Ianto woke before the alarm, got up without looking at Jack, and single-mindedly went through his usual ablutions.  As he shaved he did his best not to see the lovebite Jack had left on his neck, but peripheral vision proved to be a bit of a bastard and even staring at individual bristles didn’t quite do the trick.

He didn’t want to think about Jack.  Jack made him leap out of bed in the middle of the night and then proceeded to send him insane.  Ianto thanked his lucky stars that Jack’s atypical clumsiness was helping his obsession with the man to pass at speed.

No choice but to return to the bedroom to dress; Ianto hoped that Jack would be hungover and uncommunicative, but as he was fastening his shirt buttons Jack’s eyes sprang unsleepily open and fixed on him.

“What day is it?” Jack asked.

“Tuesday.”

“Want to spend Tuesday in bed with me?”

In an instant Ianto’s stomach was full of butterflies.  So much for the obsession passing.

“No, Jack.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like you when you drink.  Not like that.”

“I’m not drinking now.”

“I know.”

“So…?”

“Stop drinking.  At least, that kind of drinking.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you nicely.”

“What do I get in exchange for stopping?”

Ianto thought.  He was pretty much out of options unless he hit the sack.

“If my gratitude for not being drunkenly disturbed at all hours isn’t enough, then…nothing.”

Jack watched him finish dressing then beckoned him over.  Ianto sat on the edge of the bed, just out of reach.

“Okay,” Jack agreed.

“You mean it?”

“Yeah, I was losing interest anyhow.  I have to consume enough alcohol to poison ten men, just to stay drunk for thirty minutes.  It’s hard work.”

“You’ll have to pretend I’m smiling sympathetically.”

“I can always soberly disturb you.”  Jack wriggled closer and took Ianto’s hand.  “Come back to bed?”

“I have to go to work.”

“But I’m the boss, and I say…  Damn, I just noticed, you match the sheets.  That’s oddly kinky.”  Ianto chuckled as Jack compared suit sleeve to the pinstripe duvet cover.  “There has to be a story,” Jack grinned.

“More Bryn, I’m afraid.  His idea of a joke.”

“That’s so cute.  Did I mention how much I hate that guy?”

“That’s how couples are,” Ianto explained, trying not to be sad, “doing daft things to make each other happy.”  He stroked Jack’s fingers and spoke with quiet regret.  “We can never be like that.  Or you can’t be.”

“You think?”

“I know you, Jack, I’ve seen it on your face.  You think you’re beyond this kind of juvenile nonsense, you’re better than the likes of me an’ Bryn.  Either that or you’ve forgotten how to have a little innocent fun.  You’d never send me a funny ringtone, or buy me a terracotta sheep that grows a watercress fleece, or play Battleships with me via text, or hear a track on the radio and, completely out of the blue, know it’s our song.  You’re never going to be satisfied doing something as basic as spending a Saturday afternoon curled up on the sofa with me, listening to the rugby on the radio.  In all honesty I wouldn’t expect you to.  But…I think if we were together I’d be very lonely.”

Jack slowly tipped backwards, arm coming up to cover his eyes as he became silent and thoughtful.  Ianto came around the bed to kiss his unresponsive mouth goodbye, and left without another word.

…

Everyone had shown up for work by ten, or rather, everyone but Jack.  Neither was he answering any calls or pages.

“Has he gone again?” Gwen asked Ianto, eyes pleading for reassurance.  “He hasn’t gone, has he?”

“No,” Ianto smiled kindly.  “He’s at mine, sleeping off a bender actually.  I got a call at two in the morning asking for my opinion on—  No, you don’t need to know that.  But he was plastered, and now he’s living to regret it.”

“But he doesn’t really drink.”

“He does now.  This isn’t the first binge since he got back.”

“That’s not good, is it.”

“He says this is the last time.”

“Don’t they always,” Gwen sighed, disappointed and disgruntled.

“We’ve got a report of something less than human holed up in a warehouse,” Owen announced as he appeared in the Tourist Office, Toshiko hot on his heels.  “Tremorfa,” he added a vague location.

“It seems to be one of the aliens we dealt with in June,” Toshiko added, handing printouts to Ianto and Gwen.  “Not the one that was all scabs and drool, the smaller one, with the soft spines.”

“Those little buggers were the hardest to catch,” Owen reminded them.  “We’ll all go,” he grinned at Ianto, “seeing as Jack isn’t here to inflict his nanny state on you.”

“I think I like him better passed out with a hangover,” Ianto responded in kind.  “More rational than when he’s conscious.”

They all agreed and then paused to take a look at themselves: this was the unit they’d grown accustomed to in Jack’s absence and it felt very comfortable, a great deal of camaraderie and faith having been inspired by their surviving some highly dangerous predicaments.  A moment more, a moment when they all accepted this might never happen again because one of their number would be leaving in days, and the team set about readying themselves for the operation in hand.

Jack arrived shortly after they’d left.  Surprised to find the Hub secured, he let himself in, quickly checked to see what he’d missed and, despite feeling like screaming and tearing his hair out, squashed down the disproportionate amount of concern he felt when he realised Ianto was beyond his protection.  This was what Ianto had demanded and Jack hated it with every fibre of his being.  But Vienna relied on Jack giving Ianto the opportunity to be eaten alive in an alley.

He recognised the alien in the report and, although being a little bemused by its presence in Cardiff, told himself that its capture was something his team could handle.  More than one and they became a problem, so if another showed up, Jack would go out to lend a hand.  Meantime he turned on the computers and sat down in front of the bank of monitors that covered the city’s CCTV, rapidly locating the SUV and watching as it arrived at its destination.

It was the first and only chance Jack had had to observe the way all his people had developed as a cooperative unit in his absence.  He surreptitiously tuned in to their communications and listened as he surveyed their progress.  His attention was, naturally, drawn time and again to Ianto, but this was more about a team-leader’s assessment of his operatives than the usual surfeit of admiration.

He could see the difference nine months of in-field experience had made: the innate caution was still in evidence, but overall Ianto was bolder, more confident, and Jack was impressed by his integration into the team where he was now treated as an absolute equal – at one astounding point, Owen actually deferred to Ianto’s opinion.  Torchwood by committee, Gwen had called it, and Jack could see that and admire every one of his people for their individual input.

After several attempts to catch the slippery little blighter, the alien was finally secured and in the rear of the SUV, and the four split into pairs to carry out a last check of the area to ensure they hadn’t missed anything.  As they walked back to the car Ianto gestured to Owen’s headset, and they switched off in unison.  Jack took a guess that it was a private conversation, probably about Ianto’s therapy, but the two men suddenly laughed, and Owen slapped Ianto on the back.

The what the fuck moment came and went, but…  Jealous of Owen now?  Jack knew he couldn’t take his ridiculous sensibilities to a more ridiculous level and he felt…well, ridiculous, obviously.  He accepted that Ianto and Owen had an extremely strange and almost co-dependent relationship when it came to maintaining a degree of control over themselves by guiltlessly lashing out at one another, whether verbally or physically, but it couldn’t be more, surely?

Jack’s mind automatically went into overdrive, picking apart every moment that he’d felt they were being less than honest, covering up…whatever.  Beyond their sparring, Jack couldn’t see either of them persuading the other into anything more personal, so…?  Jack released a noise of pure frustration and started to pace.  He hated this, he hated feeling so possessive over Ianto and, however tempting it presently felt, he didn’t want to succumb to the urge to put Owen through the nearest wall as soon as was humanly possible.

He was still prowling and growling when the team returned, and it was with difficulty that he forced his discontent beneath the surface.  Gwen, Toshiko and Owen entered through the Tourist Office; Ianto was obviously finding a cell for their latest guest.  The teasing began immediately about Jack’s hungover state, and Jack went along with it as it gave him an excuse to be irritable with them.

Ianto turned up a little later, bearing warm croissants, and freshly squeezed orange juice.  One look and he knew instantly that Jack was mightily pissed off.

“Ianto.  My office,” Jack snapped to prove the point, already striding away.

Ianto dithered, not sure if this was about what he’d said before he left for work, or Jack’s rabid dislike of him going into the field.  His indecision was noticed, and the high spirits they’d all arrived in dwindled to nothing in seconds.

“Is there anything we can do?” Gwen asked.

Ianto gave a limp shrug.

“Enjoy your snack.”

Once in Jack’s office, Ianto’s concern increased fourfold.  Jack had disappeared into his lower-level quarters, and past association warned Ianto off following him.  That space equalled sex and warmth and comfort, sweet times when Ianto was foolish enough to believe that Jack would never leave without a word.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” he called down.

“C’mere.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Come here.”

“I have this overwhelming desire to walk out of here right now and never have to tolerate a questionable order from you again,” Ianto told Jack, deliberately keeping his voice light.

There was the sounds of steps, the ring of feet on ladder, then Jack’s head appeared through the hatch

“What questionable order?”

“Remember the conversation we had about you being pushy?  This is worse than pushy.”

Jack fully emerged.

“What have I done?”  Ianto didn’t answer, he let Jack think about it, knowing if the captain refused to acknowledge a problem, he was even more blinkered than previously imagined.  A few seconds later Ianto practically saw the light bulb ping above Jack’s head.  “You thought…  No, I just wanted some completely private time with you.  I wasn’t about to make a move.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

Jack went past Ianto and closed the office door.

“Pinstripe sheets,” he said with a sad smile as he turned back.  “Ianto…  I wasn’t always like this, I used to be fun.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I’d like to be that person again.”

“I wasn’t criticising…”

“Will you help me?  If you help me I’m pretty sure I can change.  Or rather, change back.”

“How the—  This time next week I’ll be leaving Cardiff, there isn’t time…”

“Is there inclination?”

“To help you?  Always.  Not necessarily for the reasons you think, but I always want to help.”

“I am so confused by you,” Jack confessed.  “You behave like you care, and yet…”

“I do care.”

“You’re leaving me.”

Ianto didn’t want to do this: nothing could be resolved and every confrontation sucked more energy from him.  He crossed and sat on the edge of Jack’s desk.

“How’s your head?  The orange juice was for you.  I can drink orange juice even with the worst hangover, so I thought…”  Ianto gave up and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

They exchanged one of their long, unhappy looks.  Then Jack visibly Made An Effort.

“I got to watch you this morning on CCTV.  You’ve grown into a fine member of the team.”

Ianto appreciated Jack’s encouraging words; he smiled, and that made Jack’s smile genuine.

“It gets easier.  You promised me that, a long time ago.  Well, it feels like a long time.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Usually.  Because, usually, we have an idea of what we’re walking into.  It’s fairly predictable space vermin and not out-of-the-blue cannibals around every corner.  I’m not so good with the unpredictable, but I’m still learning.”

“Stay with us and I absolutely assure you that you’ll be given the necessary opportunities.  You won’t get that offer in London.”

“I’ll have to see, won’t I.  At least there I shan’t have to work my way up from tea boy.  Although, to be honest, I have no problem with that part of my job.  If there’s a choice, up to my elbows in Weevil shit, or making tea, I know where’d I prefer to be.  And if we were stuck on a desert island, all perfectly healthy, and there’s Owen with his medical case, and me with a tea urn, who’s going to be everyone’s golden boy?”

Jack was giggling by now.

“You really didn’t get enough sleep last night, did you.”

“You’d know, first rate tosser that you are.”

The giggle broke into a laugh.

“Sorry.  Sorry.”  Ianto quirked an eyebrow at him.  “No, I’m not sorry.”

“I know you’re not.”

“Okay, before I get myself into more trouble…  You’re happy in the field, you’ve gained the respect of your colleagues…”

“Yes, and yes.”

“And, amazingly,” Jack casually prompted, “I saw you share a joke with, rather than try to shoot, Owen.”

“Ah, Jack, what he says about this therapist of his.  I’m going to end up counselling her, I can see it already.  I’ll be making her hot chocolate and massaging her feet while she cries about her family never visiting despite only being a few thousand light years away.”

The thought of Owen not making a move, but rather sharing anecdotes about a naff therapist with bunions made Jack feel so much better.

“Perhaps she’s not the ideal therapist for you.”

“I don’t need a therapist.  The occasional mad moment does not mean I need a therapist.”

“In future…talk to me.”

“Yes,” Ianto answered with abrupt certainty, “I’ll talk to you.  And I’m relying on you to take it on the chin when I feel the need to vilify you for hours on end, and I’m relying on you to find me a way to keep doing it even when you disappear again.”

“I’m not…”

“It’s going to happen.”  The good humour evaporated in an instant.  “You’ll be off without a second thought for anybody here.  Only next time I won’t be around to suffer the consequences in person.”

Jack let out an extended groan.

“You still haven’t forgiven me.”

“Do you deserve it?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re right, I haven’t.  I can’t.”

Jack threw up his hands in a theatrical show of exasperation.

“Good God, we are such hard work!”  Ianto’s smile crept back.  Jack’s soon followed and became thoroughly wicked.  “If there was any kind of natural justice in this world, we’d be fucking like bunnies right now.”

“Now, that is definitely harassment, Sir.”

“You betcha.  Want to experiment with a little rôle reversal?”  Jack nodded toward the hatch.  “I’m happy to let you harass me into the mattress.”

“No, Jack.”

Jack pointed an accusing finger.

“Hard.  Work.”

“We’d be so bored if everything was perfect.”

“Can we please try being bored?”

Jack inched closer, his body language positively coquettish, knowing that Ianto always found such rare behaviour from him daft and irresistible.  Naturally, it worked: he could see the warmth and amusement in Ianto’s eyes, see the way his hands flexed in their eagerness to reach out and touch.  Closer and closer, then Jack was teasing Ianto to his feet by his tie, bringing them nose-to-nose.

“Tell me, in no uncertain terms, not to kiss you,” Jack challenged.

Ianto mentally juggled with the ideal construction of unequivocal phrasing, but settled for the obvious.

“No.”

Jack’s head tilted to the right and advanced, brushing their lips together.  They sparked.

“Fuck.”  Exactly like their first time: mutual recognition flashed in their eyes.  “You’re still damn hot,” Jack grinned.

“Don’t confuse attraction with static electricity.”

“A damn hot killjoy.”

Ianto chuckled and ran a hand to the back of Jack’s head, guiding him into a lingering kiss.

A tapping at the door caused them to slowly peel apart; Jack distractedly waved a come in.

“Sorry,” Toshiko immediately apologised.

“What is it?” Jack demanded, refusing to take his eyes off his prize.  “Choose your words carefully, they may be your last.”

“Alien activity, Tremorfa again.”

“Did we miss them this morning or are they new?” Ianto asked.

“Fresh Rift signatures, these are new.”

With a heavy sigh, Jack reluctantly let go of Ianto, grabbed his greatcoat, and strode off.  Toshiko was looking at Ianto as if she was going to explode with excitement.

“Not a word,” he warned her.

“But it’s…”

“No, it’s not.”

“If it’s not…”

“Consolation,” Ianto quietly informed her.  “I’m still leaving, and this is…consolation.”

“That’s…”  Toshiko groped for the word.  “…miserable,” she concluded.

Ianto gave her a sad smile.  She’d found the perfect word.

…

Ianto didn’t bother to ask about going along with the team, he already knew what Jack’s response would be despite the encouraging comments made about his performance in the field that morning.  Jack’s anxiety was accepted if not appreciated, and Ianto took the seat in front of the monitors and started to track down the first of the aliens.  Fraxtaley, Jack had called these particular creatures, explaining that they were a phenomenal distance from their home planet; Jack’s major concern was that there was a crumbling Fraxtaley vessel somewhere along the Rift that was about to gift them the entire hostile crew in one cosmic sneeze.

Sending through the coordinates of the first batch of Fraxtaley that he managed to locate, Ianto switched his headset onto voice-activated.

“Jack?  A small group has found its way into the sewers.  So far I’ve seen three disappear into an outlet but I have no idea how many, if any, went before.”

“Do we know if there are any Weevils in the area?”

“There are a couple nesting about a mile away, no others that we know of in the vicinity.”

“Shame.  Weevils and Fraxtaley would be a good match.  It’d be an easy clean-up if they all managed to mortally wound one another.”

“Excluding the three underground, I’ve managed to locate eight Fraxtaley, all in the immediate vicinity of the warehouse we visited this morning.”

Ianto listened as tactics and weaponry were discussed.  Under the circumstances there was no point in attempting to take any Fraxtaley alive, and Ianto was interested to hear how uncomfortably that sat with everyone but Jack, especially when the alternative was struggling to get the aliens back to the Hub merely to euthanize them at a later date.  It wasn’t as if they could be sent back through the Rift or re-homed; Ianto’s lips quirked at the thought of offering Bryn a couple to keep his foster-cats company.

It wasn’t the same as being with his colleagues, but Ianto felt useful enough as he directed operations.  Everything seemed to be progressing to plan until Jack decided to follow the Fraxtaley that had headed into the sewers.  Witnessing the indiscriminate slaughter of aliens was nothing compared to the exponential burst of unease that Ianto felt the moment Jack was out of sight.

“Jack, wait for back-up,” he ordered his boss.

“Don’t worry.”

“Wait for back-up,” was sternly reiterated.

“They’re getting away from us, Ianto.”

“I’ll find them the moment they break cover.  Regroup at the SUV and await further instructions.”

“Two minutes.”

“No, Jack.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Jack.”

With a crackle, Jack became inaccessible: he couldn’t be seen, and now he couldn’t be heard.  Ianto frantically clicked around alternate frequencies before giving up on finding one that could penetrate whatever was blocking the original signal.

“We’ve eliminated the eight in the warehouse,” Gwen’s voice cut in.  “Any more?”

“Jack’s gone after the three in the sewers,” Ianto hurriedly told her.  “All of you, get in there to back him up.”

“Right.”

“Expect a loss of communication a short distance inside the sewer entrance.”

“Something’s kicked off, I can hear it from here.”

Ianto could tell from Gwen’s breathing that she’d broken into a run.  The idea of Jack trapped in a confined space with an unknown number of hostiles meant the horrible little thought niggling at the back of Ianto’s mind could no longer be stifled.

‘I’ve changed, more than you can possibly imagine.’

“Gwen, has Jack said anything to you about dying since he came back?  I mean, can he?”

“He hasn’t spoken to me about it.  Wouldn’t he tell you?”

“If I had the balls to listen.”

“You mean…  Oh, shit.  Shit, shit, shit.”

“Please, find him, get him out of there.”

“Stop panicking, for Christ’s sake,” Owen told them both.  “The last thing our dramatic interlude needs is a dramatic interlude.”

Ianto watched the three blips that represented his team on the tracking screen disappear as they headed underground, and heard terrible echoing screeches, snarling, and gunfire before all communication was lost.

‘I’ve changed, more than you can possibly imagine.’

Had Jack been trying to tell Ianto he was now mortal, that the Doctor had cured him of his eternal life?  Had Jack told him, only for Ianto to dismiss it as an example of Jack’s manoeuvring?

‘Do I need to spell out how spectacularly unmoved I’ll be if you kill yourself?’

‘Even if I’m mortal nowadays?  Would that make a difference?’

Chill after chill swept over Ianto, intense waves of fear that carried with them the realisation that Jack might be lost.  He stared, unblinking, practically un-breathing, at the bank of monitors.

“Please,” he whispered to no-one, “please.”

Ten minutes passed, every one of them lasting hours, every moment feeling as sharp as a razor, and then Ianto jumped as a furious crackle sounded in his ear, announcing the return of their communications.

“…on ahead…open up…back,” were the first words Ianto heard: Owen, obviously talking about the SUV.  The back of the SUV.  Aliens, the wounded, corpses travelled in the car’s rear.

“What’s happened?” he demanded.  “Owen?”

“Bit of a bundle,” Owen breathlessly told him.  “We’re all alive.  Just.  Open the surgery for me, nurse, we’ll be there ASAP.”

Ianto watched the blips reappearing on the monitor, one racing in the direction of the SUV, three bunched closely together.  All alive, Ianto told himself over and over again as he hurried into the autopsy room and rapidly arranged all the instruments and supplies Owen was likely to need.  All alive, and he was too grateful for that to ask for any more.

He had a medical trolley waiting in the garage, just in case, but he was relieved to see Jack, however torn and battered, able to emerge from the car without assistance and waveringly stand on his own two feet.  Ianto raced to Jack’s side, supporting him the best he could without exacerbating any of his injuries or dislodging the hand that was clenched to his stomach for reasons Ianto would rather not think about, and Jack wasn’t too proud to lean on him, turning his head to press an unexpected kiss onto Ianto’s neck.

“Thank you,” Jack whispered.

“Idiot,” Ianto instantly responded, and Jack decided not to argue with that as they weaved in pursuit of their doctor.

“Need a hand?” Toshiko offered.

Ianto warned her off touching Jack with a hostile glare.

“No.  Clean up the SUV.  Both of you,” he added as Gwen attempted to follow them.

“Don’t be mad,” Jack requested in that same, exhausted murmur.

“It’s not by choice,” Ianto snapped at Jack, feeling justifiably furious.  “Why couldn’t you listen for once?”

“We got them, all the Fraxtaley,” Jack gasped as he struggled with too-evident pain.  “Plus the Weevils who’d come along to defend their patch.”

“I don’t care about them right now.”

“But you must care: you’re the perfect company man.”

It was a bad time to joke, especially as Ianto’s sense of humour was presently non-existent.  Ianto bit his lip to prevent any outpouring of emotion, and tried not to notice the amount of Jack’s blood that had already soaked into his suit.

In the autopsy room, Jack was gingerly helped onto the table.

“I’d say make yourself comfortable, but…”

Owen gestured and Jack grimaced.

“Not possible,” Jack confirmed.

He tentatively removed his hand, relieving the pressure on his stomach.  A bated-breath pause came and went as his innards remained inner.  As Owen moved to take Jack’s coat he noticed Ianto tense.

“Would you prefer to?” he offered.

Ianto gave a brief nod, and Owen stood back until he was needed.  With an apologetic look for how much discomfort he was unintentionally bound to cause, Ianto eased off Jack’s coat and then gently removed his braces and shirt.  He paused before working on the t-shirt, quickly assessing how much of the shredded material was buried in or dried to Jack’s wounds.

“Just do it,” Jack urged.

Ianto swallowed hard.

“I’m trying not to hurt you.”

“Just do it.”

Finding scissors placed in his hand, Ianto cut away the t-shirt, pausing each time Jack winced despite the delicacy of Ianto’s efforts.  A bowl of warm water, milky with antiseptic, appeared at his side, along with swabs and a towel: once again Owen let Ianto take charge, merely observing what was revealed as Ianto methodically cleaned the wounds and grazes, trying to be thorough without causing additional pain.

Two sets of potentially fatal claw marks, deep, ugly gouges, scored the flesh of Jack’s chest and plunged into his stomach; Ianto stepped aside to give Owen access and the doctor hmmed to himself as he took his time closely examining the damage.

Ianto skirted the table to start work on Jack’s back: there were more cuts and tears but not as severe; the skin was streaked black and blue.

“Lots of bruising,” Ianto muttered.

“It probably looks worse than it is,” Jack reassured him before trying to look over his shoulder and whooping in a sharp breath, quickly turning back.  “Or maybe not.”

“Does it go lower?”

“If you want me out of my pants, you only have to ask.”

Ianto stopped for a moment and stared at Jack’s battered body, telling himself he could see the healing process kicking in, but not entirely sure whether or not he was trying to fool himself.

“You’re sounding stronger already.”

“Strong enough to harass you,” Jack smiled, but the smile disappeared into a hiss of pain as Owen unfortunately prodded in the wrong place.

“Be careful,” Ianto warned.

Owen glanced over.

“I am being careful.  With the best will in the world, it’s difficult not to hurt someone whose intestines are retained in their body by nothing more than willpower.”

“Hurt him again and I’ll hurt you.”

Before the stand-off could blow out of all proportion, Jack cut in.

“Ianto, go and give the girls a hand with the car.”

“Now?” Ianto frowned.

“Now.  Go.”

“But, Jack, I…”

“Go.  I’ll be fine.”  The pleading look Ianto gave Jack bounced cleanly off the captain’s force field.  “Go.”  Ianto grudgingly left and Jack turned his attention to Owen.  “Tell me something.  Do you already have your death certificate made out?  Just waiting on a date?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  Lie back, put your feet up.”  With an agonised grunt, Jack did as he was told; Owen started to undo Jack’s fly.  “I need these off.  Don’t have to wait for your valet to get back, do we?”

“Depends what you have in mind.”

Owen indelicately dragged Jack’s trousers off and half-turned him to check out the bruises that continued down his spine, buttocks and thigh, ignoring the signs of discomfort every time he pulled the waistband or hem of Jack’s boxers this way or that.  Jack yelped in pain when Owen pushed him onto his back again.

“Hello.  Conscious here.”

“You’re such a bastard, Harkness.”

“What have I done?”

“You couldn’t just leave him alone until he went, could you.  Are you not happy unless he’s miserable?”

“What are you talking about?  You’re the guy pissing Ianto off.”

“Y’know, once I’d got over the shock, I realised that you going was the best thing that could’ve happened to us.  I didn’t want you dead, but awol?  Perfect.”

Jack awkwardly raised himself onto his elbows to get a better look at Owen.

“Which us are you referring to?”

“The team.  Ours, not yours.  I couldn’t avoid noticing it this morning, that we’d actually become a team in practise rather than just in principle.  Bit of hard growing up, and we were no longer your minions, and Ianto wasn’t just your bed-warmer.”

“Ianto doesn’t need you leaping to his defence.”

“I was talking about all of us.”

“It’s not the first time.”

Owen paused in his examination and glanced at Jack’s face, only to perform a comical double-take.

“I don’t believe it.  I do not fucking believe it.  You’re jealous?”

“Something happened while I was gone.”

“You bloody hypocrite.  Ianto might have hooked up with that new bloke when you pissed off but at least he had the decency to wait longer than half-an-hour.”

“What are you…”

“Shall we reminisce about the old days?  Nineteen-forty-one, for instance, when your insanely devoted boyfriend was out of sight and – we’re assured by a very reliable source – entirely out of mind?”

Jack laid back, flinching and muttering a volley of ouches as he folded his arms behind his head, out of the doctor’s way.

“Just shut up and do what you have to do.”

“We all know what happened,” Owen said conversationally as he began the application of Dermabond to Jack’s wounds.  “Ianto was doing your job, Gwen was fronting a space-hopping psycho, I was busy losing my mind, Tosh was slicing up her hand to leave us messages in her own blood, and what was your main priority?  Wasn’t anything like helping us get you back here.  Course not.  You were too busy trying to pull one of the locals.”

Jack gave a derisory snort.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.  We all understand.  Gwen asked you what Bilis could have offered to sway you, and you brushed her off.  But, of course, you’d already been well and truly had, and you were the first.”

“What?”

“Tosh told me all about it.  Your faultless namesake.”  Jack bristled; Owen continued: “You were conned by Bilis, just like the rest of us.  And the person you were drooling over that day wasn’t any more real than our phantoms.”

“He was real.”

“Why?  Because you stuck your tongue down his throat?”

“He was real.  Your half-baked theories won’t change that.”

“Don’t you think it was a hell of a coincidence that the Jack Harkness was tailor-made to your fantasies?  He was handsome, heroic, loved by his men…”

“I didn’t want to meet him.”

“Me and Tosh didn’t want to be confronted and used by people we’d loved and lost.  Ianto didn’t want to see his bird and be made to feel that the man who’d murdered her was about to do the same to mankind.  Gwen didn’t want Rhys to be made some kind of pawn.”

“What I experienced was different.”

“It wasn’t different at all, Jack.  Stop trying to turn it into something it wasn’t.  You were conned.”

“My feelings for that man—”  Jack abruptly stopped, torn, having to re-evaluate everything that had happened the day he’d met the real Captain Harkness.  “What did Tosh say?”  Owen said nothing, just carried on gluing Jack back together.  “That I was attracted to him?  That I liked and admired him?  That I sympathised with his situation, I felt terrible because I knew his future?  His lack of future.”  Owen remained silent.  “What?  What do you want me to say?”

“D’know,” Owen finally admitted.  “That Bilis used your guilt as easily as he used our loss?  I’d like to hear you admit for once that you’re as gullible as I am.”

“I think you’ll find I’m over making you feel better.”

Owen carried on sealing the wounds on Jack’s chest and stomach, finishing there before heavy-handedly sitting him up to take a better look at the ones on his back.  Gluing recommenced.

“You don’t think Bilis manipulated you, then?”

“The captain was real.”

“Well, I hope you’re wrong.  Let’s hope he didn’t get a good kicking from a bunch of nineteen-forties homophobic retards just because you…”

“You’ve made your point!”

“No, I’ve made a point.  The point, is that Ianto won’t fool himself for a moment that if a pretty enough face comes along you won’t immediately forget about him, and he learnt that lesson the hard way.  It wasn’t nice, seeing him suffer when you shot through.  If you really care for him you’ll let him go before that happens again, before some other captain takes your fancy.”

“Those circumstances were exceptional.  Ianto is here and now, and he’s way too smart to be threatened by a ghost.”

“You don’t deserve the way he fought for you that day.”

Jack stopped to think over everything that Owen had said, and was in danger of arriving at a fairly traumatising conclusion.

“Probably not.”

Owen fell silent as he carried on with his work, leaving Jack to ponder not only his theories regarding the real Jack Harkness, but also why Owen should be so oddly protective of Ianto.  Then again, Jack had been away with the Doctor long enough for Ianto to grow increasingly bitter and resentful: it didn’t take much stretching of the imagination to envisage a scenario featuring too many drinks to wind down after a long day at Torchwood, and Ianto spilling a few home truths about the man who’d betrayed and deserted him.  Jack couldn’t find it in himself to blame Ianto, not for a moment.  Why Owen would remain so invested was another matter altogether.

Movement caught Jack’s eye: Ianto came and leant on the banister at the stop of the stairs.

“Everything done?” Jack asked.  Ianto gave a shallow nod.  “You okay?”

“Yes,” came Ianto’s rapid, unconvincing answer.

Jack’s brow creased in worry.

“You’re not okay.”  Ianto looked away and back, before giving Jack a brief shake of the head.  “C’mere,” Jack murmured, swallowing hard when he saw Ianto’s eyes gloss over with tears.

Ianto stayed put.  The stress had well and truly caught up with the emotionally shattered young man but he wasn’t about to expose any weakness in Owen’s presence, and Jack quickly recognised that.

“Owen, go and get me a glass of water.”

“I’m in the middle of…”

“That was an order.”

“Oh, for—”

Owen plodded temperamentally up the stairs and out of the room; the moment he was gone, Ianto hurried down to Jack, faltering for a split second before taking the offered hands and pressing close, standing between Jack’s knees, resting his brow against Jack’s.  His eyes might have been closed, but Ianto could feel Jack’s smile, just before the captain began to whisper his name over and over like a mantra.

“Ianto…”

“You’re going to be all right?”

“Couple of days and you won’t know this ever happened.”

“You only heal fast if you die.”

“I…wavered,” Jack attempted to explain.

“You died.”

“Maybe for a second.  Split second.”  Jack held up a hand, thumb and forefinger indicating the tiniest amount.  “Enough for faster healing, but I wasn’t strictly dead.  Call it…a hiccup in my aliveness.  I’d probably be feeling a lot better now if I had really died out there.”

“I didn’t…” Ianto started quietly, “I didn’t know what changes you might have gone through when…”  Ianto couldn’t finished the sentence, struck dumb by the excruciating memories of Jack being dead and gone for days, and alive and gone for months, and the too recent fear of losing him yet again.

“The changes were all good,” Jack assured him.

“I don’t think I can cope with you dying again.  Seeing you dead.”

“I always come back.  No change there.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“No,” Jack sympathetically agreed.  “Maybe it isn’t.”

“I could have lost you today because I haven’t listened.”

Ianto drew back just far enough to look into Jack’s face, assessing the damage, choosing to brush a delicate kiss over the worst scrape, then another over his lips.

“You’ll never lose me,” Jack promised sincerely, before breaking into a chuckle.  “Three weeks ago you’d have taken that as a threat.”

Ianto smiled weakly but anything he wanted to say was put on hold by the arrival of Owen with a bottle of water from the fridge in the kitchen, and Gwen and Toshiko with clothes and hot drinks.  Ianto backed away and watched in silence as the fussing over Jack commenced, listening to but barely hearing the discussion about how the mission had gone and what they had and hadn’t learnt about new life forms, old life forms, and the general hell breaking loose that was the result of several Fraxtaley straying onto Weevil territory.  Between being glued and dressed, Jack’s eyes met Ianto’s; the look locked and held.  I love you, Jack mouthed silently, unnoticed by the remainder of the team.  Ianto’s face scrunched in distress and, vaguely shaking his head, he turned, bodily, away.  Jack gave him two minutes.

“Ianto?”  Ianto calmed himself with a deep breath before warily facing Jack.  “Why don’t you go and get changed.  I think you have more of my blood on the outside than I do on the inside.”

Ianto reached the foot of the stairs before he stopped and looked at his watch.

“I’m going home.”

“Okay.”

Further decision apparently made, Ianto turned back and stared resolutely at Jack.

“And you’re coming with me.”

They all looked at Ianto, either in surprise or exasperation.

“I am?” Jack asked, suddenly rather pleased with himself.

“Yes, you are.  Tosh, could you take Jack’s coat to the usual dry cleaners, see if they can repair it again once it’s clean?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.”  Ianto’s attention turned to Owen.  “Medication?”

“I’d rather just have you sectioned.”

“For Jack?” Ianto said, his patience audibly strained.

Owen gave Jack two injections, several strips of the extra-extra-strong painkillers, and a bottle of antibiotics.

“One of these, three times a day, and finish the course.  I know you can’t die but I don’t want to find out if you can turn into one vast bag of pus.”

Toshiko rushed off with the bloody greatcoat, and Ianto hurried to his locker to make a quick change into the spare clothes he kept there.  On his return, Ianto and Gwen helped Jack to his feet while Owen pointedly ignored the stupidity of the exercise and began a noisy clean-up of the room.  Jack was still rather wobbly but, by leaning on Ianto, he made it up to the Tourist Office, where there was a wheelchair in the ante-room.  Jack was delighted by the appearance of transport and sighed in relief as he sank into the seat.  Ianto draped his own coat over Jack and tucked him in.

“Perhaps you should start parking in the Hub’s garage,” Gwen suggested as she strolled to the car park with them.  “Then again, if Jack keeps up this jaws of death stuff you’ll need to PX the Rover for a hearse.”

“I was barely dead,” Jack reminded her.  “Although…it’d elevate getting in the back seat to new levels of…”

“No,” Ianto cut him off.

“But…”

“No.”

“If…”

“No.”

Ianto glared at Gwen.

“Sorry,” she smiled cheerfully.

They managed to transfer Jack to Ianto’s car without too much of a problem.  Once he was settled in the passenger seat, Ianto packed the wheelchair into the boot just in case, walked to the driver’s door and paused, thinking he should say something to Gwen but not quite knowing what.

“Do you think you’ll be in tomorrow?” she pre-empted.

“Depends how Jack is.”

Just when Ianto was bracing himself for either a lecture, an inquisition, or twenty minutes of pointless advice, Gwen came and hugged him before giving him an encouraging smile, and walking backwards toward the exit to allow her to give Jack a farewell wave.  Ianto carefully lowered himself into the driver’s seat, and turned to where Jack had his head leant back against the rest, eyes closed; Ianto knew it was daft but he had to touch him, to feel his pulse, his warmth, the life in him.

“I’m okay,” Jack said, rolling his head and smiling indulgently at Ianto.

“It’s the shock.”

“I know.”

“You’re so pale.”

“Fish and chips are good for shock.”

“Think you can manage?  It sounds as if you were on the verge of carting your digestive system around in a Tesco’s carrier.”

“I’ll manage, I’m starving.  Help me with my seat belt.”

Ianto leaned over to do as Jack asked, expecting a ruse, and to be seized by the collar and soundly kissed, but Jack didn’t appear to have the strength.

“How about I put you to bed first and worry about food after you’ve rested?”

“I’m okay.”

The reiteration would have been comforting if the words weren’t already slurring as Jack began to nod off.

“You’re okay.  Right.”

Fastening his own seat belt, Ianto started the car and prepared to pull out of the car park.  Cross with himself for the need, he once again grasped Jack’s wrist, feeling for the pulse.

Ianto drove home and half-carried Jack to a spot on the sofa, taking great care to settle him comfortably.  He then spent five minutes watching him doze and, with a huge amount of restraint, only checked his pulse four times.  It was an effort for Ianto to tear himself away, but he rushed upstairs to wash, change out of his field kit and into jumper and jeans, all the while calculating how long he could expect to be away when he nipped out to the local chip shop.  Jack was immortal, he wasn’t going to magically alter his DNA and die in the minimum seventeen minutes of Ianto’s absence, but, however crossly Ianto told himself that, it didn’t lessen his admittedly irrational concerns.  Through sheer force of will, Ianto felt Jack’s pulse just the once before he made himself leave the house.

…

Fish and chips – his own and most of an appetite-free Ianto’s – and many glasses of water later, the non-bruised bits of Jack were looking decidedly less grey, and he was unquestionably more perky.  But on this occasion Jack wasn’t going to be allowed to have his own way, and despite his pleas and pouting to be left to recover in front of the TV, Ianto insisted on shepherding him upstairs to the bedroom.

“You can’t want me in here,” Jack protested as his knees gave way and he collapsed onto the bed.  “I smell of dead alien.  It’s not sexy.”

“The state you’re in, I don’t think you need to worry about your pulling power.”

“I need a shower.”

“Tomorrow.”

“If you don’t help me now, I’ll crawl into the shower by myself the minute you turn your back.”

“All right.  Have it your own way.”  Jack liked the fact that Ianto couldn’t be bothered to put up a fight, and he smiled constantly as Ianto undressed him.  “You look barmy,” Ianto warned him.

“I’m happy.”

“You’re cut to pieces.”

“So?  I’m always happy when you’re paying me attention, happier still when you’re relieving me of my clothes.”

“I’ll have to get in the shower with you to hold you up.  I don’t suppose that occurred to you for a moment.”

Jack’s smile got impossibly wider.

“Not for a moment.”

Boots and socks off, Ianto stood Jack to ease him out of trousers and boxers, examining his naked body for signs of healing.  The horrific bruises were developing a yellow tinge, and that was a good indication, although it reminded Ianto of certain times he wished he could forget.

“How did you get so…tenderised?” he asked as he trailed his fingers over the linear streak of purple on Jack’s left shoulder blade.

“That one…  I think was when I was rammed against the wall because I didn’t get out of the way fast enough when our new guys wanted to liquidate our old guys.”

“Was there a ledge?  A pipe?”

“Pipe, I think.  Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.  This shoulder should be broken.”

“That must be why it’s a little sore.”

“A little sore,” Ianto repeated with a despairing shake of the head.

“Sorry about the suit,” Jack deliberately changed the subject.  “I’ll replace it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ianto said too quietly as he began to undress.

“Hey, don’t do the introspective thing, get back out here,” Jack sternly ordered, hoping to fool either of them that that voice actually worked on Ianto.

“Can’t help thinking,” Ianto muttered in explanation as he hurried to strip off, succumbing to a huge shiver and wrapping himself in a vivid purple dressing gown.  The colour was startling on him, and as he drew breath to comment, Jack thought better of it, correctly guessing it was yet another gift from Bryn, who had seemed determined to warm and brighten Ianto’s life in every possible way.

“Suits you,” he said instead.

“No, it doesn’t,” Ianto contradicted, adding almost inaudibly, “Not now.”

With a flat smile, Ianto helped Jack into the bathroom, sitting him on the closed toilet lid while he ran the water and adjusted the temperature.

“What can’t you help thinking?” Jack asked.

Ianto lost the dressing gown and, once again, eased Jack to his feet, guiding him inside the shower cubicle and joining him, arm loosely around his waist.  Jack groaned with pleasure as the hot water cascaded over them.

“I can’t help thinking…”  Ianto didn’t want to say this, but at least it wasn’t so difficult staring at the back of Jack’s head as opposed to his face.  “You didn’t let this happen, did you?  Get hurt on purpose?”

Jack stiffened: shocked by the accusation or caught out, Ianto couldn’t tell.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know.  Perhaps I’m too suspicious, but I feel like I’m being…  No, I’m wrong.  Even if I’m right, I choose to be wrong.”

“You think I’m manipulating you?”

“I probably do need that therapist.”

Insisting Jack get a grip on the shower’s riser rail, Ianto started to wash him, taking extreme care over the bonded flesh and pointedly refusing to notice any disappointment or reproach in Jack’s eyes.  Ianto shampooed Jack’s hair, giving in to his rarely indulged tactile nature and relishing the sensation of soapy strands trailing between his fingers, feeling them turn to damp silk as the lather washed away.  It wasn’t long before Jack became shaky – hardly surprising when his body was still working furiously to replace almost half its blood – and Ianto helped him out of the shower, wrapped him in a bath sheet, and sat him back down.  For himself, a quick swipe with a towel and into his dressing gown, then Ianto turned his attention to Jack.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ianto admitted as he knelt to dry Jack with the same care he’d taken in washing him.  “I don’t think so, at least.  I expect I’m wrong to tell you that, but I want you to know.  If you’d done it to manipulate me into…well, this, I suppose, I’d just have to hate you for it another time, but not tonight.  I couldn’t, tonight.  Like I couldn’t leave you at the Hub.  I’ve no doubt that someone would have stayed to look after you, but it wouldn’t be right.”  Ianto sat back on his heels and finally met Jack’s eyes.  “Would it?”

“If this was deliberate I’d have settled for a concussion.”

“Yes.  Sorry.”

“Don’t be.  I appear to be reaping what I’ve sown.”

Barely able to cope with the gamut of emotions churning inside him, Ianto rose and set about blotting and rubbing the moisture from Jack’s hair.

“I thought I’d lost you today,” he said, voice hoarse as his throat constricted.  One of Jack’s hands found its way inside the dressing gown and stroked Ianto’s thigh.  Nothing sexual for once, a gesture of comfort.  “Why do I constantly end up like this around you?” Ianto continued.  “Feeling bad.  Aching with it all.”

“I’ll help you change that.”

“You think?”

“I know.  I just need you to give me a chance.”

Dropping the towel onto the floor, Ianto used his fingers to comb Jack’s hair into a semblance of its usual shape.  Once satisfied with his efforts, Ianto assisted Jack up, supported him while he used the toilet – refusing to be concerned by the fact his urine was crimson – then led Jack to bed and helped him find a comfortable position, not on his back, not on his front, mostly on his side, but with just a bit of a tilt.  Ianto packed a couple of pillows around Jack to keep him in place.  Jack sighed contentedly.

“I feel I should apologise for being a nuisance.”

“You just feel that,” Ianto clarified.  “You’re not apologising as such.”

“It would be hypocritical when I’m enjoying your consideration so much.”

Ianto chuckled, exchanged his dressing gown for t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, and climbed into bed, stretching with a satisfied moan as his muscles began to unclench.

“Sleepy?” he asked Jack.

“Tired, but not sleepy,” Jack explained, and Ianto echoed that.

“It’s still early.”

“Bed at this hour is about sex, not sleep, and that would be perfect if I had enough blood in me to get it up,” Jack finished ruefully to a backdrop of unsympathetic giggles.  “Cocky little bastard.”

Ianto turned on his side and wriggled close enough to kiss Jack, but nothing too raunchy, not wanting to completely torment his impatient patient.  There were hearts on Ianto’s t-shirt, faded to the verge of invisibility by countless washes, but it was still just possible to see that they’d been hand-drawn in biro.  Jack traced a couple of the clearer hearts; Ianto smiled a distant smile.

“Lisa?” Jack asked.

“Mmm.”

“Were you wearing it when she drew the hearts?”

“Yes.”

“Did she drug you first?”  Ianto laughed.  “I’m thinking…you wouldn’t let me do that,” Jack explained.

“Not with a nine-hundred-quid suit, maybe, but…”

“Is that what the one that got ruined today cost?”

“No.  The new one.”

“God, you look hot in that, it was worth every penny.”

“So, not that, but a shirt, t-shirt.  Bare skin,” Ianto offered.

The flash of naughtiness in Jack’s eyes faded almost immediately.

“You’re right, what you said earlier.  I can’t do…pinstripe,” Jack found his own allegory, knowing Ianto would follow.  “I’ve forgotten how.  This…” he indicated the t-shirt, “…is beautiful, what she did was beautiful, and I haven’t got that in me.”

Ianto caught Jack’s hand and kissed the fingers.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Why?  If I’m not up to scratch I want to know.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does, Ianto, because I won’t let you go, and you think you’ll be lonely with me.”  A last kiss, Jack’s thumb, and Ianto rolled onto his back, staring fixedly at the ceiling.  “Are you going to ignore me now I’ve said that?  Ianto?  Are you ignoring me?”

Ianto thought about how nice it would be to have that particular super-power.

“No.”

“I want to do pinstripe,” Jack persisted, “but…  What if…”

Unnerved by what he was so tempted to admit, Jack’s voice trailed away, and he hunched into the duvet.

“What if…?”

“I’m too damned shallow even for that.”

“Don’t be angry, it’s not that big a deal.”

“It is, it’s like…  It’s something I’ve been scared of for years.  That behind the showmanship, behind this smokescreen…”  That was enough, that was more than enough.  Jack shut up.

“I happen to be very fond of what’s behind the smokescreen,” Ianto told him.  “What little I’ve been permitted to share.”

“Have you ever considered that what little you’ve been permitted to share happens to be all there is?”

Ianto gave a soft, indulgent laugh.

“No, Jack.”

“I’ve considered,” Jack quietly confessed.  “I’ve considered, often, and I keep coming to the same conclusion.  That it’s doubtful whether there’s enough of me – what’s left of the real me – to keep someone interested.”  Ianto’s head turned; when their eyes met, Jack saw a genuine warmth that gave him the courage to continue.  “Or maybe it’s taken too long to meet someone who I can be honest with, and not be afraid they’ll be appalled and turn me away.”

“A lot of people want you, I see it all the time.”

“They fall for the showmanship, they’re blinded by the smokescreen, but not you.  You’re exceptional.”

“I don’t dispute it, but I won’t let you sell yourself short either.  Any man, woman, or tentacled beastie would be lucky to have you.”

“Know what makes you exceptional?  You called me a monster and you were right, but here you are, lying in bed with me.”

“I was heartbroken and furious and wrong.  Sometimes you’re called upon to do monstrous things, but you’re no monster.”

“How do you know?”

“Avoiding any slushy sentimentality?”

“Only if you absolutely have to.”

Ianto smiled briefly at that before his face became very serious.

“I saw how you reacted after John Ellis died.  After you lost that little girl to the fairies.  After…Captain Harkness.  A monster doesn’t suffer the way you suffered.”

“And if you include the slushy sentimentality?”

“I know you,” Ianto said simply.  “The little I’ve been permitted to share may only be the tip of an enthralling and enigmatic iceberg, but I know you’re a good man.”

Jack waited for more.  And waited.

“Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“Your slushy sentimentality is as inadequate as my pinstripe.”

“My honesty, thank you very much.”

“I think, in my condition, I deserve a little purple prose.”

“In your condition?” Ianto grinned.  “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I promise you: that ever happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Purple prose, eh?”  Ianto spent a few seconds in not terribly deep thought.  “Roses are red, Jack’s arse is blue…”

“No.”

“No?  You haven’t seen those bruises,” Ianto sniggered before leaning in and giving Jack a quick kiss.  “Will you be all right for a while?  I want to get a few things done downstairs.”

“You mean you can hear those dirty plates laughing at you from here and you won’t sleep tonight unless…”

“Yes, I admit it.  Do you mind being left alone?”

“The radio,” Jack indicated.

Ianto sat up on the edge of the bed and switched on his clock, flicking the selector to radio and finding it already tuned into a station that Jack liked.  Even if it was only the result of a hungover morning, Ianto experienced the briefest sensation that Jack lived here too; the resultant pang in his chest was a prime example of why he had to keep focused on London.  He turned the radio’s volume down a little.

“How’s that?  I want to be able to hear if you call me.”

“It’s fine.  I wasn’t planning on dancing.”

Ianto turned back to Jack with a sympathetic smile.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Bring some water when you come back up?”  Ianto nodded.  “And I need a kiss right now.”

Ianto gave him his kiss, unable to resist lingering over it despite his common sense loudly and firmly advising him otherwise.  His first attempt at withdrawal was short-lived, Jack catching the neck of his t-shirt and tugging him back to resume exactly where he’d left off, but the second attempt was more determined and he finally made it downstairs.

Ianto cleaned and tidied, needing to feel in control of his surroundings, all the more so with Jack present, Jack who made him feel out of control too often.  Sometimes it was precisely what Ianto wanted, but it wasn’t completely natural to him, never would be, he supposed.

Away from here there’d be no distractions and life would be easier to cope with.  Perhaps he could really start again, after Jack got bored with the phone sex and his present colleagues forgot that they’d meant to ring their ex-tea boy with the latest gossip.  Perhaps he could meet someone new and uncomplicated and…be forever comparing them unfavourably to Jack Harkness.

But, at least…  Dark thoughts were effectively squashed before they could take a firm hold.  Not long now and Ianto could stop being afraid of the knock-on effects of having Jack in his life, this absurd level of devotion and the consequences that had started to terrify him.  He would escape, not only from Jack, but also from his fears about the person that Jack made him.  He would escape, and hopefully before he had any more blood on his hands.

Attrition 24       Attrition Index       Attrition Notes

Site Updates     Update List     Home     Fiction     Gallery     Links     Feedback