Jack couldn’t figure out where he was when he woke, feeling hungover and wrung out, but saturated with peace.  A peace he hadn’t experienced in years, but distantly associated with contentment and liberation and hours of Class A slumber.  When he did figure out where he was…  Moved and amazed merely scratched the surface of his emotions.

He’d turned in his sleep and was facing off the bed; remarkably, Ianto had come along with him and was pressed against his back, nose to the nape of Jack’s neck and softly wheezing.  Bliss.  It was bliss.  There was nowhere else he wanted to be, and he’d settle for eternally hungover and wrung out if he never had to move.

Ianto’s arm was around Jack’s waist, flopped not holding, but there, bare skin on bare skin; his cotton-clad morning erection was pressed in the valley of Jack’s buttocks.  The temptation was to start something that might be finished before Ianto was fully awake, furious and shouting, but that would mean a loss of bliss, and this bliss was…well…blissful.

From past experience, Jack knew that Ianto always woke before the alarm, and today was no different.  An indecipherable mumble was followed by a full body stretch that necessitated a separation of several inches, but Ianto was soon back, hand running over Jack’s hip and coming to rest on his thigh.

Jack swiftly arrived at the conclusion that feigning sleep was the way to deal with this unlikely situation, but he almost gave himself away with a groan when he felt Ianto’s lips ghosting over his skin, the sensation familiar and longed for and lost.  Dreading the moment when Ianto might forget himself and whisper a lustful ‘Bryn’ and not entirely sure he wouldn’t bawl, Jack felt every hair on his body rise when Ianto murmured,

“Jack.”  And then, “Jack,” again, his tone full of regret.  Leaning up on his elbow, Ianto studied his uninvited bed partner for several minutes, the hand on the thigh stroking, and then he kissed Jack’s shoulder before resting his brow against it.  “Jack,” he breathed.  “God help me.”

Ianto rose; Jack listened to him click off the alarm and leave the room, heard the shower start, heard Ianto singing something unrecognisable; listened through the extended silent pause that had to be Ianto shaving.  Even if Jack had assumed that Ianto would be unhappy to have him in his home, the proof hurt, although not enough to encourage Jack to get up and leave amid a volley of apologies.  He tried to think of a smart line for Ianto’s return, but his brain evidently wasn’t up to it, and he ended up dozing until he smelt the rich aroma of coffee close by.

The sounds of Ianto dressing followed, and Jack faked waking, rolling onto his back, sprawling into a languid stretch.  He opened his eyes just in time to see Ianto knotting his tie.

“I missed you,” Jack croaked through a booze-dehydrated throat.  “I missed your ties.  I was flying through the Universe in a time machine, surrounding by marvels that most beings can’t begin to fathom, and I was wondering what colour tie you had on that day.”  Ianto looked at him and smiled.  “We had a lot of fun with your ties,” Jack concluded as he struggled up and reached for the mug on his bedside cabinet.

“You slept.”  Ianto’s smile widened.  “You really slept.”

“A benefit of where I’ve been,” Jack explained.  “One of the changes you don’t want to hear about.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to hear.  I’m just…  I’m wary of being drawn back in.”

“You must hate me being here.”

“You were drunk.  You weren’t thinking straight.”

“Making excuses for me?” Jack smirked.

“Making excuses for me,” Ianto corrected.  Ianto took a quick look at himself in the full-length mirror that fronted the wardrobe.  “Will I do?”

“Dumb, dumb question.”

“Okay, now we’ve established that your cock approves, any cerebral functions we can call upon?”

“You look perfect.  Always.”

Ianto glanced at the bedside clock.

“Right, I’m off.”  He hesitated before asking, “You staying here?”

“Would you mind?  Till my head clears.”

“If you need to go out there are spare keys in the kitchen drawer, the one nearest the window,” Ianto answered without directly answering.  “Unless you’d miss the thrill of breaking and entering.”

“I like the way you make that sound dirty.”

Ianto chuckled and walked to Jack’s side.

“Gimme a kiss.”  That was unexpected, but Jack willingly obliged; Ianto pulled a face.  “There are spare heads for the electric toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet.”

“Razor?”

“Use mine – there are fresh blades in the cabinet.”

Jack set aside his untouched coffee and wriggled down the bed.

“I will be in to work.  Maybe.  This afternoon.  Maybe.”

“Don’t mention where you spent the night, all right?  I don’t want anyone thinking this is something that it’s not.”

“How about me?  What am I allowed to think?”

“Like I have any control over where your mind wanders.”  Ianto was out of the door, calling, “See you later,” back up the stairs.

Jack sighed and wallowed in the comfort, the appreciation of one pleasure leading to thoughts of another.  It would be very wrong to masturbate in Ianto’s bed, he knew that.  He might even have felt guilty about it if he didn’t believe that it was exactly what Ianto would expect.

…

“Ianto and the archives.  Always sounds like a nineteen-fifties skiffle group.”

Ianto glanced around to see Jack wandering through the stacks toward him, looking rested and relaxed.  Young.  It put a grin on Ianto’s face.

“You’re looking horribly smug.  Did you have a wank in my bed?”

“Denial wouldn’t make it any less true, I guess.  I won’t tell you where I wiped my hand, it’d only spoil the surprise.”

“That better be a joke.”

Jack adopted his best innocent expression, and Ianto chose not to think any more about it.

“What have I missed?” Jack asked.

“Let’s see…  There was great debate first thing about what had happened to Jack, everyone but yours truly terrified that he’d done another of his disappearing acts.  I assured them I’d last seen you legging it back to the bar to score, and that turned the debate on its head.  Suddenly we had uncomfortable silences and staggered sentences, no-one wishing to rub the tea boy’s nose in the fact that his once-was is elsewhere shagging a stranger senseless.”  Jack cackled.  “Not even Owen put the boot in.   He’s losing his touch, you might want to find an alien device to suck out the trace of humanity he’s in danger of developing.”

“Yeah, I meant to say: yesterday?  I’m really sorry, but Owen was concerned.  I think he actually likes you.”

“I think ‘like’ might be going a little too far.”

“There’s something going on.  Anything you want to tell me?”

“I can tell you that paranoia doesn’t suit you.”

“You and Owen ever…”

“All four of us actually.”

“Whoa.  You mean…?”

“It was always a danger.  That in your absence your team would actually bond.  Professionally.”

“Is that why you’re down here?  Not working, but hiding from the good doctor’s rather disturbing yet wholly professional concern?”

“Hardly.  I came down to find clerical carnage had been wreaked.  I made the mistake of asking Owen what he’d been doing, and suffered a full hour’s rant about the injustice of being forced to appreciate someone else’s capabilities.”

“He figured it out then.”

“And he showed me the lists.  You’re a bad, bad captain.”  Jack pretended to hang his head in shame.  “I didn’t tell him though, that most of your requirements don’t exist, and the genuine items were either misspelled or misrepresented.”

“I didn’t think it through, did I.  Didn’t think of you having to clean up after him.”  Ianto shrugged.  “Are you mad at me?” Jack asked.

Ianto considered.

“No.  Owen has more of a grievance, perhaps you should be having this conversation with him.”

“I did need the documentation.”  Ianto looked a ‘liar’ at him and Jack grinned.  “The first of it anyway.”

Ianto finished what he was doing and moved on to the next aisle, muttering file numbers to himself as he retrieved scattered paperwork.  Jack followed, stooping to collect random papers, then moving closer than needed to Ianto to hand them over.

“It will be a disaster if you leave.”

Ianto took the papers and tried to smile a thank you.

“I used to think that about you.”  He turned his back on Jack and automatically started to collate the documents.  “But life goes on,” he concluded in an unreadable voice.  Jack stepped in, ran his hands under Ianto’s jacket and around his waist, feeling the man’s indecision before relaxing.  Jack brushed his lips against the nape of Ianto’s neck.  “Stop it, Jack.  Last night – this morning – doesn’t mean anything’s changed.”

“It will be a disaster if you leave,” Jack repeated, and now the words sounded more intimate, filled with a tenderness that Ianto struggled not to respond to.

“Probably,” he sighed wearily.

Jack spread his hands over Ianto’s stomach, enjoying every reachable inch.

“Don’t you miss me?  Even a little?”

“A lot, even.”

“Then why…”  The expected tension arrived full force; Jack let Ianto pull away and go back to his work.  “How about I make you a cup of coffee for a change?” he asked with a jauntiness he didn’t feel.

“I prefer tea.”

“I know, but my tea’s far worse than my coffee, so…”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Sir, I’ll be up soon, I’ll do it.”

“That wasn’t my point.”

A slight whirring close by told them that the CCTV camera had turned to fix on them.  Jack’s expression eloquently stated that someone was going to die horribly, but Ianto gave a subtle shake of his head.

“Then what happened?  After the mother showed up?  You didn’t have her too, surely?”

Jack quickly caught on.

“How could I say no?  By then her husband was clinging to the light fitting, taking my fist to the elbow.  To turn her away would have been, well…”

“Rude?”

“Yes, rude, precisely.”

“Understandable then.  ‘Manners maketh man’,” Ianto quoted with an impossibly serious face.

“That’s right, and this man wanted to be…makethed,” Jack finished with a flourish.

They exchanged a knowing smile.

“Off you go then, Captain, good as your word.  Tea, not coffee; I consider myself forewarned about the quality.”

With a nod, Jack started to walk away.

“Did I mention?” he called over his shoulder.  “Owen wants a full tour of the archives.”

“It’d be my pleasure, Sir, send him down.  As you know, R to T is always very entertaining.”

As Ianto listened, the camera whirred back to its previous position.  He took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly, went back to sorting papers, and mused, abstractly, about how big a disaster leaving was going to be.

…

Dinner was rather subdued, Jack having underestimated quite how disturbed members of his team were at finding him AWOL that morning.  He made the requisite jokes and supplied risqué stories but they weren’t having any of it, eating in near silence with occasional comments about projects they were working on.

Aware that he’d be in exactly the same mood as them if he hadn’t known the captain’s whereabouts, Ianto finally stopped willing them to snap out of it and turned to Jack to discuss aspects of the Rift, how it was used by Bilis Manger, and what was the probability of it happening again.  He took the chance to examine what had happened prior to Abaddon’s release, something he’d wanted to dissect since Jack had returned if only to come to terms with being manipulated – far too easily he felt, in hindsight – and ultimately betraying his leader.

He hadn’t felt confident enough to raise the topic in private, and if everyone else was already feeling miserable, it was unlikely the subject could make them feel much worse.  Rather than too direct an approach, Ianto chose to ramble on at length, essentially a monologue with occasional responses from Jack, who paid indulgent and appreciative attention.

By the time Ianto arrived at…

“Why is it that we’re never offered anything fabulous by a being that has no intention of slaughtering mankind or enslaving the population of the Earth?  Where’s the natural balance?  Why can’t…I d’know…a radiant and benevolent alien appear that we take one look at and realise that’s what humans have been mistaking for angels for centuries, why can’t that angel intervene and bring us back the people we’ve loved and lost as a reward for our actions and sacrifices?  And, yes, I do realise that sounds ridiculously naïve.  But it’s no wonder evil is so tempting.  There have been times I’d’ve done anything to turn the clocks back, and I mean anything.  If someone like Bilis Manger had popped up at one of those moments and offered me the right incentive…  Doesn’t bear thinking about.”

…his colleagues had relaxed, and any initial hesitancy and anxiety had faded to nothing.  The duologue evolved into a healthy, if sometimes painful, five-way debate, closing with the obvious and simplistic consensus that evil invariably had the best hooks, those that only evil would be evil enough to employ, and please, please, please don’t let any Torchwood employee be as stupid again when the next Bilis Manger turned up to screw them over.

Deep and meaningful it wasn’t, but Ianto felt better for talking, for having Jack listen and reassure him.  He cleared up bags and boxes and left as the conversation turned to a case they’d dealt with during Jack’s absence, a self-proclaimed god, complete with ‘miracles’, who’d misjudged his audience and been tipped off a cliff when he belatedly announced he was batting for an alien collective.

Ianto went downstairs and fed the Weevils before heading to the Tourist Office and rearranging his stock to accommodate some new leaflets that had arrived in the morning’s post.  He studied the one advertising performances of A Christmas Carol at Caldicot Castle, feeling rather tempted to go along because he’d appeared in a school production of the classic and had enjoyed the experience immensely.  But it wasn’t the same if he had to go alone, and how could he ask anyone else if he was supposed to be with Bryn?

“Watcha got?” Jack asked as he magically appeared at his shoulder, apparently back to stalking.

Ianto handed him the leaflet.

“I suspect Jacob Marley worked for Torchwood,” he said, and Jack looked a huh?  “‘No rest, no peace.  Incessant torture of remorse.’”

“Jacob sounds a barrel of laughs.”

“I thought I might go to this.”

“Well, I’d be happy to—”  The enthusiasm faded from Jack’s face.  “Obviously you’ll be going with Bryn.”

“I’m not sure it’s his kind of thing.  He’s more pie and a pint than ghosts and greasepaint.”

“Get the tickets.  If he’s not interested, I’ll come along.”

“I don’t want to trouble you.”

“You do trouble me, you drive me crazy.  I love it, don’t stop.”

“Jack!” echoed up from the Hub.  “Weevil alert!”

“On my way,” Jack called back before once again turning to Ianto.  “Y’know, I figured something out while you were talking earlier.  It was worth it.  Bilis, the Rift, Abaddon, all worth it.  I couldn’t have devised a better team building exercise.”

Ianto took several seconds out to simply gawp.

“You’re either quite extraordinary, or mad as a hatter,” Ianto observed; Jack preened, blew a kiss, and disappeared behind the wall.  “Or both,” Ianto concluded.

Ianto didn’t move, staring off after Jack, knowing that the team would be stampeding through as soon as they had verified the Weevil sighting and made a provisional plan of action.  He’d watch Jack go, and then listlessly yearn for him until he returned.  When Jack did come back  and make one of his hourly passes, Ianto would reject him.  It was insane.

“Ianto, we may need you to coordinate us,” Jack said as he paused on his way out, “Can you…?”  Jack gestured into the Hub, and Ianto gave him a quick, distracted nod.  Jack frowned.  “You okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You look…I don’t know…troubled.”

“Paintwork.”

“Sorry?”

“Go.”

“Paintwork?”

Ianto shooed Jack out of the door and locked up.

Ten minutes later he was listening intently to the first Weevil encounter of the evening.  He frowned as he heard at least two of the team mention that something seemed unnatural about the way the Weevils appeared, almost drugged, as if they’d been laid as a trap.  But that was as far as it went.  Thankfully there were no nasty surprises and, of course, these first two were easily captured and brought back to the Hub to be secured in cells.

Ianto chose to house them away from the currently occupied vaults – the last thing he wanted was for these two to be ill and for the sickness to spread amongst all their ‘guests’.  With his luck there would be projectile expulsions from all orifices to clean up, and two Weevils decorating their quarters with snot, vomit and crap would be more than enough.

As the team hurriedly returned to the streets, Ianto spent a while studying the new inmates.  He could see the lethargy that had been described, and half expected the pair to crawl into corners and nod off, but they behaved like the average Weevil, albeit the average slo-mo Weevil.  Ianto strolled back and forth, staring at one then the other, before taking a few steps back and looking at the pair.  Interesting.  Slo-mo, synchronised Weevils.  Something to do with the telepathic ability that Owen had spotted?

Knowing he might be needed to track the team’s movements, Ianto abandoned his charges and was one foot out of the door when he heard the strangest noise behind him.  Turning back, he once again peered into the nearest occupied cell.  The noise occurred again, a sort of…zizzle?  Zizza?  Zizzaziz?  He wasn’t looking forward to writing this report: he was painstaking about his spelling.  Zizziz this time.  The outline of the Weevil appeared to lose cohesion, just for a split second.  Not good.

Ianto knew he had no choice but to lock down this section and report back to Jack, let him decide what next.  But before Ianto could get back to the door the Weevil emitted a spine-tingling, guttural sigh and dissolved into a thick cloud of amorphous grey particles.  Ianto’s hand shot up to his headset, tapping for a connection and hearing nothing but the zizzling.

Rapid retreat was the only option and Ianto ran into the corridor, slamming and bolting the door behind him.  He paused outside, one ear listening for a sound from the cell, the other listening for any one of his colleagues as he fiddled with his headset.  He was concentrating so hard that he failed to notice the finest tendril of grey slipping under the door.

…

“This isn’t right,” Owen pointed out for the twentieth time, and this time Jack could see for himself what the doctor was referring to.

The five Weevils in their sights were becoming less solid by the second, edges fuzzing and reforming, the creatures weaving movements too precise to be anything less than completely suspicious.  A string of expletives emerged from Owen as the Weevil on the right of their field of vision brushed against a lamppost and, with an extended creak, became one itself.

“Are they dangerous, you think?” Gwen asked, transfixed by the Weevil that was disintegrating into what appeared to be smoke from the feet up.

“I don’t recognise them at all,” Jack admitted, “but I’d take a bet that they can’t be harmed unless they’re in solid form.  Keep away from them when they’re particulate.”

“Jack…”  Toshiko’s tone sent a chill down Jack’s spine.  Her following words increased the chill tenfold.  “I can’t contact Ianto.”

They each tried to make a connection to their base but to no avail.  Owen was trying his spooky psych-out-the-Weevils mode on the off chance it would work on the interlopers, but without much success.

“We have to find a way to round these up,” he said as he admitted defeat.  “Then we can…”

“Are you crazy?” Jack interrupted.  “We have to get back to the Hub.  Ianto doesn’t know what’s in there with him.”

“Neither do we.  They might be completely benign, just lost and…”

Benign?  Hardly.  As if on cue the creatures swarmed toward the team, the recently created lamppost breaking out of its form and into smoke before morphing into a vaguely humanoid shape with no features but enough strength to bowl both Jack and Gwen off their feet.  The solid form was all Jack needed to test his theory, and as he rolled and came up kneeling, he shot at the approximation of a head.  The creature went down with a wail and Jack turned his attention to where the rest of his team were either fighting solid forms, pseudo-Weevil or poorly constructed humanoid, or avoiding the grey particles.

The alien that was throttling Gwen and gradually filling out its own features with details from hers went down next, another of Jack’s bullets tearing into its head, although he shuddered as he saw almost-Gwen’s face torn apart.

Toshiko was being thumped against a nearby wall but took care of her assailant herself, blasting it through the throat as she bitterly complained about only just buying this bloody coat.

Owen appeared to be about to have his head torn off by himself, and Jack wished he had time to stop and take a photograph or two, but he stepped in and, after a moment’s hesitation when faced with identical forms, fired at the Owen which wasn’t swearing like a docker.

One left, and where the hell had it got to?  More importantly: Ianto?  Jack tried his headset again, with the same frustrating result.

“We’ve gotta start splitting up to travel,” he said as his team staggered to join him.  “I want to get back to the Hub and…”

“You’re not abandoning us here!” Gwen protested.

“Exactly.”

“Where did it go?”  Toshiko was searching the immediate area with a handheld scanner, but to no avail.  “It was mist, wasn’t it?”

“That one was,” Owen agreed hoarsely as he rubbed his neck.

“Did it float away, or are we staring at it?” Jack mused, walking over to charily prod a lamppost then a wheelie bin.  Several more prods followed, and when a hedge sank fang-like protuberances into his hand he had his answer, and they wasted no time in blasting the thing to pieces.

They quickly collected samples for analysis, Toshiko and Owen being the last to leap into the SUV as it rolled down the road, Jack screaming at them to hurry.

They entered the Hub in assault mode, armed and ready to take or defend their centre of operations, but the place was quiet, nothing seemed disturbed; all that continued to be wrong was the problem with communications and a disturbing lack of Ianto.

Using CCTV they rapidly viewed each level of the Hub, finding the cells that had contained the not-Weevils empty and that section locked down.  They huddled around the monitors as pictures flicked by.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Jack was urging.

“Have you found them?” came a familiar Welsh accent from behind them and, as a body, they jumped in surprise.

Jack spun about, took one look at the alive and unharmed Ianto, and threw his arms around him.

“Those Weevils, they weren’t Weevils, and…”

“Uh…Jack, Sir, any chance you could let me go?”

Jack reluctantly released Ianto and straightened his jacket for him.

“Get away from them,” was suddenly shouted across the Hub, and once again everybody jumped.  A second Ianto approached, gun in hand and trained on the first.  “Get away from them.”

The first Ianto slowly raised his hands and backed off, sending a beseeching look to Jack.

“They’re identical,” Owen stated the obvious.

“Okay, guys,” Jack started warily, “any other time I’d be looking at a fantasy come true, but right now…  Put the gun down.”

“That was the Weevil,” second Ianto explained, gun still trained on his doppelganger.

“I won’t listen until you put the gun down, Ianto,” Jack stressed.  “We have this covered.”

The second Ianto lowered his weapon and laid it on the nearest surface.  Gwen hurried to retrieve it, falling back to where Owen had his gun trained on one Ianto while Toshiko aimed at the other.

“What do we do?” Gwen asked.

“How identical is identical?  Is it purely physical, or…”  Jack drew a deep breath and rattled off a series of questions, both Torchwood-related and superficially personal, randomly asking one or the other Ianto.  They both answered accurately and with identically growing frustration, glaring at one another.

“Blood test?” Owen suggested.  “DNA?”

“But if the copy is identical to the original…”

“We’re back to how identical is identical.”

“Jack,” the first Ianto said, “you know me.  How can you mistake that for me?”

Jack studied him, recognised the hurt in his eyes at the mistrust.

“Flavour,” Jack announced.  “You don’t know how you taste to me.  But I know.  Obviously.”

Crossing to the first Ianto, Jack drew him close and, after a reassuring smile, gently kissed him.  After the expected initial hesitation, Ianto kissed him back, opening his lips to offer Jack what would hopefully be proof of his identity.  Jack eventually pulled back with a sigh.

“You know me,” Ianto reiterated, smiling at the satisfaction on Jack’s face.

“Nice blend,” Jack grinned, and Ianto acknowledged that with a tilt of the head.  “Okay.”  Jack turned and walked toward the second Ianto, who had watched the proceedings with complete passivity.  “You know the drill.”  Jack opened his arms to him.

“No.”

“No?”

“With all due respect, Sir, I’d rather peel my arse with a blunt knife.”

“Really?” Jack asked, raising his gun.  “I guess that answers the question.”

A last minute one-hundred-and-eighty degree swing, and Jack shot the first Ianto cleanly through the head.  The figure burst into a shower of grey particles that gracefully wafted floor-wards.

Ianto came to Jack’s side to watch the display.

“That memory should serve you well when I’m pissing you off in future,” he muttered.

“But, then…how…” Gwen spluttered.

“Nice blend,” Ianto told her.  “Jack would only say that about coffee.”

“Ianto drinks tea,” Jack explained, “and even if he’s in the mood for something different it wouldn’t be that blend, it’s too bitter.”

“I didn’t think you knew me that well,” Ianto said, half to himself, half to Jack.

Jack gave him the strangest look, affectionate and regretful and hopeless.

“Besides, that guy was a pushover.  Ianto’s no pushover.  He’ll barely give me the time of day, let alone the flavour of my favourite coffee.”

“Jack…”

Jack was already back to business.

“There were two Weevils, Ianto, any idea what happened to the second?  Unless you’ve fooled us all and the real Ianto has been disposed of.  In which case I’ll hurt you in ways that Torquemada never dreamed possible.”

Ianto led them to a computer and called up the schematics for the air conditioning system, homing in on the cells the not-Weevils had been placed in.  Above them, one of the ducts was sealed off by a makeshift containment field.

“It’s in there, in its amorphous form.”

A few more plans were called up and Ianto waited as his actions were traced and scrutinised.

“You vacuumed it up!” Toshiko laughed.

“I thought simple was best, under the circumstances.  There’s also an embarrassing level of credit due to Ghostbusters.”

Owen had finished collecting samples from the floor and groaned as he creakily stood.

“Bloody neck’s killing me.  Tosh, come and have a look at it.”

“Of course.”  Toshiko scrutinised each of her colleagues.  “Gwen, you’re very bruised; Jack, your hand needs checking.”

They all traipsed down into the autopsy room, and proceeded to tend to one another’s injuries.

“You think that once those beings have been analysed we’ll be able to recalibrate the sensors to detect them?” Ianto asked Toshiko as he carefully cleaned and disinfected the wounds on Jack’s hand.

“That shouldn’t be any problem.”

“The problem,” Jack stressed, “is bringing aliens into the Hub without due care and attention.  We knew they weren’t behaving like typical Weevils.”

“What choice do we have?” Owen said distractedly.  “We bring ‘em in here to keep the streets safe.  It’s what we’re about.”

Jack grabbed Ianto’s hands and their eyes met.

“I’m not leaving you alone here again,” he vowed with scary intensity.  “Anything could have happened to you and I refuse to put you in that position.”

Ianto overcame the initial knee-jerk reaction to cause Jack considerable pain for treating him like a damsel in distress, and tried humouring him instead.

“Is it worth my pointing out that I’m the only one here without a scratch on them?”

“That’s not good enough.”

Ianto prised Jack’s hands away and went back to his ministrations.

“I know what I’m up against; it’s what we all face.  I live Torchwood and, let’s be honest, I’ll probably die Torchwood, sooner rather than later and very likely through no fault of my own.”

“Don’t say that,” Jack hissed.  “I’ll protect you.”

“Oh.  Will you.”  It may have been physically impossible for Ianto to sound less impressed, but highly unlikely.  “You think I need you because I’m incapable of taking care of myself, or is it that I’m simply incompetent?  Anyone else here think I can’t be left alone without getting myself killed?”  No takers, naturally.  “That’s encouraging.  It’s only the person who pretends to think the world of me that assumes I’m a waste of space.”

“This isn’t about competency, this is about wanting you to be safe.”

“But if that involves you treating me differently to any other employee, then…”

“Ianto!  You’re not just…”

“Don’t,” Ianto warned.  “You’ve become blinkered, Jack.  Within this environment it’s neither healthy nor acceptable, and it’ll be the death of someone.”

The tension within the room had soared, and there was high expectation of Jack retaliating in a less than civil manner, but he simply fell silent, sitting grim and rigid while Ianto finished cleaning his wounded hand before stepping aside to let Owen to assess the damage.  A formality perhaps, but protocol demanded it.  Ianto helped out where he could, then went off to make a round of drinks.  Jack watched every step, trying to follow when Ianto left, but Owen kept him back and waited until they were alone.

“So?” Jack demanded.

“What’s the matter with you, Jack?”

“Nothing…” he held up his hand, “…beyond the obvious.”

“If you’re not aware of how you’re behaving…”

“I don’t need analysing.”

“You need something, even if it’s only a swift kick up the arse.”  Jack bristled.  “Leave Ianto alone.  Once he’s gone…”

“He isn’t going anywhere.”

“You think?  You’re not doing much to persuade him it’s worth staying.”

That caught Jack’s undivided attention.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been assured that I’m a complete Neanderthal when it comes to this kind of stuff, and I have no reason to doubt that.  So, if even I know that all you’re doing is pushing him further away, what does that tell you?”

“He understands that I’m looking out for him.”

“If I was him right now I’d feel an utter fool because of your behaviour, and even if he is a creepy, irritating, bullet-happy little shit at times, he’s no fool.  How would you feel if you were him, eh?  Let’s see…  Undermined?  Unappreciated?  Certainly resentful of being kept around as the boss’s tottie.”

“Did you grow up this year?” Jack asked suspiciously.

“At times there was some danger of it,” Owen admitted, plainly uncomfortable with the concept.  “Thankfully averted.”

“And you got to know him.”

Owen paused, trying to figure out if this was a trap.

“If I say yes, in any context, are you going to shoot me?”

Jack hesitated.  Then had the grace to look guilty.

“No.”

“All right then.  I got to know him a tiny bit better than not knowing him at all.”

“Enough to make you leap to his defence.”

“Look, Jack.  Here’s how it is: I have a very painful neck and I want to go home and rest it, but I don’t want to leave behind any member of staff who is at risk of being kidnapped and imprisoned in one of this tip’s hundreds of vaults by an over-obsessive and completely fucked-up admirer who imagines the focus of his warped fixation would be safer that way.”

“I would never…”

“Do us all a favour: tackle this acute case of twatism you’re suffering from, and try ignoring him.  He’d enjoy that.  In fact, if you asked, he’d probably be willing to pay for it.”  Owen rifled though the drugs cabinet and helped himself to a few strips of industrial strength painkillers.  “I’m going home.  If I’m not in tomorrow tell Ianto to send takeaway every four hours.”

…

Once Owen had left no-one else bothered Jack – or, more possibly, everyone was avoiding him – and that gave him a little peace and the first opportunity in hours to calm down and reflect on the day’s events.  The sheer terror he’d experienced at the thought of losing Ianto was taking forever to fade, but as for the rest…  He had to listen to Owen, because Owen wouldn’t take him to task unless he thought the situation was becoming serious.  Pointless asking Gwen for her perspective because he knew she’d given up on him.  Pointless asking Toshiko because she wanted Jack happy and staying and wanted Ianto happy and staying and was perpetually in danger of tearing herself in two with the strength of her divided loyalties.

So…what Ianto said, plus what Owen said.  It made sense.  Jack hated that.  He reluctantly accepted their points of view and considered his next step.  Make it up with Ianto?  Then…  Fuck everything else, just make it up with Ianto.  Over-obsessed?  Like hell.

…

When Jack finally returned to the body of the Hub it was obvious that Toshiko and Gwen had left; predictably, Ianto remained, clearing up the last of the grey particles scattered across the floor.

“You think that thing is safe where it is?” Ianto asked coolly, not so much as a glance in Jack’s direction.

“Yes, for now.  We’ll find a permanent home for it tomorrow.”  Ianto agreed with a nod.  “That was quick thinking.  Well done.”  Jack saw Ianto’s shoulders tighten for a moment before being forcibly relaxed.  It was as eloquent a ‘fuck off’ as he’d ever received.  And since he was already on a losing streak…  “It wasn’t necessary to say what you did quite so publicly.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jack,” Ianto offered, sarcasm oozing from every pore.  “I thought that since you humiliated me so publicly that was how we were handling things now.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“And that’s precisely what’s worrying me.”

“Blinkered,” Jack said quietly, understanding Ianto’s concerns a little better every time he mulled over the day.  Or maybe the past two weeks.  “Would you be happier being sent off to die with your comrades than staying safe here with me?”

“What do you think?”

“I think…that neither option is ideal because you don’t feel safe with me anyhow.”

No answer; Jack wandered to the sofa and sat on the edge, head in hands.  He felt when Ianto joined him.

“Have you stopped panicking?” Ianto asked.

“Is that what it was?”

“Don’t be obtuse.  I’m trying not to be angry with you.”

“Why?  If that’s what you think I deserve.”

“Because something’s happened to you, and I don’t know what, and I’m frightened to ask because I think you’ll tell me.”  Ianto shifted a little closer and rubbed Jack’s back.  “When everything about you was a mystery I had less to worry about.  Or rather, it was just unspecific, generalised worrying.”

Jack tilted his head and peered at Ianto.

“Why worry at all?”

Ianto mirrored the tilt and smiled.

“Why not?”

Sinking back into the corner of the sofa, Jack took Ianto with him, dragging him onto his chest.  Ianto chose not to fight it.  He made himself comfortable, quickly finding one of the many ways they used to fit together, sprawled across Jack’s body and enjoying every touch as Jack’s fingers played with the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“I have a proposition for you, Ianto Jones.”

“There’s a surprise.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously?  I’m listening.”

“I absolutely promise to send you to your death should the need occur, if you’ll promise in turn that Vienna can happen.”

“You remember that?”

“On Friday we’ll go along to an agent, pick a hotel and book.  Separate rooms, that’s okay.”

Ianto wriggled around, chin eventually on Jack’s breastbone as he peered up into his face.

“And meantime you’ll let me die horribly?”

“Unless it can be avoided by my timely and unpreferential heroics.”

“Thank you,” Ianto smiled contentedly.  “When would we go?”

“Think it’s too late to book for Christmas?”

Reminded of the lonely holiday ahead of him, that suggestion was gorgeously and dauntingly romantic.  Ianto slowly withdrew and sat up.

“Are you prepared to wait until after I’ve settled into my new place?  Spring, maybe?  You could fly to London, I could meet you at the airport and…”

Jack was staring away to the left so Ianto couldn’t see his face, but he was shaking his head.

“Go home, Ianto,” his voice sounded raw and Ianto flinched.

“Jack?”

“Go home.”

“No.”

So fast that it startled Ianto, Jack was on his feet and away, one driven movement that ended with Jack disappearing into the quarters beneath his office.  Ianto stood, began to follow.  Stopped.  If he followed Jack down there they’d end up in bed, that was what unfailingly happened.  He took a few more steps, cautiously now, but his heart was speeding, and he was starting to get hard at the thought, at the possibility that he could descend that ladder and take what he wanted.

He didn’t like how that sounded, even as an instinctive, lust-induced thought flitting through his mind.  As if he needed to take.  Physically, Jack had always given and given and given, and the memories were enough to drive Ianto mad when he was so lonely without Bryn, and too often at night he was waking up panting, cock hard and straining for release, groping after the man in his dreams: that strong, tempting body could only belong to Jack, his Jack.

“Fuck.”

This wasn’t normal.  The obsession was rapidly becoming mutual, it was interfering with his plans, and precedence dictated that nothing was permitted to dissuade Ianto once his mind was made up.  Once he was determined to carry out a course of action he was unstoppable, and on this occasion the strategy was to leave Cardiff, without complication.  It was entirely wrong that he should falter and, worse still, that it was due to a troublesome man who had never even loved him.

An extraordinary man.

What had Jack done to him that day, the day he’d brought him back to life?  Ask.  Ask now, he urged himself.

“No.”

He wasn’t a coward but Ianto left the Hub at speed.  Once home he felt awful for deserting Jack and knew he was a coward, many times over.  He wasn’t a coward and he picked up the phone, fumbling over the keys and, because he was a coward, inwardly whispering Pleasepleaseplease, Jack, don’t answer.

“Ianto?”

Ianto took a moment to find his voice.

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“I told you to.”

“Even so…”

“Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry,” Ianto repeated the alien concept to himself.  “Right.  Don’t worry.”  And because he wasn’t a coward, “What about New Year?” burst out of him before he had the sense to prevent it.

“We still talking Vienna?”

“Yes.”

“Is this where I should make all the right noises, protest that I can’t make you desert your partner at such a special time?  ‘Cause, if he’s stupid enough to let you out of his sight…”

“I could check out some places on the net if you like.”

“Not from work.”

“God, no, I value my privacy.”

“Ianto…  Why are you doing this?”

“You know why.”

“I—  The opportunity to die horribly.”

“Yes.”

“I thought I’d made you feel guilty.  Don’t let me do that.”

“No.”

“Because I’ll exploit every weakness to get what I want.”

“Give me a moment, will you?”  Before Jack could answer, Ianto muted his phone and ripped down the zip of his trousers, trying to relieve the pressure on an erection that refused to give up while Jack was in the proximity, even if it was only vocally.  He reversed the mute.  “Sorry about that.”

“Where d’you go?”

“Another call.”

Jack sighed.

“Guess you’d better go talk to your boyfriend.”

“I’d better,” Ianto agreed, and he winced as Jack broke the connection with what felt like brutal speed.

He ran up the stairs and into his bedroom, inhaling deeply in the hope that a trace of Jack’s scent remained in the air.  No, unsurprisingly.  But he’d been in Ianto’s bed, and Ianto knew exactly what he’d done there.  Throwing off his clothes, Ianto crawled under the duvet and groped around, wondering how serious Jack had been about wiping his hand.  The thought of finding a crusty handprint was both repulsive and stimulating, but Jack had been teasing, and if Ianto had been thinking with his brain rather than his cock he’d’ve known that.

Settling in the spot he’d last seen Jack in – naturally oblivious to the fact that Jack had slid to Ianto’s side of the bed to do the deed – Ianto ran his fingertips along the underside of his shaft, remembering Jack’s touch, Jack’s tongue.  So turned on the pre-come was pouring from him, his hand was wet by the time he formed a fist and slid inside, thinking Jack, remembering Jack, tight and hot and rippling muscles and mind-blowing perfection.  Around Ianto, on him, under him, inside him – God, yes, inside him – and Ianto wanted that now, wanted it all, and he couldn’t have it.

“Jack,” he groaned into the silence as his hand sped over his fevered flesh.

Jack’s face, contorting in pleasure that Ianto had gifted him, eyes opening to slits as he connected with Ianto and laughed because he was happy; so rare, so beautiful, that unclouded happiness, unguarded laughter, and it wasn’t the fucking that got Ianto off it was the smile he’d put on that face, post-coital Jack, full of Ianto’s spunk, Ianto’s renewed spirit, and laughing in joy.

Attrition 13       Attrition Index       Attrition Notes

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