“Hello, Tosh.”

“Ianto!  I’m glad to see you, I’m so bored.  Did you bring my laptop?”

Ianto produced the computer and handed it over; Toshiko cradled it with a mother’s love as Ianto placed the other items he’d brought along – small on grapes but big on chocolate – in various easy to reach spots.  Toshiko thanked him with a beaming smile and he radiated relief at seeing her so lively.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sore.”  Ianto waited for more.  “That’s it, really.  Lot of fuss over a few scratches.”

“You were bitten, Owen said.  He wouldn’t go into details.”

“A Weevil knocked me off my feet,” Toshiko told him with apparent disinterest as she booted up her computer.  “It bit me, yes, but as it never got a good grip, and because I was wearing my leather coat the damage was minimal.  In fact it was pieces of the shredded coat covered in blood that made everyone panic, thinking it was bits of me.”

“So, now…?”

“I’m going to be fine.   Stitches and antibiotics.  I don’t think I even need to be here.  I have to go shopping, replace that coat, I liked that coat.”

Ianto sat on the edge of the bed and prised Toshiko’s hand away from where it had the edge of the laptop in a death-grip.

“It frightened the life out of me, you screaming like that.”

Toshiko flinched and pulled a cross with herself face.

“I’m sorry, the Weevil made me jump.”

Ianto shook his head.

“Don’t apologise.  I just want you to know…”  Ianto took a deep breath and smiled a watery smile.  “I’ll miss you.”

“But I’ll be at work tomorrow.”

“I’ve resigned.  I’m returning to London.  Torchwood One.”

Toshiko’s jaw dropped in shock.

“How can you?” she asked softly.

“Well…  Jack’s back.  As he should be.  Back in charge.  And that’s…difficult.”

“Surely…” Toshiko floundered.  “If you…if you took some time to…”

Ianto stood and walked to the window; he could feel Toshiko’s stare drilling into his back.

“I hope we’ll keep in touch.  I’ll be in my old job.  You’ll be surprised what we have in common.”

“Ianto…”

“The latest software that Torchwood uses to detect, analyse, and categorise alien technology?  I was part of the team that designed that.  Very small part, mind.”

“Really?  That’s an amazing programme.  So how did you—”  Toshiko stopped short and bit her lip.

“You can say it.  How did I end up making coffee in Cardiff?”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with making coffee in Cardiff.”

Ianto responded to that with an abrupt, humourless laugh.

“The powers that be thought I was burnt out after the invasion.  More than that, maybe.”  Ianto turned back and offered Toshiko a sad smile.  “Psychologically damaged.  Owen suspects the same.”

“They didn’t want to let you go so they placed you somewhere to recuperate?”

“That was the idea.  Of course, for me, it was all about having somewhere to keep Lisa until she could be…  What?  What was I thinking?  Healed?  Mended?  How on Earth do you restore someone’s humanity after that?”

Toshiko held out her hand and Ianto was reluctantly drawn back to her.  She held onto him and made him sit down.

“Can you cope with going back there?  The memories?”

“I will.  I will cope.  It’s what I do.”

“I hate the thought of you going.  Sometimes it feels as if you’re the only friend I have here.”

“You’ll have Jack.”

“Yes, but Jack’s…Jack.  And you’re…you.”

Ianto smiled and kissed her cheek.

“And you’re you, still in one piece, thank God, and I’m…going to work.”

“I will be back tomorrow, whatever the doctors say.  You’ll be there?”

“I’m working a month’s notice.  Call me if you want a lift.  Any time.”

Toshiko nodded and Ianto stood, dithering by the bed, obviously reluctant to go.  Toshiko caught his sleeve and, after shuffling across the bed, pulled him down to sit beside her.  Once it became clear he wasn’t going to object or leave she handed the laptop to him, a challenging smirk on her face.

“Prove it.”

…

Jack was pacing like a caged animal by the time Ianto arrived at the Hub, just after noon.  He’d seen him arrive on the CCTV and was waiting for him in the Tourist Office as he entered.  There was an edgy stand-off.

“You knew I’d be late,” Ianto reminded him.

“Yeah.  How’s Tosh?”

“Very well, all things considered.  She says she’ll be back tomorrow.”  Jack sighed and shook his head at that.  “She’d appreciate a visit from you,” Ianto continued as he finally plucked up the courage to squeeze past Jack and gain access to his spot behind the counter.

Quick as a snake taking its unsuspecting prey, Jack had Ianto backed against the wall, trapped there by an arm on either side of his body.  Ianto’s face eloquently stated ‘not amused’, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t asked for this.

“I missed you,” Jack told him with scary sincerity, body leaning in and tempting Ianto’s clenched hands to uncurl and explore.

“Get used to it,” came the toneless reply.

“I’ll follow you to London, you know that.”

“Then I’ll have to leave Torchwood entirely.  Is that what you want?  To see me RetConned and left with nothing?”

“Jack!” came a furious shout from Gwen as she hurtled in from the Hub entrance.  She grabbed him by the arm and began to haul him away from Ianto.  “I’m sorry, Ianto, he promised, but…  I’m sorry.”

Jack went along with Gwen but never took his eyes off Ianto, treating him to a conspiratorial smile.

“Coffee and doughnuts!” Jack called as he disappeared from view.

“Yes, Sir,” Ianto answered, just like he used to, and he found himself smiling too.

…

The day progressed with little friction, mainly because Jack was able to concentrate on his work once he knew Ianto was within easy reach.  He studied case after case from the time he’d been missing, making copious notes and frequently emerging from his office to check details or simply gossip about the phenomena or technology that had been encountered.  Ianto divided his time between the archives, the kitchen, and Toshiko’s computer, aware that both he and Jack were under the intense scrutiny of Gwen and Owen.  He was relaxed enough to find their concern amusing, and it quickly became a source of delight to see them cringe every time Jack began to flirt, just before they launched into set piece diversionary tactics.

Fish and chips for dinner, eaten out of paper around the boardroom table.  Toshiko’s health was toasted with beer – and that, unpredictably, included Jack – before a familiar pattern emerged, the team listening to (and heckling) tales of the captain’s far-fetched adventures.  There was nothing new, no exploits from his recent trip aboard the TARDIS, and, despite being painfully curious, no-one wanted to ask for fear of upsetting this nice little domestic scene.

Ianto had no qualms about turning down Gwen’s offer to stay late and ensure he wasn’t left alone with Jack, and when she’d gone he wondered if he was torturing himself or proving a point.  With an armful of files and a boxful of associated technology, he made his way down to one of the deeper levels of the Hub where the main archive was housed.  It was a massive space, still in a state of reorganisation after the influx of material from the defunct London archives.  His domain, and rarely intruded upon by any other Torchwood member.  Although this evening, Ianto knew, would be an exception.

It wasn’t long before Jack arrived, leaning up against one of the vast storage units and watching as Ianto restored files and artefacts to their homes.

“How late are you staying?” Jack tried to sound casual.

Ianto bit back a smile.

“Just this filing to be done and then I’m off, Sir.”

“Would you like to come for a drink with me?”

“Not tonight, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind, but you know that.  You already have plans?”

“Actually…yes.”

“You have plans.”

Ianto witnessed a flash of something he didn’t recognise in Jack’s eyes.  Unfathomable, and not entirely stable.  His recent discomfort returned with a vengeance as it occurred to him that none of the issues he’d found disturbing since Jack’s return had been resolved; he’d been lulled into a false sense of security by the day’s superficial normality.  The reason that Jack – this self-proclaimed changed Jack – wasn’t following him from room to room was more than likely due to the fact that, thanks to proximity and the CCTV, he didn’t have to.  Careful to keep his tone light, Ianto reached up and tweaked his own collar.

“These shirts are works of art.  Think they iron themselves?  And, as I have a boss who is particularly fussy about my appearance…”

An admiring smile spread over Jack’s face; the unfathomable something was immediately banished, and Jack was pure Jack.

“I could keep you and your shirts company.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not.  It’s just that…today’s been nice.  I don’t want it to end.”

“Shouldn’t you be off somewhere, clambering onto a roof for some intensive brooding?  Don’t think the cameras can’t follow you.  I’ve seen you, top of the world, all pout and billow.”

“The only thing I want to be clambering onto is…”

“Don’t.  Start.”

“A man can dream, can’t he?  Tell me you don’t dream.”

Jack could have kicked himself the moment those words came from his mouth.  He knew about Ianto’s old dreams and doubted whether the new editions could be much better.

“I dream,” Ianto agreed quietly, his actions slowing as he thought.  As he spoke.  “For a long time all I had were dreams of losing you.  Fantastic situations but always the same end result.  Losing you and not being strong or clever or fast enough to do anything about it.”

“You still have them?” Jack asked unsurely, not convinced that he wanted to hear the answer to that.

“Rarely.  Now it’s more about trying to find out why the water is purple and how to deal with the giraffe in the autopsy room.”

Jack frowned.

“You’d never negotiate a giraffe into the autopsy room.”

“Precisely what I keep telling myself.”  Ianto tucked away the last of the files.  “Leave that with you, shall I?  My subconscious might have got the giraffe in there, but maybe you can get it out.”

“Can I kill it?”

Ianto considered.

“Only if you don’t tell me.”  As Ianto turned to leave Jack stepped into his path.  Ianto tutted.  “Not this dance again.”

“Maybe it’s your subconscious trying to tell you something.”

“Never issue African wildlife with security passes?”

“Maybe the unlikely – the impossible – can happen.  People, like giraffes, are subject to wacky Universal laws that dictate that, sometimes, what shouldn’t fit…fits.”

“You’re as subtle as a flying brick.”

Jack teased Ianto’s tie from beneath his jacket, caressing it between his fingers as Ianto inwardly wavered between discomfort, amusement and desire.

“Let me keep you company tonight,” Jack cajoled.  “Few hours.  No pressure.”

“Look, if this is simply because you’re horny, why don’t you just go out, trawl a bar, find something gorgeous, and get laid.  I’ll even shout you the first round.”

“You’re kinda missing the point.”

“And you’re kind of losing the plot.  Now, if you’d like to step aside before we get into the realms of harassment, Sir.”  Jack froze for a moment, then tucked Ianto’s tie back inside his jacket, fingertips slipping between the edges of his shirt to caress his chest.  “Jack,” Ianto snapped.

Without meeting Ianto’s eyes, Jack withdrew his hand, took a step to the right and waved Ianto past.  Ianto headed for the exit at as dignified a pace as he could maintain.

“We fit, Ianto,” Jack called after him.  “We fit.”

“No, Jack,” Ianto countered without looking back.  “Sometimes a giraffe is just a giraffe.”

…

Ianto was as good as his word.  Not exactly settled, but certainly more settled than he’d been since Jack’s return, he was able to turn his thoughts to his home and person, engaging in some therapeutic housework and laundry, hanging up the last of his flawlessly ironed shirts at a little after eleven.

Pleased with himself for being so productive, he rewarded his body with a luxurious stretch and the last slice of the pizza he’d ordered when he’d got home.  His good mood was turned on its head when he switched off the light, ready to go up to bed.  Through the window he caught a glimpse of a figure standing across the street, disguised by shadows and partially hidden by parked cars, but distinctive enough for Ianto to recognise and seethe over.  No following, Gwen had assured him, no spying.

Ianto was out of the house within a second, charging across the street and ready to thump some sense into Jack.

“This stops now,” he growled as he approached the figure that took a tentative step forward into the glow of the nearest streetlight.  One double-take later, Ianto skidded to a halt.  “Bryn?”

“I, er…  I was on my way home from the pub and…”

“Bryn,” Ianto repeated softly, astounded by his mistake and finally prepared to concede Jack’s point about his and Bryn’s physical similarity.

“What with you not being well…”

“You live in the other direction from the pub.”

“Oh, yes, well, not that pub.”  Bryn struggled under Ianto’s heavy stare.  “Scenic route?”

Ianto finally got over his shock and smiled at his boyfriend’s feeble excuses for his presence.

“Scenic?  How d’you work that out?”

“Well, you’re gorgeous, eh?”

Shaking his head, Ianto gestured to Bryn to follow him inside, and they were soon in the kitchen, Ianto making tea to warm his other stalker up.

“Why didn’t you call?” Ianto asked as he handed a mug over.

“You said you would,” Bryn reminded him, and Ianto cringed.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a stupid day.  I spent the morning at the hospital because someone I work with – a good friend – was attacked last night and admitted…”

“Ah, shit, no.”

“…and my old boss has just come back to take over and there was months of catching up to do, and…”  Ianto leant against a counter and slumped.  “Not good enough, is it?”

“You’re all right though?  You’re well?”

“Yes, today I am.  I’m sorry though.”

“I’m relieved it’s work, I thought you were cross with me for something.”

Ianto hurried to Bryn and pulled him into a hug.

“No.  No.  I’m an ungrateful bastard, it’s you who should be cross with me.”

“Not likely,” Bryn chuckled, and he buried his face in Ianto’s neck and blew a tea-hot raspberry against his skin; Ianto squirmed and ducked away, only to return within seconds, taking the mug and placing it on the drainer before launching himself at Bryn, enthusiastically kissing and touching.

Eyes tightly closed and kissing Bryn but tasting Jack, touching Bryn but feeling Jack.  Ianto hated himself, using someone who had such honest affection for him, but he’d take care, never utter Jack’s name in a moment of weakness, Bryn would simply reap the benefits of being the focus of Ianto’s heightened passion.  Ianto hated himself, but when Bryn sank to his knees before him, it was Jack’s hair his fingers were tangled in.  Ianto hated himself but loved Jack’s mouth, and this was perfect and wrong and completely what he needed.  Almost completely.  Ianto hated himself.  But not enough to stop.

…

If an individual had enough motivation, and the desire to climb walls and fences in the middle of the night, there was a certain spot in Ianto’s rear garden from where it was possible to see directly into his kitchen.

And Jack had found it.

Attrition 7       Attrition Index       Attrition Notes

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