For the second day running Ianto was late for work, an unprecedented event that naturally led to many unimaginative jokes and comments from the obvious source; Ianto barely heard them, certainly didn’t respond to any.  He just went about his business, tidying and organising, turning the sofa area into a cosy make-shift work station to ensure Toshiko would be as comfortable as possible when she arrived.  Normally Ianto would have found some enjoyment in taking care of a friend, but there was no feel-good here, not today: with every step, every action he despised himself a little more.  You hid yourself from us, Jack had once said, once accused, and he was right.  Ianto had vowed never to do anything like that again, but here he was, blank features and sharp suit disguising the fact that, beneath the surface, there was little more to be found than a self-centred, exploitative hypocrite.

“Glad you could join us.”

Ianto started at Jack’s greeting, and found himself unable to even glance in his direction.

“Sorry I’m late, Sir.  I’ve no excuse, but it won’t happen again.”

“No excuse?  And there I was hoping one of us had got lucky.”  Ianto said nothing, simply jumped again as Jack’s hand fell between his shoulders and stroked.  “I was looking forward to a tale of hot tea and hotter blow jobs.”

Ianto’s dry swallow must have been audible in Newport.  Suddenly his mind was racing back to the previous evening, trying to ascertain if Jack had somehow been there, if the warning tingle had been lost within the more intense sensations.  He risked a quick look at Jack, who seemed to be assessing the nest Ianto had built for Toshiko.

“Think there’s room for two in there?” Jack grinned lasciviously.  “Wanna find out?”

At the lack of response from Ianto, Jack slid his hand down and around Ianto’s waist, pulling him close enough to nuzzle his cheek.  Ianto, strangely numb, just let it happen.

“Tosh’s taxi is on its way,” Owen called across the Hub, “if you’re finished with the foreplay.”  That voice was like nails down a blackboard; Ianto jerked away from Jack and turned on Owen, who saw the expression and took a step back.  “Oh, fuck, he’s wearing his lock and load face.  Jack, put him back on his lead, eh?”

Ianto’s hand was on Jack’s revolver before it was seized and restrained.

“Maybe you should leave the innuendo to me,” Jack warned Owen as he firmly held Ianto’s arm and led him to the Tourist Office to see Toshiko in.

“Sorry,” Ianto eventually managed, breaking the silence as they waited for the taxi to arrive.

“For wanting to blow Owen’s brains out?  Or are we talking about…?”

“D’you…”  A troubled look flickered in Jack’s direction and immediately away.  “Do you always like yourself?”

“No,” Jack answered immediately, not requiring any time to think that one over.

Ianto gave a shallow nod in acknowledgement and fell silent, plagued by his own upsetting thoughts.  Jack wandered to his side, calculating if this was a time to push for what he wanted, or if a tactical withdrawal would be more likely to bring Ianto to him.  But Ianto’s unhappiness disturbed him, made him re-evaluate the day’s tactics.

“Want to tell me about it?” Jack coaxed.

“Not really an it as such, Sir,” Ianto said, adding a poorly executed smile.

“Not sir.”

“We’re at work.”

“Funny just how irrelevant office protocol becomes to me when you look like something’s tearing you up inside.”  Ianto bit his lip and shrugged.  “How about…” Jack crooned, slipping his arms around Ianto’s waist and swaying them to imaginary music.  “I like you enough for the both of us.”

Ianto’s hands rose to Jack’s biceps, squeezing, appreciating the strength beneath his palms.

“Doesn’t help.  Not when you’re part of the problem.  I just need to get away from here and…”

“Nonononono,” Jack refused to listen, trying to kiss Ianto to shut him up but accepting the rejection when Ianto wearily turned his face away, head dropping forward and coming to rest on Jack’s shoulder.  “I guess you’ll be wanting RetCon with your coffee today,” Jack joked, still holding tight, rocking rather than swaying, hoping that Ianto could soak up a little comfort.

Ianto forced himself upright and took a reluctant step backwards, out of Jack’s embrace, looking like he was about to say something fairly momentous.  But the beep of a taxi horn outside announced Toshiko’s arrival, and Jack watched as Ianto’s customary work persona slid into place before he rushed out to meet her.  Jack followed more sedately, thinking as he went.  If Ianto was this miserable with Bryn, maybe it was time to take another look at Mr Price’s life and see if a little creative editing was possible; how much tweaking would it take to provide Ianto with an aspect of Bryn that he found unacceptable?  At a guess, a lot less than it would have yesterday.

They helped Toshiko into the Hub, Gwen and Owen joining them to fuss over her despite her protestations, and not leaving her side until she was tucked up on the sofa, everything she could possibly need within easy reach.  It took a few minutes but a calm seemed to settle over the room.  The five exchanged satisfied glances: their team was finally reunited.

“Normality,” Owen said to no-one in particular.  “You can’t knock normality.”

…

Although preoccupied, Ianto felt a little better as the day wore on.  He spent most of his time down in the archives, tidying up the mess Jack had made thanks to his desire to know everything that had happened, or had even threatened to happen in his absence.

Ianto had a sneaking suspicion that some of the excessive disruption was deliberate, offering Ianto an excuse to escape the main Hub area when the pressure of having Jack back was too much to cope with under the scrutiny of his colleagues.

Considerate Jack was worrying though.  Ianto had stayed with Considerate Bryn in a bid to move on from Frequently Indifferent Jack, and now he was becoming more confused by the hour.

“Don’t think about it,” he muttered to himself, aware that his guilt over using Bryn was poised and raring to go, just waiting for an inroad.

Knowing that Bryn had enjoyed every second of the night’s marathon session wasn’t enough.  It almost made everything worse.  Ianto needed to respect his partner, and there had been moments when he’d wanted to shake Bryn and ask how he could not tell that, although Ianto might be with him in body, in mind and spirit he was actually fucking another man.

Gut-wrenching to be so disillusioned with someone who, a week ago, was the greatest joy in his life, someone he hoped he might one day wake up next to and find himself in love with.

Having finished the section he was working on a good ten minutes ago, Ianto checked his watch and wondered how to fill in the half-hour before the next round of drinks.  More files and artefacts, he supposed, if he could prise them away from Jack.  Ianto started up to the Hub, and he found himself reacting in that disastrous old way, heart thudding at the idea of being in Jack’s company.

Pathetic.

It felt great.

Selectively great.

A quick check on Toshiko first, who seemed to be just about ready to tear her hair out at any further signs of coddling, so Ianto moved rapidly on to Jack’s office, looking for the captain as he went and being disappointed when he was nowhere to be seen.  Typical.  Just when Ianto was feeling crap enough to allow Considerate Jack to make him feel better, the man had done a bunk.

Files and artefacts it was.

Jack’s desk was piled high, and Ianto groaned at the prospect of putting everything back into order; it had been beautifully packed away, a work of clerical art.  If Ianto had his way the entire archive would be look don’t touch, and damn the consequences of not having access to the information at their disposal.

In the midst of the chaos was an area scraped free to allow Jack to work, and Ianto froze when he saw the file that Jack was presently occupied with.  He snatched it up and studied the top page.  Bryn Price, headed and underlined in Jack’s script.  A picture, lifted from who knew where.  Bryn.  My Bryn.  The protective streak within Ianto roared into life as he flicked through the information Jack had gathered, and…why?  What was the point?

Hearing Jack’s distant voice had an instantaneous red rag/bull effect; rolling the file up and clutching it until his knuckles turned white, Ianto stalked to the doorway.  Jack was talking to Toshiko, making her laugh, and that made Ianto madder still.

“Jack,” he hollered; everyone but the man in question fell into freeze-frame.

“Ianto!” Jack greeted him cheerfully.

Ianto wielded the screwed up file.

“What the fuck is this about?  How dare you check up on Bryn.”

Heads popped up in interest.

“Bryn?” Gwen and Toshiko said in tandem.

Suspecting that the shit was about to hit the fan quite spectacularly, Jack began a pseudo-casual stroll in Ianto’s direction.

“I had to make sure you were safe.”

“Who’s Bryn?” Gwen asked.

“It’s nothing to do with you, Jack.  Outside of this place, I am nothing to do with you.”

“Ah, c’mon…”

“You’ve met someone?” Toshiko said enthusiastically, “Why didn’t you say?  That’s—”  Jack glanced back, and she couldn’t fail to notice the aggrieved expression on his face.  “Unfortunate timing,” she finished quietly,

“No, it’s not,” Ianto protested before readdressing Jack.  “If you’re so desperate to know about Bryn, why don’t you ask me?”

Gwen raised a hand.

“Can I ask?”

Ianto rolled his eyes.

“He’s a nice, normal bloke: kind, funny, thoughtful, doesn’t disappear for the best part of a year when I nip out for a coffee.”

“It’s serious then?”

There was a hushed pause as they all waited for an answer, focus as much on Jack as Ianto.  Ianto’s gaze was locked on Jack as he weighed honesty against revenge.  It didn’t matter if he himself was feeling a tad disenchanted with Bryn at present, that was his prerogative.  Jack deserved to be taught a lesson for his interference.  But the moment Ianto drew breath to reply to Gwen’s question, Jack spoke.

“Don’t answer that.”

“Why?  Will the truth hurt so much?  Captain Jack Harkness successfully replaced by an unremarkable Welshman who delivers the post, fosters stray cats, and whose only claim to fame is knowing the lyrics to every song the Super Furry Animals ever recorded.  Does it hurt, Jack?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”  Ianto marched over to Jack and thrust the file into his face.  “I don’t care what shit you try with me, I only have to put up with it – you – for a month.  But you leave Bryn alone.  You leave us alone.”

Ianto left, and in such a furious temper that no-one attempted to stop him.  Jack wasn’t the only one wondering if, despite Ianto’s talk of a month, he was gone for good.

“Cheer up, Jack,” Owen grinned as he sauntered over.  “At least he didn’t have a gun handy.”

Quicker than Owen saw him move, Jack had his revolver in his hand, aiming it between Owen’s eyes.

“He didn’t, but I do,” Jack snarled.

“Oh, for God’s sake!”  Gwen ran over and eased Jack’s aim away from Owen before taking the gun from his hand and re-holstering it.  “This stops, now.  However tempting, it’s not open season on Owen.”

Brushing her off, Jack stalked moodily away and into his office.  There soon followed a series of bangs and thuds, followed by a wet, glassy smash against the wall.

“Fucking insane,” grouched Owen as he started to put on his coat.

“Where are you going?”

“Pub.”

“You can’t,” Gwen insisted, “we’ve got to decide what to do.”

“What’s to decide?  Whether Jack or Ianto should be the one to blow my brains out?”

“Whose fault is that?  Can’t you ever just shut up?”

“No.  Right, Tosh, you coming?”

“I should really…”  Toshiko’s mental debate, pub versus loyalty, took less than a second.  “Help me up.”

Owen did as he was asked, mindful of bruises and stitches as he assisted her to her feet.

“Tosh,” Gwen implored.

“You talk to Jack if you think it will help.  I’m more tired than I thought, I don’t want to be here.”

Gwen sighed, accepted, helped Toshiko on with her coat and watched despondently as Owen offered an arm and Toshiko gratefully took it, leaning on him in a bid to leave as quickly as possible.

Bracing herself, Gwen went to Jack’s office.  He was back to pacing.

“Jack…  What were you thinking?”

“I just want to keep him safe.”

“I see.  You feel the need to protect him from someone he seems genuinely fond of.  Inspired.”

“You told me that if I came back…”

“I told you to leave him alone.”

“He said I could behave like I used to.”  Seeing the scorn on Gwen’s face, Jack had to admit the reason.  “So he wouldn’t have any regrets about leaving.”

“Well, that certainly worked a treat.”

“Look, if you’re just here to take pot-shots…”

“No.  I’m sorry.  I do want to help.  But I didn’t know about Bryn, it didn’t even occur to me to question why Ianto has been so much happier recently.  I suppose I was just glad he was finally getting over you.”

“He isn’t happy with Bryn.”

“Jack…”

“He was miserable when he walked in here today, he brought it with him.  That wasn’t me.”

Gwen thought back; after a moment it shocked her that Jack was quite possibly correct.  So, however uncomfortable it presently made her, she had to make the offer:

“What can I do?”

Jack attempted to cross back to his desk and was left staring down at the mess he’d made of the place, files and alien gadgets everywhere, a heap on the floor blocking him from his chair.

“Go home,” he told Gwen.  “Have a life.”

“D’you need a hand with…”

“No.”

Gwen didn’t wait to be told twice: it was a relief to get away.

Jack picked up the first batch of paperwork and glanced around for the piece of technology that was supposed to accompany it.  No sign.  Jack dropped the papers again, knowing that if he left this, Ianto would have to sort it out.  A very pleasant idea, Ianto spending lots of time in the office with him, close enough to touch.  Jack’s hands involuntarily clenched as he recalled holding Ianto earlier that day before…  Before he’d screwed up so outstandingly.

Enough.  Gwen was right, he had to leave Ianto alone, and…  Not leave him alone, just give him time and space and…what?  Be honest with him, yes.  Because Ianto was so receptive to that right now.

Jack kicked his way through to the desk and slumped in his chair.  Thought about phoning Ianto.  Or he could take the man’s advice: go out, trawl a bar, find something gorgeous, and get laid.  Take the price of the first round out of Ianto’s pay.  But hadn’t he tried that last night, and look where he’d ended up.

Calling up ‘Price_B’ and the associated files on his computer, Jack diligently erased all traces of his snooping into Bryn’s life.  Too little too late maybe, but there was every chance that Ianto would check, and Jack knew he had the skill to find anything that was hidden or encrypted, however securely.

That taken care of, Jack was completely at a loose end.  With nothing better to do he went to the autopsy room, leant on the railing and took a good look around, mentally calculating the space.  Then he added a giraffe.

…

Ianto walked for a while before going home.  It helped to calm him and gave him time to focus on what he needed now that he couldn’t have what he wanted.  There was a brisk breeze off the bay, and it felt quite icy after a while; Ianto took deep breaths, knowing he’d miss this simple pleasure.  London stank: it was full of traffic fumes, you could taste the pollution in the air increase as you approached the city.  But London or Glasgow had been the choice, and after a bizarre conversation with the guy running Torchwood Two, London became more appealing.  London, Glasgow, or…RetCon.  Although there were aspects of his life it would be a relief to forget, he didn’t want to lose Lisa, and he didn’t want to lose Jack.

Torchwood had subsidised housing in London for the likes of him; he’d try for a flat by the river where he could pretend the air was cleaner, and the breeze that occasionally whistled along it would remind him of this, of here.  Of home.

Tears sprang to Ianto’s eyes and he fooled himself it was because of the chilly gusts buffeting his face.  Time to move on, in more ways than one.  As he walked to his car he phoned Bryn, and the call was only answered after many, many rings.  Ianto was greeted by a massive yawn and he belatedly realised how inconsiderate he was being.

“Sorry, Bryn, I didn’t think.  Go back to sleep.”

“Awake now.  I just needed a nap.”

“You didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“Hear me complaining?”

“No, but you don’t, do you.  Ever.”

Bryn gave a dozy chuckle.

“Never thought you’d have a problem with that.”

“I don’t.  But I’m…I’m not happy with myself and…”

“Why, Yan?”

“I—”  It was impossible to be strictly honest, so Ianto went for second best.  “Bloody work, you don’t want to hear about it.”

“I’ll listen, you know that.”

“Listen to this then, Price the Post: I’m out early, I’m on my way home, and I’d love some company.”

“Give me an hour to make myself beautiful, or at least not smelling of bike oil.”

“You old romantic, you.”

Bryn blew noisy kisses and hung up.

Ianto took a moment to realise that the hand holding the phone was trembling ferociously, and his vision was still blurred.  Once in the car he found tissues in the glove compartment and wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and pulled himself together.  A quick trip to the supermarket, then home, and he’d make it up to Bryn for last night’s selfishness because what they had was too important to fuck up.  After being too willing to be swayed by Jack, Ianto felt vulnerable and lost and, for his own sake, he couldn’t afford to let Jack be the one to help him find himself.

…

When Bryn showed up Ianto hugged him to within an inch of his life; today the smile on Bryn’s face was one full of concern.

“What’s the matter, Love?”

“I, umm…”  Ianto reluctantly let him go.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Talk,” Bryn urged, sitting them down on the sofa and keeping a firm hold of Ianto’s hand.

“You want to eat first?  I made an effort.”

“You hungry?”

“Yes,” Ianto lied.  “No,” he admitted under Bryn’s analytical gaze.

“Talk.”

“Okay.” Ianto took a deep breath.  “I quit my job, I have to get away from someone there.”

“The old boss you mentioned?”

“Yeah.  But I have another lined up, better job, more what I used to do and want to get back to.”

“That’s great.  So, what’s the problem?”

Another deep breath.

“It’s in London.”

“It’s…  Oh.”  Bryn’s finger’s tightened around Ianto’s.  “Well, that’s…”  Bryn shook his head, looking like he’d been kicked in the gut.  “London.”

“I know it’s a shock, I’m pretty shocked myself, it’s happened so fast.”

“Know what’s funny?” Bryn asked with a sad smile.  “I was trying to pluck up the courage to suggest we move in together.  Thinking you saying no to that would be the worst that could happen.”  Using the grip he had on Ianto’s hand, Bryn pulled him closer and briefly kissed him.  “Would you have said no?”

“I’d’ve said…  It’s barely three months.  How can we be sure if it’s barely three months?”

“I’ve known since three weeks.”

“That we’d live together?”

“That I love you.”  Bryn kissed him again, gaining little response as Ianto attempted to assimilate what he’d been told.  “Don’t be horrified.”

“I’m not, I’m…I’m…”

“I know you don’t feel the same way, Yan, I’m not a fool.  You don’t love me, but you care for me, I know that.”

“I do care,” Ianto swore vehemently.

Bryn reached up with his free hand and drew circles on Ianto’s forehead.

“There’s a lot happening here.  I hear the cogs turning, day or night.”  Still thoroughly shaken by Bryn’s admission of love, Ianto knocked the hand away and moved closer, huddling into Bryn for comfort.  “Want to tell me why you need to run away?”

“I’m not—  Yes, I am.”

“This boss of yours.  Something happen with him before he left?”

“Yes,” Ianto admitted hoarsely.

“Is he making you go?”

“No.  That isn’t what he wants at all.  He wants me to stay.”

Bryn paused, almost imperceptibly.

“Did he hurt you?”

“Yes.  Not intentionally, but yes.  I suppose it wasn’t so much about him as the circumstances, but…”

“That sounds like an excuse.”

“It isn’t.”  Bryn remained silent, obviously waiting for Ianto to continue.  “It isn’t an excuse, it’s…  This is too hard.  Let’s eat, watch a film, we can…”

“Jack, isn’t it,” Bryn said softly.

Ianto sat up and turned to stare at Bryn, mind racing.

“How…?”

“You called me that, last night.”

“No.”  Ianto’s eyes welled and he shook his head furiously: he’d been careful.  “No, I—  I’d never hurt you, not like that.”  Bryn shrugged, looking pretty tearful himself.  “I’m so sorry, Bryn.  I’m so sorry.”

“I always knew there was someone in your past that had left a fucking great fireball of misery in your gut.  You were happy with Lisa, so…  This charmer, I take it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I wasn’t thinking simple.”

“He’s…  What he does to me.  What he turns me into.  He drives me insane.”

“But what does he mean to you?”

“First and foremost?  I’m ashamed to say…survival.”

“Survival?” Bryn repeated, obviously surprised.  “I assumed…”

“What?  That he was some sort of abusive ex?  The opposite.  When the worst thing happened to me – my fucking great fireball of misery – when I…  I was happy with Lisa, yes, but losing her, losing the entire life we’d planned…  Even though she was gone I couldn’t let go, I held on to her…her…ghost,” Ianto finally settled on, because how could he share the truth?  “It was Jack who made me understand that what I was doing was more damaging than letting her go.  Clichéd I know, but he saved me from myself, from the terrible way I was behaving in my grief.  Cruel to be kind, that’s Jack, but he showed me that I could survive losing Lisa.”  Ianto forced himself to blank the unfurling memories, pushing himself close to Bryn once again and rightly trusting he’d be held.  “Then…not long after, the whole team was out on the Beacons and…something went wrong, I almost died, and he saved me again, he saved my life.”

“I don’t blame you for wanting to get away from him.”

“D’you see?”

“I see why you’d associate him with terrible things happening.”

“Survival,” Ianto insisted.  “I associate him with survival.”

“Are you saying…you can’t live without him?”

“I know that’s how it sounds, but no.  I’m not sure I can feel strong again, or fully trust myself, until I get away from him.  He can’t be the one to keep saving my life.  He can’t be that important.”

“He obviously already is.  And, well…  You’d have to love him or hate him, wouldn’t you.”

“He drives me mad but I don’t – can’t – hate him.”

“Then…  Do you love him?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’d know.”  Ianto frowned.  “Wouldn’t I?”

Bryn gave him a gentle kiss and set him aside, leaving Ianto thinking about a possibility he truly didn’t want to consider.  The sounds of pottering in the kitchen drew him out of his deliberations and he joined Bryn, preparing the food he’d bought and opening a bottle of wine, soon ferrying plates and glasses to his dining table.  The atmosphere was oppressively sad, not one legitimate smile to be had from Bryn.  It was heartrending.

At the table they ate, apathetically and in silence, giving Ianto enough thinking time to come to a momentous decision.  He leant across the table and grabbed Bryn’s hand, tugging until he had the man’s absolute attention.

“You’re wrong, y’know,” he smiled.  “I’ve been too preoccupied with that bloody fool to think about…this bloody fool.”

“You’re no fool, Yan.”

“Not now I’ve come to my senses.  Bryn Price, you are a wonderful man, and I do love you.  I love you, Bryn.”

Bryn regarded him warily.

“You mean it?”

“I do.  The thought of losing you because of this and I know.  Want to know what else I know?”

“What?”

“They have postmen in London.  You can be a postman anywhere.”

Bryn’s wariness morphed into out and out stunned; he drained his glass and poured himself another.

“You think…?”

“Yes.  You, me, London.  Have to sort out something for the cats, they won’t be happy there.  But we can be.”

“Yan…”

“And I have to tell you, promise you…  I haven’t been unfaithful to you, the name thing was because I’ve been so screwed up about all this, nothing more.  That’d never happen, not in a million years, that’s not me.”

The smile that Ianto had so thoroughly knocked from Bryn’s face was creeping back.

“London, eh?”

“Takes a bit of getting used to, but we’d have some fun.”

Bryn was already nodding…

“If we got a shift on we could be in for Christmas.  Our first Christmas.”

…and Ianto laughed with relief, picking up his glass and clinking it against Bryn’s, imagining the most positive future he could think of ahead of him.  Them.  They returned to their food, eating with renewed appetites when they could snatch mouthfuls between excited sentences, making plan upon plan and letting the idea of starting a new life together take hold.  It was only when Bryn interspersed Ianto’s dialogue with more yawns than words that Ianto was reminded that he’d kept the man awake all night.

“Shall I take you home?  I won’t let you sleep if you stay here,” he grinned.

“’Nother half-hour?”

Ianto made his best coffee in a bid to perk Bryn up, but they soon had to admit defeat.  As they strolled to Ianto’s car, hand-in-hand, Ianto wondered if Jack was around tonight, and for the first time he hoped the answer was yes.  He stopped at the Rover and leant Bryn against it as he passionately kissed him.

“I love you,” he vowed.

“I think you might,” Bryn conceded thoughtfully, before the grin broke out and he rolled them along the car, pinning Ianto over the bonnet and starting the kissing all over again.

…

Once at Bryn’s, Ianto immediately put the man to bed, lying alongside him on top of the covers and stroking his chest as he hovered on the edge of sleep.

“Listen to me, Bryn,” Ianto said softly, the slightest tremble to his voice.  “Tomorrow, when you wake up…you won’t know me.  You won’t know Ianto Jones.  You will not know Ianto Jones.”

Ianto had studied retroactive continuity in some depth.  Not impressed with the ‘Wham, bam, thank you RetCon’ attitude he often saw around him, he’d learnt that it could, with a little time, patience and direction, be used with subtlety and precision to exclude certain memories without destroying a complete time period.

Keeping Bryn on the verge of unconsciousness, Ianto talked through and picked apart their three months, removing himself from situations he wanted Bryn to retain in some capacity; it was hours before Ianto eventually sank onto his back and let Bryn sleep.

A few minutes rest and then he was up, searching the place for every indication that Ianto Jones had been a part of Bryn Price’s life and removing the evidence.  He wondered if, subconsciously, he’d always felt this moment was inevitable.  Through his own subtle instigation, he and Bryn had always kept themselves pretty much to themselves, their local was a bar that none of Bryn’s friends or family would go to (and neither would Bryn now that Ianto had finished tinkering with his memories), and Ianto had established very quickly that Bryn’s family and workmates weren’t privy to certain facts about his lifestyle.

Finally Ianto sat down with Bryn’s phone and removed the text messages and photos, deleted the voice mails that had been stored; when he next went into work he’d ensure any details of calls made to or from him were erased from Bryn’s phone records.

Eventually it was done.  He was no longer a part of Bryn’s life.  A momentous decision but the right one, Ianto was sure.  No more grief for Bryn when Ianto called him Jack, no being used, no eventual heartbreak when Ianto had to put an end to their relationship because he couldn’t reciprocate the depth of Bryn’s feelings for him.  And, even if Bryn wouldn’t remember it, Ianto was glad that their last few hours together had ended on a hugely happy note, however manufactured.

Ianto gave Bryn a last kiss goodbye and let himself out, trying to ignore his own emotions because he was more than ready to fall apart over what he’d lost.  Regardless of whether or not Ianto had been in love, Bryn had been one of the best friends he’d ever known, the person who had restored his will to live in recent months.

He drove home, showered, and went to bed.  The sheets still smelt of Bryn and it was too much.  Ianto’s self-control crumbled and he wept into his pillow, missing Bryn and resenting Jack but blaming nobody but himself.

He didn’t wake until midday Sunday, feeling drained, lonely, but greatly relieved.  Bryn was gone, and he would cope.  He would cope, because that was what he did.  As he made tea and toast, he began the mental rearrangement of the last three months, gathering Bryn’s contribution and impact together and forcing the whole emotional bundle into one of his boxes, knowing that one day soon he’d have the courage to seal it with his usual cold precision.  Amid lingering affection Ianto temporarily filed it under, ‘Sense should have prevailed’.

Attrition 8       Attrition Index       Attrition Notes

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