Saturday had been nice, very relaxing, but now Ianto was feeling very sloppy and getting a little bored.  By Sunday afternoon he was slouched on the sofa, sort of watching the TV and sort of thinking about more packing, neither of which held any real interest.

In accordance with his mood he was unshaven since Friday, his hair hadn’t been combed after his shower, and he was wearing the khaki t-shirt and grey jeans he’d dragged out of his past life to torment Jack with.

He flicked the TV onto a music channel and tipped himself off the sofa, crawling over to the sideboard where the Christmas cards he’d bought over the past few weeks were amassed.  Sitting on the floor he looked through his choices, all individually selected, no convenient selection boxes for Ianto.  Six cards were set aside for family.  Then there were those for his present colleagues, although he hadn’t yet bought one for Jack, not quite sure how sentimental he was allowed to be.  He was presently feeling ridiculously sentimental, and was wary of inflicting that on his…whatever Jack was.  Because whatever Jack was, or appeared to be, he very likely wasn’t.

There were twenty-three cards destined for the other survivors of the battle of Canary Wharf.  All acquaintances, the only person he could have even vaguely called a friend was one of the three who had since committed suicide.  They were a select club, and jokingly referred to themselves as such, but the humour was hollow and Ianto hated writing and receiving these Canary Club cards.  Memories were inescapable and nightmares guaranteed.

He’d bought a bright and cheery card for his father, expensively oversized, robins, holly and snow.  As he did every year, he thought about his mother, loving her and honouring her memory, before he methodically tore his father’s card to shreds.  As he did every year, he hoped that the gutter his father would reel drunkenly into this Christmas would contain enough water to drown him.  It had been a fair while since Ianto had stopped questioning his hatred, and now he rather admired himself for his consistency.

The scraps of his father’s card disposed of, Ianto was bracing himself to make a start on the Canary Club cards when there was a rap at the front door.  He swore at his immediate reaction because, no, it wasn’t Bryn, it was never going to be Bryn again.  It was, quite obviously to anyone but Ianto at that moment, going to be Jack.  He swung the front door open and felt a rush of pleasure at the sight of his visitor, gesturing him inside and habitually heading for the kitchen.  By the time he returned with tea and coffee, Jack was looking through the cards.

“You must have spent a fortune,” Jack correctly observed; Ianto shrugged.  “Are these all for family?”

“Something like that.”  Ianto put the drinks on the coffee table, and the cards back in their drawer.  “Get bored, did you?” he asked Jack.

“I missed you,” came the unsurprising reply.

Ianto went to him and gave him a long hug.

“I warn you, I’m feeling very soppy.”

“Seasonal soppiness, or…?”

“Mmm,” Ianto agreed.  “Probably seasonal.”  He pulled back a little to gaze admiringly at Jack before he gave him a tender kiss.  “I want to buy you a card that has hearts and glitter and cartoon rabbits walking hand-in-hand through the snow,” he confessed, and Jack laughed.

“I’d like that.”

“You think?  When it’s opened it plays a tune.”

“White Christmas?”

“Something far more appropriate to the season.  Possibly the Macarena.”

“Niiiiice.  Do I get to see you do the dance?”

“Only if I’m sufficiently drunk.  Then I’ll cry.  You don’t want to know.”

Ianto kissed Jack again before reluctantly letting him go, somewhat surprised that Jack was allowing him to escape so easily.  But then…

“Okay, you ready?”

“For…?”

“The show.”  Ianto gave him his idiot look.  “Christmas Carol?”

“Oh.  I gave the tickets away to that couple I was talking to.  Didn’t really fancy it on my own.”

“You weren’t on your own.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You still have the flyer?”  Ianto went and found the leaflet for Jack, who immediately phoned up the venue and asked for a couple of tickets to be reserved for him.  No problem.  “Let’s go.”

Ianto suddenly felt very self-conscious.

“I’m…”

“Gorgeous, exactly as you are.  Get your coat.  You’re driving.”

“Am I?  Right.  Okay.”

Before he had time to think, Ianto was wearing his coat and being swept out of the front door by the force that was Jack Harkness.

…

The castle was more than impressive; the banqueting hall, where the play was performed, was beautiful and atmospheric; there was mulled wine and mince pies.  They bumped into the  Bracewells, who were happy to see Ianto again and made good company.  Jack was charming, well-behaved, yet had a semi-permanent wicked glint to his eye which Ianto found both nerve-racking and unhealthily stimulating.

The show was an absolute delight and, after the performance, they wandered through the castle grounds, fingers tangled.

“Have you ever seen a castle in its own time?” Ianto asked, not caring if he was making assumptions he shouldn’t make about Jack and time travel.  “A living, breathing castle?”

“A couple.”

“Are they more impressive whole or in ruins?”

“As you’re feeling soppy…  In ruins.  Very romantic.”  Ianto looked at his surroundings, surreal in the frost and the moonlight, and nodded.  “If you could travel to any time and place, what and where?” asked Jack.

Ianto thought.

“I have a photograph at home of a great, great aunt, can’t remember how many greats.  But I remember my Gran telling me that she was a young girl in eighteen-eighty…eight, wasn’t it?  Jack the Ripper?  She lived in Wales, not that many miles up the road from where I live today, far away from the danger he presented, but the women were all terrified that Jack the Ripper was going to get them, they’d go nowhere without a man they knew from the village accompanying them.  That’s power.  And that’s evil, true evil.  We know though, don’t we?  The capacity of some humans for that kind of evil.”

“We do,” Jack agreed.

“You said you were in a time machine.  Thinking about my ties,” Ianto smiled softly.  “Next time you’re on board, will you go to eighteen-eighty-eight and find out the truth?  Who he was.  Why, if that’s possible.  I know you can’t stop what he did, but knowing his identity would be something, wouldn’t it?”

“The question was about where you’d go.”

“I know.  But you might actually get the chance.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“I promised myself I’d never ask, but…  The person you dumped me for wouldn’t happen to be Torchwood’s number one enemy, would it?”

“I didn’t—”  Jack took a deep breath and inhaled slowly.  “Yes.  The Doctor.”

“That’s who you’d been waiting for all the time.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you stay with him?”

Because of you, didn’t seem the answer that Ianto was looking for.

“Maybe I’m getting selfish in my old age.”  Ianto waited for more and Jack supplied it, quite happy to get what had proved to be a not-so-minor grievance off his chest.  “You have to share the Doctor, there’s no choice about that.  You have to share him with the whole damn Universe.  Share him and be shared.”

“I thought you didn’t mind sharing.”

“Maybe you spoilt me.  You reminded me what it’s like to be the complete focus of someone’s attention.  It’s been so long I’d forgotten.”

“I’m not supposed to apologise for that, am I?”

“No.”

“Just as well.”

“I doubt I’d’ve been gone so long if I could have had his absolute attention for a while.”

“Did you ever get it?”

“Truthfully?  No.”

“You still stayed.”

“Yes.”

They both knew what was coming next; Jack tightened his grip on Ianto’s fingers.

“Do you love him?”

“Not like I did.  He’s changed.  Literally.  Now he’s…  He’s the brother I love with all my heart but I’m not always friends with.  But if he ever needs me I’ll be there for him, I can’t help that.”

“So you would leave again.”

“With you.”

Ianto gave a low, humourless chuckle and shook his head.

Back at the car they paused.

“What now?” Ianto asked.

“You can drop me at the Hub if you want to.”

“And if I don’t like that idea?”

Jack pulled Ianto around to face him.

“You can do anything you want with me.  But I think you already know that.”

The look they exchanged seemed to last a long time, neither of them quite sure of what they wanted to see in the other’s eyes, but searching nevertheless.  The cold eventually reminded them the car was waiting and would soon be warm.

“What I want…” Ianto mused before smiling ruefully at himself.  “What I appear to want is to piss up your leg and mark my territory.”

Ianto left Jack mulling that over as they climbed into the car.  He turned the ignition and drove the Rover out of the car park and onto the road, switching on the radio and humming along to whatever played.  Jack’s hand found its way onto his thigh and squeezed, and he came over as uncharacteristically awkward when he next spoke.

“Can I ask you something?”  Ianto nodded.  “Was Bryn really that good?  Did I miss something you wanted?”

Ianto was about to humorously shoot Jack down in flames, but the question was asked in such a sincere manner that he was curious to see where Jack was going with it.  He decided to be honest.

“Bryn wasn’t about the sex.  That isn’t to say it wasn’t good, but he was…more than that.”

“You miss him?”

“Did talking about the Doctor make you think of this?”

“Yes.  I think there are similarities.”

Ianto’s hand dropped onto Jack’s and stroked.

“I do miss him.  I love him.  I’ve lost my best friend.”

“I’m sorry, Ianto.  Truly.”

“My choice.  But you see why I’d do anything to stop him being hurt?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what kind of mess I’d be in if he hadn’t shown an interest.  God knows why he did, I wasn’t much of a prospect.  But he was sweet and kind and he helped me…find myself, get myself back, I don’t know how to say it.”

“I’m jealous.”

“Of me or him?”

“Him.”

“Don’t be.  Without him there couldn’t be this.  You helped me pick up the pieces after Lisa, he helped me pick up the pieces after you.”

“I’m still jealous.”

Ianto chuckled.

“And I hate your Doctor like you can’t believe.”

“You didn’t meet him at Canary Wharf?”

“I was nothing to do with the ghosts so I’d been shunted off into a distant corner of the complex to work on the further refinement of the categorisation programme.  I was barely aware of what was happening before those…those…”

Completely relaxed in Jack’s company, the momentary lowering of Ianto’s usually rigid defences gave a multitude of carefully suppressed memories all the opportunity they needed to burst from their box and come rushing back in fine, crippling form.  Ianto felt the shockwave throughout his entire body, aware of his breathing becoming erratic and his hands starting to shake on the steering wheel; he veered over to the side of the road and slammed his foot down on the brake before the growing reaction wrecked his ability to drive.  He wasn’t aware of the car lurching to a halt, and didn’t feel his seatbelt release, but was conscious of Jack being near and hugging him.  He heard Jack’s voice at a distance.

“That was so stupid of me, I didn’t think.”

At first Ianto tried to push Jack away in a panic, but then he grabbed handfuls of Jack’s clothes and pulled him closer, breathless and hoarse and seemingly powerless to stop the words that forced their way out, brokenly revealing experiences that, until now, Ianto hadn’t shared with anyone.

“They came for us, Jack, and we didn’t stand a chance.  We didn’t stand a chance.”

“It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

“They took all of us to the…the…conversion units, and we could see…  Everything, we could see what the machines did, the way they…they…tore people apart and forced metal and wires into them, into…”  Ianto whooped in a ragged breath and clutched Jack harder.  “The screams.  I still hear the screams.  Their agony.  Nothing to stop their agony.  Just…  My friends, I watched my friends be ripped open, their eyes chewed out by a…a…can’t describe it…  It was…  Lisa.  I saw Lisa.  They drilled into…”

Jerking away from Jack, Ianto flung the door open and was barely outside the car before he was heaving into the gutter.  Jack felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.  The facts may have been nothing new, but Ianto’s tormented telling of them was harrowing.

Ten minutes Jack gave him, knowing Ianto well enough to accept that he’d want these particular responses to be private, and then he climbed from the car and went to where Ianto stood on the grassy verge that ran alongside the road.  Ianto was shaking, visibly and hard, arms clutched around himself.  Jack brought him into a gentle embrace and felt the moment when Ianto gave his weight over and let Jack support him.

“You’re okay,” Jack whispered.

“I don’t know where that came from,” Ianto admitted, voice watery as he fought back tears.

“You don’t think it might have been waiting to come out for a long time?”

Ianto pressed closer.

“I was next, Jack.  All I could do was watch as they violated my friends, my…my Lisa, I couldn’t stop them, couldn’t do anything, and I was next.  I was useless and helpless and I was next.”

It took some time before Ianto was able to be moved, so Jack held him and rocked him, murmuring reassurances until he was recovered enough to place one unsure foot in front of the other and make it back to the car.  Jack lowered him into the passenger seat and shut the door, rushing around to join him, struggling to fasten Ianto’s seat belt as the man proceeded to turn away and curl into a self-protective knot.

The radio was still on, and Jack changed the channel to a less fashionable station that played the songs he preferred, and he sang along as he drove, pretending to ignore Ianto and not share the pain as the young man wept silently all the way home.  It was healthy, Jack knew, a long-overdue and hopefully cathartic release, but he hated the sensation of being ineffectual when someone he loved was in distress.

Ianto had recovered slightly by the time they reached his house, but it was Jack who opened the front door, Ianto passing him the keys with hands that still trembled uncontrollably.  Ianto rushed upstairs to clean his teeth and rid himself of the taste of bile, and Jack went to the kitchen to make his version of tea.  Five minutes on, Ianto came and leant against the doorframe, looking washed out and exhausted.

“You don’t have to stay, Jack.  I’m sorry you had to witness…”

“Don’t you dare apologise.”

“Not what you’re here for, is it.”

“And what, precisely, am I here for?” Jack challenged.

Ianto shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

His voice was breaking up again and Jack hurried to him, taking his face in his hands and kissing him as sincerely as he could.

“I came for the company, and the play,” Jack swore, “and that’s it.  I wanted to be with you, and I hoped because we were doing something there’d be less chance of me screwing us up.  I’ve had a great time, and I think you did too, before…”

“Don’t say it.”

“No.  No, I wouldn’t.”

Jack kissed Ianto again, and this time Ianto responded fervently, keeping a hold of Jack and dragging him into the living room and over to the sofa.  He tipped them down and was immediately all over Jack, not quite able to make up his mind as to whether he wanted foreplay or comfort, lips dragging over Jack’s mouth and jaw and neck, hand tugging at his shirt and belt.  Jack eventually caught his wrist and repeated his name until Ianto stared at him, eyes glazed.

“Is this wrong?” Ianto said weakly.

“No.  At least, not the actions.  The timing, however…”

Ianto slumped onto Jack and let himself be held, shuddering spasmodically as Jack tried to soothe him with shushes and gentle touches.

They were there and unmoving for so long that Jack thought Ianto had fallen asleep, which could have been considered a good thing, but Ianto cleared his throat and took a couple of attempts at speech before the words came out.

“They killed me that day.”

“You didn’t die,” Jack promised him.

“But I felt dead for so long.”

“I know.”  Jack gently ran his fingertips through Ianto’s hair.  “I know exactly what you’ve gone through, I’ve been there myself, too often.”

“By the time—”

Once again the words faltered, and Jack had to press for more.

“Tell me.  Please?”

“I—  By the time I was brave enough to ask for your help, you were gone.”

Now Ianto’s weren’t the only eyes filled with tears.

“I’m here now.”

Ianto nodded and gradually pulled away, sitting up on the edge of the sofa, head in his hands.

“Tonight will be bad.  Dreams, y’know?”

“I’ll stay.”

“No.”

“But…”

“I can cope.  I have to cope.  I just wish that sometimes it wasn’t such hard work.”

Jack sat up and put his arm around Ianto, coaxing him to lean in and kissing his temple when he was within range.

“We could go to bed.  We could talk, or sleep.  I could just hold you, whatever you want.”

“If you’d suggested an unthinking, loveless fuck before you went I might have considered that.”

“I have a sneaking suspicion that isn’t what you need right now.”

Ianto let Jack draw him to his feet, feeling embarrassed when Jack took a good look at him, knowing what an unappealing picture he must present thanks to the scruffy hair, the red-rimmed eyed, the stubble, and the general air of misery.  Jack smiled affectionately, and Ianto felt fractionally, unaccountably, better.

“I feel like I’m always telling you to go away,” Ianto tried to smile back.

“And I always want to stay.  But this time, I really, really want to stay.”

“If you stay and I have a rough night and you make it easier, I might start to think I can’t do it without you.”

“You don’t have to do it without me.”

“I will though, won’t I?  So whether it’s tonight or in a month…”  Ianto left that hanging and gave Jack a last hug before attempting to usher him out.  “It’s for the best.”

Jack didn’t look convinced, in fact, concern seemed to be oozing out of every pore.

“I don’t want to go, Ianto, I…”

“Please?”

Hating himself for giving in, Jack kissed Ianto goodbye.

“People have the wrong idea about you,” Ianto told him, and Jack dissected that ambiguous statement as he unwillingly left.

Ianto slowly made his way upstairs, every step a huge effort, the condemned man facing his fate.  Closing his bedroom door behind him, he looked around.  Nothing to fear here, and so what if it was a bad night, didn’t Jack always say that confronting your ghosts made you stronger?  Who was he to doubt it?

But…  For the first time since that day, Ianto took the large, framed photograph of Lisa that lived on his chest of drawers and, with a guilty heart, turned it face down.

Jack remained outside Ianto’s house, wondering if he’d made the right decision.  Keys or no keys, he could be back inside with Ianto in less than two minutes, but this was almost a test of his character.  The only way he could prove to Ianto that he truly cared for and respected him was by letting him suffer alone.  Unnatural and bizarre, but tonight it felt necessary.

He was too close to losing Ianto for good to take any chances.

Attrition 22       Attrition Index       Attrition Notes

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