Apart from one or two short breaks to attend to the needs of dinosaurs and resident aliens, Ianto spent the night in Jack’s bed.  He didn’t get much sleep, but not for the pleasurable reasons of the past: his mind was frantic with thoughts of Hart and Gray, of Eleth and what he was missing, of the personnel they were lacking and the strain it placed on what was left of their team.  By morning he was barely rested, and he found himself wondering how much longer he could cope with this situation.  Not that he had any choice.

This time when Ianto made a move to leave the bed, Jack threw an arm over him, dragging him back to spoon.  It happened fairly often when Ianto stayed and, every time, Ianto’s hopes would soar: perhaps this would be the morning that Jack returned to normal, whole in mind and willing in body.

“Jack,” Ianto groaned, permanently horny and wanting, pressing himself against the length of Jack’s body and longing for a sign of reciprocated interest.

But there was nothing from Jack beyond a need for closeness and, bearing in mind all that he’d been through, Ianto wasn’t about to push for more, however difficult it was to cope with his lover’s uncharacteristic apathy.  When he took into consideration that huge chunks of his character felt truly deadened by death, it was a bit of a joke that his libido wouldn’t follow suit and give him a temporary reprieve from physical frustration.

Because Jack – yes, that would be Captain Jack Harkness – had lost interest in sex.  The idea would be laughable if Ianto wasn’t living with the truth of it.  To say it was an unwelcome surprise…  Actually, surprise didn’t measure up: it had been a huge shock, given the man’s usual appetites, and it had happened at a time when Ianto needed the intimacy more than ever, to aid his personal recovery from their mutual losses.

Ianto had been shocked.  Then curious.  Perplexed and unsettled.  Frightened, for some unfathomable reason.  He’d felt rejected, but he wasn’t rejected, so he had to get over that.  These day he wasn’t so much fucked as…cherished.  With sex less of a consideration, Ianto began to suspect that Jack might actually love him in some shape or form.

Six months ago their relationship didn’t need analysing: it was simple, fun, rewarding in the most basic of ways, and he and Jack were good company for one another.  It was pleasantly uncomplicated, and perfectly suited their way of life.  Ianto hadn’t known he loved Jack until he’d heard the words ‘buried under Cardiff’ and then all emotional hell had broken loose.

Once Jack was restored to them Ianto had been ready to confess his condition, even apologise for it, but there’d been murder and mayhem to contend with, and now…  Now, Ianto was weary of distractedly nit-picking their current platonic state, and fed up of worrying about the inconvenience, the irritation, of unexpected love.  Jack might come to his senses any day and hate Ianto for being so damned adorable.  Okay, that was Ianto amusing himself, but there was a serious point to be considered, and another question to be asked.  Another answer that Ianto was afraid to hear.

This morning, with Hart and Gray and two weeks in mind, with Hart’s plans for Jack, Ianto could no longer postpone the inevitable.  He wriggled free of Jack’s arms and out of bed, turning to sit on the edge of the mattress.  Jack was sleepy and ruffled, gorgeous beyond words, and Ianto wanted him so intensely it hurt.

“Jack…  You with me?”

Jack blinked himself awake and tried his best to pay attention.

“Yeah.”

“Right.  I need you to answer a question for me and, whatever answer you give me, I won’t make a fuss, I promise,” Ianto untruthfully assured him.

Jack pushed himself up into a sitting position, his expression instantly as anxious as Ianto’s.

“This sounds bad.”

The calm exterior belied Ianto’s inner panic.  He wanted to go back, unsay the little he’d already said, and he couldn’t go back.  He took a deep, unfortifying breath.

“What we have…  This…  Do you want this – our – relationship to…  Would you prefer it if our interaction was…purely professional?”

Jack stared at him in disbelief.

“No,” he finally managed to answer, so weakly that Ianto had to strain to hear.  “Is that how it seems?”

“I thought…  It’s not about the sex so much, or the no sex, it’s this awful feeling that you’re deliberately backing away, that you want to stop being close to me so it won’t hurt so much if I’m the next to…”

“No,” Jack insisted fervently.  “No.”

“I don’t want this to end, but I have to know.”

“Please, Ianto, I can…”

Jack scrambled from the bed and rushed to Ianto, falling to his knees and reaching for Ianto’s irritatingly persistent morning erection.  Ianto caught Jack’s wrists.

“That’s not what this is about.”

Jack sat back on his heels, meeting Ianto’s eyes with an expression of sheer desperation.

“But…if it’s what you need.”

“It’s you that I need.”

“And I need you, you have no idea how much, but…right now…  Ianto…”  Jack shifted uncomfortably, trying to restrain himself for a few moments, before giving in and all but crawling into Ianto’s lap.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Jack finally admitted, having to force out every word.

Ianto gulped back the swell of emotion that threatened to emerge as Jack, in one fell swoop, essentially gave him the answer to every ghastly question he had and hadn’t wanted to ask.

“This hasn’t happened before?” Ianto confirmed hoarsely as he clutched Jack to him.  Jack shook his head as Ianto stumbled on.  “I thought perhaps…with everything that…”

“No,” Jack stressed.  “I don’t know what’s happening.  I’m sorry, Ianto.”

“Don’t—  We’ll find out, we’ll help you,” Ianto swore.  “I’ll help you.”

Ianto found himself shoved onto his back; Jack’s hand was pushed inside his boxers, forming a fist around his rigid cock.  Ianto’s first reaction was to thrust into that tight grip and relieve a little of the tension that had built to a sometimes unbearable level, but it would be wrong, and no amount of reasoning with his horny self would convince Ianto otherwise.  He’d rather go without than live with the predictable post-climax guilt, he wouldn’t use Jack, never again would he use Jack.  He peeled Jack’s hand away, much to the man’s instant consternation.

“It’s all right, Jack, I told you, you don’t have to—”

“You need this.”

“You.  I need you.”

“Then…”

“Not like this.  It has to be for both of us.  And…you don’t want me.”

“It’s not that—”

“Don’t lie to me.  You don’t have to, I’m not taking this personally.”

Ianto faked a reassuring smile and coaxed Jack to lay down with him, holding him tightly and trying to think rather than feel.  Trying not to feel at all.

…

Gwen was on the phone to Martha when Ianto emerged from Jack’s rooms; he leant over the balcony railing, gesturing ‘drink’ and receiving a smile and a nod in return.

“Nothing significant to report about the death of the alien we sent to Martha,” Gwen filled Ianto in as he presented her with tea and biscuits.  “Bruce.  No signs of disease – most likely a genetic defect that brought about a heart seizure.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Hmm,” Gwen agreed.  “We have to deal with his effects.  He has that nice little house.  Had.”

“I’ll get on to that.”

“Thanks.”  Gwen sidled closer; Ianto didn’t object, he appreciated the company.  “I feel thick as a post and depressed as shit,” Gwen muttered.  “What shall I do today?”

“With those qualifications you should be in charge.  Here, have Torchwood, we’re at your disposal.”

“Then…” Gwen’s voice wavered.  “We spend the day in here.  Let the world go away.”

“Difficult to save the planet when we’re hiding under our desks.”

Ianto kept his voice light, but it had to be said.  Gwen shrugged off his words, unfazed by her ongoing grief and the vulnerability it engendered.

“Can’t help it.”

Ianto met her misery-filled eyes: one glance and he didn’t have an ounce of criticism left in him.  He very deliberately changed the subject.

“No Rhys today?  I rather like being fussed over.  If you hadn’t married him, I’d’ve had him myself.”

That forced a brief, honest laugh out of Gwen; she abruptly stopped herself and looked self-consciously around.

“I’ll give him a call.  Rhys.  Not checking up, you know, I mean…  He’s safe at work, just…  Finding out what he wants for dinner.  My turn to cook.”  She made a move toward her workstation, stalled, and turned back.  “Would you like to come to dinner one evening?  You and Jack?”

“Yes,” Ianto gave a grateful smile, despite knowing it was a disaster to make any plans for Jack at present.  “I’d like that.  But…better make it…”

“…when Jack’s…”

“…more himself, yes.”

“Yes.”

Gwen nodded, and went on her way.  If she paused to gaze beseechingly up at Jack’s quarters, willing him to emerge, take charge, and make everything better, Ianto chose not to notice.

…

Ianto’s first official task of the day was to contact Tom Caldwell and ask about strengthening their security systems; he also sent him all the information he had on their cryogenic facilities, asking if they could have been tampered with, and waiting impatiently for a reply.  Thankfully, one came within the hour: apparently, their security was as good as they could make it, and the only additional measures they could take would be to change the passwords more frequently.  As Ianto didn’t imagine passwords would keep Hart out or Gray in, he made himself let that suggestion go.

Caldwell could not detect any alterations having been made to their equipment, either the programmes or schematics, although he admitted he was no expert when it came to the latter.  Any time the necessary files had been accessed, it was with full security clearance that could be verified to this day.

The signs were beginning to point toward Hart having been bluffing.  Ianto may have relaxed a little, but the threat remained very real, especially when he subsequently found information about three-quarters of the Torchwood Three team dying within days of one another in nineteen-seventy-three.  He didn’t look forward to talking to Jack about this, but he’d have to.  Just a matter of finding the right time.

Ianto’s second task of the day was one that he had to brace himself to tackle.  A new doctor for the team.  Inexplicably dead aliens and Jack’s deteriorating condition meant that Ianto could no longer postpone the inevitable.  At least with Jack now willing to admit that he wasn’t himself, he might accept what he’d perceive as outside help – something he’d been vehemently rejecting.

Months before, at Jack’s request, Ianto had covertly carried out a little preliminary research: Owen had been resurrected after his death, but they had no idea of whether or not he would be able to continue in his previous position.  Now Ianto reviewed the list he’d made at the time, re-checked everyone’s credentials, and narrowed his search down to three possibilities.  He found himself favouring the candidate who had the best background in psychology, prepared to settle for less experience in other areas if it meant Jack being helped through his present problems as quickly and efficiently as possible.

He offered his suggestions to Gwen, who barely looked at them before finding an excuse to hide away and miss her friends and cry.  He offered them to Jack, who wasn’t having a good morning.

“I don’t want to see the Doctor!”

“Not the Doctor, just…”

“He already thinks I’m wrong, now he’ll think I’m insane with it!”

After a twenty minute tirade from Jack, complete with accusations of outright betrayal, Ianto was too disheartened to put up a fight; he left the decision on hold and returned to his training schedule.  He was learning to appreciate Toshiko’s love of computers – they might occasionally suffer from technical glitches, but that was far preferable to nervous breakdowns.

The search programme he’d initiated the previous evening eventually ran its course, distracting Ianto with all and any information it had gathered that could be relevant to Eleth or her kind.

Careful sifting ensued, and Ianto eventually found what he’d been looking for.  There was a case that Torchwood Three had dealt with in the nineteen-eighties, an alien couple who had arrived care of the Rift and immediately asked for asylum.  The similarities between them and Eleth were too pronounced to be coincidental.

The niggle was satisfied; Ianto realised he’d glanced over this case during some routine cataloguing of archive material.  It certainly filled him with hope as far as Eleth was concerned.  The original report stated that, despite the obvious intelligence of the aliens, and the positions of high authority they’d recently abandoned, they’d been delighted when offered the opportunity to live an inconspicuous existence on the outskirts of Swansea.  Judging by the subsequent notes and various scraps of scribbled information, the couple had, contentedly and successfully, run a small dry cleaning business ever since.

A little cross-checking confirmed that, although he was in Torchwood’s employ at the time, Jack wasn’t in Cardiff when the couple emerged to seek a safe refuge from the civil war raging on their home world.  Ianto assumed that was why Jack hadn’t made the connection, but it bothered him that he’d been too ready and willing to start make excuses for the captain’s atypical lapse of memory.

…

“Good afternoon,” Ianto greeted Eleth.  “Lunch!”

Eleth had been comfortably curled up on her makeshift bed, reading one of the selection of books and magazines Ianto had left her with, but with his entrance she sat up, eager for company.  Recently showered, and back in her own freshly laundered clothes, she looked reassuringly less like a child on death row.

“Ianto!  Ianto Jones.  Torchwood.  The twenty-first century is when everything changes!”

Ianto cringed.

“I really shouldn’t be quoting Jack,” he chided himself, and set down a tray bearing sandwiches, muffins and tea.  “How are you?”

Eleth regarded the tray with unconcealed desire, but paused before eating to gleefully wave a small piece of technology at Ianto.  The unit contained Toshiko’s most basic translation programme, which was far better behaved than the monster in the mainframe; Ianto may have hesitated before handing it over the previous evening, but now he was glad he had.  Once Eleth had grasped the principle of the device and been shown how to explore the database of languages that had existing translations to English, it had barely taken her ten minutes to find a language she could recognise and work with.  Her progress since that moment had been astounding.

“I am learn to speak fast,” Eleth announced.

“You certainly are.  I knew you were clever.”

Happy with Ianto’s praise, Eleth pressed the translator to her temple.

“Love.”

“It’s yours for as long as you need it.”

Eleth’s delight was lost to greed as she finally succumbed to temptation and enthusiastically consumed the food Ianto had brought.  Ianto gave her a few minutes to make delirious noises over a blueberry muffin before holding up the photograph he’d printed of the couple with the dry cleaners.

“Do these people look familiar?  Do you know them?”

Eleth stopped chewing and studied the picture.

“Mine,” she said thoughtfully.  “But not mine.”

“As in…same race, but no immediate connections?”

After a moment pondering that sentence, Eleth turned to the translator and made sense of it.

“Ah.  True.  As in.”

“That’s a shame.  I was sort of hoping you were a part of their family, catching up with them.”

“Hoping?”

“It would make everything easier for you.  Give you somewhere to go.”

“My somewhere are here,” Eleth announced, not looking at all happy at the prospect of leaving, and tore into another muffin.  “Cake,” she announced with a spray of crumbs.

“Muffin, actually.  Chocolate chip.”

“Nice.”

Ianto chuckled at her hedonistic appreciation.

“Yes.  Owen usually—”  The remark caught in Ianto’s throat.  Eleth looked at him questioningly.  “Friend of ours,” Ianto explained.  “Could eat those until they came out of his ears – not literally, just a saying.”

Eleth considered that.

“They are no longer emerge from his ears?” she ventured.

“No,” Ianto confirmed.  “No, they aren’t.”

“Sad you.”

Ianto nodded his absolute agreement.

“Sad me.”

Eleth set the tray aside and sat up straight, her face very serious.

“Poor Ianto Jones.”

“No.  Poor Owen Harper.  Poor Toshiko Sato.”  Ianto forced a smile for his guest and changed to a less painful subject.  “I’m sorry you have to stay in here for now, it’s protocol.”

The alien looked that up before vigorously shaking her head, indicating her lack of concern about the accommodation.

“Home and I die.  Torchwood, yes!  Thank you, Torchwood.”

…

“And then she said thank you.  ‘Thank you, Torchwood.’  Have you ever heard that before?”

Ianto shook his head, full of retrospective disbelief.

“Why do we end up feeling like monsters, too many days a week?  We can’t save the entire universe, can we, not while we’re working so hard to protect one planet.  Eleth, she’s very intelligent and picking up the language fast, but not fast enough for that conversation, not yet.  Thank you, Torchwood, she says, but what do I tell her if she asks us to find a way to save her family and friends?

“I don’t want to be honest.  I want her to keep looking at me as if I’m some sort of saviour – and that’s just for the food.  Bloody hell, she loves her food.  It’d be funny how much, if it didn’t mean she’d probably been starved back at home.  I’ll have to feed her up, so—  Shit.  I mustn’t let myself treat her like she’s a child, she’s not a child.  She might be a little slip of a thing, but she’s survived a civil war, she’s strong and clever and…  God, I d’know.  Maybe I can’t help feeling protective right now.  Over-protective.

“For the first time since…well…I feel in control of the situation and it’s good.  We saved her life, and now I can make living better for her.”

Ianto stood up and stretched, then vigorously rubbed his backside – the floor was like ice.

“I might give that couple in Swansea a ring, see if they’ll take a lodger, even if it’s temporarily.  Help Eleth find her feet.”

He checked his watch and tutted.

“S’pose I’d better get back to work.  S’pose…”

A whole minute was spent dithering before Ianto finally started walking in the direction of the exit.  Even then he faltered, and couldn’t resist a look back.

“Thanks for listening, Tosh.”

…

The boardroom, seven-thirty in the evening.  A meeting that late meant Rhys could be present, and Ianto wanted him there to prop up Gwen if he himself was too busy propping up Jack.

“We have to address this,” Ianto explained, “and it has to be done now.  I’m sorry that it’s so difficult.”

He started to hand out information packs on the doctors he’d been assessing, but Jack leapt to his feet and snatched away the copy that Ianto, out of courtesy, had given to Rhys.

“Why is he here?” Jack hissed.  “How the hell did he find out about…”

“He’s known for a while,” Gwen assured Jack, attempting to sit him back in his chair.  “You accepted him knowing, think now.”

“No,” Jack insisted.  “This isn’t safe for you, for him, especially for him.”

Ianto stepped in and grabbed Jack’s hand, squeezing hard until he had the captain’s full attention.

“We’ve been through this, Jack, it’s okay, I promise you.”

Jack paused, staring at Ianto, trying to remember.

“We’ve…?  Is it okay?  Really?”

“Really.  Trust me.”

The stare was turned on Rhys, who gave Jack a friendly wave.  This scenario had been played out so often they were, at a rough guess, hurtling toward treble figures.  Jack looked back to Ianto and his bewilderment seemed to morph into true recognition.

“You look very handsome today,” he observed.

Ianto shook his head with a disbelieving chuckle.

“Now I know you’re completely mad.”  Jack scowled a huh?  “We have mirrors,” Ianto explained, sitting Jack down as discussion finally got underway.

“What’s particularly special about this one?” Gwen asked, studying the first page and fighting to keep the animosity from her voice.  “Marco D’Costa.”  Dark hair, dark eyes, wiry, a visible air of arrogance: far too reminiscent of Owen Harper.

Ianto failed to consider that and slipped effortlessly into presentation mode.

“He has a growing reputation as a brilliant doctor, one who isn’t afraid to take chances.  He’s Italian, he’s worked with UNIT in Italy, France, and the UK; more recently he’s been advising the Asian equivalent.  He has huge experience in the field and…”

“No.”

Ianto, Gwen and Rhys looked to Jack.

“No?” Ianto asked.

“No,” Jack reiterated.

“Any reason?”

Jack tapped the man’s CV.

“Too political.”

Ianto gave that a moment’s deliberation, and accepted Jack’s impressively sane argument.

“Right…  Candidate number two…”  They all shuffled through their papers.  “Catherine Cullen, born in Galway, military family so she moved around quite a bit; very well respected on both sides of the Atlantic as a leading figure in advanced biotechnology.”

“That’s a nice face,” Rhys muttered, virtually to himself.  “You’d trust that face, wouldn’t you.”

“You think?” Jack asked.

“If I have to have anybody fishing another bullet out of me…”

“Okay!” Jack exclaimed, on his feet and marching toward the exit.  “Sort that out, Ianto, thank you; thank you, Rhys.”

Jack stopped abruptly and turned back, peering at Rhys.

“Just going,” Rhys grinned placatingly.  “Picking up the wife.  I know nothing, mate, nothing.”

“That’s…good.  Safe.  Good.”

Jack left and the remaining three let themselves relax, Ianto sinking into his seat and watching with some amusement as Gwen turned a frigid glare on Rhys.

“A nice face?  Thanks to you that’s all the qualifications our doctor needed.”

“I was just saying,” Rhys protested.  “It’s not my fault Jack’s—”  Ianto lifted an enquiring brow at Rhys’ sudden silence.  “I have no idea how to finish that,” Rhys admitted.

“Catherine Cullen is a good choice,” Ianto assured Gwen.

Gwen spent a few minutes skim-reading the pages in front of her and began nodding.

“Think we can get her?”

“I made tentative enquiries about all three candidates – they wouldn’t have made the shortlist if they appeared reluctant to make a move.”

“Well then, that’s…that’s…Owen’s replacement,” Gwen said quietly; her businesslike-facade began to crumble and Rhys, exactly as Ianto had expected, whisked her away without another word.

Sitting alone for a while, appreciating the peace and quiet, Ianto stared at the ‘nice’ face of Doctor Cullen, hoping that this was the person to bring Jack back.  However successful (or not) she proved to be, her help had to be more productive than sifting the twenty-thousand or so suggestions the computer had come up with when asked to search for Jack’s symptoms.

Ianto thought about Jack’s statement, that this hadn’t happened before, and the discomfort he lived with day by day prickled and grew.  Perhaps it was understandable: no previous trauma this great, so a precedent was unlikely.  For Jack’s sake, Ianto was eager to believe that there wasn’t a precedent.  Not that he’d ever know; Jack kept so many secrets.

But still, if this had never happened before, it shouldn’t be forgotten that Jack was extraordinarily resilient, mentally as well as physically.  For the first time Ianto considered that what was happening to Jack might not be purely psychological.  What if he’d been contaminated by something that lurked in the ancient soil he’d been interred in?  Or what if Gray had un/knowingly infected him with some pathogen that he’d caught from his alien captors, one that affected the mind?  It would explain much about Gray’s condition, let alone Jack’s.  A new doctor couldn’t be secured soon enough for Ianto, he needed someone to discuss this with, and he was desperate for Jack to be helped.

On the subject of Jack, Ianto had to check on him, see what he was up to.  Make sure he was fed, watered, comforted, sleeping somewhere appropriate; whatever the need, Ianto would meet it.  As he returned to the main body of the Hub he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the windows of Jack’s office.  He looked very handsome today, did he?  Pale, drawn, exhausted, dishevelled: his hair was growing out and his suit was hanging off him.  He was thin again.  Over the last year, and for the first time in his life, he’d put on some extra weight: ‘happy weight’, Jack had called it, highly vocal in his appreciation that many of Ianto’s sharp, bony edges had developed a little padding.  Happy weight.  Ianto had finally been happy and his contentment had shown in a basic, comfortable way.  Now…  Thin again.  Too thin.

Ianto made a decision.  Tonight he would eat and sleep, a hearty meal and a decent attempt at the fabled eight hours; tomorrow he’d resurrect one of his older, thinner suits and get a haircut.  Hardly earth-shattering stuff, but…moving on.

“Ianto?”

Ianto started, taking a deep breath before he turned to face Jack.

“What can I do for you?”

“I have to talk to Gray.”

Sweat instantly broke out on Ianto’s brow and his heart began to pound; despite his Pavlovian response, he refused to let his consternation show.

“You can’t, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll talk to him, put things right.”

“It isn’t possible, Jack, you know that.”

“Why?” Jack demanded.  “And why is it your decision?”

“He’s insane, and a killer, and the only safe place for him is where he presently is.  If you can’t be rational, it has to be my decision to leave him there.”

“Gwen…”

“Would support me, one-hundred-percent.”

Jack huffed a snarky little laugh.

“I’m a killer,” Jack said lightly, “and apparently I’m insane too.  Gonna lock me up?  Freeze me?”

“If that’s what it takes to keep you out of trouble,” Ianto replied, reminding himself over and over to stay calm.

“Freeze me,” Jack repeated, but his mind had wandered.  The words became a plaintive whisper.  “Freeze me.”

“Jack?”

Ianto crossed to Jack, taking his hand and guiding him to the sofa.  They sat; Ianto held Jack’s hands, stroking tenderly.

“What have you thought of?” Ianto asked.

“I spent a century where Gray is now.”  Jack’s voice wobbled, but he cleared his throat, maintained his composure.  “I learnt something, something that gives me hope.”

“Tell me.”

“When I was frozen there was nothing.  All that time, it passed like…”  Jack retrieved a hand and snapped his fingers.  “What I learnt…  If this, if living, gets to be too much, I have a retreat.”

“Jack…”

“You don’t have to look so disturbed, it was…  Nothing.  A welcome nothing.  And the experience has given me hope.  Comfort.  So that can’t be bad.”

“What kind of hope?”

Jack turned a barely there but completely honest smile on Ianto.

“When living gets to be too much, I can be frozen.  I have…contacts.  It’s almost a fantasy, being placed in a cryogenic capsule and left to drift in space for the remainder of time, frozen and unknowing.”

“That’s supposed to be a comfort?”

“It is.  For me.  Sorry, Ianto.  Sorry.  I can’t always be your hero.”

Ianto was already shaking his head.

“Not true.  My hero.  Always.”

Jack appreciated that, and deeply, Ianto could see.  The captain leant a little closer.

“Do you know how much I love you?” he asked softly.

It was as if someone had picked up Ianto’s entire world and given it a hearty shake.  He wanted to cheer, scream, run away, stay forever, hug Jack, fuck Jack, punch him squarely on the jaw, cry for a week and laugh for a month, but instead he pretended that nothing was amiss, disguising his reeling emotions with an amusingly fake show of consideration.

“How much do you love me.  Hmm…  Not quite as much as pepperoni pizza, but far more than a vegetarian special?”

“You clever boy.”

“I absolutely am,” Ianto agreed.  “And I’m about to prove it.  Get your coat, you’re coming home with me.”

Jack was instantly on his feet, turning in circles until Ianto pointed to his office.  As Jack rushed to the coat stand, Ianto hurried downstairs to where Eleth was housed.  She looked up with the predictable expression of sheer pleasure at the prospect of company, if a little disappointed at the lack of food.

“C’mon, Eleth, we’re spending the night somewhere much nicer than this.”

Eleth initially looked terrified at the thought of leaving her secure little cell, but some intensive coaxing and reassurance, and she was soon hanging onto Ianto’s arm as they headed up to collect Jack.

“What…?” Jack asked in confusion the minute he set eyes on Eleth, having completely forgotten about her.

“Eleth.  I can’t leave her here alone.  She can have my spare room.”

“Eleth?” Jack repeated.

“Jack,” Eleth said as she pointed.  “Ianto’s Captain Jack.  The twenty-first century…”

“Yes, enough of that,” Ianto interrupted with a laugh.  “Do you eat fish, Eleth?”

Eleth dipped into her pocket and held out the translator; Ianto quickly entered ‘fish’ and showed her the result.

“Yum,” she gleefully announced.

“Thought you might say that,” Ianto smiled, and he carefully transferred Eleth’s hand from his to Jack’s.  “Hold on to Jack, I have to lock up and set the alarms.”

And that move successfully kept both of his charges in check.

…

Eleth, it turned out, liked fish and chips as much as she liked every other morsel of food that came her way, and her greed proved to be very useful.  Once out of the Hub she’d been terrified of her surroundings, and Ianto was certain it was the promise of food rather than his guarantees of safety that had prevented her from running away to hide the first time strangers appeared in her field of vision.  She was a distraction for Jack too, keeping him more focused than he’d been all day, and he seemed completely himself by the time they reached Ianto’s home, telling her stories and revelling in the laughter he could provoke.

It was virtually impossible for Ianto not to treat the diminutive alien like a child, and he kept telling himself off for it, but it didn’t prevent her being sent to bed before the ‘adults’.  Fortunately, once the spare room had been declared a safe zone, and with a pile of Ianto’s books tucked under her arm, she was happy to oblige.

When Ianto returned from settling Eleth in, Jack was nowhere to be seen.  Not so long ago Ianto wouldn’t have had to look any further than his bedroom, but now it wasn’t so easy.

“Jack?” he called.

“Kitchen,” came the immediate reply.

Ianto was about to pursue the voice, but he made himself stop, not wanting to make a fuss, and hoping that his brief absence hadn’t allowed Jack to slip back into a state of vagueness.  The minutes dragged on, and there were sounds of drawers opening and shutting, accompanied by Jack muttering to himself.  With a disappointed sigh, Ianto accepted that Jack must have forgotten what he’d gone looking for.

“Jack?” Ianto called again as he approached the door, only to be met, nose-to-nose, by Jack as he emerged.

“Hello,” Jack grinned, really grinned.  Ianto went, quite literally, weak at the knees, taking a moment for himself as Jack side-stepped and went to sit on the sofa.  “Couldn’t find the screwdriver,” Jack explained.

“Umm…what?  Screwdriver?”

Jack held up the bottle-opener.

“Bottle-opener,” Ianto corrected.

“What did I say?”

“Screwdriver.”

Jack mulled that over, lost interest, and shrugged, staring at the bottle in his hand.  Ianto came and took the wine and the opener.

“Glasses,” he prompted Jack, and this time followed his partner as he returned to the kitchen.  “What you said earlier,” Ianto began as he leant in the doorway.

“What did I say?”  Jack stopped banging around and turned to Ianto in exasperation.  “Where are the glasses?”  Ianto nodded to the correct cabinet, and Jack grabbed two glasses before heading back to the living room.  “What did I say?” he repeated.

“About being frozen.”

“I said that?” Jack frowned.  Ianto nodded.  “Why would I want to be frozen?”

“You were probably just rambling.”

Jack put the glasses down so hard on the coffee table that the stem broke cleanly off one.  He didn’t appear to notice, and simply let the remaining bowl drop out of his hand onto the wooden surface as he turned back to Ianto.

“Am I getting worse?”

Ianto stared at the broken glass and wondered how to answer.  Honestly?

“I don’t know.  You were your old self with Eleth.”

“Was I?  And how about now?  Do I know where you keep the glasses?”  Ianto nodded, unable to trust his voice.  “Am I crazy, Ianto?  Is that what’s happened?  I’ve gone crazy?  I think I’m sane but I may be too crazy to tell.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on any better than you.  But if we hire Doctor Cullen I’ll ask her to start immediately. And…”

“Who?”

“Doctor Cullen,” Ianto reiterated; Jack looked blank.  “Catherine Cullen.  The new doctor.  We spoke about her, you told me to…”

“The new doctor?”  Jack grinned and shook his head in disbelief.  “I really don’t want to be you when Owen finds out what you’ve done.”

It took Ianto several seconds to catch his breath.

“Know what?  I would love to be in a position to tell Owen all about her.”

Jack looked at Ianto curiously, hearing the gruff emotion in his voice and baffled by it.  He met Ianto’s watery smile with an insecure one of his own.

“What have I missed?”

“Nothing,” Ianto assured him.  “Nothing for you to worry about.”  Returning the bottle to the kitchen, Ianto paused to regroup in private before sauntering back to Jack and taking his hand.  “Let’s just go to sleep,” he said.  “I’ve had enough of today.”

Jack went willingly where Ianto led and, once inside the bedroom, discarded every item of clothing with customary nonchalance – nothing had changed in that respect.  He stood at the window, staring up at the sky, unaware of Ianto’s gaze trailing slowly and heatedly over his naked body.

“I might just have a shower first,” Ianto told him, rather hoarsely.

“Okay,” Jack acknowledged, quite oblivious to Ianto’s desire.

“Get into bed.”

With a nod, Jack obeyed.  Ianto watched as that beautiful body was covered up, moaning softly to himself at its loss; Jack Harkness in his bed, and he was having to make do with a solitary wank in the shower.  Unbelievable.