against her cheek as she thought out loud. "All right, then, we'll need to construct a schedule for our errant Captain, where he'll be at any given moment."

"I can help with that." Ianto stepped behind her as she sat down at her workstation. "Let's start in with the morning. Coffee by seven or he's cranky for hours."

And that had been the beginning of a busy day, all of them adding to the list of things they'd need to not only pull off Jack's mysterious—and possibly permanent—absence, but to give them the sense of purpose they'd temporarily lost.

It had been a bittersweet moment when they'd stopped late in the night, all of them tired but satisfied with the inroads they'd made to their plans. It had been decided that one of them would remain behind at the Hub at all times when actual field work wasn't needed and while Ianto had been the first to volunteer, Owen had overridden him, stating he wanted to stay and inventory all his medical supplies. Ianto had fetched up an old cot from the basement and fitted it with odds and ends, which was fine for Owen, but unacceptable for Gwen and Toshiko when it came their turn. He'd taken the SUV and stopped on the way home to purchase good quality linens, down pillows and soft blankets, then stocked up on everyone's favourite food and beverages. With Jack gone, these people were his only family now, and he'd serve them to the best of his ability. If it also meant keeping one more of Jack's secrets—the packed bag once stored beneath his desk, now missing—then so be it. It wasn't proof that that Jack was gone forever, so he felt no reason to share that information.

Yet as tired as he was, sleep had continued to elude Ianto, driving him to Lisa's marker to dig at the mud with tired, cramped hands. Because no matter how the remaining members of Torchwood dealt with the absence of their Captain, no matter how hard Ianto tried to work himself into the ground in an attempt to stop thinking about Jack, it was inevitable that he'd fail.

Somewhere between thinking of Jack as a part time lover and full time boss, between enjoying the sexual adventures and keeping a lock on his emotions, Ianto had done the unthinkable and now he was paying the price for his error. Even in his absence, Jack Harkness was as much a part of Ianto Jones as he'd ever been, and until he either returned or his fate was revealed, Ianto was condemned to loving the man who'd left him without a backward glance.

Jack turned around and walked past them, striding toward the vehicles with the old Harkness swagger that expected his team to follow him without question. And they did, for about ten steps, then one by one, they stopped. Jack made it all the way to the hood of the SUV before he realized that he was alone. Pivoting sharply, he turned to face them and Ianto caught a glimpse of the disquiet that Hart's words had evoked in Jack before it was pasted over with one of Jack's grins.

Opening his arms wide as if to herd them back to the vehicles, it took Jack another moment to realize that no one was moving and as his puzzled gaze swept over them, Ianto almost felt sympathy for his confusion.

Almost—but not quite. Whatever Ianto had thought he'd feel if and when Jack was returned to him, he never would've guessed that the foremost emotion would be overwhelming confusion. He'd imagined many scenarios, everything from Jack showing up as abruptly as he'd left to something suitable for a Hollywood science fiction extravaganza. Murderous ex-boyfriends, cranked-up blowfish and a surprisingly awkward request for a date weren't what Ianto had expected and the events of the last few hours had him considerably off-balance. Jack, however, seemed to believe that he could pick up exactly where he'd left off, and it was that assumption that had Ianto keeping his distance despite the unmistakable undercurrent that hummed through his blood. Despite everything else, the truth was that Jack was home.

"Back to work doing what?" Gwen winced and rubbed at her elbow. "You just said we have to avoid ourselves, so that means we can't go back to Torchwood. Can we go home?"

"Unfortunately not," Toshiko said. "We can't afford to be anywhere we'd normally be, just in case we're seen by someone who may see us somewhere else unexpectedly."

Owen stepped forward. "So, Jack, any suggestions?" he asked with just enough insolence to add tension to a situation that was already difficult. Ianto, standing farthest away, watched the emotions play across Jack's face. Now that the crisis had past, the newly reunited Team Torchwood were beginning to realize that they had a lot of uncomfortable ground to cover and no safe place to land.

Jack frowned at them and Ianto felt another surge of sympathy. With everything that had happened since Jack's dramatic reappearance, no one had been spared more than a moment to deal with all the ramifications. Now, with Hart safely on his way and roughly twelve hours with nowhere to be, they were all coming to the conclusion that they'd just been granted something they probably didn't want: time.

Jack's face suddenly cleared and he turned to Ianto with a snap of his fingers. "I've got it. The Waverley."

"What," Gwen said, "that fancy hotel, the one with those big white columns in front? I've always wanted to stay there."

"Ionic." Ianto was already looking up the phone number on his mobile. "They're Ionic columns, highly inappropriate architecture for—yes, hallo, I'd like to reserve five rooms, please. Immediately, yes. Charge them to the Torchwood account. And you still have twenty-four hour room service? Fine, thank you. I'm sorry? I understand, one moment." Ianto pressed the phone to his shoulder. "They are requiring a cleaning deposit."

"It would seem the stain you claimed to be raspberry preserves ate through the carpet, the floor, and a concrete girder in the underground car park. There was also some question about our last guests using the hot tub to prepare what they later informed the manager was a traditional meal that included several stolen domestic animals and a large quantity of dry ice."

"Friends of yours from the Arkan system, I believe. You dressed them in burkas and told the staff they were Bahrainian royalty. "

"Oh, yeah." Jack's grin was reminiscent. "That was a hell of a party, what I remember of it. Okay, fine, promise them anything. Owen, that means no bleeding on the sheets."

"Hold on," Owen said, "we've been putting up visiting aliens at the best hotel in town?"

"Only during the low season," Ianto informed him. "The rates are are quite reasonable." He finished his call and snapped the phone shut, looking up to see Jack watching him.

"Five rooms, Ianto?" he asked with one eyebrow arched. Before Ianto could think of a reply, Jack turned to the others."Come on, let's move. The quicker we get out of here, the less we'll have to erase from the city's CCTV later."

Thirty minutes later Ianto was passing out keycard packets in the opulent lobby of the Waverley. Judging from the gleam in his eye, Owen was already planning on raiding the mini-bar in his room and he asked for his key first. Gwen and Toshiko took their keys with murmured words of thanks, leaving Jack and Ianto near the elevators.

Ianto held out another keycard. "I asked for a room on the top floor for you. There is a stairwell to the right of your door, so you shouldn't have any problems if you'd like to go up from there."

Jack took the card and tapped it against his palm, a small smile twisting his lips. "You still take good care of me, Ianto."

"I try to, S—Jack." He pressed the lift button and the doors opened. He stepped inside and Jack followed him, both of them turning to stare at the shiny surface of the brass doors as the lift rose. It was the first time they'd been alone together since their search for the cluster bombs and Ianto had no idea what to say to the man who'd not only waltzed back into his life, but had changed the rules of their relationship.

His floor came first and when the doors opened, Ianto walked through them and then turned to face Jack, suddenly reluctant to let Jack out of his sight.

It was inevitable that Ianto couldn't rest, but he tried out of habit anyway. He'd spent so many sleepless nights wondering where Jack was, if he was okay, if he were lost or in pain, that to have him safe and only a few floors away was just as unsettling.

After laying down fully clothed except for shoes, tie and jacket, Ianto had shifted on the bed from side to side, turning the pillows and trying to find a comfortable spot that didn't seem to exist. After thirty minutes of that, he turned on the television and turned it off almost immediately, choosing instead to stare out the window down at the sleeping city.

Was Jack doing the same? Was he reacquainting himself with the world he'd left behind so easily? Or was he regretting his return and wishing he was back with his Doctor, the cares and concerns of Torchwood far behind him once more?

Ianto hadn't expected that response to his impulsive question, nor the intimate tone in which it'd been delivered. He'd still been reeling from Jack's reappearance and his own conflicting emotions when Jack had surprised Ianto once more during the search for the cluster bombs, and as Ianto watched the sky begin to lighten in the east, he realised there was only one place where he could begin to find his answers.

He was unsurprised when his quiet knock on Jack's door went unanswered. Using his keycard to gain access to the stairwell, he walked up the one flight and through the fire door leading to the roof. The fact that it had been propped open and the alarm unarmed, no doubt thanks to a handy wrist strap, was not lost on him.

He found Jack on the far side of the roof, the city of Cardiff and the water beyond literally at his feet. He was sitting on the ledge, his greatcoat spread beneath him across the concrete with enough space on it for someone to sit beside him. And while it was obvious that Jack was waiting for company, what wasn't obvious was who he was waiting for.

"About time you showed up," Jack said over his shoulder. "I was about to pull the fire alarm to get your attention."

"Amazingly, the phone in your room can be electronically connected to mine. I believe that would have been sufficient." Ianto sat down beside Jack, his feet safely on the rooftop instead of dangling over the street twelve stories below.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Ianto eventually propping one knee on the ledge until his body was perpendicular to Jack's. He kept his other foot on the ground as he followed Jack's gaze out to the brightening sky, now minutes away from a cloud-filtered sunrise.

"I missed this." Jack finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ianto looked down at the empty streets, then back at Jack. He had so many questions, he hardly knew where to begin, and Jack wasn't making it any easier. "Do you regret coming back?"

Jack's laugh was quiet as he raised his eyes to the fading stars. "Yes and no. Yes, I was offered a choice, but no, there really wasn't a decision to be made. This is where I need to be right now. This is where I want to be."

"I was, at first." Ianto shrugged. "Then all I wanted was for you to come back safely. The reasons why you left became irrelevant."

"And you haven't asked what those reasons were. Or why I left without saying goodbye."

His gaze resting on Jack's profile, Ianto replied, "As I said, why you left has become irrelevant now that you're here. As to leaving without saying goodbye—" Ianto paused, unsure if he was willing to be so vulnerable with Jack so soon. It was a wound that was still raw, and to confess it seemed foolish, but there was something different about Jack now, something about him that had changed in the weeks that he'd been gone, and Ianto was responding to it almost instinctively. It was that difference in Jack that urged Ianto to answer truthfully.

Jack winced and nodded, sliding another glance at Ianto. "I know. If you'd have been there at the time instead of out getting coffee, maybe I'd have tried—"

Ianto squinted at the thin rim of light gilding the edge of the horizon, "Next time it won't hurt as much."

Jack shifted until he faced Ianto. The breeze was picking up, ruffling Jack's hair, the rising sun putting a tinge of gold in his cheeks. He curled his hand around Ianto's, the warmth of his palm soothing Ianto's cold fingers.

"What if I told you I'd do everything in my power to make sure there won't be a next time?"

"I'd say you were being far too optimistic, completely unrealistic, and attempting to appease me with false promises. And yet," Ianto added with a slight smile, "I seem to have a bad habit of believing you despite all common sense."

"Well, at least I have that much going for me." Jack's answering grin faded but his eyes never left Ianto's. "I can tell you this this much. I had a lot of free time on my hands while I was gone, a lot of time to think."

Jack gathered Ianto's captive hand in both of his and raised it to his mouth to drop a kiss on the curve of his thumb. "Many things. Torchwood, the team. What I'd change if I ever made it back home. And you."

"A few. Mostly I worried about all of you, hoping that you'd be all right until I got back. Imagine my surprise that you were more than all right. You all seemed to have done just fine without me," he added with a quick pout.

"We had our moments." Ianto lifted his free hand to Jack's jaw, running his knuckles over the firm, smooth skin. "But we were just pretending. Nothing was the same without you."

"That's realistic." Ianto lowered his eyes as he pressed a finger along a wrinkle in his trousers. "Explanations imply a certain intimacy."

Jack was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "An intimacy you either don't want or don't believe we already share."

Ianto swallowed and slid his hand from Jack's grip, wondering if the changes he'd sensed in Jack had been leading to this all along. "If that's what you want."

Ianto raised his eyes to Jack's, his heart skipping a beat before tripling its rhythm. Jack was wide open to him, his gaze calm and serious, the fine mouth lifted in a small smile as he waited for Ianto's reply. Just as in the office earlier that evening, Ianto wasn't sure how to react to this unaccountably vulnerable Jack Harkness, but one thing he did recognize—if Jack was serious about what was on offer here, Ianto would have no defence against it, and every effort he'd made to protect himself even before Jack had disappeared would have been in vain.

"I'd like that," he said slowly, measuring his words, "but I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"It was hard enough the first time, Jack. If you decide to leave like that again, I'm not sure I'll be here when you return."

Jack recaptured the hand that Ianto had pulled away. "I had to go because I had unfinished business with the Doctor. That's the only reason I left Torchwood and that reason no longer exists. I meant what I said about coming back for you, Ianto. Can you trust me long enough to prove it to you?"

Ianto hesitated, mentally testing the limits of his heart against a future that was unsure in the best of times. It was as much of a promise as any of them could give and Jack's willingness to go that far went a long way to easing the burden Ianto had carried with him since the day he'd walked back into the Hub and learned that Jack had gone.

"I am known for my patience." He said it quietly, unprepared for the flash of joy that lit up Jack's eyes and the answering rush in his own blood as he saw the impact of his words. That's when he realised that it wasn't just Jack who was different since his return, or himself who'd changed during Jack's absence. What they'd been together had been fundamentally altered by the opening of the Rift and Jack's decision to leave Torchwood, and now Jack was offering them both a new beginning, one with unspoken promises and unlimited possibilities.

"I do have one regret." Jack swung his leg over the ledge until he straddled it, moving closer to Ianto.

Jack released Ianto's hand and framed his face with his fingers, his thumbs resting lightly against Ianto's cheeks. "Something I hope to rectify in the very near future."

Jack's mouth touched his softly, lightly, asking permission to initiate something they'd once taken for granted. Ianto's eyes drifted closed as Jack traced his tongue along the inside of Ianto's lower lip and he reached for Jack, cupping his ribcage, glorying in the heat of Jack's skin soaking into the palms of his hands. This was the time to reconnect with the lover who'd come back for him, who even now was sighing his pleasure into Ianto's mouth, his fingertips dancing across Ianto's eyes and the tips of his ears.

Their lips parted but they remained close, hands anchored in each other's clothing, breathing in the same sweet, salt-tinged air. Ianto's eyes remained shut as he savoured Jack's long-missed and familiar flavour, his cheek pressed to Jack's, his mouth poised at the edge of Jack's jaw. He would've stayed there for hours if Jack had asked him, content to share the occasional caress or sleepy kiss and to reacquaint himself with flavours and textures that he'd missed so deeply, but eventually Jack eased him back with soft touches and whispers into his ear.

"You need to get some sleep," Jack murmured. Ianto straightened out of his embrace and nodded, eyelids drooping over scratchy eyes. "We have a lot of work to do later and I'll need you to bring me up to speed."

"Right." Ianto rose to his feet with one last glance at the city stirring below them. When Jack didn't move, Ianto put his hand on his shoulder. "Coming?"

Jack laid his hand over Ianto's, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "No. Think I'll stay up here a while."

Ianto squeezed the shoulder beneath his fingers and let Jack go, increasingly aware of the deep weariness in his bones that he'd been ignoring. He left Jack's side and walked toward the stairwell door, turning once he got there to see that Jack was now standing on the ledge, greatcoat on and swept back by the breeze.

It wasn't until he was drifting off to sleep that Ianto realized he'd never heard the story behind Jack's only regret.

"Okay, that's it for old business." Jack flipped the page on his clipboard. "Moving on to new business. First, I want to thank whoever it was who gave me the Mt. Everest snow globe that I found on my desk. I thought the Yeti was an especially nice touch, although it looks nothing like the real thing. Next, a shout out to Ianto Jones for going back and modifying all of our identities at the Waverley so that it now appears as though Torchwood was merely putting up overnight guests instead of being guests themselves. Nicely done, Ianto."

Seated at the far end of the conference table across from Jack, Ianto inclined his head. "My pleasure."

Jack turned to glare at Gwen, seated to his right. "Which means that I hope you, Miss Tatiana Romanova, and you, Miss—" he paused and checked his notes before directing an equally stern look at Toshiko—"Simone Latralle, enjoy your luxurious new dressing gowns that cost Torchwood seventy-five pounds apiece, because they will be coming out of your expense accounts."

Owen's snicker could be heard over their indignant protests, drawing Jack's attention. "Laugh it up, Mister"—another glance at his clipboard—"Blofeld. I see that the mini-bar in your room was depleted and restocked. Twice. And look at that, two adult films ordered from pay per view. Very naughty, Mr. Blofeld."

Owen pasted on a look of patently false repentance, resting one hand over his heart. "It was a mix-up, I assure you. I thought they were nature documentaries."

Jack ripped off a portion of paper and handed it to Owen. "Names, please." Looking up at Gwen's snort, he defended himself. "Mind out of the gutter, Tatiana, this is for verification purposes only. Now, anyone else have anything?"

"Okay," Jack grumbled through the general laughter, "does anyone have anything even remotely associated with fighting aliens and or saving the world? Weevil sightings, alien tech, bad sci fi movies with Canadian actors, anything. Anything at all."

Toshiko held up her hand. "I do," she said. With all eyes turned toward her, she faltered, her cheeks turning dusky pink. "Next Friday is the twentieth."

"The twentieth?" Jack repeated. "Oh, the twentieth, right. Owen, are we ready?"

Jack tossed aside his clipboard. "Cryogenic chamber check. So, if no one has anything else, let's move on to the most important subject of the afternoon."

Jack slid his chair back until he could prop his feet on the table. Folding his hands across his midsection, he angled himself toward Gwen.

"Gwen's engagement. I want every juicy, humiliating detail. Did Rhys go down on one knee? Did you cry? Did Rhys cry? There were violins, right?"

Owen gathered up his mug and pen. "That's it, I'm done. I'll be in the greenhouse, abusing massive amounts of fertilizer and chemicals if anyone needs me."

Ianto also rose to his feet to begin gathering plates and cups, already working on lists in his head as Gwen launched into her story. He needed to find a place to store all the cold weather gear scattered throughout the Hub and then spend some time organising the tourist office. It wasn't until he was elbow deep in sudsy water that he stopped, eyes losing focus as he listened to the sounds of the Hub around him. The metal clang of Owen's feet as he clattered down from the greenhouse, the soft, staccato rhythm of Tosh's fingers at her workstation, the tenor ring of Jack's laugh highlighted by Gwen's lighter giggles—these were the sounds of home.

Chapter Five

Ianto blinked slowly into the darkness, waiting patiently until his eyes adjusted to the gloom. As usual when he awoke deep in the night, he turned his gaze to the stars outside his window, preferring in fair weather to gauge the time by their fixture instead of the crimson readout of his digital clock. He also knew there was no point in glancing toward the clock because there was a broad expanse of naked Jack Harkness blocking the view.

He shifted his hips to a more comfortable position, letting his spine sink into the mattress and stifling the groan wrought by muscles that had never been used like this before. He was also careful not to dislodge the heavy, warm hand that rested high on the curve of his thigh, fingertips tucked into the crease where leg met groin. It was one of the many, little things he'd missed, this need of Jack's to stay physically connected as they slept, and it was the return of that small yet powerful pleasure that anchored Ianto to the reality that Jack was truly where he wanted to be.

He stared through the oriel window, searching out the familiar constellations until he estimated that it was somewhere between two and three a.m. There were no sounds except for the creak of the old house and Jack's quiet exhalations as they stirred the hair at Ianto's neck. A thin cotton blanket pooled around their ankles at the foot of the bed, the unusually low humidity of the July night keeping the air warm and comfortable. The scent of crushed grass drifted through the open window and Ianto breathed it in, knowing he'd never experience that scent without thinking of this night.

Ianto's eyes drifted closed, then opened again. He'd never felt quite like this and wondered if Jack had this effect on all his lovers. Certainly in their previous encounters he'd come away deeply satisfied and somewhat in awe of Jack's creativity, but he'd never experienced this bone deep satiety, this lovely heaviness in his limbs that weighted him to the bed. His heart had never beat so deeply, so strongly, and his lungs felt as though they were drenched in pure, rarefied air.

Beside him, Jack snuffled in his sleep and shifted closer until his mouth rested against Ianto's bare shoulder. The hand on Ianto's thigh slipped further between his legs, knuckles brushing over sensitized flesh. Ianto sucked in a swift breath, knowing he was incapable of arousal, confused by the unconscious possessiveness in the touch.

He'd been afraid of this all along. Before Jack had disappeared, their encounters had resembled not much more than sexual romps, the indifference inherent in that description mitigated by mutual affection and a tacit agreement to never make promises. Ianto had assumed that Jack had other lovers, even though he'd never had any proof to back up that assumption, but had never thought of taking another lover of his own—it simply wasn't in his character. What he and Jack had shared prior to the opening of the Rift had been enough for him, but now Ianto was learning the difference between then and now, and it was like comparing coal to diamonds.

Not daring to move for fear of waking Jack, Ianto kept his eyes on the stars. It was hard to fathom that they were sleeping together, not just tugging clothing into place and parting with a quick kiss, like so many of their previous encounters. Even on the night of John Ellis' death, after making sure that Jack was resting comfortably, Ianto had gone home, unwilling to assume that his place was at Jack's side beyond the consolation he'd offered.

But tonight Jack was in his home, in his bed, more deeply asleep than Ianto had ever seen him, one hand still tucked between Ianto's legs, the other beneath his pillow, his feet tangled with Ianto's under the blanket. Jack had stayed, but after what they'd shared that night, Ianto found he was unsurprised and in fact had expected nothing less. Whether he could expect more in the future was something he wasn't ready to think about.

The morning had started out quite innocently. They'd spent the last few days cleaning up after the Cell 114 incursion and all of them were still shaken by how closely they'd stood to extinction once more. Gwen in particular was struggling with Beth's death while Jack had been raising hell with the government about the nuclear weapons storage that no one had told him existed. But the Rift had been quiet and for once Ianto had looked forward to spending time in the Tourist office, fielding questions from sunburned visitors and selling outdated maps and not worrying about the imminent destruction of the planet.

His plan was quickly derailed when he heard Jack open the connection to his ear piece.

"Only that it's a bit early to lock up the office." As in eight hours too early, he refrained from adding.

The connection was severed and Ianto sighed. He found the small sign he used all too frequently, its neatly printed lettering stating that the Tourist office was closed for repairs, and attached it to the front door with four small pieces of tape. After a quick clean-up of misplaced souvenirs and postcards, he turned off the lights and began the trek downstairs.

Entering the Hub, he was surprised to see that there was no one else around. When he'd gone topside to open the office less than an hour earlier, everything had seemed normal: Jack had been in his office, Tosh at her workstation, Owen in the medical bay and Gwen on the couch, reviewing reports. After making sure everyone had their preferred morning beverage, Ianto had taken his own coffee to the Tourist office and, until Jack had called and told him to close up shop, had expected a quiet day.

Now the Hub was silent, the lights on lowered power, the computers showing only their screen savers. A quick glance around revealed that everyone's mug or cup had been rinsed out and set to dry on a cloth by the sink and that even the rubbish had been gathered into a bag.

But the lights were still on in Jack's office and Ianto could see him through the glass, sitting at his desk, his head bent forward. Unconcerned but curious, Ianto rapped on the office door frame to gain Jack's attention.

"Yup. According to Toshiko's Rift prediction program, we should have approximately twenty-eight hours without any alien activity and considering how hard everyone's been working lately, I figured it was only fair to give the staff a break."

"Wrong." Jack rose to his feet and turned off the desk lamp. "Especially you. I hope you don't have any plans."

Any time off at all usually meant a visit to the cemetery or home repairs, but Ianto mentally shrugged off the image of Lisa's marker with a twinge of guilt. "Plans for a day off I didn't know I had until two minutes ago? Surprisingly, no."

Jack reached for his greatcoat. "Good. Let's go." He draped the coat over one arm and grabbed Ianto by the elbow, walking him toward the invisible lift.

They stepped onto the stone and braced for the shudder that presaged upward movement.

"You're coming to my home?" Ianto envisioned his partially painted walls, the unfinished floors, the lack of furniture and knew he wasn't ready to have Jack witness all that imperfection. "Would you mind telling me why?"

Of course he hadn't. But he also hadn't completely believed that Jack would follow through, especially since they'd yet to resume a physical relationship. That hadn't been by choice, since the discovery of Cell 114 had come only days after John Hart had left. Jack had also seemed intent on catching up on everything he'd missed, spending long days in his office reading reports and examining the artefacts that had shown up while he'd been gone. They'd all been interrogated by him at one time or another, but he'd managed to make it seem more like a confidential conversation with a friend while deftly winnowing out every last detail. It had proven to be vital that Jack was aware of their deception, since Darby Fitzhenry had called after the Cell 114 report had reached her desk. Ianto had overheard the conversation and had been impressed by how smoothly Jack had been able to integrate his presence into activities that had occurred during his absence, showing once again that dashing was nice, but devious was often more useful.

Yet Ianto was keenly aware that Jack was committed to something with him. For all that they hadn't made love since Jack's return, there was still plenty of communication. In fact, Ianto could depend on some form of contact every time he and Jack were in the same room, whether it was during a meal when Jack would casually spear something off of Ianto's plate, or a chance meeting somewhere in the Hub, when Jack would slide a knuckle down Ianto's cheek. At first Ianto was unsettled by the attention but soon entered into the spirit of the thing, making sure their hands made contact when passing cups or papers, or slipping his fingertips across Jack's neck as he sat at his desk. It was an old, sweet game of subtle one-upmanship that they were playing, but Ianto had no idea who was winning.

Now as they emerged into the bright sunlight, Ianto knew that the rules of the game were changing again and Jack had all the advantages on his side. Because of that he wasn't prepared to allow Jack into his home territory, at least not until he'd figured out what Jack was planning.

As Jack slid on a pair of sunglasses, Ianto stepped into the street to face him.

Jack flashed a grin and nodded. Ianto squinted at him, simultaneously suspicious and intrigued by Jack's manner. Leaving Jack waiting on the Plass, he hurried down to the landing and into the office, changing into jeans and a light brown tee shirt. He grabbed his denim jacket and hurried back out to where Jack was talking to two middle-aged couples, apparently giving them directions as well as a dazzling display of Harkness charm. Ianto waited until they went on their way, heads bent close together as they giggled, one of the men sending a flirtatious glance toward Jack as they turned a corner.

"Can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?" Ianto took his sunglasses out from his jacket's inner pocket and put them on. "Now, about this date."

"You had mentioned dinner and a movie. It is currently," he glanced at his watch, "nine fifteen. Unless we are suddenly living on Melbourne time, it's rather early for either of those activities."

"God, I love a man with a literal mind." Jack began striding across the street as he pulled a tattered piece of paper from his coat pocket. Ianto caught up to him and tried to read what was written on the paper, but only managed a glimpse of what looked like a list before it was stuffed back in Jack's pocket. "However, first things first."

"Hey, tell me again why I'm the Sherpa?" Jack complained. He shifted the grocery bags in his arms as Ianto dug into his jeans pocket for his keys.

"Because," Ianto fished the keys out and began sorting through them to find the one to his front door, "if I have to cook for my own dinner date, the least you could do is carry the provisions."

"Sure, it sounds logical when you put it that way, but you were the one who insisted on making—"

Ianto was sliding the key into the lock when Marcy's voice drifted over the small hedge that separated the two properties. He leaned past Jack and gave her a wave, watching in dismay as she stepped away from her door and approached them, one hand shielding her eyes from the slant of the setting sun, her gaze fixed on Jack.

"Better, thanks. Still snifflin' a bit." She still hadn't looked at Ianto but before he could make any introductions, Jack was stuffing the grocery bags into his arms and advancing on Marcy, hand outstretched.

Marcy's smile faltered as she gave Jack's hand a limp shake. "Boyfriend? Erm, nice to meet you, Jack." Her gaze fluttered to Ianto's face and he smiled weakly, juggling two full bags into the curve of his arm so he could continue unlocking the door. He shoved the key home and twisted the knob, practically stumbling over the threshold in his haste to get inside. Setting the bags on a small table, he realised Jack hadn't followed him and swallowing a curse, he went back out into the warm twilight to reel Jack back in.

He found Jack and Marcy smiling at each other and when he appeared at Jack's elbow, they both began to laugh as if sharing a joke. Glancing from one to the other, Ianto crossed his arms over his chest and lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

Jack widened his eyes in patently false innocence. "Nope, nothing important." He winked at Marcy. "Guess I'd better go, otherwise I'm sleeping on the couch again tonight. Nice to meet you, Marcy."

"You too, Jack." Marcy gave him a saucy look and glanced at Ianto, bursting into giggles as she turned toward her own home.

Ianto grabbed Jack's coat lapel and dragged him inside, turning on him as soon as the door was shut.

"It was better than letting her know that you're shagging the boss!" Jack whispered back just as loudly.

Ianto watched him go, hands on his hips as he let out a sigh of his own. It had been a long, strange, wonderful, frustrating day, and now Jack was in his home, exactly what Ianto had thought he'd wanted to avoid.

Or had he? Because somewhere between coffee and a shared blueberry scone (consumed mostly by Jack) and the uncomfortable meeting with Marcy, Ianto had fallen just a little bit further in love with Jack Harkness. Not Captain Jack, his immortal, time-travelling boss, not Jack Harkness, king of flirtation and master of the double entendre. Not even the Jack who once used to tickle him in the archives and send the rest of the crew home early so he and Ianto could conduct "maintenance inspections."

No, today's Jack was different altogether and Ianto wasn't sure where he'd come from. If he'd had any indication that this Jack even existed, he would have been tempted to run far in the opposite direction, because this Jack was more dangerous than any who'd come before him.

The paper that Jack had held in his hands earlier that day was a list, a list of things he wanted to do with Ianto, starting with something as simple as breakfast next to the water. And as the day had gone on, Jack had walked Ianto around Cardiff, sometimes sharing his experiences, sometimes asking Ianto about his own recollections. They'd never explored the fact that they'd lived in the city at the same time years before they'd ever met and as they roamed through the streets, they shared their memories, some good, some sad, all of them revealing in one way or another. Lunch had been a picnic in a tiny park, eaten in companionable silence before they'd moved on, at Jack's insistence, to a haberdasher's, where he'd coaxed Ianto into a dark purple dress shirt while ignoring the salesman's exhortations to try on a pair of un-pleated trousers.

That's when Ianto's otherwise orderly world had been seriously disarranged. The frustrated salesman had finally thrown up his hands and stomped away, unaware that Jack was imitating him behind his back. Relaxed and a little dazed by the events of the day, Ianto had laughed out loud, surprising himself with how good it felt to laugh at something so silly.

It was as though someone had flipped a switch inside Jack. He'd whirled and stared at Ianto, his eyes widening as he'd crossed the distance between them in three long strides. Before Ianto could say or do anything, Jack had framed Ianto's face between his palms and brought their mouths together in a devastating kiss that had melted Ianto's bones and stolen his breath. It was the first proper kiss they'd shared since the night of Jack's return and Ianto fell into it, despite the highly public venue and the interested onlookers. He'd dropped the tie he'd been holding and wound his arms around Jack's neck, the hours they'd spent together and the emotions they'd shared bursting across his mind like fireworks as Jack moved his hands to Ianto's hips, tucking his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. The kiss threatened to turn into something else and only the less than discreet cough by the salesman broke the spell.

Jack had looked up and given the salesman a blazing smile, releasing a pink-cheeked Ianto who'd turned to gather up the fallen tie.

"Very good," the man had said. "Since we have Mr. Jones' measurements already on file, it should be ready within a week."

"That was different." Ianto placed the tie on the showroom table, stroking his fingertips over the silk. "Public displays of affection on your list?"

"Nope." Jack had taken him by the hand to guide him out the door. "But hearing Ianto laugh definitely was."

"Ianto! You'd better get in here before I start putting things where they don't belong!"

That was motivation enough for Ianto to make his way into the kitchen to find that Jack had emptied the bags onto the counter and was standing in the middle of the room, a package of angel hair pasta in one hand and a bottle of olive oil in the other.

"On the counter." Ianto opened a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew, tossing it to Jack. "Make yourself useful whilst I start the water."

Jack gave him a smart salute and turned to find the wine they'd purchased earlier. Ianto had been surprised that Jack had insisted on wine for the evening, along with a few other items that Ianto hadn't expected, like a bouquet of flowers and a small chocolate tart from the bakery. It was all so calculatingly, stereotypically romantic that Ianto suspected that Jack had either done research on the subject or had asked for advice from his co-workers, a prospect that brought a smile to Ianto's lips, despite the inherent embarrassment it was going to cause.

Ianto knew exactly when dinner and a movie had turned into an intimate meal for two at his house. Up until the encounter at the haberdasher's, he'd been contemplating which restaurant he wanted to try and what current film both he and Jack might enjoy for the actual "date" portion of this extraordinary day. On the pavement outside the store, Jack had pulled out his list and was scanning it as Ianto waited, and between one thought and the next, Ianto realised that he was tired of all the activity. He wanted to take Jack home.

"Let's see," Jack had muttered, "probably too late to go to the zoo. Maybe another day. Hey, how do you feel about roller-skating?"

"I'll cook." At Jack's growing grin, he'd hastened to add, "I can make pasta and vegetables. If you want anything more complicated than that—"

"No!" Jack hurriedly stuffed the list back into his pocket. "Sounds great. Let's go."

"Oh, dear," Ianto had muttered. Visions of Jack chatting up every unwary shopper in Sainsbury's flashed before his eyes. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea."

Ianto prepared dinner and tried not pay too much attention as Jack roamed freely around his house, picking up mementoes and putting them back without comment. By the time he heard footsteps in the loft bedroom upstairs he'd had enough. He called Jack back to the kitchen and handed him a knife, a cutting board, and a pile of vegetables to slice—along with a sharp admonition not to cut them into obscene shapes.

It was oddly domestic and surprisingly comfortable. Ianto kept sneaking looks at Jack while he prepared a salad, wondering what was going on behind those serene blue eyes as they concentrated on their task. Jack's sleeves were unbuttoned and folded back to reveal strong, tanned arms, a small frown marring the smooth forehead as he removed the seeds from a red pepper. Conversation between them was limited to questions and directions until the meal was complete and on the table. But it wasn't until Jack was lighting a stub of candle he'd found in a drawer that Ianto understood what this day had been about. Jack's plan of spending time with Ianto had been nothing less than a full out seduction, not of Ianto's body, but of his heart. Looking at the table, the cheap bouquet of common flowers sitting in a clean paint bucket, the food served on plain white plates, it was undeniably the most romantic thing Ianto had ever witnessed, topped only with the addition of Jack as he pulled out Ianto's chair.

Perhaps sensing Ianto's hesitance, Jack kept the atmosphere light as he regaled Ianto with some of his more colourful adventures with the Time Agency. By the time they'd shared the chocolate tart, Ianto had started planning a little seduction of his own. There was no denying that he wanted to make love with Jack and he fully intended for this evening to end just that way.

"I don't think I'll ever be bored with you," Ianto replied. He kept his eyes on his glass as he swirled air into the wine, knowing he'd spoken the simple truth. He looked up at Jack's silence and was captured by the shine in Jack's eyes.

"Why, Ianto Jones," Jack murmured, "you say the nicest things. But," he placed his napkin next to his plate and rose to his feet, "I should be going."

"Going?" Ianto was dismayed to hear a squeak in his voice. This was unexpected. He plucked his napkin from his collar and got up from the table to follow Jack, who'd already made it into the lounge and was retrieving his coat from where it'd been laid on a chair. "Why?"

The smile Jack turned on him was wistful, a flash of dimple and not much more. "Because we've spent a great day together and I don't want to push my luck."

Ianto scrubbed a hand over his face. Push his luck? All Jack would have to do is touch him with a fingertip and Ianto would be laid out on the scratched wooden floor at Jack's feet.

And maybe that was the issue. Jack had controlled this day and now he was giving that control back to Ianto. Jack was making no assumptions, and if that didn't convince Ianto that something fundamental about Jack had altered, nothing ever could.

"You haven't seen the garden yet." Jack's eyes flickered past him to the softly lit kitchen and the door that led to the small, verdant space beyond. He held his breath as Jack hesitated before setting his coat back on the chair.

Ianto awoke from a light doze to the sensation of a warm palm rubbing across his abdomen. He turned his head and there was just enough moonlight slanting through the window to see Jack gazing back at him, his face so close that their cheeks nearly touched.

"Hallo," Ianto whispered. He lifted his hand to Jack's face, trailing his fingers over the finely angled jaw, pausing over the patch of skin that creased into its familiar dimple at the gentle touch.

The hand on his belly drifted upward, landing on his ribs to stroke a lazy, circular pattern there. "You okay?" Jack whispered back, then dropped a kiss on the point of Ianto's shoulder. They both knew it wasn't a casual question.

Ianto nodded, threading his fingers through the hand that rested on his chest. "You?"

Jack raised up on one elbow and bent over Ianto, taking his mouth in a deep, tender kiss. The kiss lingered, tongues gently caressing, hands roaming indolently over skin still flushed and warm. Jack finally leaned back to look into Ianto's eyes, his thumb stroking the pulse in Ianto's throat.

"Better than okay," he murmured. He lowered his head to brush his nose against Ianto's. "Thank you."

Ianto smiled as he looked up into Jack's eyes, enjoying the sweet, slight grin he received in return. He opened his arms and drew Jack down onto his chest, both of them nestling into each other as they sought a comfortable position that would allow for as much of their bodies to touch as possible. He watched as Jack's eyes closed, the long, black lashes drifting slowly onto smooth cheekbones as a soft sigh of contentment brushed Ianto's ear. That sigh evened out into a gentle rhythm that heralded Jack's return to sleep, and Ianto relaxed muscles that he'd unconsciously tensed. He'd more or less told Jack that he was fine, but in fact, he wasn't really sure.

Jack grunted and moved closer to Ianto, snuggling his head deeper into Ianto's shoulder as he wiggled one foot between Ianto's ankles. Ianto tilted his body into Jack's embrace, pulling him closer as a wave of tenderness for the man in his arms washed over him. Foolish, of course, but there it was, and it would not be daunted by common sense.

How could he not feel protective of the man who'd made love with him so expertly and with such care? How could Ianto not cherish someone who'd stared up straight into his eyes as Ianto had bent over him, arms trembling, his sweat scattering across Jack's heated skin, as for the first time he'd sheathed himself in Jack's body, his attention so focussed on Jack that he'd gotten lost in his own release only after Jack was insensate with pleasure?

In a day full of unexpected revelations, sex with Jack should not have been the final surprise. In fact, it should have been the easy part, a reaffirmation of the physical connection they'd found in each other, the one thing between them that was safe. But since Jack had taken this day to upend so many of Ianto's suppositions about their relationship, it should've come as no shock that he would be just as unpredictable in this as well.

It had started with a kiss, a simple, light touch initiated by Ianto in the garden. They'd both been looking up at the night sky until Ianto had glanced at Jack. He'd been struck by the reverent expression on Jack's face, seeing a touch of sadness and longing there that tightened Ianto's chest as he wondered if Jack would ever find something here, on this earth, in this time, that would replace that yearning in his eyes. Wanting to offer solace, he'd cupped Jack's head and brought their mouths together, expecting to give only warmth and comfort and expecting nothing in return.

But something inside Jack had been touched off instead, and Ianto had found himself drawn into Jack's arms, his breath leaving his lungs in a rush as Jack had claimed his mouth with a ferocity that bordered on violent and very different from the normally light-hearted kisses they shared. But unlike their encounter in the Hub the night of John Ellis' death, there was no vulnerability in Jack's demeanour, no anger, no hesitation. There was only power, and concentration—and promise.

Most of what happened afterwards now played back in Ianto's imagination as a series of hazy, sensual images. While he couldn't remember clearly when they'd made it up to the loft bedroom nor exactly when all their clothing had finally been removed, he could recall Jack tripping him on the stairs, breaking Ianto's fall with his own body so that deep kisses could be exchanged until Ianto didn't care if they made to a flat surface or not. He could vaguely remember removing Jack's trousers and getting distracted by the highly arched, finely boned feet until Jack had laid him out on the floor and rolled on top of him, gathering him closer for another fevered kiss.

But one thing he remembered clearly was Jack's hoarsely whispered request for the one intimacy they'd yet to share, a request that Ianto had agreed to without thinking twice. By then he'd been incoherent with desire and yet his trust in Jack had never been so strong. And Jack hadn't failed him, as patient and passionate in his taking as Ianto had expected, flying him past the initial pain to a level of lush sensation that Ianto hadn't known existed. And eventually, after a sated nap just long enough to bring life back to his melted bones, Ianto applied what he'd learned to bringing Jack the same intense pleasure, the absolute trust in Jack's gaze something Ianto would treasure for the rest of his life.

Closing his eyes, Ianto rested his cheek against Jack's hair, smiling when Jack's embrace automatically tightened. In this stolen moment, Ianto could convince himself that there was more between them than camaraderie and sex, something that was becoming as essential to Ianto as breathing, yet he knew deep inside that he had only a slight basis for that belief. His feelings for Jack were no longer a cause for confusion, but having lost his heart to the man in his arms once, Ianto hadn't been prepared to have it happen again. He wanted to keep a part of himself separate, inviolate, until—or if—Jack was willing to put a name to his own feelings.

But it was the existence of Jack's list and the subsequent events of the day that threw everything out of balance. It was considerable evidence that Jack thought of Ianto beyond any mischief they got up to in those brief snatches of down time allowed by the Rift. Jack hadn't been back that long but the few glimpses of the list that Ianto had managed had revealed a pleated and smudged piece of paper, written in various coloured inks. This wasn't just something Jack had jotted down on a slow night, and as Ianto drifted back into sleep, he decided that a wait and see attitude would be best.

Chapter Six

Ianto tore off a square of paper towel and dried his hands, surveying the newly neatened kitchen area with satisfaction. Considering it was nine thirty in the morning and everyone was currently in the Hub, he knew it wouldn't stay that way, but he was glad to have something accomplished on his never-ending list of chores. He took comfort in the routine, planning his next few hours and keeping an eye out for Jack, trying to judge his mood.

He wasn't nervous, not exactly. The worst that could happen was Jack could laugh at him, and that was something Ianto was prepared to accept without prejudice. He was asking an unconventional man to participate in a conventional thing, and it wouldn't be Jack's fault if he didn't appreciate the significance.

He'd already lost his nerve once that morning. Delivering Jack's coffee, he'd thought that may have been an appropriate time to broach the subject. But Jack had been preoccupied with a raft of reports that Owen had left for his approval and aside from a brief, thankful smile, Jack had hardly noticed Ianto's presence when he'd set the mug on his desk. Ianto knew he'd have to pick his time carefully to get the results he wanted and had walked away, the hand in his trouser pocket caressing the slim piece of metal he'd placed there that morning.

Rolling down his sleeves, he buttoned the cuffs and looked around for his suit coat. He was sure he'd left it on the back of a nearby chair, but although the chair was there, the jacket was not. Glancing around the immediate vicinity, he placed his hands on his hips and tried to remember if he'd left it anywhere else.

Ianto bit down on a smile and turned toward Jack's office to see Jack leaning against the door frame, Ianto's coat dangling from his fingers. Steeling himself against Jack's leering grin, he crossed his arms over his chest.

Jack's grin widened as the coat began to sway. "Now, you know that's no fun unless you're wearing it at the same time. Why don't you come over here and I'll demonstrate."

Pulse quickening, Ianto looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. Gwen was nowhere to be seen and Tosh and Owen were in the medical bay, so he dropped his arms and approached Jack with exaggerated caution. Jack was irresistible in this mood and Ianto recognised this as an opportunity to bring up the topic that he'd worried about all morning

Jack bowed and turned the coat in his hand until he was holding it out like a valet. Ianto lifted his eyes in mock impatience and turned, ducking to the left when the coat flew past his head to land on Jack's chair. He let out a soft "oof" as he was pulled hard against Jack's chest, strong arms coming around Ianto's midsection as Jack nuzzled his neck.

Ianto closed his eyes and relaxed into Jack's arms, enjoying an embrace that was about affection, not lust. There'd been more of these encounters since the night they'd spent together at Ianto's house, as casual caresses became less of a prelude to sex and more of a reaffirmation of the closeness that was growing between them. If Jack was aware that he sought Ianto out more often with no more intent than a touch on his shoulder, he gave no indication, but Ianto knew that the others had noticed and weren't quite sure how to react. Ianto knew they were mostly ambivalent about his relationship with Jack, but it was ambivalence based on ignorance.

Ianto didn't care; the only person he was responsible to was Jack and he took that responsibility seriously. There was something immensely vulnerable about a man who'd lost more than any one person should bear, whose sorrows were sometimes plainly written in eyes that too often hid behind teasing and the never-ending gleam of flirtation—and Ianto never wanted to be counted as one of Jack's regrets.

Long fingers slid between two buttons of his dress shirt, searching out and tickling the slight indentation of his navel as Jack pressed his mouth it Ianto's ear.

Ianto shivered as a warm tongue lapped at his earlobe. "Maybe it's just pure Ianto-skin that's getting me all hot and bothered."

Grabbing Jack's wandering hand, Ianto spun himself out of Jack's embrace. "Air molecules gets you hot and bothered."

"True." Jack used the hand he still retained to twirl Ianto underneath his arm, pulling him close and then pushing him out again, throwing up his free hand with a dancer's flourish. "So do a lot of other natural elements. I find water especially inspiring."

"Yes, I remember." Ianto disentangled their fingers and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. "I spent most of yesterday morning mopping up the kitchen floor after your sudden 'inspiration.' Funny how quickly you made yourself scarce afterwards."

Jack's grin was unrepentant. "You know I just would've gotten in the way. Again. And then you'd have to start all over."

"Speaking of being in the way," Ianto palmed the key in his pocket, "I was wondering if—"

"Jack!" Tosh popped her head into the room. "We've just had a call. We've been asked to investigate an overturned lorry."

"To quote the local constabulary, it was carrying something they've never seen before and it smells like rotting flesh."

Jack sighed. "Rotting flesh. Yeah, that sounds like us." He turned to Ianto. "Get us ready to roll, we'll leave in ten minutes. Toshiko, fill me in on all the nasty the details."

Jack shrugged at Toshiko's question. "Nope. But he may have information we need and according to Gwen, this is the only way we're going to get it."

Owen spoke up from his seat at the end of the conference table. "Right, and then he'll be given one of our magic pills and go back to living his humdrum life of happy ignorance. Hail the Torchwood antidote to messy details and inconveniences."

"Hardly seems fair." Ianto looked around the table. "Feels like we're using him."

"We are," Jack agreed. "I know he's family, but it can't be helped. He has to be retconned for his protection as well as ours." He glanced at his watch and rose to his feet. "That's it. Not much more we can do until they get here."

"Sure." Jack turned to face him and Ianto paused. He knew Jack was concerned over the situation with Gwen and Rhys and so his timing could have been better, but he also thought that Jack might be able to use the distraction.

The idea had come to Ianto the night after they'd returned Tommy Brockless to his own time. Another man finding himself in an era not his own had resonated deeply within Jack, even as his worry had obviously been centred on Toshiko and her growing attachment to Tommy. After Tommy and Tosh had left to spend together what little time Tommy had left, Ianto had sought to ease some of Jack's disquiet, to somehow let him know that even though he'd left so much behind, he still had a home and he was still loved, even in a place as unforgiving as Torchwood Three.

Jack had been shuffling the fragile papers that had given Tommy his last orders when Ianto joined him in his office. His air of melancholy had been palpable, the burden of having to send yet another innocent to their death weighing heavily on his shoulders. No one could blame Tommy for not wanting to go back to his own time when the prospect of returning held no comfort. It was that concept that Ianto broached with Jack, gently probing to see if he still held the desire to return to the one place most people believed they'd always belong.

Then Jack had taken the conversation in a different direction, giving Ianto a rare glimpse of the man that lived beneath the fearless and flirty veneer. Jack's quiet declaration, made all the more devastating by the tender tone in which it was delivered, had shaken Ianto so deeply that he almost believed it was all a product of wishful thinking.

But the memory of the softly spoken words now carried in his heart told him otherwise.

Later the following night, with the rift in time closed and Tommy forever trapped in his past, thoughts of home and loneliness had led Ianto down a different path in his thoughts. He'd become attached to his own dilapidated house and the run-down neighbourhood surrounding it, finding comfort and even purpose in its very ordinariness. They'd been curled up in Ianto's bed, Jack breathing deeply in slumber, when Ianto had remembered that Jack had lived within the walls of Torchwood for a very long time. He had nowhere to escape from the debilitating demands of his job, and even though Ianto knew that Jack was singularly equipped to handle far more than the average man, that midnight conversation had given Ianto a lot to think about.

Jack was looking at him now, a hint of impatience edging the curiosity in his expression, and Ianto found himself wishing he'd chosen another time. He retrieved the key from his pocket and held it out to Jack.

"This way, I wouldn't have to be." Ianto shrugged. "You could let yourself in, you wouldn't have to wait for me. You must get tired of living in the Hub twenty-four seven, not having some place of your own." Ianto looked at his feet, then past Jack's head, resting his hands on his hips.

This was not going as Ianto had hoped and he was beginning to flounder in the face of Jack's honest confusion. He'd thought Jack's amusement would be the most difficult reaction to face—he hadn't counted on complete disinterest.

"Ianto!" Owen's irritated voice carried up from the centre of the Hub. "Where's the corkscrew? I've gone through every drawer and I can't find it!"

"It's in—" Ianto stopped, sensing an escape from this increasingly awkward conversation. "Never mind, I'll be there in a moment." Ianto held out his hand to Jack. "Here, I'll take that back."

Jack started to hand the key to Ianto, then snapped his fingers over it, taking a step away from Ianto as he shook his head. "No, think I'll hold on to it."

Jack turned to leave, speaking over his shoulder. "Better go help him out before he uses that damn scalpel thing he found and leaks wine into the water supply again. You know how affectionate Myfanwy gets when she's tipsy and we don't want a repeat of New Year's Eve."

Ianto returned to the kitchen, unsettled and a little disappointed in Jack's reaction. He knew he hadn't adequately gotten the point across that he was asking Jack to live with him and as he briskly shooed Owen out of his way, he decided it was just as well. There would be plenty of opportunity to retrieve the key later and hope that Jack simply forgot about the whole thing.

Ten minutes on, he wasn't so sure that Jack hadn't been paying attention all along. Instead of joining the three of them in lounge area to wait for Gwen and Rhys, he'd taken to the upper levels to stare down at Ianto. It was unnerving to have that stern gaze centred on him, so Ianto decided to bring up the topic that had them all feeling uncomfortable.

Ianto took a swig from his bottle of lager, grinning in spite of himself at Toshiko's incisive description of their love lives. True, he had a relationship, but it was so far beyond traditional that not even he could defend himself in this instance. Sad and single wasn't that far off.

And yet there was Jack, pacing along the catwalk like a restless cat. Ianto watched him out of the corner of his eye, knowing Jack was listening to their conversation, wondering what was going through his mind.

"Uh, speak for yourself," Owen was saying. "I am better off without all that kind of hassle."

Ianto saw a flash of hurt pass through Toshiko's eyes before she pinned on a smile. "Maybe the answer is to go out with someone who knows what you do."

True to form, Owen remained oblivious. "Look around you, Tosh," he said with a weary sigh, "only we know what we do."

He rolled his chair back toward the medical bay, effectively ending the conversation. Ianto watched as Toshiko picked up her wine glass and wondered if he should try and say something to make her feel better. A movement from above caught his eye and he looked up to see Jack staring at him once again, this time from the inside of the greenhouse.

Their gazes caught and Jack made no attempt to look away, giving away nothing as he lifted his chin, staring back defiantly. Ianto lowered his eyes and took another sip from his bottle, wishing this day was over and he was home, a home that apparently he wasn't sharing with anyone any time soon.

"You don't have to yell, Owen." Ianto pressed a hand to his bruised lower back and grimaced. "I'm ten feet behind you."

"I've seen those wrists, mate. You've got some nasty rope burns. And the way you were flexing against that wall I'd say your back hurts. Or is it your ribs?"

"Not saying it is. But now that all the shouting and drama's over you may as well let me have a look. I've got a topical ointment that will dull the pain on those burns and prevent scarring. Now, you comin' or what, 'cause I don't want to hear about it later if you start pissing blood because of a bruised kidney."

Ianto glanced over his shoulder at Jack, who was sitting in his office and staring at the monitor mounted on the wall behind his desk. He'd watched as Jack had switched the CCTV feed to the waterfront before throwing himself into his chair and realized that Jack was going to be unapproachable for some time.

It was just as well. Between the debacle of the house key and Jack's furious reaction to Gwen's refusal to administer the amnesia pill to Rhys, Ianto had no desire to stick around and watch Jack sulk. He was exhausted, he'd had a gun shoved to his head by a man whose appreciation of hygiene was spotty at best and worst of all, he'd had to watch helplessly as an innocent creature was mutilated and destroyed. Now his self-proclaimed "boyfriend" was hiding in his office, obsessing over his inability to control a relationship that both fascinated and frustrated him, while making one thing perfectly clear—in that particular obsession, there was room only for three.

After stoically allowing Owen to poke at his lumps and bruises, Ianto pocketed the tube of ointment Owen threw at him and left the Hub for the tourist office, where he changed into jeans and a black rugby shirt. After locking up, he began the short walk to the cemetery, determined to put this day and its disappointments behind him and regain some perspective.

It wasn't until Ianto had witnessed how upset Jack was about Rhys—and by extension, Gwen—that he'd admitted how far his reach had exceeded his grasp where Jack was concerned. Trying to structure their relationship within any traditional boundary had been ill-conceived from the beginning, and still Ianto longed for a home and someone to share it with him, in essence a Rhys of his own. He'd had that once with Lisa and missed it more than he'd imagined, the contentment of having someone to come home to, the dividing of mundane household chores, even the petty arguments over who was responsible for taking in the laundry. If anyone should be jealous of Gwen and Rhys it was Ianto, who saw reflected in them his own yearning for security in a world where there was so little. Jack offered a security of a different kind and while Ianto cherished it, he wondered if one day, it wouldn't be enough.

The sun was dipping beneath the horizon as Ianto manoeuvred down the slight incline to the tree that sheltered Lisa's marker. It'd been weeks since he'd visited her memorial and his guilt grew stronger with every step. The ongoing inner conversations that he'd once held with her had dwindled to almost nothing and although he regretted what felt like an act of disloyalty, he understood it for what it was, a growing connexion to the people who'd become more real to him than his fading attachment to a dead girl.

Within ten yards of the base of the tree, his throat began to tighten. Shreds of sodden paper and crushed lager cans littered the dirt surrounding the area and by the time he reached the gnarled roots that defined the memorial, he knew what he'd find.

The marker had been desecrated, pried up from the dirt, bent in half and tossed aside. The canister buried beneath it had been unearthed and Ianto bent to retrieve it, finding it empty. The necklace was gone and the postcard had been ripped apart, its pieces scattered over the damp grass and stomped into the mud. The lovingly laid mosaic of stones had been obliterated, the mud giving evidence of something, a boot heel or a bottle, having been dragged through the pattern until it no longer existed.

Ianto sank to one knee, ignoring the twinges in his back and shoulders left over from his struggles at the warehouse. This was it, the last of Lisa, the only thing he'd been able to hold on to from his previous life, and the loss washed over him in a wave of weary remorse. Even in death, he'd failed to keep her safe.

Impatiently rubbing at the moisture gathering on his lower lashes, he looked around with little hope of finding the necklace. A sliver of red near the fence caught his eye and he skidded over to it, pushing away dirt and debris with his fingers to uncover the remnants of the key chain, its dragon now missing the tip of its wing, the scarlet enamel pitted and scarred. On the rare occasion that the tourist office was open, Ianto sold several similar key chains each week during the high season, but this one had been given to him by Lisa the night he'd moved his few possessions into her London flat, her wink at his Welsh background a long-standing, beautifully private joke between them.

He stuffed the key chain into his pocket and began gathering up as much rubbish as he could find in the fading light. Using the toe of his trainer, he scraped dirt into the divot left by the canister, smoothing over the surface until no trace of the hole or mosaic remained. When he'd done the best he could to eradicate any evidence of his covert memorial, he retrieved the broken marker and made his way back up to street level, tossing it and the rest of the rubbish into the first container he found.

The irony of the key chain surviving when everything else had been destroyed was not lost on Ianto, but as he turned toward home, he began to appreciate the vicious symmetry as well. Keys and chains, exits and entrances, pursuit and capitulation—so much had changed, and yet so little, since that cool summer night he'd stalked Jack Harkness into a murky little wood, desperate, terrified, and determined to succeed at all costs, unaware that the cost would ultimately be more than he could bear. His heart twisted a little as he recalled that naïvely cunning Ianto Jones of a year ago, someone he hardly recognized now.

But in a year that had brought more tragedy, terror and joy than Ianto had imagined he'd experience within his lifetime, this was one particular day he could've done without.

Part Three

Chapter Seven

...is leaving later this evening for London. I'm sorry to see her go and not just because she's pretty (even prettier than you, Jack. Yes, I know you're still reading this, no matter where I hide it). She did remarkably well undercover and she makes Jack laugh—I know they have a history but neither of them are willing to share the details—so it would nice to have her around for a while longer to see if I can learn more. Even Owen (still dead/alive/whatever) has gotten over his territorial issues and been civil to her. Don't know how Tosh and Gwen feel, although Gwen is all about the wedding these days. I can't say I find her taste in wedding gowns to be especially flattering. I could have told her that she's too petite for all that pleating, she'll look like a parade float—

The door guarding the entrance to the Hub opened and as Ianto looked up from his diary, he saw Martha ease her way into the tourist office, two mugs of steaming liquid in her hand. He smiled a greeting and closed the journal, setting it aside as he rose to his feet and took the mug she held toward him.

"Ready to go?" he asked. He looked at the clock on the wall and frowned. "Surely it's too early."

"I have some time so I thought I'd hang out here for a bit," she agreed. She looked around the shabby room, her mug cradled between her palms. "This is cosy."

"Well, we don't want it to look too prosperous." Ianto pushed his stool toward the end of the counter and stepped into the private room behind the curtain to pull out another. "The locals stay away because they think it's a front for organised crime," he added as they sat down, "and we direct any actual tourists to the mall. The Americans always seem very relieved."

Martha laughed politely and took a sip of tea. She seemed distracted and Ianto waited, wondering what had caused her to leave Jack and the others to seek him out upstairs.

"Ianto," she said eventually, "I think I may have spoken out of turn and I wanted to give you some warning, just in case Jack says something."

"Spoken out of turn?" he repeated. He paused to blow on his tea. "Not sure what you mean."

Martha sighed and gazed into the depths of her mug. "Do you remember our conversation, when I asked if you and Jack were..." She twirled her hand, her mouth quirking upward in a shy, hesitant grin.

"Well, just now, I sort of brought up the subject with Jack again, teasing him, you know? He's rather like a big brother to me, he needs to be teased."

"Ah," Ianto nodded, "let me guess. He latched onto the 'innovative' part and embarrassed you with some improbable story."

"Oh, no," she said earnestly, setting aside the mug, "that wasn't it at all. In fact, the conversation never got that far."

"Then I don't understand. I can't believe he was the one who was embarrassed—"

Martha lifted the mug to her lips before setting it back down without taking a sip. She looked uncertain and unhappy, and Ianto began to worry that Martha had learned more than she was comfortable knowing.

"It was the dabbling thing," Martha said in a rush. "I told him that you said you and he 'dabbled' and I swear, Ianto, it looked as though I'd kicked him in the stomach."

"Yes," she said miserably, "he even asked me to repeat it. Then he got this sort of sad look and turned away for a minute. When he looked back at me he was smiling again, but it wasn't a real Jack smile, if you know what I mean. It wasn't in—"

"His eyes," Ianto finished, his heart sinking. "Yes, I know that smile. It's rather like the sun going behind a cloud, isn't it? Makes you shiver even when you're not cold."

"It does." Martha shook her head. "But it gets worse. When I saw how upset he was I did all sorts of backtracking, trying to convince him that I'd taken your words out of context and that I was sure you didn't mean it."

"You know." Biting her lower lip, Martha hesitated. "How you didn't truly believe that was all there was between you. I mean—it's not, is it?"

Ianto looked down at his mug of cooling tea, wishing he had something strong to add to it. In the months that had passed since Ianto's ill-conceived attempt to invite Jack to live with him, he'd been trying to come around to the belief that what he had with Jack wasn't much more than the dabbling he'd confessed to Martha. It was safer that way, to appreciate what they shared privately and not look for more, even when some days he wasn't sure that Jack was satisfied with what they had, either. Once bitten, twice shy, was Ianto's motto, but in the tradition of Torchwood, first bites were usually fatal.

"Dabbling may not have been the most auspicious choice of words," he said slowly. "What I have—what Jack and I share is complicated and not really something I'm used to discussing with people, especially someone I'd only just met. I'm sorry if I misled you into believing that I don't care for Jack because I do, very much."

Martha frowned at him. "You 'care' for him? Poor Jack, no wonder he's confused."

Martha covered Ianto's hand with her own. "If you don't mind a little sisterly advice, I think you may want to be honest with Jack about how you feel about him sooner rather than later, although truthfully I think it's already too late."

"Look, I know I'm a little protective where Jack is concerned and I don't want to see his heart broken if I can help it. He's had enough heartbreak to last a thousand lifetimes and you don't strike me as someone who'd willingly add to that."

"I don't—I didn't think—" Ianto stuttered, "I'm sure that Jack doesn't think of me—of us—in those terms."

"I hate it when Mum's right." Martha raised her eyes to the ceiling, searching for patience. "Boys really can be so stupid sometimes," she muttered. "All right," she continued briskly, "then you're just going to have to trust me. I'm in a bit of a unique position to judge what is good for Jack and from what I've seen, that may be you, but only if you're honest with him. But be gentle, because I think he's a little scared of you."

"Is it? He watches you all the time, you're the first person he looks for when he walks into a room, he plays to you madly—and you're hardly any better. You hold all this power over each other and you don't even know it."

"Even if what you say is true, it doesn't mean that Jack has any reason to be scared of me."

"It does if it means you'll hurt him. There's no greater power in the world than the power we give freely to those we love. All I'm asking is that you keep that in mind and if there is more between you than dabbling or whatever you want to call it, you need to let Jack know and put him out of his misery. Can you promise me that much?'

Ianto nodded as Martha patted his hand and slid off her stool. "My ride will be here soon so I'd better gather my things and start saying my goodbyes. I hope you don't think I've intruded into your personal life too much but sometimes it's helpful to hear these things from a third party."

"I think that you're a good friend." Ianto got to his feet. "And I'm guessing a formidable enemy as well, but I'm going to try and avoid finding that out for myself."

Martha nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "Good, because I'd like to avoid having to kick your arse when I come back for the wedding."

Ianto held open the door leading back down to the Hub. "As would I," he agreed fervently as she proceeded him into the stairwell, receiving a quick wink in return.

It was a lot to think about, especially after spending so many weeks convincing himself that he was content. It also felt strange to have an advocate—or in Martha's terms, an older sister—when Gwen, Toshiko and Owen preferred to ignore the situation altogether. He couldn't remember a time when someone took a friendly interest in his life and the sensation was unsettling and a little bittersweet. But other than wanting to protect Jack, Martha had no ulterior motives and even as she'd said her farewells had managed to slip in another piece of advice when Ianto had kissed her cheek.

"He's worth it," she'd whispered in his ear, emphasising her point with a squeeze of his arm. He'd glanced past her to see Jack watching them, his expression open and relaxed. Whatever reaction he'd had to Martha's inadvertent revelations, he wasn't ready to share it with Ianto.

Ianto figured out soon enough that Martha, for all her good intentions, was wrong. Over the course of the next few weeks, Ianto began to notice Jack moving away from him emotionally. On the nights they spent in Ianto's house he'd never stay more than a few hours, sliding out of bed before Ianto was properly asleep, leaving him half awake and empty inside. Weevil hunts, once something that he and Jack shared almost exclusively, were now team exercises with the exception of Owen, who was irritated to be told he was too fragile to join in and too upsetting for the weevils besides. The surreptitious touches became less imaginative and more conventional, the give and take banter less fulfilling, the quiet glances across tables and monitors almost non-existent. As Gwen's wedding approached, it became more and more clear that Jack was actually growing tired of him, making Ianto acutely grateful he hadn't made a fool of himself and professed his own feelings to Jack and embarrassed them both. Ianto told himself it was fine, it was natural, it had to happen, it was better for them both. No strings, no complications, no expectations.

Being a Torchwood wedding, it didn't go smoothly. Ianto was well-acquainted with the history of all the previous Torchwood employees and had researched their lives, finding quite a few references to marriages and in rare cases, even children. But when he'd tried to get Jack to talk about those previous weddings, many of which Jack had attended, Jack's eyes had slid away as he'd come up with some excuse to change the subject. Something about the upcoming nuptials was making Jack uncomfortable and Ianto assumed it was watching Gwen waltz forever out of his reach. He and Gwen had been snapping at each other off and on since Christmas, Jack with snide comments about respectable Cardiff matrons in sensible shoes and Gwen's replies usually along the line of Jack being a sad son of a bitch who was too stubborn, proud, or stupid (depending on her mood) to step up and ask for what he wanted. Ianto had accidentally walked in on one of their slanging sessions and had tried to back out of the room gracefully, unprepared for Gwen to grab his arm and drag him the rest of the way into Jack's office.

"Yes, please," Ianto muttered, tugging against the tight grip Gwen had above his elbow.

"Little late for that, isn't it, Jack?" Gwen had squared off between them, releasing Ianto and settling her fists on her hips. "Or maybe it's finally the right time."

Ianto pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "I've got something on the boil, maybe I should—"

Jack crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. "Martha sent an email. She can't make it to the wedding."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Ianto took a step backward, "Now, if that's all, it's past Janet's feeding time—"

"Gwen," Jack ground out, a clear warning that the argument was escalating again, "that wasn't for your eyes!"

"And you're sticking that pert little nose of yours into business that doesn't concern you!"

Bitterly aware of undercurrents between Jack and Gwen that he had no interest in travelling, Ianto had been deeply grateful when Tosh had wandered in, head down and nose buried in a newly acquired piece of alien tech. Oblivious to the little drama, she retrieved a tool from Jack's desk and had meandered back out of the office, muttering to herself and unknowingly breaking the tension. Ianto had used the diversion to slip out with her, but not before he'd caught a glimpse of the desolation in Jack's eyes as he'd turned on Gwen for another round.

That had been only a week before the wedding and somehow, Jack and Gwen had managed to patch together their friendship in time for her to be able to focus on her wedding day. An alien-impregnated bride, a best man named Banana Boat and quite possibly the ugliest bridesmaids' gowns ever conceived had made for a difficult situation, but Ianto withstood it all without blinking an eye. Up until the reception, Ianto had expected that one solid round of retcon and some quickly confiscated cameras would be the only things that stood in the way of demonstrating to Jack the intricate pleasure of a well-measured inseam, but it hadn't worked out that way.

Even from his impromptu duty at the DJ's table, Ianto could see that whatever hostility that had festered between Jack and Gwen was completely gone. There was an intimacy between them now that had been missing since Jack's return months earlier, an almost perceptible heat that couldn't be denied, not even on her wedding day, and in witnessing it, Ianto felt that he finally understood his place in Jack's world.

From that understanding, it was easy to step in and dance with Jack, to hold him close just one last time, regardless of audience or circumstance. He was fully aware that Jack had watched Gwen walk away even as he'd taken Ianto into his arms, could see Toshiko and Owen staring at them from across the room. He knew he had a long night of work ahead of him but it didn't matter. He was numb, inside and out, focussed solely on his job and unwilling to deal with the realities lurking in the shadows of his life.

It was okay, he told himself later, pulling out a body bag for the unfortunate Mervin from the back of the SUV. He would survive this. The wedding guests wouldn't remember a thing and Gwen and Rhys were on their way to their honeymoon. All was as it should be, except for the blank space where Ianto's heart used to live, but by the time he crawled into bed a few minutes after midnight, he was too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to care either way.

His body recognized the presence of someone in his bed before his sleep-heavy brain could process the information. He knew there was no cause for alarm, the weight and scent of the body beside him as familiar to him as his own. He curled into that welcoming heat, smiling as strong arms came around him and pulled him close, his head nestling easily between firm shoulder and strong jaw. Fingers combed through his hair and stroked across his cheek as he drifted back toward sleep, sinking trustingly into the comfort and security that Jack's presence always gave him.

Ianto's eyes snapped open and he struggled upward, fighting the arms that seemed reluctant to let him go. He twisted on the bed, the comforter sliding off his bare torso and pooling around his flannel-clad hips as he peered down to where Jack lay fully clothed beside him on top of the duvet.

"Jack? What?" Ianto ran distracted hands over his face and into his hair, disoriented by Jack's silent presence. "What's wrong?"

Jack rolled onto one elbow and rested his hand on Ianto's thigh. "I needed to ask you something."

Jack's voice was broken and hoarse, as though it hadn't been used recently. It was too dark for Ianto to see much beyond the charcoal outline of Jack's face against the pale blue bed linens, the room too shadowed to see the expression in his eyes. Ianto took the hand setting on his leg in his, wondering what could have driven Jack to his side in the middle of the night, yet unsurprised that he was taking an uninvited Jack in his bed in stride. His earlier decision to back away from their personal relationship hadn't changed his feelings and even now, if Jack needed him to crawl through hell on broken glass, his only concern would be for the damage his suit trousers would suffer.

Four simple words imbued with such heartache. Ianto blinked and slowly shook his head, wishing he was more awake. Jack couldn't lose him, except through death, and maybe not even then. Why didn't he know that?

The ragged edge to Jack's voice deepened and Ianto's brows drew together in concern. Jack remained still, his fingers clenched around Ianto's, as Ianto rubbed the back of his free hand over his eyes, trying make sense of Jack's question. He'd thought he'd seen Jack in every mood possible, but he hardly recognized the quiet, wounded man beside him. If it had been anyone else other than Jack, Ianto would have suspected he was drunk, but there was no odour of alcohol, just Jack's indefinable, natural scent.

"You haven't," Ianto said firmly, tossing away the question as irrelevant. "Are you all right?"

"Haven't I?" Jack sat up as his thumb began a slow, circular caress across Ianto's knuckles. "Are you sure?"

Jack's fingers feathered over Ianto's inner wrist, the whisper of sensation against the soft surface of his arm making Ianto swallow against a traitorous surge of desire. He opened his mouth to ask again what was bothering Jack, but Jack continued.

"What did I do, to finally drive you away?" Those questing fingers ghosted over Ianto's upper arm, short fingernails scratching lightly at cool skin, raising goosebumps in their wake.

"Nothing," Ianto lied. The look in Jack's eyes—and Gwen's—as they'd danced together had only confirmed what Ianto had suspected, but Jack didn't know that. Wouldn't know that until the playful suggestions were brushed off, the teasing, lusty offers gently rebuffed.

At least that had been the plan, until Jack had invited himself into Ianto's bed, driven by his own demons to knock down Ianto's imperfectly constructed walls. Now the plan was in danger of being tossed aside before it had ever seen the light of day, but then maybe Ianto had known that all along, too.

Jack curled his leg beneath him to mirror Ianto's position on the bed. He never broke contact with Ianto as he skated one finger along the curve of Ianto's collar bone before drawing a line down the centre of his chest. Wide-eyed, barely breathing with the effort to remain quiet, Ianto watched as Jack leaned closer to him and despite his earlier decision, in that moment he wanted Jack's mouth on him more than he could remember wanting anything. He closed his eyes and waited, sweet anticipation for the touch he craved beyond all others trapping the air in his lungs.

Instead, he felt a warm breath exhaled against his ear. Words so soft, almost absent of substance, drifted over his skin. "Will you leave me, Ianto?"

"Never." That, at least, was the truth. Leaving Jack had never been part of the quickly fading plan. Eyes still closed, Ianto swayed beneath Jack's touch, dizzy with the sensations that only Jack could draw out of him. Jack's fingertips skimmed along the underside of his jaw before both hands rose to caress his cheekbones and the delicate skin behind his ears. Swallowing hard, Ianto opened his eyes and made an effort to concentrate on what Jack had been trying to tell him. He lifted his hand to Jack's face and jerked it back in surprise, shaken at what he found there.

"Is it?" Jack slipped a palm over his own cheek, then looked down with surprise at the dampness gathered there. "Guess so," he said with a slight laugh.

Ianto reached forward and ran his hand over Jack's forehead and through his hair, trying to offer comfort. "Why?" he whispered. "What's wrong?"

Jack raised his eyes to Ianto's and even in the dim light, Ianto could see the emptiness there despite the slight smile that lingered on his lips.

And suddenly, Ianto thought he understood. Gwen now belonged to another, and Jack had a streak of melancholy in him a mile across. Earlier that night, Ianto had observed Jack sitting at his desk, sifting through pictures, so engrossed he didn't even acknowledge Ianto's silent presence. No doubt memories coupled with the loss of Gwen had sent Jack into a broody tailspin and he'd needed to seek out some reassurance.

"No, no," he breathed. He cupped Jack's face between his palms and touched his lips to Jack's in a soft caress. "I'm right here," he said against Jack's cheek. "I'll always be here."

Jack grabbed Ianto's upper arms. "No," he hissed, "you don't get it." He wrapped his hands around Ianto's neck and yanked him close to press a fierce, open-mouthed kiss to his mouth, tongue sweeping in arrogantly, drawing a startled moan from Ianto's chest.

"I know I have this," Jack growled against Ianto's brow. Startled, Ianto struggled against the instinct to resist, drawing in air to keep his muscles relaxed as his concern for Jack overrode his need to understand. Jack's hands had never been anything but gentle on him after Lisa, anything approaching aggression expressed as passion, not desperation. This touch was unusually angry and possessive, evidence of some strong emotion barely leashed. The rough embrace lingered until Jack shoved Ianto away, one hand still gripping his arm and keeping him close as he used his other hand to thump his fist on the warm, bare skin over Ianto's heart. "This is what I'm talking about. But it's not the same for you, is it?"

Jack abruptly dropped his gaze, breath hitching as he struggled for composure. He released Ianto and rubbed his hands on his thighs, shaking his head as if to clear it. Ianto reached out a trembling hand, then pulled it back, unsure that his touch would be welcomed.

"I'm sorry," Jack mumbled. "I shouldn't have come." He raised his eyes to Ianto's. "This is conduct unbecoming a officer. I'd better leave before I really embarrass myself."

His voice trailed away as they stared at each other. Ianto swallowed and took one of Jack's hands in his own. "You have to talk to me, Jack."

Jack slid his free hand over Ianto's shoulder and around his neck, bringing their mouths together in a gentle kiss of farewell before slipping free of Ianto's hold and sliding off the bed. He turned to leave, taking two long strides before Ianto spoke up.

Jack paused and squared his shoulders, keeping his back to Ianto. Ianto licked his dry lips and climbed off the bed, determined to find the root of Jack's anguish. He thought frantically over the past few weeks, trying to pinpoint that moment in time that Jack had changed toward him. The only thing that made sense was the night Martha had left, when she'd inadvertently revealed Ianto's downplayed description of his feelings about Jack. Despite Martha's advice, Ianto had never actually believed that it had mattered to Jack one way or the other, but now he was beginning to see that his own decisions to keep Jack only so close had confused things even further.

A phrase floated through his mind, something Jack had said once during a conversation with the entire team after a particularly brutal job. It'd been late, they were all exhausted, and Owen in particular had been vocal about the never-ending thanklessness of their work. Someone had to be a hero, Jack had reminded them as they'd struggled to remove sticky yellow scales of yet another imploding alien from their clothing. No one had appreciated the remark at the time, least of all Ianto, who'd faced the prospect of all that laundry with decidedly ill will.

But staring now at Jack's ramrod straight posture, he realised he'd been waiting for Jack to make his feelings known without any clear indication from Ianto as to how they'd be received, much the same as Ianto had. Both men were too afraid of rejection in this most uncertain of worlds, too terrified of the prospect of having something so precious yanked away, and it had brought them to this.

And Jack, the bravest man Ianto would ever know, was clearly terrified. It was definitely time for a hero, the only question being who was going to be the first to take that leap of faith.

Tired of working in the dark, Ianto turned on the lamp beside his bed, throwing the room into soft, golden-edged shadows. "Jack, did you want me to stay with you tonight? After the wedding, at the Hub?"

Jack's shoulders twitched in a half-hearted shrug. "I was lonely. Sad. Seeing Gwen married..."

His voice trailed off and Ianto bit his lip against a stab of pain. "I'm sorry, Jack. I know she means a lot to you."

Jack nodded. "She does. That's why I'm so glad she has Rhys. She deserves someone who'll make her happy."

"Well," Ianto blinked furiously against stinging eyes, "I'm sure she loves you, too. If you'd been able—"

Jack slashed the air with his hand and turned around, head high and jaw set. "Doesn't make any difference whose wedding it is. Really not my favourite event to attend, even under the best of circumstances, like this one."

Jack's lips twisted in a wry smile. "In comparison, this one was pretty fun, even with the uninvited guests and ugliest hats this side of Ascot. But weddings, especially the wedding of a good friend—they bring back a lot of memories. Pretty women in wedding gowns—" he shook his head, eyes downcast, "so, you know me, I start reminiscing, then I get all weepy and the next thing you know, I'm thinking the only one in the whole world I want to be with just left without saying goodbye."

Ianto was reeling. This wasn't about Jack's feeling toward Gwen's marriage and that realisation left him light-headed with shock. Caught up in his own misery, he'd missed the true reason for Jack's withdrawal and had nearly lost everything by walking away when Jack had needed him.

"I would have stayed if I'd known. You just seemed like you wanted to be alone."

"Maybe, for a while." Jack's smile turned wistful. "But mostly I just wanted to talk to you."

"That's something else I realised tonight. I finally figured out that I was asking too much of you."

"Too much to ask you to be that person." The broad shoulders slumped and Ianto could see the resignation in the muted gleam of Jack's eyes. "You probably don't want to hear this, but when when I need comfort, it's you that I want it from. I want you to be proud of me and—and laugh with me, hold me when I'm scared and lay down beside me every night. You are that person for me, Ianto. And, I'm so sorry," he took a step toward Ianto, hands spread, "but I want to be that person for you, too."

Ianto took an involuntary step backward, his bare feet skidding on the hardwood floor. Leave it to Jack to once again throw Ianto completely off balance with a declaration that spoke directly to Ianto's every fear and desire about their relationship. He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, letting Jack's words sink into every inch of his skin, then reopened them with a faint smile.

"All right," he said, his voice cracking. He rolled his eyes at his own faint-heartedness and cleared his throat before starting again. "All right, I have a feeling this isn't the first time I'm going to say this, but I love you, Jack. And you're an idiot."

Jack's eyes lit up. "Love me?" He edged closer to Ianto, his body angled toward the stairs as if poised to escape. "Not just the terribly fond of me, love me as friend, it's not you, it's me kind of love, right?"

Ianto's expression softened at the raw desire to believe blazing from Jack's eyes. "No, I love you as in I love you. Full stop. But don't forget the idiot part."

A frown appeared between Jack's eyes, even as he took another step closer. "And I'm an idiot why?"

It was an effort to keep both his distance and a straight face. Ianto didn't think he'd ever loved Jack as much as he did in that moment, a tiny passage of time balanced between breathless hope and joyful acceptance, that shimmered in the cool air around them. Jack's eyes were wide, his head lowered and hands curled into loose fists, every line of his body anticipating Ianto's next words.

It obviously wasn't what Jack was expecting and he straightened in surprise. "Uh, you gave me a key, remember?"

"I looked for that everywhere, even your best hiding spots. Where did you keep it?"

Jack snapped open his wrist strap and wordlessly held out his arm. Tucked inside a small flap in the underside of the cover, Ianto could see the dull brass tip of the house key he'd given Jack. He looked up with disbelieving eyes.

Jack nodded, snapping the lid closed with a flick of his wrist. "It's the only thing you've ever given me," he said in a tone of apology. "I like keeping it close."

"Jack," Ianto bit his lip as a laugh fought its way to the surface, "in this culture, when someone gives you a key to their home, it generally means they'd like you to live there. With them. Quite possibly at the same time."

Jack's eyes narrowed as he closed the distance between them until they were only inches apart. "First I was an idiot," he said with a silky purr, "then a liar, and now I'm a lousy con artist?"

Ianto swallowed but held his ground when Jack slid his palms on Ianto's hips, fingers gliding just above the drawstring waistband of his pyjamas. "I think that sums it up nicely."

"Let's get back to the I love you part." Jack leaned forward, his eyes caressing Ianto's mouth. "Because the direction this conversation is taking is not working in my favour."

"Well, I don't know," Ianto murmured. Jack's proximity was seducing his senses, making his body ache for the touch he thought he'd have to live without. Calloused thumbs slipped beneath his waistband to swirl slowly over his hip bones as warm breath ghosted over the flushed skin of his cheeks, making it difficult to think clearly. "What are your good qualities?"

"Taken as read," Ianto replied. He slipped a finger along the inside of one of Jack's braces, relishing the swift hiss in his ear when his knuckle brushed a nipple. "But dashing isn't exactly a marketable skill."

"So I've seen. However, I'm not. Can't carry a tune, either, so no karaoke duets."

"Hmm." Jack released his hold on Ianto's hips and folded him into his arms, tipping them so that Ianto had to look up into Jack's eyes. Ianto watched as the flirty, confident grin faded, replaced by something far more compelling. "I have fabulous taste in lovers."

Ianto felt his cheeks burn hotter. "Flattering, but not exactly a rousing endorsement at this particular moment."

"Then how about this." Jack skimmed his mouth along Ianto's jaw, dropping his voice to an intimate whisper. "Given the choice between you and all the wonders of the universe, I chose you."

Ianto slid his arms around Jack's shoulders, settling into the curve of Jack's body. "You said you came back for all of us—"

"No, no, Ianto Jones. I may have decided to return to Torchwood, but I was always coming back for you."

The staggering reality that Jack was stating nothing less than a fact made Ianto's breath stutter in his chest. "God, Jack—"

"Shh, I know." That beautiful, beloved mouth curved up in a smile. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Jack lowered his head, finding Ianto's lips for a searching kiss that brought unwanted moisture to Ianto's eyes. It gathered at the corner of his lashes and Jack licked it away, murmuring soft, happy, unintelligible words as he moved on to nuzzle a kiss beneath Ianto's ear. Ianto dipped his head and recaptured Jack's mouth, shuddering as he felt Jack's fingers trace down his belly to tug at the drawstrings of his pyjamas.

"You are planning on staying the night," Ianto murmured against Jack's mouth. In response, Jack slid his hands beneath the fabric of the loosened pyjamas and over Ianto's hips, guiding the thin fabric down Ianto's thighs until it fell the rest of the way on its own to settle in folds around his ankles. "Can I assume that is a yes?" he added breathlessly.

"Oh, you wanted an answer? Hell, yes, I'm staying." He kissed Ianto hard, palms coursing over the downy surface of Ianto's lower back, guiding Ianto's body against his fully clothed form as both men gasped at the unexpectedly erotic sensation.

Ianto kicked away the pyjamas and climbed onto the bed, rising to his knees and holding out his hand in invitation. Jack took it and tucked a kiss into his palm, then leaned down to exchange a lazy kiss as he slipped his braces off his shoulders. Ianto began working on shirt buttons but quickly lost his place as Jack's hands and lips began a full-on assault of Ianto's senses. Jack kept a firm grip on Ianto's hips as he began working a love bite on the tender skin of Ianto's throat, groaning in protest when Ianto pulled away.

"Jack." Ianto took a steadying breath gathered Jack's wandering hands, clasping them between his own. "This will be easier if you stop distracting me."

Jack ignored him, leaning over their joined hands to steal another kiss. "I like distracting you," he said with a soft laugh. "That's half the fun."

Sensing stronger tactics were needed, Ianto released Jack's hand to brush the back of his fingers along the zip of Jack's trousers. The gratifyingly sharp intake of breath was evidence enough that his strategy was working.

Suitably inspired, Jack swiftly removed his clothing and joined Ianto on the bed, their coming together turning from the easy arousal that was always between them to a celebration of what they were becoming to each other. That heart stopping realisation tempered the sharpness of their desire and they chose to make love slowly, thankfully, losing themselves in exquisite sensation and the terrifying depths of uncharted love.

"So glad I didn't lose you." Jack dropped a kiss on Ianto's forehead and shifted until Ianto was wrapped more securely in his embrace.

Ianto blinked sleepily, his lashes tickling the velvet-soft skin of Jack's chest. "Actually—what time is it?"

Ianto counted backward to the hour that he'd seen Jack and Gwen dancing, to that dark moment when he thought he'd witnessed the death of a fiercely protected dream. Eight hours, give or take. He'd held out for eight whole hours.

"You already have Myfanwy." Ianto yawned and gave Jack's belly a clumsy pat. "And Owen. Isn't that enough?"

"I want a golden retriever and you offer me a dinosaur and a dead man." Jack chuckled and kissed the top of Ianto's head. "This domesticity thing is going to be interesting."

Chapter Eight

"Sorry I'm late." Ianto passed out everyone's Styrofoam dinner containers with an apologetic smile. He set a plate of shortbread in the middle of the table, then handed Owen the latest edition of the Echo. "The weather is making traffic miserable and I had an appointment across town."

Ianto glanced at Jack as he sat down beside him at the table, raising his eyebrows at the frank admiration in Jack's expression. Before he could say anything, Owen snapped open the paper with an annoyed grunt.

"Oh, great. Ianto gets his hair trimmed and now we have to watch Jack make cow eyes at him for the rest of the night. It's enough to make me want to toss up the contents of my stomach, if my digestive tract still functioned properly."

"Ew, Owen!" Gwen through a plastic fork in his direction, taking care to miss him, but barely. "You don't have to remind us at every opportunity about your lack of bodily functions."

Owen retrieved the fork from the floor and threw it back at her. "Yes, I do, because while I can't take pleasure in food, alcohol or a rattlin' good shag, I can still enjoy trying to gross you out."

"Good luck with that," Tosh chimed in. She speared a tomato off her salad and meticulously dipped it in dressing, eyeing it closely to make sure she had the correct vegetable to dressing ratio. "You're saying that to a group of people who step in alien entrails on a weekly basis."

"Huh." Owen jerked a thumb in Jack's direction. "Still not as nauseating as those two these days."

Jack grinned at him around a mouthful of sandwich and Ianto smothered a laugh behind a cough. He really didn't care what Owen thought, especially since he knew Owen was being annoying out of habit, not any real malice, an unexpected benefit of his admittedly tragic situation.

Dinner progressed normally, conversation flowing around the table in desultory waves. Ianto found himself intercepting Jack's wandering fingers on several occasions; it seemed the newly revealed skin on the back of his neck was too tempting for Jack to leave alone. Huffing in disappointment after having his hand slapped away again, Jack pushed away the remains of his dinner and leaned back in his chair.

"In the interest of complete disclosure," he announced, "I wanted to let you all know that Ianto and I are now officially living together."

Gwen turned confused eyes to Jack. "I'm not sure I understand. Living together meaning—"

"Sharing the sheets," Jack leered. He reached again for Ianto's neck and pouted when his wrist was pinched.

"So, Jack," Gwen brought their attention back to her. "You've actually moved in, you're not living in your quarters below any more."

Jack shrugged. "More or less. With the hours we keep it's not like it will make that much of a difference, but since I've been sleeping at Ianto's most nights anyway—"

"Excuse me." Owen dropped the newspaper and briefly clapped his hands over his ears. "Contrary to popular belief, we don't want to hear the details."

"I do," Tosh spoke up. At Owen's glare, she continued, "sorry, I just can't imagine Jack taking out the rubbish or washing the dishes. That's all part of it, isn't it?"

As Jack hotly protested that he damn well knew how to rinse a coffee cup, Ianto tugged the paper napkin from his collar and folded it into a neat square. "Jack has an alternative skill set."

"Meaning," Ianto continued with a bland smile, "that his share of the household duties have more to do with repair. The house is old and even though I've been working at it for months, I can't keep up with everything that needs to be done."

He didn't bother to add that Jack had taken to his new responsibilities with such innocent enthusiasm that Ianto wondered how long Jack had yearned for a home of his own without realising it. Everything about the house fascinated Jack, from the tricky toilet handle (now fixed) to the sagging back porch (to be levelled as soon as the weather turned fair). He teased Ianto with hideous paint colour suggestions and had quickly gained an ally in Marcy, who said Jack could do whatever he bloody well pleased as long as the rent was on time and he stopped by to chat now and then.

Jack would never be domesticated and Ianto never wanted him to feel trapped. He still roamed the slick streets and shadowy rooftops in the dark hours of early morning, sometimes not returning until Ianto had completed the downward thrust on the French press for their first morning coffee. Some nights he didn't come home at all, meeting Ianto at the Hub later, where they'd share a quick kiss and a quiet moment before beginning the day. Jack's attempts to hide the discomfort he felt at being away from what had been the centre of his existence for so long sometimes overwhelmed Ianto with the desire to protect him, to offer him a sanctuary where he could be something other than Captain Jack Harkness and all that entailed.

But for Ianto, he was content. He had most of Jack's clothes stuffed alongside his in their tiny wardrobe, he'd taught Jack how to use the French press (which was strictly to Ianto's advantage), and they were currently conducting an ongoing war over whose responsibility it was to make the bed. Jack wanted to, Ianto wouldn't allow him, and so far the argument had yielded no losers, since tug-of-war with the comforter often ended in the bed having to be re-made anyway.

"Right, so now that my domestic situation is out of the way," Jack folded hands over his heart. "Toshiko, you beautiful, clever thing, I need you desperately."

Tosh looked up in surprise from the piece of shortbread she was nibbling. "Yes?"

"Special project, my office, five minutes." He rose to his feet and wandered behind Ianto, hands clasped behind his back.

Ianto stood up in time to duck away from Jack's latest attempt to touch the newly revealed skin of his nape. Ignoring Jack's grunt of frustration, he turned to Tosh. "Jack had the idea to install a remote Rift monitor at the house."

Toshiko's eyes lit up. "Really? Well, imagine I could come up with something." She frowned and broke off a small piece of shortbread, popping it in her mouth. "It's going to need more power than a normal household is wired to handle, especially if it's in an older home. And any kind of massive power drain is going to show up on the grid immediately."

Jack grinned down at her like a proud father. "Which, of course, brings me to special project number two. Diverting the power drain. You up for it?"

"Sounds like fun." Tosh dusted her hands and pushed back her chair. "Just the kind of little diversion I need on a night like this. Anything is better than going out in that downpour."

She brushed past Jack, who stared after her as she left the room, muttering to herself. "A little diversion?" he echoed.

"Coming!" Jack gave the rest of them a two-fingered salute and turned to follow, taking an exaggerated step around Ianto with his hands in his pockets. Their gazes met and Ianto inclined his head, one eyebrow slightly aloft, and Jack's eyes darkened in understanding. Then Jack was on the move, bellowing Tosh's name as he snagged one of the shortbreads from the plate on the table.

Owen shoved aside the newspaper and slouched into the curve of his chair. "Well, glad someone has something to do tonight. I'd die of boredom if I weren't already—"

"Dead," Gwen sighed, "yes, we know. Although I have to agree, it is slow enough to make me wish for something to happen. I'd go home but Rhys is out with friends, there's nothing on the telly and nothing to do but empty the dishwasher."

Ianto reached for the discarded newspaper, intent on throwing it away with the rest of the rubbish. Owen had left it unfolded and out of order and Ianto picked it up, his gaze idly drifting over the headlines.

"So, Ianto," Gwen leaned her elbows on the conference table, dark hair swinging over her cheeks. "What's it really like, living with Jack?"

Ignoring Owen's groan, she gave Ianto a conspiratorial grin. "Living with Jack, what's it like? Does he leave his towels on the bathroom floor, squeeze the toothpaste from the middle? Come on, you can tell us."

Ianto considered answering her impertinent questions (no, and of course not), but it had been only two weeks since Jack had shown up in his bed in the middle of the night, and the newness of their situation was something he wanted to keep to himself, not share with curious co-workers.

Instead he placed the newspaper on the table and shook his head. "He's Jack," he said with a shrug. Gwen pouted in disappointment as Ianto reached behind her to remove his coat jacket from his chair. "Listen, I'm going to go out for a while."

"The cinema? On a night like this, by yourself? That's a bit pathetic, even for you."

Ianto slipped on his jacket, shaking out the collar and straightening his cuffs. "It's not just any cinema, it's an old theatre across town and tonight they're showing some recently found archival footage. We've had reports of sporadic Rift activity from it over the years, but according to Tosh, nothing has ever manifested." He glanced at his watch. "If I leave now, I'll just make it in time. I should only be gone an hour or—"

"I want to go." Ianto looked at Gwen in surprise, vaguely annoyed that she was inviting herself. "Nothing else to do," she added defensively.

"Yeah, me too." Owen stood up. "I'm in. Even a grotty old cinema is better than hanging around here."

Ianto began to warm to the idea—going alone was fine but he found that he liked the idea of company. The team rarely had the opportunity or inclination to spend their down time together and since the Electro held such meaning for him, he was surprisingly eager to share the experience. It was also a chance to relax, to get away and do something not Torchwood, and relive some rare, happy memories.

He needed to get out, to get away before they all came crashing down, the barriers between hard-won control and the grief that clawed at the back of his eyes and seared the breath in his throat. He had to find a place to ride it out, some place where Jack and the others wouldn't have to witness the pain and anger that was demanding to be poured out after the unfathomable tragedies that the Night Travellers had left behind.

Talking to Jack in his office had been agonizing as he'd struggled to remain professional. He'd filled out the artefact form blindly, scarcely knowing what he'd written down before turning the flask over to Jack. That had been the worst of it, trying to put up a front that discerning blue eyes couldn't penetrate, because the last thing he wanted was to be yet another worry for Jack to shoulder. When he finally couldn't stand it any more, he pivoted and left Jack to lock up the flask, his only goal to go to ground and let the encroaching wave of sorrow take its toll.

But he couldn't let go, not yet. He had to make it past the others without notice, or at least without them witnessing how close he was to losing the precarious hold on his emotions. He'd almost made it to the cog door when he heard Gwen call out to him.

She walked toward him, a file in her hand. "That young boy, the one who survived?"

"He does have more relatives, quite a few of them, in fact." Gwen handed over the file with a sad shake of her head. "There's the aunt from Bristol that's already at the hospital and grandparents coming down from London. Cousins, uncles, even an older half-brother. He'll be fine."

Ianto took the folder and opened it to see photos of normal looking people whose lives had just been randomly destroyed by something no one would ever be able to explain. He closed the folder and handed it back to Gwen with a small, non-committal smile that she returned uncertainly. Her gaze fell on the crumpled lapel of his suit coat and she frowned as she reached out a hand to smooth it down.

"Not like you to be wrinkled," she said with a sigh of mock irritation. When Ianto stepped back, out of the reach of her fingers, her expression turned to one of confusion. "Ianto, you all right?"

Her innocent, well-meant question fell like a hammer against old plaster, causing hairline cracks in his hard-won composure. He tightened his lips and nodded, trying to assuage her curiosity with a swift, comforting touch to her wrist as he turned back toward the exit.

"I'll be upstairs," he said unnecessarily, almost hopefully, as if the attempt return to normal operations would hasten his own healing, yet knowing that it wouldn't. He reached the tourist office level and out of habit checked to see that everything was where he'd left it, then slipped out into the chill of a February night.

He made it all the way up to the Plass before realising he had no destination in mind. There were only two places in his life, the Hub and his house, and now that he and Jack lived together, he had no refuge where he could be alone. And he wanted to be alone, to fight off the heartache churning up inside him before he was consumed by it. This was what he'd trained himself to do, how he'd always chosen to deal with sorrow and grief and pain—by himself, separate, unwilling to share those feelings for fear that he'd be judged weak or unworthy. He wouldn't risk everything he had—he wouldn't risk Jack's love—by showing himself unable to bear the burdens of Torchwood.

Looking around forlornly, hunched against the cold, his eyes swept over and then back toward the familiar path he used to take to Lisa's marker, and before he could make a concious decision, his feet were already moving.

The walk to Lisa's gnarled tree was conducted almost in a daze, as if Ianto could sense the refuge it offered and knew if he made it that far without breaking down, he'd have accomplished one small, important task. The streets were deserted on this quiet, breezy evening, and as he skidded down the patch of bracken that led to the tree, he felt a perfect silence gather around him, exactly what he wanted.

Reaching the base of the tree, he placed one palm against the rough, damp bark and paused, squinting through the darkness toward the small impression that had once hidden the canister holding the remnants of his love for Lisa. It was barely discernible, a black, mud-sticky dent in the dirt that would be overgrown with grass come spring, obliterating the last trace of the memorial.

For Jonathan Penn's parents, there would be a small funeral, attended by nosy, black-clad mourners who'd nod their heads wisely and commiserate over the sad state of a world that let loose toxic clouds from chemical plants, killing innocent people. Jonathan himself would have imperfect memories of the tragedy, supplemented by carefully constructed Torchwood lies that would guide his thoughts down the correct pathways to keep him safely ignorant.

But all the retcon in the world, and all of the team's work to conceal the true nature of the deaths, wouldn't alter the fact that Jonathan had lost his family, that a beloved only child was now an orphan, and a young man who'd once contemplated a secure future now had only uncertainty, mourning and loneliness to keep him company.

Ianto closed his eyes and balanced his shoulders against the tree, trembling hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, weariness dragging at his bones. He'd gone to Jonathan's workshop and removed all the canisters of film, tossing them in the back of the SUV for incineration later. Then he'd returned to the now abandoned Electro to ensure that there weren't any more of the canisters stored there. It was as he'd come down the stairs from the projection room that he'd heard a muffled noise coming from the theatre, and setting a suspect reel of film aside, he'd entered the theatre from the back, one hand on the weapon nestled in his hip holster.

The lights in the theatre were on but lowered to a dull glow, yet Ianto had no problem making out Jonathan Penn's bowed head in one of the aisle seats only a few rows from the back. The heartbreaking sounds of sobbing came to his ears and he lowered his head, unwilling to intrude on such naked grief but unwilling to leave Jonathan hurting on his own. Memories of the loss of his own parents and the consequences of being cut adrift from his only source of love and security at a vulnerable age urged him forward, reluctantly but steadily, hoping he'd find something for Jonathan to hold on to.

Jonathan had looked up as Ianto had drawn level with his seat. Red-rimmed, tear-washed eyes blinked at him in the gloom, the earpieces of his glasses twisted between his fingers. Beside him on the floor was a small satchel, the open zip revealing several books and an indistinguishable article of clothing.

"Yeah, sure." Jonathan lowered his gaze to the glasses in his hand. "You're from that government agency, the one investigating the chemical leak."

Ianto went down on one knee beside him. "Right. I was just stopping by to take some readings. You really shouldn't be here, you know."

Jonathan nodded. "I know. I just wanted to get some of my dad's—my dad's things—" His voice broke and the glasses tumbled to the carpet as he buried his face his hands, sobs rocking his shoulders. Ianto knelt on both knees beside him, sliding one arm across the young man's back and drawing him close, murmuring quiet, nonsensical words of comfort. Jonathan turned his head into Ianto's shoulder and began to weep out his grief, one hand clutching the lapel of Ianto's suit jacket.

They remained like that until Jonathan's sobs faded off into hoarse, wet hiccups, his fingers still twisted in Ianto's lapel. When he finally raised his head, his cheeks now stained with embarrassment as well as tears, Ianto released him and rocked back onto his heels, offering him an encouraging smile.

"Yeah, little bit." He took the glasses that Ianto held out to him and slipped them on, taking a deep, calming breath. "Sorry about that," he added sheepishly.

Feeling far older than his own twenty-four years, Ianto patted his arm. "No worries, you're entitled. Now, you've got family to be with you, yes?"

His stomach clenched as Jonathan shook his head. "Nah, it was just the three of us. This place was their dream, the reason I put off going to university this year. Now, with everything that's happened, we'll probably lose this place and all the money my parents put into it." He sniffed hard against another wave of tears. "Reckon I'll have to sell it off just to pay the debts."

Jonathan shook his head. "That's out of the question now, I guess. Don't know what I'll do next."

He fell silent and Ianto bit his lip, searching for something to offer Jonathan, something that no one had thought to give him under similar circumstances. Torchwood policy was very strict regarding the interference of its personnel in the lives of victims they encountered in the course of their work: guide them toward normal sources of relief and basic services and then walk away. But as Jonathan surreptitiously wiped his nose along the inner sleeve of his cotton jacket, Ianto knew this would be one of the few times he felt compelled to bend the rules.

Ianto rose to his feet, hiding a wince as his sore knees protested. "Have you eaten?"

Jonathan shook his head. Gathering the straps of the bag, he stood up and looked around. "Not hungry," he said absently. "Too much to do. I've got to see about getting the cameras returned to the museum and talk to someone about removing—"

Guiding Jonathan toward the lobby with a touch to his elbow, Ianto let him talk until they were close to the front door. It was late afternoon and although he knew there was nothing Jonathan would be able to do until tomorrow, he knew that letting him vocalise his concerns helped him feel had some power over his immediate future.

"That's all good," he said as Jonathan wound down, "but why don't we go get a coffee, maybe a sandwich."

Jonathan nodded automatically, then gave Ianto a sharp glance."Why? I mean, yeah, thank you, but this isn't really your job, is it?"

Ianto shrugged and opened the door, ushering Jonathan onto the pavement. "Does it matter? I'm hungry and you need to eat eventually. May as well go together and maybe we can sort some of this out."

And Jonathan had smiled at him, tentatively, hopefully, his heart in his eyes as he realised that he wasn't as alone as he'd thought he'd be, and any guilt that Ianto was starting to feel about his interference had melted away.

The knots in the tree behind him were digging into his shoulders as Ianto struggled one last time to explain away the emotions the appearance of the Night Travellers had dredged up. He'd certainly seen more than his share of innocent people whose lives were either lost or destroyed for no reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and just as certainly, he'd see many more as long as he worked for Torchwood.

But this case had been so different, so personal, from the beginning. A place from his past, a rare moment of affectionate remembrance, despoiled by phantoms who lived to kill their audience. A touch of evil on his shoulder, the lonely story of a woman who'd lost her entire life to fear, the last breath of a young boy who'd grow up far away from everything he'd ever known. Jonathan, not much younger than himself but too young to be alone, his dreams gone and his family obliterated, and nothing that Ianto would be able to do or provide would change that.

It was as he was remembering saying goodnight to Jonathan at his parent's house that Ianto allowed the silent tears to overflow. He'd wanted to take Jonathan somewhere where the memories wouldn't be so painful, but Jonathan had insisted, faltering only when Ianto had squeezed his shoulder in farewell. Ianto made no promises to contact him again but had written down his private cell number in direct violation of Torchwood policy. Given the look of helpless gratitude on Jonathan's face, he found he really didn't care.

The tears continued to fall and Ianto let them, his eyes open and sightless, the lower muscles of his back tensing as he fought to keep them from turning into body-wracking sobs. He forced himself to breathe deeply, a fresh surge of tears flowing upward with each exhalation as he tried to empty himself of the poisonous pain trapped inside. He'd always wept too easily, a trait that had embarrassed him too many times to count and one of the reasons he sought privacy when he could. But now he cried for all the victims, for his own innocence lost long before he'd ever heard the word Torchwood, and for the lives he'd never be able to save.

The brisk wind began to cool his wet cheeks, bringing him some semblance of awareness. He fished out his handkerchief and mopped the tears from his face, then gave his nose a discreet blow. Straightening from his now uncomfortable slouch against the tree, he folded the cotton and slid it into his pocket, gave the knot in his tie a quick adjustment and rolled his stiff shoulders. He felt empty and calm and very lonely, wishing that there had been some sense of closure at the end of all the tears. He finally noticed the chill settling into his bones and as he fought off a shiver, he made the decision to return to the Hub. Since no one had made any effort to contact him, he was reasonably sure that his time away had not been noticed and he congratulated himself that he'd been able to deal with his emotions without anyone witnessing his breakdown.

That vague satisfaction disappeared instantly when he stepped over the largest of the roots to begin the walk back up to the street. Standing ten feet away, Ianto's overcoat over his arm and a plastic bottle of water in his hand, was Jack Harkness.

"J-Jack!" Ianto stuttered, looking around as if expecting the other members of his team to pop up out of the grass. "What are you doing here?"

Jack strolled toward him and in the dark, Ianto couldn't read his expression. Unnerved by Jack's silence, he took the offered coat and put it on, then accepted the water with a nod of thanks. He took a deep drink, then tried again.

Jack stepped around him and walked a few feet below where Lisa's marker used to reside. Using the toe of his boot, he kicked at the mud, stirring up a few of the pebbles that had once framed the marker.

Startled, Ianto nearly allowed the water bottle to slip from suddenly nerveless fingers. "What?"

"Yes. When Gwen told me tonight that you were upset, I had a feeling you'd come here."

Something was off in Jack's voice and Ianto edged closer to him, suspecting that there was something going on at the Hub that Jack was reluctant to tell him. He also wanted to explore how Jack knew about this place, but Torchwood had to be the priority.

Jack put his hands on hips and lowered his head to stare at the ground. "Ianto," he murmured.

Alarmed, Ianto stepped to Jack's side and slipped his hand inside Jack's palm. "What?"

Jack took a deep breath, then used Ianto's hand to yank him into a hard embrace. The bottle fell unnoticed to the dirt as Ianto went gladly, finding the shelter of Jack's body more consoling than all the tears he'd shed. He burrowed his arms beneath the greatcoat and buried his face in Jack's neck, preparing himself for whatever Jack had to say but relishing the warmth and safety that Jack represented.

"Ianto," Jack whispered against the tender skin behind his ear, "listen to me. If you need to come here to feel safe, I understand. If this is where you need to go for comfort, I get it. But I want you to know that I am here for you, that I am in this with you, and if one day, this place isn't enough, you can come to me and I will always be here for you. Just give me a chance, that's all I'm asking."

Ianto stiffened and tried to pull away. Jack's arms tightened, one hand sliding up into Ianto's hair and holding him securely so that Ianto's cheek remained pressed to Jack's.

Making a little sound of protest, Ianto tried again to get Jack to release him, but Jack's hold on him remained almost uncomfortably tight. The false sense of calm he'd achieved alone had been shattered by Jack's arrival, but now Ianto felt almost ashamed as he realised that in his desire to prove he was worthy of Jack's love, he was cutting himself off from it at the same time.

He'd sworn to accept Jack exactly as he is, even to the point of letting him go again when the time came, no matter what the personal cost. But as Jack rocked him gently side to side beneath the ancient tree, he knew he'd misjudged Jack's commitment. Whereas Jack had no problem blending together the myriad aspects of his extraordinary life, Ianto would rather compartmentalize his own world, and by doing so he was missing out on one of the more tender aspects of being loved by someone. It was a lesson that had begun just like this, held safe in Jack's arms on the anniversary of Canary Wharf so many months ago, and it had yet to be fully learned.

With a sigh, Ianto pressed back against Jack's embrace until he was granted just enough room to look into Jack's eyes.

"Apparently," Ianto murmured, a reluctant smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, "there is more than one idiot in this relationship."

Despite the fitful light coming from the street lamps, Ianto could see Jack's eyes begin to shine in amusement.

"Well, I wasn't going to point it out," Jack confided with exaggerated reluctance, then leaned in and covered Ianto's mouth with his own. They shared a slow, easy kiss, tongues twisting together in a lazy dance, and Ianto revelled in it, in Jack and his ability to cut through Ianto's stubborn layers and lay him bare with rare tenderness.

They held each other until a sharp gust of wind had Ianto shivering again. Jack gently bit Ianto's lower lip, then swiped it with his tongue. "Ready to head back?"

Ianto nodded and kissed the corner of Jack's mouth. As they disentangled from each other, he stole a glance at Jack and then looked down at the mud they'd trampled beneath their feet.

Jack settled the collar of his greatcoat around his neck. "It was actually Tosh who tipped me off. Ever since Mary and her nasty amulet she likes to watch random CCTV footage and she kept catching you on the same path. She assumed I knew where you went and asked me about it and before you get pissed off at her, she did it because she was concerned about you. Then I just took it from there. The camera coverage ends up at the end of the street, so one night I just started nosing around to see where it was you wandered off to. Once I found it, I tried to keep an eye on it, but I've only been been back here once since Owen got shot. What happened to it?"

Ianto swallowed, the memory still hurtful. He retrieved the fallen water bottle and wiped off the mud that had gathered on its surface. "Vandalised."

"Damn." The single word was soft and laced with regret. Putting a hand on Ianto's shoulder, Jack began to guide him up the grassy slope to the street. "I'm sorry. Does it bother you that I knew about it?"

Ianto shook his head. Jack had known about the memorial but had never interfered, and Ianto was touched that Jack had felt protective towards it. He had a fleeting regret that Jack and Lisa had never met and wanted to imagine they would've liked each other, both of them with their brilliant minds and endless curiosity, both of them shining so brightly in their own way that sometimes Ianto felt dim and slow in comparison.

They reached street level and as Jack moved a few steps beyond him, Ianto turned and looked back at the tree that had sheltered Lisa's marker. A crooked black outline against a pale grey sky, it had served its purpose and would stand long after Ianto was gone. He knew this would be his last visit and the realisation was bittersweet.

He smiled as he felt a tug on the back of his collar, followed by a fleeting touch of lips to his neck.

"Come on," Jack murmured, "let's go back to work, because later tonight I have a date with a certain portion of your anatomy that's been driving me crazy."

"Just one part of me?" Ianto turned and fell into step with Jack, their hands coming together in a comfortable, familiar grip. "The rest of me may feel neglected."

"Well, that part and everything it's attached to. Seriously, you need to give me some warning when you're due for a haircut so I can plan ahead."

"I'll put a pop-up on your schedule. In the meantime, I have another project I'd like to discuss with you before you get too distracted to concentrate."

Jack gave Ianto's hand a squeeze. "I get too distracted to concentrate? Is that a challenge?"

Chapter Nine

"At least I don't go stomping off to the nearest building above two stories to pout in front of the entire city."

"No, you hide out down in the archives like a five year old who's been sent to his room."

"Yeah, right. For all I know you're reading comic books by torchlight and eating Owen's Fig Newtons."

"It's the principal of the thing. Now, are you two fighting? Don't tell me the honeymoon's over already."

Jack unsnapped the holster from his belt and tossed it onto his desk, ignoring Ianto's pained wince as he turned to Owen with righteous indignation.

"Get this. I make plans to go weevil hunting with Ianto and guess what? Ianto actually wants to hunt weevils!"

Ianto sighed as he slid out of his suit coat. "I didn't want to go weevil hunting on our weevil hunt, but when they come up to the SUV and knock on the window, they're rather hard to ignore."

"We could've ignored him but no, you had to climb into the front seat and get the spray and did I mention that you kicked me in the—"

Owen threw up his hands. "Hold it, wait. Are you saying that the two of you use the term weevil hunting for shagging in the back seat of the SUV?"

"Oh, my God," Owen muttered, backing out of Jack's office. "That's very disturbing."

"Yeah, well," Jack flopped into his chair, "it's also frustrating as hell. Talk about ruining a moment. Getting naked in the back of a car isn't as easy as it sounds, you know."

Ianto slouched against the railing, legs crossed at the ankles and tie at half-mast. "I think we offended him."

Jack shrugged. "He'll get over it. Meanwhile, you need to figure out a way to make it up to me."

Eyebrows raised in polite disbelief, Ianto replied, "And this was my fault how?"

"Hmm?" Jack picked up a random sheet of paper from his desk and examined it. "Nothing, why?"

Jack lowered the paper just enough to meet Ianto's eyes. "Not all night," he said with a wink.

"All right," Ianto conceded, "I did have a few moments of your attention before that weevil tried to make it a threesome. But beyond that, well, you're not all here. Is something bothering you?"

Jack sighed and tossed the paper aside. "I'm concerned about Gwen. She's getting involved in something that could hurt her very badly if I'm not careful."

Ianto pushed off from the rail, fingers at the knot of his tie. "If you're not careful? Is she in danger?" He slipped the knot loose and stripped the tie from his neck, draping it over the pile of requisition forms in Jack's in box.

"Not physical danger, no. But she's getting into things she shouldn't and I don't know how to stop her without telling her why."

Ianto sat on the edge of Jack's desk. "Maybe you could just tell her the truth."

Jack laid his hand on Ianto's thigh, stroking it idly. "She's asking about Flat Holm. She doesn't know she is, but that's what it's going to come down to if I can't figure out a way to divert her."

Flat Holm. Ianto knew very little about it himself, other than Jack had forbidden him to ever go out there. The only thing he was entrusted with was ordering supplies and arranging their delivery, but even then, Jack made sure that Ianto had no idea who was asking for the provisions since all communications came directly from Jack. It was one of the few Torchwood secrets that Ianto had never been able to uncover.

Taken aback by Jack's vehemence, Ianto eyed him with curiosity. It wasn't like Jack to react so emotionally unless the stakes were unusually high. He gathered Jack's hand in his and laced their fingers together.

"Whatever it is that's out there, maybe it's time you let someone help you. Instead of shielding Gwen, perhaps you should let her find out what it is and decide for herself if this is something she wants to pursue. You know she's not going to let it go."

"All right," Ianto agreed with a placid nod, "if you say so. In the meantime, she's going to need a reason to stop."

Jack rubbed his thumb across Ianto's knuckles and gave him a crooked smile. "I'll think of something. It'll be okay."

Ianto slumped deeper into his chair, his gaze lowered as Gwen and Jack continued to face off over the conference room table. Beside him he could feel Toshiko's discomfort as two strong wills battled over something only Jack knew the truth about, and he was making it very obvious it was going to remain that way, despite Gwen's passionate request.

Jack stood up and stomped away, leaving Gwen slack-mouthed with anger in his wake. Before he could think it through, Ianto rose to his feet, his aim to try and come to some kind of compromise that would defuse the situation. He sympathised with Gwen, knowing how hard it was to let go of something when you knew deep down inside that you could help, but his concern was for Jack and his almost desperate need to control the situation.

Following Jack down the corridor, Ianto paused and held out his hand to Gwen, silently asking her to be patient. "I'll talk to him."

Ianto nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets, aware of Gwen's hopeful eyes watching them. "Then you have to give her a reason why. She deserves to know."

Jack's lips tightened. "She also deserves to be protected. And I can't do that if she doesn't follow orders."

"I expect her, and you for that matter, to defer to my experience, even if it doesn't make sense. I deserve that much."

"Then let me go to Flat Holm and find her answers for her. Then I can come back and—"

Jack cut him off, raising his hand, one finger extended to emphasise his point. "Forget it. You're not going out there for the same reason she can't know it even exists. This subject is closed."

Ianto watched as Jack stormed away, shooting one more admonishing look at Ianto before turning the corner. Biting his lip, Ianto turned back to Gwen in time to see her expression crumble, not needing any words from Ianto to tell her the outcome of their conversation. Then he saw her eyes harden, her resolve visibly strengthening, and he groaned inside. The subject was most definitely not closed.

It didn't take him long to decide what to do. As much as he trusted Jack to make hard choices for his team, there had been an almost fanatical edge to Jack's refusal to cooperate with Gwen's investigation. Knowing he was courting Jack's wrath, Ianto chose to point Gwen in the direction of Flat Holm in the hope that she'd find her answers and beyond that, have the ability to handle whatever those answers turned out to be. It was a calculated risk, but in this situation, he didn't think Jack was being fair to any of them, especially himself.

But his guilt at thwarting Jack's orders made him uncomfortable, playing a large part in allowing Jack to coax him into a game of hide and seek in the Hub later that night. He'd refused to participate again after the last round a week earlier, when Jack had cheated so blatantly that Ianto had threatened to deny Jack's demand for victory sex on the roof of the Millennium Centre. But, since that would have punished them both, he'd graciously given in with a stern warning about cheating in the future. When Jack had suggested another game after everyone had left for the night, Ianto had acquiesced, much to Jack's surprised delight. Ianto only hoped that the happy gleam in Jack's eyes wouldn't be extinguished for too long once he'd learned what Ianto had done. Knowing that the damning GPS was sitting on Gwen's desk while they made love in the greenhouse was distracting, but Ianto was nothing if not good at multi-tasking.

And he was fully resigned to being found out, he just didn't know when. Whatever he felt about Jack's inability to make sound decisions regarding the little island, Ianto firmly believed that there was something truly horrible out there, something so chilling that Jack would risk the trust of his team to keep it a secret. If it turned out to be something that Gwen couldn't handle, Ianto knew he would have no one to blame but himself.

The peremptory tone barked in his ear as soon as he answered his mobile told Ianto more than words that Jack was angry and as far as Ianto knew, there could be only one reason.

The connexion was severed and Ianto rubbed his hand over his eyes. They had a strict though tacit policy not to discuss certain aspects of their work at home, since early on Ianto had bluntly informed Jack that once they crossed that threshold, there would be no captains, bosses, or butlers. Just Jack, and just Ianto, and at least in that small space, in those quiet hours, they would be equal. Jack's insistence on Ianto returning to the Hub was nothing less than fair warning that the next few hours were not going to be pleasant.

Jack was waiting for him as he descended from the tourist office and a quick glance around confirmed that it was just the two of them. Standing in the middle of the Hub's main floor, arms crossed tightly over his chest, Jack made no effort to conceal just how angry he was as he launched directly into his attack.

"What makes you think," Jack ground out between clenched teeth, "that you can substitute your judgement for mine, especially when the well-being of one of your own team members is at stake?"

Ianto met his gaze calmly, even though he was shaking inside. "I didn't see it that way."

"I told you, I was trying to protect her! Not every secret needs to be told, Ianto! Now she's gone home in tears and I am having serious trust issues with you."

Ianto bowed his head in acceptance. He'd expected nothing less, but he stood by his decision and Jack needed to know that.

"I know, and I'm sorry. But you can't control everything, no matter how hard you try. We all follow your lead but sometimes that just isn't enough. We have brains, Jack, and we can't turn them off just because you wish it. Gwen was right, you allow us our special projects, things that touch us or capture our imagination, like Jonathan. If you take those away, then you'll kill everything about us that you cherish."

"It's not that easy." Jack flung out a hand toward the Rift manipulator. "It's my job to make sure that doesn't destroy us all and it's not made any easier when I have to ride herd on my own staff!"

"It's not just your job," Ianto pointed out. "We're all here for the same thing—or at least I thought we were, until you left us to follow the Doctor."

"Oh, really?" Jack's tone was thick with sarcasm. "And that's why you joined Torchwood Three, because your motives were so pure?"

"No, you know why I joined. And you fucking well know why I stayed. But that doesn't mean that any of us are less dedicated than you are. You can't have it both ways, Jack. If it's a group of passive followers or mindless drones you want, then you've seriously miscalculated your hiring abilities."

"I didn't want to deceive you," Ianto continued quietly, "and I'm sorry that you feel betrayed. But I hope you realise how much we all trust you. We just need to know that you trust us in return."

"I want to," Jack whispered, the fight visibly flowing out of him. He swallowed and raised his eyes above Ianto's head, up to the dark spaces where Myfanwy drifted lazily on a cool updraught. "But it's not easy letting any of you see my failures, either. And there're so damn many of them."

"A spectacular one." Jack dug the palms of his hands into his eyes, giving them a slow, tired rub. "But that's my problem, not yours. And I intend on keeping it that way. Gwen is under orders not to tell anyone what she saw out there. Are we at least clear on that point?"

Ianto nodded, more than willing to let the subject drop. Whatever Gwen had found out there had been as bad as he'd feared, but knowing that now didn't change Ianto's mind about his choice. He stood there uncertainly, watching as Jack stared off into the middle distance, wondering what was going through his mind.

Ianto felt his heart sink. He didn't expect Jack to hold a grudge over this, but until Jack got around his anger, things were going to be tense.

"Honestly? I don't know. She thought she was ready for it, she wasn't. She thought she could help and she couldn't. She's found something broken to care about and she can't fix it. This isn't like Jonathan, someone we can pull a couple strings for and get a scholarship and some counselling. This is nothing but destruction, pure and simple, and I wanted to spare Gwen the knowledge that there are some doors that shouldn't be opened and there's not a damn thing she can do about this one. Now she has to live with that. And you have to live with the fact that you provided the key to that door."

There was no accusation in Jack's tone, only regret, and that hurt Ianto more than anything. He knew that Jack was disappointed in him and he could deal with that, but the weary tilt of Jack's head told him that whatever secrets lived out at Flat Holm, they were secrets Jack had desperately needed to keep to himself.

"I'm sorry," Ianto repeated, "but given the lack of information, I'd have made the same choice." Jack shook his head and turned toward the stairs leading up to the greenhouse, his silent dismissal of Ianto obvious. Ianto waited until Jack had disappeared behind the curtain of greenery before walking toward the steps that led down to the archives. He'd planned a quiet dinner at home for the two of them, followed by an attempt to caulk the shower that had begun to leak. However, since home repair coupled with Jack stripped down to his white tee shirt often led to spontaneous sex on the nearest flat surface—or against the nearest wall—it had sounded like a lovely if not productive way to spend the evening.

Now Jack was upset and Ianto was at a loss. He had no intention of going home and waiting around for Jack to show up, especially since the odds were good that Jack wasn't going to come home at all. He glanced at his watch and saw that although it was early evening, he wasn't hungry and he assumed Jack wasn't either. Trudging down into the depths of the archives, he decided to make good use of this awkward span of time and sort through some recently found and supposedly harmless items that had yet to be properly organised.

He had a routine for time spent in the deeper reaches of the musty archives, the ritual giving a rhythm to his thoughts. The coat and tie were removed first, hung neatly on a hook near the entrance. Next, shirt cuffs were unbuttoned and folded back before his top two collar buttons were undone, revealing a hint of pristine white under shirt. Next, the iPod he kept strictly for this purpose was removed from its resting place in a lower drawer, the setting turned on shuffle before the unit was slipped into the pocket of his trousers. He tucked the small speakers into his ears and pulled on a set of thin latex gloves with a grimace, knowing he had a dirty, thankless evening ahead of him. The last thing he did was strip off his watch and set it aside, deliberately choosing to let loose the grip of time on this exercise and allow the hours to pass unnoticed.

He'd gone through most of the backlog and when his neck and shoulders began to ache, he turned to one of the items he'd set aside. There were no chairs in these rooms and every available surface was covered with tagged and catalogued items ready to be stored, so he spread a large piece of canvas out on the floor and sat down on it to begin parcelling out an intricate alien toy that Jack had described as a cross between a set of Russian nesting dolls and a jigsaw puzzle. Owen had taken it apart and when he couldn't put it back together again, he'd stuffed all the pieces into a box and handed it to Ianto with a muttered, half-sincere apology.

Ianto had just gotten all but the last two pieces fit back together when he realised Jack had entered the vaults. Even though his view of the entrance was blocked, the subtle shift of air currents and the delicate, beneath-the-skin warning system he'd developed since he and Jack had become lovers told him that he was no longer alone.

But it didn't tell him anything about Jack's mood, and so he stayed where he was, sitting cross-legged on the canvas behind a set of metal shelves, his back to the tile wall. It wasn't the most elegant position in which to converse with a furious employer, but as he disengaged the iPod and set it aside, he hoped that Jack was at least feeling a little less antagonistic toward him.

Jack sauntered around the the shelf, his blue shirt completely unbuttoned and his braces loose around his hips. His hands were thrust in his pockets and as he leaned a shoulder against the shelf, Ianto began to relax. He couldn't read Jack's expression, but the angry tint to the high cheekbones had faded.

Jack took in the messy room with an arched brow. "What are you doing down here?"

"Hiding like a five year old who's been sent to his room." Ianto set the alien toy aside and reached for his clipboard to make a notation.

"Only in that it had a ring of truth to it." He looked up at Jack through his lashes and they shared a smile before Jack waved his hand at the piles of artefacts.

Ianto turned his attention back to his clipboard. "I couldn't go home knowing you were upset and I didn't want to sit around wondering when or if you were going to show up."

"True, but there aren't many that begin with you walking away from me because you're pissed off that I went against your orders. You're angry because of Torchwood, and I would rather not bring that into our home."

Jack regarded him silently for a few moments and Ianto began to feel uneasy. He was afraid that Jack was regretting his decision to share Ianto's ramshackle little house, that they had crossed a barrier into an intimate fantasy that should have been left alone.

"You know something?" Jack spoke softly and Ianto's apprehension deepened. "I have no idea what to do with you."

Jack straightened and withdrew his hands from his pockets. "Scoot forward." When Ianto hesitated, he made a little shooing motion with his hand, indicating that Ianto needed to leave some space between his back and the wall. Once there was enough room, Jack sat down behind him, bracketing his legs around Ianto's hips and sliding his arms around Ianto's waist until Ianto was snug against his chest. In the face of such easily offered affection, Ianto felt his worries begin to fade.

"You were saying?" he prodded gently, fitting his head into the strong curve between Jack's shoulder and jaw.

"I was saying, I have no idea what to do with you. You are unlike anyone I've ever met."

Ianto ran his tongue over dry lips, uncertain where Jack was going with this. "I'm not sure you mean that as a good thing."

Jack touched his mouth to Ianto's temple. "Because everything about you challenges me. Because you don't react the way I expect you to." His arms tightened. "And because of all the people I've ever lost in my life, I'm terrified that losing you may be the one loss that'll finally kill me inside."

The sorrow in Jack's voice caught at Ianto's heart more than the slowly whispered words. He never wanted to be a source of pain for Jack, even indirectly, but he had no idea how to respond to such a declaration.

"You've had so many losses," he whispered, nestling deeper into Jack's embrace, seeking comfort for them both. "All of them must seem unbearable."

"Is that what you think? That you'll just be one more person I'll mourn for the rest of my life?"

Jack exhaled sharply. "Yeah, care, okay. If it's easier for you to think of it that way, go ahead."

"Trust me, Ianto, practicality has nothing to do with what's going to happen to me on the day you and I say goodbye."

"Or the way I feel about you now." Jack stroked his hand along Ianto's jaw, guiding his head around until their lips met in a tender kiss. Ianto opened his mouth, welcoming the warm, wet presence of Jack's tongue as it gently tangled with his own. They kissed languorously, the hint of passion a silent promise to be fulfilled later that night.

The kiss broke and Ianto turned back into the curve of Jack's body as Jack's hand came up, drifting through Ianto's hair, rubbing lightly at his scalp. "It's always the same," Jack said. "I fool myself into believing that I have unlimited time to spend with someone I love. And no matter how prepared I think I am, it always comes as a shock. Why now, why them, why didn't we have more time together, what could I have done differently to make that time last. I go over and over it in my head, wondering if I'll ever be able to make it stop."

"When you stop caring, you won't be Jack Harkness any more and I, for one, do not want to see that day."

"But I'm not so sure that isn't the answer." Jack shifted against the wall as he rested his joined his hands low on Ianto's belly. "Because I look at the four of you and I think, this is my team. This is my family. How can I let any of you go? For any reason? You saw what I did about Owen, and every day we still have him with us is a miracle. I think of Toshiko and her amazing abilities and I'm so proud of her and yet how selfish am I to keep her tied to Torchwood? And Gwen—Rhys is good for her, but what happens the day he asks her to chose between him and Torchwood? Will I be able to let her walk away? And having her find out the truth about the negative Rift spikes was just another reminder that I can't protect her, I can't protect any of you. You're all so fragile, so damn vulnerable, and I'd give anything to keep all of you safe, and yet I throw you all into harm's way again and again. How do I live with that?"

"It's not only your choice," Ianto argued gently. "This isn't a gulag, we're not here under duress. We've all chosen to be here except Tosh, and I think if you asked her, there's no place else she'd rather be, either."

Ianto disentangled himself from Jack's arms and turned until he could see Jack's face. Jack still looked pale and tired, his usually bright eyes dimmed but steady as he regarded Ianto, waiting for his answer.

"No?" Jack leaned his head back against the tiles. "That's it, just no? No dreams of winning a million pounds and retiring to some beach in Brazil?"

Despite the flippant tone, Ianto could hear the thread of uncertainty in Jack's voice.

"No," he repeated patiently, "there is nowhere else I'd rather be and nothing else I'd rather be doing." Jack opened his mouth to reply but Ianto touched his finger to Jack's lips to forestall him. "We both know there's only one way I'll be leaving Torchwood."

Jack grabbed Ianto's wrist and yanked his hand away. "If that's what you really think, then I'm looking into beach front property tomorrow."

Ianto cupped Jack's cheek with his free hand, one corner of his mouth lifting upward. "That would only work if you came with me, and we know that isn't going to happen, and not only because you'd probably choose a nude beach."

Jack closed his eyes, leaning into Ianto's touch as something like pain creased his forehead. "Yeah, but wouldn't it be nice," he murmured, "to just be two normal guys for once?"

Ianto stroked Jack's cheek with his thumb. "You wouldn't recognize normal if it bit you on the arse. You'd enjoy it, but you definitely wouldn't recognize it."

Jack slid his hand over Ianto's and entwined their fingers, pulling away far enough to press a kiss to Ianto's palm. "You're not helping," he complained, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Sorry," Ianto shrugged and rose to his feet, "but you're asking impossible questions and I'm officially off the clock. Impossible questions are only answered during regular business hours."

He held out his hand and Jack gripped his forearm, levering himself upward. Once he was steady on his feet, Ianto placed his arms around Jack's waist and drew him into a firm embrace. Jack went easily, sliding his hands along Ianto's waist until they met in the small of his back as Ianto ran his hand into Jack's hair, guiding his head until the smooth surface of Jack's cheek rested against his own lightly bristled skin.

"Do you know," Ianto whispered, "that sometimes, when you're asleep in my arms, and we're safe in our bed, and we've had a good day and the kitchen sink drained properly and the universe didn't blow up and no one, including you, died, I actually feel happy. Even though I realise that the next day I'll be mopping up weevil vomit or hacking into public records to plant false obituaries, this is the life that I've chosen." He kissed the curve of Jack's jaw. "And for better or for worse, it's a life I've chosen to spend with you."

Ianto held his breath, uncertain how his heartfelt, prosaic declaration would be received. He didn't move until he felt a soft, moist exhalation of breath against his neck as Jack's arms tightened around him almost painfully. He tried to lift his cheek away from Jack's but Jack wouldn't allow him, pulling him impossibly closer with a broken sigh.

He felt Jack's nod against his head and his own eyes fluttered closed in relief. Jack was heavy in his arms, his weight resting on Ianto, his warm breath gusting over Ianto's collar bone. They leaned into each other, Jack's lips warm on Ianto's neck, Ianto's hands caressing the length of Jack's back as they gave comfort and received it in equal measure.

"What would I do without you?" he murmured. He flashed a signature grin that Ianto felt compelled to kiss before replying.

"Is that a promise?" It was a nonsensical question deserving an equally nonsensical answer, but the plea behind it made Ianto swallow hard before replying.

"Part of the service, sir." Ianto brushed a strand of hair off Jack's forehead. "Let's go. There's food in if you're hungry."

Jack stole another kiss and grabbed Ianto's hand to lead him out of the archives. As they passed the threshold, Ianto snagged his coat and tie and tucked them beneath his arm before turning off the light.

"You know," Jack said with the air of someone telling a great secret, "there's this little planet I know where all the beaches are nude. It's actually considered obscene to wear clothing. You could get arrested."

"I'll assume your record there is spotless." The mobile in his pocket rang and Ianto stopped to fish it out. He read the caller ID and held up his hand, signalling Jack to stop. "Gwen, hallo."

"Is he still mad at you?" She sounded tired, her voice rough as though she had a cold.

"I don't know, let me ask." He looked over at Jack. "She wants to know if you're still angry with me."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Tell her yes, and I'm taking you home to punish you."

"Behold me terrified." Ianto nodded and spoke into the phone. "Yeah, we're good. We're just leaving for home. Are you all right?"

There was a soft sniffle. "I don't know, I guess so. Rhys is walking around on eggshells and the stupidest things are making me cry, but I'll get through it."

"Jack has made it painfully clear he'll string me up by my toes if I involve of any of you in this any further, so no, but thank you. And thank you for trusting me. I know it made things awkward between you and Jack."

Ianto glanced over at Jack, who made a show of looking at his watch. "Awkward is being caught by a co-worker in the greenhouse with your trousers wrapped around your ankles, so compared to that, everything else is easy."

He was rewarded with a sloppy, damp chuckle. "I'm so sorry about that, but you are rather cute when you're embarrassed."

"Yes, goodnight. And tell Jack not to punish you too much, yeah? Or he'll answer to me."

"A formidable threat, I'll be sure to pass it on. Sleep well." He closed the phone and frowned at Jack. "Gwen says to be nice to me or else."

Jack's smile was wolfish as he gathered Ianto beneath his arm, shepherding him toward the exit.

"I'm going to be so nice to you that you won't remember what day it is until next week."

A frisson of heat slid its way down Ianto's spine and he felt the tips of his ears grow warm. The fact that they'd worked their way through an uncomfortable patch in their relationship intact made Ianto realise how far they'd come since the first anniversary of Canary Wharf, when easy sex had been nothing but a quick way to temporarily ease the pain of two lonely men.

Stopping in his tracks, he pulled out of Jack's embrace. At Jack's puzzled look, Ianto looked at the floor, then off to one side, trying to put his thoughts into words.

Jack waited a moment, then spread out his hands. "Are we...hungry? Horny? Are we...what, give me a clue here."

Slipping on his jacket, Ianto shrugged. "Never mind." He draped the tie around his shirt collar and made to move past Jack, but was prevented when Jack grabbed both ends of the tie and yanked Ianto close, bringing their mouths together in a possessive kiss before pressing his mouth to Ianto's ear.

Ianto's heart twisted at the unlikely sentiment, impossible and beautiful though it was. "You can't promise that."

"Well, what do you know." A laugh of pure Jack Harkness tickled his cheek. "I just did."

Chapter Ten

He wouldn't cry. There was no time, no easily stolen moment, no chance to fall apart. He soldiered on, he did his job, and he did not cry.

Jack cried. Jack cried enough for all three of them, his fingers so often lifted to his cheeks to wipe away the trails of dampness that the gesture was becoming as ingrained as Jack's hands-in-his-pockets saunter. Brilliant blue eyes remained tinged with pink, long lashes spiked with salty water that Ianto wanted to kiss until they were dry and smooth again.

Gwen cried, too, little heaving sobs at odd moments, hands over her mouth and eyes tightly shut against tears that leaked out anyway. When Ianto witnessed those moments he was quick to turn away to give her privacy and dignity and the ability to pretend later that she was handling things. She went to Jack for solace that was desperately given and just as desperately returned, two dark heads bent together in sorrow. Ianto turned away from those moments as well, not out of jealousy, but out of protectiveness. If whispered words and gentle touches helped them to heal, then it was Ianto's duty to make sure they shared those moments uninterrupted. It was after those brief, painful interludes that Jack or Gwen or both would seek Ianto out and he knew they wanted him to be the link to normal, the every day, to sanity, and to break down would mean that he'd failed them.

The packing up of random belongings—trinkets and pins, reading glasses, a stethoscope and a tiny stuffed mouse—wasn't his job. It was his job to erase, close down, shut off, terminate. He did his job faultlessly, his mind already on the next task, the next item on the list, the next thing he could do right a world gone hopelessly wrong. And still, he did not cry.

The tears almost came in the aftermath of Tosh's farewell. Jack beside him with Gwen nestled beneath his arm, a strong hand falling on Ianto's shoulder giving the abused muscles there a gentle squeeze—that's when it all became far too real. He'd wanted to turn into Jack's arms, to bury his hot face against Jack's neck and howl out his grief. But Gwen was already there, sniffling and shaking, and Ianto ceded his place by walking away and allowing Jack to pull Gwen close, his tears soaking into her hair.

In those first few horrible days, a part of him wanted that release and he knew that Jack would welcome it from him, would hold him through the vicious storm that wanted to rage out of Ianto until he was empty. He was aware of Jack's eyes on him, following him helplessly, as if Jack was afraid to look anywhere else for fear that Ianto too would be taken. Ianto in turn kept eye contact to a minimum, fearing that once he was caught by what he knew sat rich and warm in Jack's eyes, that he'd be lost. And he just wasn't ready to be that lost again.

And that work went on, for all of them. The Rift had no care for lost friends or the wounded city they'd left behind. Once the finality of Tosh and Owen being forever gone began to sink in, it was the work they'd dedicated their lives to that became the saviour of those that remained. That work came in myriad forms, but nothing turned out to be as pressing as the problem of the weevils.

As Cardiff began to recover, nests of weevils were being rooted out from some of the more damaged buildings. Jack stayed ahead of the demolitions by monitoring the city engineer's internal website, knowing that forcing the weevils into the open would be a bad thing for everyone. Once he knew that a likely site of weevil infestation was due to be torn town, the three of them went ahead of the construction workers to force the weevils down in to the sewers so that they could find a new nest. It was disgusting, dirty, hard work, but as Jack had pointed out, it was better than having them wandering the streets and chatting up the neighbours.

Herding weevils was one of several duties the team was dealing with, along with helping to a rebuild a city that had lost most of its leadership. Long days bled into long nights, but the activity masked the deep hurt that had settled within each of them. While Jack made sure that Gwen went home to Rhys at every opportunity, more often than not he and Ianto slept down in Jack's old room, tightly wrapped around each other and so exhausted that often they awoke in the same position they'd fallen asleep in.

But day by day, sometimes in the tiniest increments, it was getting better. Ianto had feared that the betrayal of Jack's brother on top of the loss of Tosh and Owen would be more than Jack could handle, but somehow Jack was fighting through his own pain as he continued to be the steadying rock that Ianto and Gwen needed. Only in the narrow bed they shared for brief periods beneath Jack's office was Ianto allowed to see a broken, grieving Jack Harkness, and in those bleak moments, as he cradled Jack in his arms, Ianto vowed to be whatever Jack needed him to be.

And he understood instinctively that a large part of that was a responsibility he dare not shirk—that of staying alive. Ianto suspected that Jack was only surviving because Gray and John hadn't taken away everything he loved, and one more loss would be one loss too many.

Then into the midst of their lives came unwelcome, outside intrusions that couldn't be ignored. Ianto knew that Jack had been fencing with UNIT in general and Darby Fitzhenry in particular, especially over the compromised nuclear facility. Things escalated considerably when Darby Fitzhenry's emailed summons to Gwen and Ianto arrived but they both copied Jack in on their terse refusals to meet with her. To their surprise, Jack had advised them otherwise, to hear what she had to say and to find out if she was a real threat. Torchwood Three was more vulnerable than ever and he needed to know what Darby was planning, if anything, to complete its destruction. Still Ianto had hesitated, the memory of his previous conversation with her dredging up painful memories, but the tired cant of Jack's shoulders as he'd asked them told Ianto more than words that Jack knew the cost of his request. After that, the decision was simple, a small sacrifice to give Jack some breathing room.

Gwen met with Fitzhenry first and reported back that it was only a fishing expedition. It was after Gwen had recounted the details of her meeting (ending with a disdainful remark regarding the abuse of innocent hair products) that Jack informed them of another building that needed a weevil evacuation. Jack was in a better mood after Gwen's report and sent her home for dinner with the order to meet up at midnight in front of the condemned house. He and Ianto shared a sandwich before Jack teased Ianto down into his old bed for a few stolen hours of indulgent love-making, something they were just starting to allow themselves to enjoy again. Afterwards, cooling bodies entwined and hands idly stroking flushed skin, they talked about trying to spend more time at home and what they wanted to do there. Both their house and Marcy's had sustained minor damage from the explosive concussion, but after ascertaining that neither she nor her children had been harmed, they hadn't had a moment to spare for personal considerations since that dark, terrible night.

The concept of weevil herding was simple, the implementation back-breaking, nasty work. The weevils congregated as close to the lowest exit as possible, tearing out any external plumbing in order to make a quick escape. Employing a newer, more potent version of the spray, the team used it like a liquid broom, sweeping it in front of them and driving the weevils down into the sewers. Once they were sure that the building was clean, they doused the walls and floors in more spray to keep the weevils from returning before the next days' demolition. Until the city planners ran out of buildings to tear down, it was the only way Torchwood could manage the weevil population. Neither an elegant nor particularly helpful solution, but with just the three of them, it was the best they could do.

This time it was an old house, vacated long before the attack on Cardiff and finally scheduled to be demolished so that low rent housing could be installed. Two stories of dry rot, broken glass and graffiti-stained walls, the house had been condemned for years and had every chance of coming down around their ears as they moved from room to room, ferreting out the weevils and sending them toward the kitchen, where the sink had been replaced by a gaping hole.

The operation was going smoothly and Ianto had hopes of convincing Jack to sleep at home that night, maybe even sharing a late breakfast before going back to the Hub. He and Jack had just finished spraying down one room on the second floor when a yelp from below and a movement caught out of the corner of his eye turned Ianto around, torch sweeping over corners thick with debris and dust. He felt more than saw Jack flash past him, a light grey blur in the cobalt shadows. A thick, scrabbling sound and the echo of weevil grunts turned him around again as he dropped the aerosol can and reached for the taser tucked into his shoulder holster.

"Yeah, okay." She sounded tense, her voice travelling up from the main floor. "But it came from up there—do you see any more?"

Ianto retrieved the aerosol can and aimed his beam around the room once more as he backed out toward the landing. There was an ominous creaking noise and he shined his torch at his feet, afraid he'd see the wooden floor beneath him splitting apart.

"Nothing here, either." He joined Jack on the landing as both of them looked over the rail, casting their lights down but away from Gwen's upturned face.

"Must've been a straggler," Jack decided. "Let's work our way back through the upper rooms, make sure we've got them all. Gwen, you stay by the front door and get ready. Ianto, you go left, I'll go right."

Ianto glanced down to give Gwen a reassuring smile. She started to return it but instead her eyes widened with horror as a loud crack followed by the distinctive scrabble of weevil feet on wood reached Ianto's ears. He pivoted, the light from his torch flashing across Jack's surprised face as a weevil barrelled into him, knocking him into the wall and sending his can flying. Jack bounced hard against the plaster and crashed to the floor as Ianto tried to get out of the way, hoping that the weevil would make a path down the stairs and toward the open kitchen drain. Instead, the weevil howled out a scream and lunged at Jack, its wide open maw revealing its serrated, deadly teeth. Jack was still slumped against the wall, the arm he threw up ineffectual as the weevil shoved it aside as it tried to get at Jack's throat.

Ianto let out a roar and advanced on the weevil, emptying the contents of the spray into its face to drive it backward and away from a still stunned Jack. The weevil ducked and cowered, its growls turning to painful whimpers as the spray leached into its eyes. Ianto managed to pin it to the base of the flimsy stair railing as the can sputtered and died in his hand. He threw it away and reached again for his taser, but the weevil was already on the move, rushing straight at Ianto with a rage-filled bellow.

The taser never cleared its holster. The weevil slammed past Ianto, knocking him against the railing that splintered outward, showering the floor below with shards of wood. Ianto fell to his knees when one of his feet slipped over the edge, then dropped onto his stomach to scramble back onto the landing as the wood beneath him began to give way. Jack crawled to his side and grabbed his arm to yank him onto solid ground as the weevil charged again, this time bearing one of the railing supports. Both Ianto and Jack were still low to the ground, Jack with his back turned to the weevil, his fingers wrapped around Ianto's wrist. Ianto cried out a warning and Jack twisted around, bringing up his own taser, but the weevil knocked it out of Jack's hand with one swing, the sound of cracking bones clearly heard beneath the weevil's howl and Jack's shout of pain. Jack pulled his shattered hand close to his chest and Ianto watched in horror as the weevil took aim with the support, the next blow lined up with Jack's bowed head.

Coherent thought ceased and instinct took over. Ianto threw himself at the weevil, tackling it away from Jack and rolling it with it until they came up hard against the wall, the wooden support flying out of the weevil's grasp. Beneath the ringing in his ears Ianto heard Jack's terrified yelling and Gwen's higher pitched cries, but he was too busy keeping the weevil's teeth from his neck. He knew that Jack and Gwen were coming to his aid and he concentrated on holding the weevil off just long enough for that help to arrive.

The weevil had another plan. Heaving foul, hot breath into Ianto's face, the weevil changed tactics, retracting its teeth and latching its claws onto Ianto's shielding arm. It gave it a hard yank and Ianto cried out as the barely healed muscles of his dislocated shoulder gave way with an agonising rip. White sparks shot up behind his eyes and the weevil, sensing the vulnerability of its prey, screamed its triumph and started shaking Ianto's body side to side like a dog with a new toy. The momentum was so strong that both Ianto and the weevil fell backwards into the stair railing, breaking through the ragged remnants and plummeting to the floor below.

Ianto landed on the weevil and bounced off directly onto his injured shoulder, the impact driving the air from his lungs in an excruciating explosion. Everything went hazy and grey, noises becoming muted as he struggled against losing conciousness. What little breath he could draw in was thick with dirt and he gave in to the need to cough, a movement that wrenched his abused shoulder muscles even further. Awash in pain, unable to draw a clear breath, it took Ianto a few seconds to process Jack's frantic voice in his ear and someone's hands flying over his body.

"Gone." Gwen's voice, breathless and strained. "It made it into the sewers. How is he?"

"He's fine," Ianto croaked. He blinked his eyes, sawdust drifting onto his cheeks as he tried to take inventory of the damage. Every part of his body hurt, but the area between his neck and hip felt as though it was being consumed by flames. He concentrated on breathing as Jack stroked his fingers lightly through Ianto's hair, murmuring soft words of encouragement.

"That's it, that's it, just take it easy, breathe slowly." Then, louder, "Get some water from the SUV."

Hearing Gwen's retreating footsteps, Ianto managed to wedge an elbow beneath his body and with Jack's help, made it into a sitting position. It was slow going, every muscle screaming in protest, but the damage to his re-injured shoulder made him bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. Upright turned out to be as disorienting as supine and Ianto swayed into Jack's arms, bowing his forehead to rest on Jack's shoulder.

"Still here." Ianto managed his first normal inhalation, drinking in the scent of Jack beneath the filth that covered the thick wool coat. "Am I in one piece?"

"I don't know, you tell me. I didn't feel any broken bones but whenever you're ready, I need to check your eyes and then we need to get you out of here."

Ianto slowly, painfully lifted his head, ignoring the room as it whirled around him. "Don't what?"

Even in the gloom, Ianto could see the remnants of terror glistening in Jack's eyes. "Don't joke, okay? I'm not ready for that."

"Sorry." Ianto grimaced, trying to shift into a more comfortable position as Gwen rejoined them on the floor.

Jack carefully placed his palms on either side of Ianto's cheeks as Gwen picked up the torch and shone it down between them, careful to keep it directly out of their eyes. Blinking against the light and the clouds of dust still drifting through the room, Ianto struggled to meet Jack's worried gaze, his heart pounding as he waited for Jack's assessment. His head hurt—along with everything else—but there was no localised pain aside from the torn shoulder muscles.

Ianto swallowed and closed his eyes, letting his head fall again to Jack's shoulder and content to let Jack control the situation. It took him another series of shallow breaths to realise that Jack was trembling, yet when he spoke, his voice was steady and emotionless.

"Left shoulder, mostly." Ianto ran his tongue over his cracked lips. "Left wrist feels sprained, a few bruises here and there. Luckily, I had a weevil to break my fall." He wanted to add something irreverent to deflect the worry that flowed off Jack in waves, but held back. He knew there would be a reckoning for the last few minutes and he didn't want to make things worse. "Do you think that was the last of them?"

"Shh, don't worry." Gwen pressed a plastic bottle into Ianto's hand, then brushed a damp cloth along Ianto's neck. "You've got some nasty cuts, Ianto. You may need stitches."

"How about getting up? Can you walk?" Jack's questions were posed with brusque efficiency, but Ianto was not fooled. He knew they had to get out, so whether he was ready or not, he straightened out of Jack's arms. He took a sip from the bottle, gagging slightly as the water washed the blood off his mouth and down into his throat. He handed the bottle back to Gwen and gave Jack a tight-lipped smile.

"Okay. Gwen, I'm going to take his good side and get him to his feet. Stay with us and if we're okay, go get the SUV and pull it up as close to the door as you can. We'll get him home and assess the damage there."

Jack shifted to a crouch, wrapping one hand around Ianto's right arm. The other he placed low on Ianto's hip and at Ianto's nod, they began the long trip upward. By the time Ianto was standing, blood and sweat were running in mixed rivulets down his cheeks and the pain radiating from the middle of his back weakened his knees to the point where he was clutching the lapels of Jack's coat to continue standing.

Ianto raised his head, glad that the room was finally remaining in one place. Jack was supporting him and Gwen was close, her small hand resting lightly on his sleeve, and he just about to suggest that he was steady enough to walk out on his own when he was hit with a disconcerting wave of déjà vu. Swallowing to ease some moisture into a throat suddenly gone thick with apprehension, Ianto struggled to pin down the uncomfortable sensation, its presence so strong he was afraid he was going to black out. And then—

Oh, God.

This was how it had started, all the pain and the hate and the death. Each of them in the same position, seeking only to make sure they all—all of them—had survived. Jack was still clutching his arm and Gwen was pressed close enough to his side that he could smell her shampoo, both intent on him, waiting for some signal that they could proceed.

The last time they'd stood like this, a hurting and frightened triumvirate, Owen and Tosh had still been alive and the horror of the coming days had yet to be revealed.

Ianto had to move before Jack or Gwen got caught up in the heartbreaking symmetry. He pushed off of Jack and staggered toward the door, ignoring Jack's barked orders to go slow and Gwen's scramble to keep up. He hadn't made it far when Jack was at his side, sliding his arm around Ianto's waist and halting his progress.

"Right." Jack twisted his head to look behind him. "Gwen, the SUV. You're driving."

"Shouldn't we make sure the house is clear?" He stole a look at Jack, who shook his head.

"I'll come back later. My guess is that this is a breeding ground, that's why it was defended so violently." He turned to Ianto, his expression darkening. "In the meantime, let's discuss you taking unnecessary risks."

Jack held up his hand. "You didn't mean to, I know. But you could've let that weevil take me out and make its way downstairs. Instead, you attacked it. Why?"

"Let it kill you for the sake of expediency?" Ianto shook his head. "It's not that easy, Jack."

"Yes, well," Ianto grimaced as he straightened from the wall, "you're not watching me die over and over, are you? You have no idea what that's like."

"No, I don't." Jack's mouth settled into a grim line as he wrapped an arm around Ianto's shoulder. He pressed a fierce kiss to Ianto's forehead before continuing, his voice trembling. "But let's be perfectly clear about something. You may have to watch me die, and that may be a really crappy thing to have to do, but you know I'll always come back. Since I can't say the same thing about you, I'd really appreciate it if you tried not to get yourself killed any time soon."

Ianto cracked his eyes open and looked over at Gwen, who'd taken a seat beside him on the couch. She looked tired, her long hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail and all remnants of make-up long gone. But she managed a smile as she took Ianto's hand in hers, gently entwining their fingers. Ianto smiled back, a bare shift of his lips, before closing his eyes as he gave her hand a squeeze.

"Better," he answered truthfully. "The painkillers have kicked in, but I doubt I'll be moving from this position for some time."

Ianto rolled his head from side to side. "No doctors required. Just a good night's rest so I'm prepared for my meeting tomorrow."

Gwen's fingers tightened around his and he heard her take a sharp breath. "That's right, I'd forgotten. Maybe you should postpone it."

Ianto withdrew his hand and opened his eyes to stare up into the shadows. "No, I'd rather get it over with. No use putting it off, it'll only make her suspicious." He turned his gaze back to Gwen. "You should go home."

"Trying to get rid of me?" It was a tired attempt at teasing, and although Ianto appreciated the spirit behind it, on this night he couldn't respond in kind.

"Never," he murmured. Gwen bit her lip and looked down at her hands, but not before Ianto saw the hint of tears in her eyes.

He knew it wouldn't always be like this, that not every offhand remark would remind them of losses they had yet to truly absorb, but Ianto knew that tonight had been tough on them all. So tough that once Jack and Gwen had seen to Ianto's injuries and made him comfortable on the couch, Jack had disappeared, the tight set to his jaw telling Ianto everything he needed to know beyond Jack's muttered comment about making sure the abandoned house was weevil-free.

"Of course," he answered, with just the right balance of amusement and impatience that he could see Gwen relax. She patted his thigh and got to her feet, stretching her arms over her head.

"Then I'm off for a bit." She glanced at her wristwatch and groaned. "Or maybe more than a bit. I'd no idea how late it was. Can I get you anything before I leave?"

Ianto shook his head and closed his eyes, listening as Gwen gathered her things and left. In truth, he thought he'd be glad of the quiet that would let him gather his thoughts, but as soon as he heard the last door close and lock behind Gwen, he began to shake.

Not now, he thought desperately. He swallowed and leaned forward, breathing through the discomfort as he attempted to maintain his composure. This was the first time he'd been alone in the Hub since it had all happened, and the unusual solitude coupled with the barely subdued pain were battering his hard-won defences.

He managed to get to his feet, a not inconsequential victory given the state of his abused muscles, and decided that some kind of productivity would divert his thoughts and drive away the dark clouds of grief that hovered on the edge of his conciousness. He'd gotten this far without giving in to an emotional outburst and he was determined to continue that trend until things were more settled and everyone had more time to heal.

His tie and jacket had long since been relegated to the dust bin, their damage from the weevil attack too much even for Ianto to overcome, leaving him in a relatively clean dress shirt. Looking around the Hub, he rolled up the unbuttoned cuffs as he began searching out and locating areas that needed addressing. He knew Jack would be back eventually, and his goal was to present him with a calm demeanour that would reassure Jack that Ianto was indeed okay.

It was the smallest thing that shattered his fragile equanimity and destroyed the illusion of control. Moving slowly and deliberately, he'd managed to gather up the plates and glasses that proliferated around the Hub and ferried them to the small kitchen. It would bother him not to wash them but his resources were quickly ebbing and the bed in Jack's old quarters was calling to him. Exhaustion coupled with the control he was exerting over his unruly emotions made him clumsy, and as he turned to exit the kitchen, he stumbled into the shelf used to hold the team's eclectic set of mugs. His reactions made sluggish by pain and painkillers, he watched in wide-eyed horror as the two cups he hadn't had the heart to pack up tottered precipitously before crashing onto the concrete floor and shattering into pieces.

Ianto stared at the destruction littering the floor, unable to grasp what had just happened. Leaving Tosh's delicate cup and Owen's more substantial coffee mug on the shelf hadn't been a concious decision on Ianto's part, just one of the many ways that each of the remaining Torchwood Three had found to keep their memories close.

Now one of his last links to his fallen friends had been destroyed by his own carelessness, and the realisation hit him hard. Heat flooded his cheeks as he stared down at the mess, unable to move either forward or back, stuck in a no man's land of paralysing, unexpected grief.

A soft sound brought Ianto's head up and he looked around, his sight blurry as his breath caught in his throat. He saw movement to his left and recognized Jack walking toward him, the expression on his face unreadable through the tears that filled his eyes.

"Ianto?" Jack's voice was gentle as he touched Ianto's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"What's broken? Oh." The crunching sound beneath his boots seemed to answer Jack's question. "It's okay, Ianto, it's not—"

"They're broken and I can't fix them." Ianto dropped to his knees, ignoring the jolt of pain that sliced through his body as he began to sweep up the shards with his bare hands.

Jack's voice sounded very far away as Ianto tried to scrape the detritus into a neat pile. Jack fell to one knee beside Ianto, yanking his hands away from the sharp pieces of porcelain that had already pierced Ianto's palms and fingers. Ianto tried to pull away, mindlessly intent on his task, but Jack was just as determined to stop him. He threw his arms around Ianto's chest and hauled them both to their feet, ushering Ianto away from the mess and into his office.

By the time they'd stopped moving, Ianto was nearly doubled over, the pain in his back and shoulder nothing compared to the sorrow that was rising up to choke him. The storm that was far overdue was finally breaking inside Ianto and he had no choice but to surrender to it as its power swept through him on a tide of implacable grief. Like the night so long ago that had ended with Jack in his arms for the first time, they slid to the floor and held on to each other as Ianto's sorrow poured itself out in furious waves. He vaguely heard Jack crooning to him and he latched onto that soft, beloved voice as the only thing that could carry him back to sanity, acknowledging in the back of his grieving mind that Jack was there to guard his shattered heart and protect his wounded soul—just like he'd promised.

Chapter Eleven

Eyes on the scratched wooden surface of the table in front of him, Ianto sat down on the moulded plastic chair. A glass of water was directly in front of him but everything else—napkins, cutlery, plates—had all been removed.

Darby Fitzhenry folded her manicured fingers into a tidy knot and leaned toward Ianto, her expression carefully sympathetic.

"First of all, I want to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. The death of your comrades—"

Fitzhenry's eyes tracked a waiter as he passed their table before returning to Ianto. "Of course. As you may know, Captain Harkness has been surprisingly unforthcoming regarding recent events here in Cardiff. Beyond the barest details, he has refused to cooperate in any outside investigations, including those requested by UNIT."

"At least as irregular as requesting an off-site meeting with Torchwood Three's remaining staff."

"That is unfortunate. We had requested that she keep that meeting private until we'd had a chance to assess the situation. May I assume that Captain Harkness knows about these meetings as well?"

Fitzhenry leaned back in her chair. "I had asked you not to reveal our previous phone conversation, Mr. Jones. And yet you did anyway. Why is that?"

"As I'm sure Gwen made perfectly clear in her interview, our loyalty to Captain Harkness hasn't changed, despite recent events."

"Ah, yes, recent events. The reports we received from all three of you were remarkably similar. If I were of a more suspicious nature, I'd think there was collusion involved."

"Ma'am, is there a purpose to this interview?" Ianto shifted in his chair, the vicious ache in his left shoulder deepening. "I do have a lot of work waiting for me."

Fitzhenry's pale blue eyes flashed with annoyance and Ianto almost felt sorry for her. He'd assured Jack that he'd be polite and listen to what she had to say, but her clumsy dancing around the subject was irritating and he'd promised Jack they'd get to the clinic before it closed.

"The purpose," Fitzhenry gritted out, "is that I've been instructed to offer you a place in London. Considering the recent tragedies, I would think you'd be glad to leave Torchwood Three behind you. There are many opportunities there, ones you'll never see here in Cardiff."

"I see. After you've dosed me with rivenex, no doubt I'd be of some value to someone."

"That was a mistake. I offered it only out of compassion for your situation. But I assure you, the opportunities—"

Fitzhenry's glossy lips thinned in annoyance. "I am not at leisure to give you the details, but I can say that we have made arrangements for Ms. Williams to occupy a position with the Cardiff police department in their public affairs section. While we appreciate her service to Torchwood in the past, we really don't see her as someone who'd fit in at any of our other facilities."

Ianto stifled a smile. He'd seen the glint of unholy battle in Gwen's eyes as she'd related her conversation with Fitzhenry and almost wished he'd been present to see the effect of her rather forceful rejection.

"I do. Let me tell you what else I know." Ianto used his right hand to slide the zip of his grey hoodie down a few inches, revealing more of the black tee shirt beneath. The air in the restaurant was steamy, the cloying scent of garlic and onions turning his stomach. "I also know that your star has been steadily falling and that your superiors are seeking to replace you. You have been reprimanded for using rivenex without proper clearance and for making deals that are later disavowed. Taking over Torchwood Three is the one thing that would save your career and the only way to accomplish that is to remove Jack Harkness. Would you care to comment on my accuracy?"

Fitzhenry's face was white except for two small spots of red in the middle of her cheeks. "You are insubordinate, Mr. Jones."

Ianto nodded. "My suggestion to you is that you give up your quest to take over Torchwood Three and find some other avenue for your ambitions. Should you choose to pursue your current course of action, I assure you, it will be met with profound resistance."

Fitzhenry stared at him, eyes narrowed. Ianto met her gaze calmly, making sure none of the exhaustion and pain that he felt was revealed in his face. He lifted the water glass to his lips, thought better of it and set it aside, uncomfortably reminded of the last conversation he'd had with Darby Fitzhenry. He would have preferred to have this one within the confines of the Hub as well, but Fitzhenry had insisted on neutral territory, which essentially meant out of Jack's influence.

"Not at all. I simply believe it is best to upfront about these things." He pressed back in the chair and winced, wishing this conversation was over.

"There are cuts and bruises on your face and hands as well. Did you suffer those in the attacks?"

"Then I'm sure that not having a doctor on site has been difficult. Finding a replacement for Dr. Harper will have to be a priority."

Hearing Fitzhenry mention Owen was gutting, but Ianto let none of his emotion show on his face. "You'll have to take up personnel issues with Jack." He glanced at his watch. "Is there anything else?"

Fitzhenry leaned forward, her eyes were wide, her demeanour calm, but Ianto could sense the desperation emanating from her. "You are making a grave mistake, Ianto. I urge you to reconsider my offer. Whatever it is that binds you to Captain Harkness, it will destroy you in the end."

Her hand shot out, small fingers wrapping around Ianto's wrist with surprising strength.

"I'm not sure I would agree. I asked you this once before but now I'm more sure of it than ever. Are you sleeping with him?"

Ianto twisted his wrist out of her grasp and slowly got to his feet, the chair legs scraping the wood floor with a loud squeal. Ignoring the turning heads of the other diners, Ianto bent toward Fitzhenry, looking down at her without expression.

He pivoted toward the door, the rubber soles of his trainers squeaking with every step. Once outside in the early evening drizzle, he one-handedly pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, eyes scanning the street anxiously. He relaxed when a pair of familiar headlights snapped on half a block away and the SUV pulled away from the curb, rolling to a stop beside him. He opened the door and got in, a smothered grunt his only indication that his injured shoulder had gotten jostled.

The small sound was apparently enough for Jack and he pulled the SUV into traffic to the sound of blaring horns. Ianto got a glimpse of the grim, pale face before turning his eyes toward the wet city streets, weariness settling into every bone as he worked the hood back down around his neck. When Jack's hand found his and their fingers entwined, he allowed himself to sink into the soft leather as the rainswept air and Jack's solid presence beside him began to clear his head of the restaurant's overpowering scents and Fitzhenry's toxic attacks.

"We don't have to." After the encounter with Darby Fitzhenry, the prospect of having an unknown doctor examine his shoulder seemed almost beyond his energy limit, but Jack had insisted. And Ianto had no strength to deny Jack anything these days—except the order to watch him die.

Ianto was out of arguments. After he'd fallen into an exhausted slumber, drained from the torrent of released emotion and weary from his injuries, Jack had made the decision to see a doctor since Ianto had awakened almost too stiff to rise from the bed. He'd loosened up after a shower and breakfast, but Jack had been adamant, aided by Gwen's disarming reasoning that Jack would be easier to live with if Ianto just gave in.

They pulled up in front of the clinic, Jack leaving the SUV in the no parking zone despite Ianto's weak attempt to scold him. Although it was near closing time, the waiting room was more than half full as Jack shepherded Ianto through the crowd to the front desk, where a harried nurse handed over a clipboard and told them to take a seat.

Jack set the clipboard aside and leaned his elbows on the high counter, flashing her a bright, fake grin. "Sorry, we're in a bit of a hurry. We'll just take the next available doctor."

"Jack," Ianto began, but subsided when Jack pinned him with a frown. Ianto knew better than to argue with Jack in this mood, so he moved out of the way and let Jack take care of the situation. He tried to listen to the conversation but the noise level in the room was high, so he only caught a few phrases, one of which included Torchwood and seemed to be the magic word. Within seconds they were ushered into an examination room, Jack hovering close by and bluntly refusing to leave when asked.

They were left alone and Ianto slowly manoeuvred himself on to the padded table, trying not to flinch or make any sound that might alert Jack to how much he was hurting. Judging by Jack's clenched jaw, it was apparent he'd failed once more, so he closed his eyes as Jack unzipped the hoodie and lifted it away from his shoulders, his touch gentle as he took care not to stress the torn muscles in Ianto's back. Once the hoodie was removed, Jack sat down on the table next to Ianto on the side of his good shoulder, his arm curving around Ianto's hip as he kissed Ianto's temple.

"Hey, we've been over this, right? So stop apologizing and figure out what you want for dinner."

"Okay, that narrows it down to about twenty other ethnic cuisines within a mile."

"No, she's home with Rhys but I told her we'd call her when we're done. She said they were going to have their first movie night in weeks and she was going to let him choose."

Ianto heard the answer to the unspoken portion of his question. Since the night they'd lost Tosh and Owen, the three of them had hardly been apart, clinging to each other like abandoned orphans, taking comfort in each other's every breath with surreptitious glances and quick, centring touches. Even now, tired and sore and rattled from his verbal fencing with Fitzhenry, Ianto felt Gwen's absence like a part of him had gone numb, and he suppressed the instinct to call her just to hear her voice. To an outsider, Jack's reply sounded like normal conversation, but within it Ianto found so much more. He heard Jack's worry over letting Gwen out of his sight, even into the trusted arms of her husband. He heard his pride in her attempt to work some normalcy back into her life, something they'd all struggled with in the dark days since Jack's brother had torn their world apart. And most of all Ianto heard sorrow hidden in the casual words, sorrow that a date night with Rhys was a triumph over tragedy instead of an every day occurrence.

"Brave woman," Ianto said drily, "since I believe Rhys has a secret fetish for Rodgers and Hammerstein."

Jack rubbed his chin against Ianto's good shoulder. "Do you really want all that?" he asked quietly.

"Not really," Ianto whispered. He opened his eyes to stare at the linoleum floor. "But I want to want it."

They fell silent, listening to the sounds of the busy clinic beyond the closed door as Jack raised his hand from Ianto's hip to his neck to begin a gentle massage.

"She's trying to destroy you. Why?" Jack shifted and Ianto could feel Jack's reluctance to confide in him. He reached over and took Jack's free hand in his. "She can't hurt us, Jack," he murmured. "Tell me."

Jack sighed. "After Canary Wharf fell, she was found to be derelict in her duty regarding certain security implementations she'd failed to initiate during the invasion, implementations that could've saved lives. It was the team I sent to secure the alien tech—Suzy and Owen—who discovered the protocol lapses and they reported them to me. I informed her superiors and she was reprimanded."

A wave of cold fury flooded Ianto's empty stomach, nauseating him. "Only reprimanded?" he choked.

"Darby's well connected but that was eventually beside the point. There was a huge vacuum in leadership after the attack so despite her failures, the details were sealed and she managed to keep her position."

Ianto stiffened, rotating painfully until he could see Jack's face. "That's why she wanted me out of Torchwood, isn't it. As one of the few survivors, she must have seen me as a threat."

Jack nodded. "Probably. Anyone associated with London was a liability. All she needed was an excuse." He paused before continuing. "It may be worth looking into the other survivors, see what's become of them."

Ianto suppressed a shiver as he looked down at their joined hands, his brief spurt of anger fading into weary acceptance. "It's ironic, actually. I was far too low in the food chain to even know her name. If she made mistakes at Canary Wharf, she was hardly the only one."

A muscle in Jack's jaw twitched. "Her mistake cost lives, Ianto. It could've cost you yours."

"But it didn't, and—" A muscle spasm caught Ianto by surprise and he hissed in pain, twisting his back against the onslaught. Jack muttered something and slid off the table, coming around behind Ianto and lightly running his palms over Ianto's back until he found the clenched muscle. With gentle fingers he began working the area, slowly coaxing the muscle to relax as Ianto concentrated on his breathing to control the pain.

He was lucky that torn muscles plus a few cuts and bruises were his only injuries. It hadn't been a well thought out plan, but in the split second he'd had before the weevil struck Jack down, Ianto found that he simply couldn't bear to watch Jack die, not if he could prevent it. Even without the unhealed wounds of Toshiko and Owen, Ianto had always known that he'd give his life to save another team mate, even if that team mate was immortal and shook off death like the rest of them shook off a paper cut. But he was also honest enough to admit that he hoped that day was a long way off.

"Where's that damn doctor?" Jack stalked to the door and flung it open, striding into the hallway and looking both ways before returning inside and kicking the door closed behind him. "Maybe we should go to A&E."

"No." Ianto arched his shoulder to ease the still rigid muscles."That'd be worse, I'm sure. We're fine where we are."

Jack eyed him with reluctant amusement as he went back to massaging Ianto's back. "We are, are we?

"Well," Ianto amended, "we're warm and dry, which is better than the way we've spent most of our nights lately."

As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. Jack's eyes clouded over and he bent his head to his task, fingers probing the tender area and working the knots. Ianto bit his lip against a sigh as he searched for a way to communicate to Jack that Ianto didn't blame him for any of it, not one thing. But Jack was too eager to listen to the demons that whispered in his ear, telling him it was all his fault, everything from Ianto's injury to the recent spate of bad weather to the faltering economy.

If Ianto's primary goal was to stay alive, his secondary and yet no less important task was to save Jack Harkness from the darkness that was all too ready to swallow him.

"I was thinking," he said slowly, "that once these scheduled demolitions are over, perhaps we could take a day or two and go up the coast."

Jack's fingers paused, then travelled down to the small of Ianto's back to begin rubbing there. "Yeah? You mean like a vacation?"

"Yup, something like that," Ianto replied, though he'd actually just thought it all up. "We could use Tosh's prediction programme to choose a time that looks fairly quiet."

"You would leave Gwen here all by herself?" Jack's tone had lightened and Ianto relaxed slightly.

"I don't see why not, if we're only a few hours away and we have the Rift activity locater with us. After all, the upside is that we'd in turn give her a few days off as well."

"I like it," Jack declared. "Fresh air, new scenery—" he nudged his nose between the collar of Ianto's tee shirt and his neck, blowing warm air onto Ianto's skin—"and privacy."

Ianto shivered at the muted desire in Jack's voice. He was about to respond when the door opened and the doctor entered, clipboard in hand.

"Right," she barked, "I've got a blank chart here and no time to play games." She glowered at Ianto and then at Jack. "Torchwood, eh? Fine, let's make this quick." She pointed a bony finger at Jack. "You. Leave."

"Jack." Ianto shifted and bit his lip. "It's fine. Go call Gwen and tell her to come in late tomorrow."

Jack walked around the table, give the doctor one more glare before turning to Ianto. "Why does she get to come in late tomorrow?"

"Oh," Jack breathed. A slow grin spread across his face. "I'll get right on that."

He gave them a cheeky salute and walked to the door but before the doctor could address Ianto, Jack had crossed back to the table, shouldering the doctor out of the way to cradle Ianto's face between his hands. Ianto began to speak but was prevented when his mouth was taken in a deeply intimate kiss that spoke of so much yearning that Ianto's head began to swim. This wasn't a casual caress or even a kiss of consolation to steady him for the doctor's examination. This was Jack promising and Ianto believing, and as they parted to the impatient sigh of the doctor, their gazes locked for a brief moment, connecting and confirming everything they'd become to each other.

Jack left the room in a swirl of renewed Harkness energy, leaving Ianto to somehow find enough composure to explain how he'd re-injured a shoulder so recently dislocated without bringing alien bombs and foul-smelling weevils into the conversation.

Some part of Ianto knew that the question was coming. He'd seen a shadow in Jack's eyes ever since the weevil attack two days earlier, a subtle difference that filled Ianto with unease. He knew that the subject of Ianto sacrificing himself—unnecessarily, in Jack's eyes—hadn't been laid to rest, even though things at Torchwood seemed to be getting more normal day by day.

It came without warning as Ianto was washing the dinner dishes and Jack was pretending to dry them. They'd been arguing amicably about what to get Gwen for her birthday, every one of Jack's slightly lewd suggestions met with a more reasonable alternative by Ianto. Easily the most relaxing evening they'd spent since Gray's attack, Ianto was enjoying the all too fleeting sensation of peace as he wiped down the counter, content for the moment to let Jack ignore his dish drying duty in favour of nuzzling Ianto's neck from behind.

Ianto turned and draped the kitchen towel around Jack's neck. "I am. You, however, still have plates to dry."

Jack stuck out his lower lip, then laughed when Ianto raised an imperious eyebrow. "All right, slave driver. But first," he rested his hands on Ianto's hips as his expression sobered, "I need to ask you a question."

"Ask away," Ianto said lightly, even though his stomach tightened with apprehension at Jack's sudden change of mood.

Jack paused, his gaze on Ianto's mouth. "Would you leave Torchwood if I asked you to?"

"What?" Ianto rocked back on his heels, completely unprepared for Jack's request. "I don't understand."

Jack turned away, crossing the room and putting space between them. "Haven't you ever thought about a life beyond fighting aliens and keeping the world patched together with a ball of twine and and a wad of chewing gum?"

"No, wait, before you answer, listen to me. Torchwood doesn't have to be your life. You could do anything, be anything you want." Jack spread his hands, blue eyes bright with emotion. "This can't be all there is for you, Ianto."

"No, no," Jack stepped toward him and placed his hands on his shoulders. "I'm not talking about that." He gave Ianto a self-deprecating smile. "Hell, I'm not that noble. I just want you to know that if you wanted to out of Torchwood, it'd be okay with me."

Ianto swallowed, searching Jack's eyes. He knew this was a direct repercussion from his actions in the abandoned house, but he'd had no idea it would come out this way. To have Jack suggest that he leave Torchwood was an unexpected blow, considering this was ground they'd already covered.

Ianto shrugged out of Jack's hold, choosing to take refuge in anger instead of the fear that Jack's suggestion had kicked up. "Don't remind me that I'm young or that I have my whole life ahead of me. Those platitudes are beneath you. I've made my choice and I'll thank you to respect it."

Ianto pulled the towel off Jack's neck and tossed it aside. "Why do you want me to leave?"

Jack's eyes widened, then fluttered closed. Ianto waited, studying the features he knew better than his own. Jack was beautiful, of that there was no doubt, but there was so much more beneath the surface. Ianto knew he'd be happy to spend the rest of his days discovering everything about Jack Harkness, including the black shadows that lived around his bright edges. That was as much a choice as giving his life to Torchwood, however long—or short—that life proved to be.

Jack reopened his eyes and Ianto was surprised to see the heavy sadness they contained.

"I don't want you to leave," Jack said quietly. "I just want you safe. Why is that so wrong?"

Torn by the weary confusion in Jack's face, Ianto slipped his arms around Jack's waist and pulled him close.

"It doesn't work that way, Jack," he murmured. "Maybe it won't be true a day or a year or a decade from now, but Torchwood is my home. You are my home and being safe will never be a part of that. I can't promise to live beyond today any more than you can promise not to leave again. You know as well as I do that these choices are taken away from us."

Jack nodded, his hands sliding up and down Ianto's back. "I know. And most days, I get it. But watching you fight that weevil, trying to protect me, of all people—"

"Hey," Ianto soothed. "I don't intend on making a habit of wrestling weevils, if that's what you're concerned about. With so much to live for, I have no intention of dying any time soon."

Jack pulled back far enough to look into Ianto's eyes. "Then I guess I'll have to live with that," he said with a slight smile. Then a twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Are you sure fur covered handcuffs aren't an appropriate birthday gift?"

Ianto tilted his head, pretending to consider Jack's suggestion. "Let's save that one for their first anniversary and go with a gift card, shall we?" He stroked Jack's cheek and started to pull out of Jack's arms, but Jack tightened his hold.

Ianto pressed his mouth to Jack's without hesitation, letting his tongue dip inside the welcoming heat to spar lazily with Jack's. They kissed for long, lush moments, enjoying the heat and closeness, giving and taking in equal measure, securing their hearts together once more.

Ianto finally broke the connexion, chuckling when Jack dropped his head to Ianto's uninjured shoulder with a groan of mock exhaustion.

Epilogue

It was Jack's idea, and once they'd all agreed to the project, Gwen dealt with the city planners and Ianto made the arrangements. The day they'd chosen turned out perfectly, a pale blue sky decorated with strands of filmy white clouds, the air soft and warm on their cheeks.

Everyone dressed appropriately. Jack was magnificent in full military dress, his peaked cap tucked neatly beneath his arm. Ianto wore his most severely cut black suit and a white dress shirt, but included a lilac and purple striped tie in honour of Tosh's favourite colour. Gwen had chosen a floral dress in subdued hues of browns and pinks, her hair held back with a brown headband, her feet clad in fashionable, impractical shoes. Even Rhys was at his sharpest in a short-sleeved checked shirt, pre-knotted tie and sharply pressed navy Dockers.

The city had done a good job, Ianto decided. The four of them carefully descended the slope to the old gnarled tree that had once sheltered Lisa's memorial, Rhys gallantly helping Gwen over the low fence that now encompassed the tree and bringing it into the cemetery proper. City engineers had restructured the fence so that there was a natural pocket of space around the tree, enough room for a small bench that looked out over the ancient grounds and the newer plots beyond.

The four of them gathered on the far side of the tree, the one that looked out on the uncultivated field and to the bay beyond. They spoke quietly, Jack and Ianto shoulder to shoulder, Gwen's hand tucked into Rhys' elbow, until Jack pulled away to face them, the brim of his cap in his hands as he regarded them with a sorrowful smile.

"I know that it is customary and proper to say something profound at a time like this, but it seems presumptuous of me to try and put into words what we each feel, so forgive my clumsy attempt today. Though some time has passed, we will always mourn those that have gone on before us. Yet they are with us every day, in one way or another, and we will continue to honour them with our hearts, our minds, and our deeds." His voice roughened and he bowed his head for a minute, then looked up to the sky, blinking hard. "Whatever happens going forward, whatever the future holds for each of us, I want it known that I was very proud to serve with Toshiko Sato and Owen Harper and that their sacrifices—and the sacrifice of Lisa Hallet—will never be forgotten."

He held out his hand and Ianto placed one of three long-stemmed white roses across his palm. Jack held the fragile flower to his lips, then bent down and laid it across the permanently installed marker whose upraised letters spelled out Owen Harper, MD. Beside his name was the caduceus and beneath it, the words Beloved Physician.

Ianto turned to Gwen and handed her another rose, which she took with a tremulous smile. She let go of Rhys' arm and stepped to Jack's side to kneel beside him, pausing to brush her hand over Owen's name. Next to Owen's marker, less than an inch separating them, was the marker for Toshiko. Ianto had chosen a lighter metal for her memorial and beneath her name had the words Beloved Friend spelled out in Japanese. Gwen touched the flower to her cheek, eyes closed, then placed it gently across Tosh's name.

Ianto and Rhys stood by silently as Jack and Gwen rose to their feet, Jack's arm around Gwen's shoulder, pulling her close as they gazed down together on the two markers. Gwen turned her head to whisper something in Jack's ear and he smiled, giving her a squeeze before letting her go. She returned to Rhys as Jack stepped back and nodded at Ianto.

Taking a deep breath, Ianto moved a few feet away from his three companions to the small area that had originally held Lisa's small memorial. Now, in almost exactly the same place, was another marker, this one set in concrete like the others.

He'd never expected to be here again, never thought he'd find a way to honour Lisa's life anywhere other than in his memories. He'd carried the battered dragon key chain in his pocket ever since he'd found it in the mud, believing that by holding on to it, he'd never forget the girl he'd once loved.

Now the key chain was once again ensconced beneath Lisa's marker, forever memorialised in protective concrete, unassailable by weather or human hands. After Ianto slanted the last rose across the marker, he trailed his fingers along Lisa's name, then to the one word he'd had placed beneath it—Beloved.

He heard a quiet sniffle and looked up into Gwen's eyes. Walking out from the sheltering curve of Rhys' arm, she went to Ianto and guided him to his feet and into a hug that he returned, eyes tightly shut. They held each other for a long moment, wordlessly sharing their sorrow and taking strength from each other until Ianto pressed his lips to Gwen's forehead and then released her back to Rhys' arms.

Everyone looked to Jack, who smiled at Gwen and Rhys and gave them a nod. Stopping long enough for Jack to gather another hug from Gwen and a hand shake from Rhys, the two of them began making their way back up the slope to the street and leaving Jack and Ianto alone beside the tree that would stand as a sentinel to the loved ones they'd lost.

Ianto slipped his hands into his pockets as he joined Jack to gaze down at the other two markers. Beneath Owen's were entombed the small, irreverent pins he'd worn on his doctor's coat and the space beneath Toshiko's held her reading glasses and a tiny resin-covered cherry blossom that Ianto had found when he'd cleared out her flat.

"I'd always admired what you tried to do for Lisa." It was Jack's turn to shrug. "They deserved to be in consecrated ground, all of them. I know it's not normal protocol for Torchwood, but—"

"But following normal protocol is hardly our strength, is it?" Ianto's grin was fleeting but sincere.

"Nope, but that hasn't stopped us yet." Jack placed his hand on Ianto's neck, guiding him close to drop a kiss on his temple. They stood together quietly, arms around each other as the sun's rays began to lengthen the shadows around them, until Jack withdrew his embrace and held out his hand.

I heard you say

Underneath your breath

Some kind of prayer

I heard you say

Underneath your breath

That you never want to feel this way about anybody else

Time Enough for Tears
Paul Hewson (Bono), Gavin Friday, and Maurice Seezer for The Corrs

I'm not a big fan of including author's notes (having written some real stinkers myself), because I truly believe the story should stand on its own. However, due to the investment I've put into this story, I've spent a lot of time thinking about it over the past months and I guess I feel like I need to justify this opus—just a little bit, anyway.

I came late to Torchwood and so I had the opportunity to see Series Two right after watching all of Series One. Because of that, I couldn't help but notice that the soberly clad, rather odd Ianto Jones we see in the first episode is far different from the confident, brightly-shirted young man in the later episodes of Series Two. How did he go from hiding a desperate, deadly secret in the basement to standing shoulder to shoulder with his Torchwood team mates? And how does the relationship he has with Jack—whom he'd once promised to watch die—go from friendly buddy sex to something far more compelling?

Heck if I know—that's why I wrote the story, to fill in all those blanks left by canon. I picked through the two seasons and chose all the missing scenes that cried out to me, some of which are admittedly a fanfic writer's dream (anything post-Countrycide, the infamous "date", the comfort scene we got screwed out of from The Night Travellers) and a couple that are more obscure. Somewhere along the way, all those missing scenes turned into a novel-length story. If you know me, this is not a surprise.

While notes may not always be appropriate, saying thank you is always spot on. I want to thank lefaym for her very handy Torchwood Timeline (even though I squished and stretched things a bit, it kept me on a pretty straight path) and I appreciate the work she put into it. Thanks also to gershwhen for moral support and for reading things out of context just because she's cool like that.

And of course, nothing works, nothing gets written, nothing gets finished without the support, dedication, and saintly perseverance of Aithine, who must surely wonder when I'm going to run out of words.