Pointless night.  Hart could find Ianto whenever he wanted, it seemed, but Ianto lacked similar stalking skills.  Although he was certain that Hart couldn’t be too far away, the infuriating man was lying low, lower even than the unsavoury all-night dives that Ianto had scoured, wasting precious time that could have been spent with Jack.

He went to his flat rather than the Hub to grab an hour’s sleep, a shower, and a change of clothes, pretending that Jack was observant enough to notice if he turned up at work wearing yesterday’s garb and smelling of a day’s work and a night’s prowling.  Gwen might notice.  Although there was every chance that Rhys would be coming in today, and he would keep Gwen distracted, so perhaps not.  Ianto barely knew why he was bothering.

No messages from Catherine, on his phone or computer.  More pretence: nothing was probably a promising sign, no news being good news and all that rubbish.

When Jack woke he didn’t know Ianto, not even as Rowan; Ianto’s distress at that was somewhat buffered by his exhaustion, but it also led him to be honest with himself, and admit that he’d been expecting – fearing – this, and semi-braced for it ever since Jack had first forgotten his name.  The only factor that made it bearable was Jack being strangely untroubled by not knowing him, it was understandably less harrowing for Jack to not be reminded that he was losing his loved ones.

Because it wasn’t only Ianto that Jack didn’t know: he greeted Gwen as Frances, and almost got thumped for thinking Rhys was ‘Jamie’ and embracing him with inappropriate familiarity.  Or so Rhys said.  Ianto was quite often on tenterhooks when Jack and Rhys were together, waiting for Rhys to find an excuse to punch Jack’s lights out.  Today, Ianto found it hard to condemn him for it as, personally, he wanted to lash out at everything and everybody.

“You seem very tense,” Gwen observed, caring too much and pissing Ianto off even more.  “Is there anything I can do?”

Did he pass on Catherine’s crushing assessment, or remain the sole possessor of that unwelcome news?  Misery, on this occasion, did not love company.

“Just tired,” Ianto explained, knuckles turning white where he was gripping his mug.

Without warning, Gwen grabbed him and hustled him away from his workstation and toward Jack’s old quarters beneath the captain’s office.

“Get some sleep,” she ordered.

Ianto didn’t bother to argue the sense of that, but…

“Why down there?”

“Because you won’t be disturbed.  The rest of us know not to bother you; Jack can’t hold on to that, but he doesn’t have to be clever or rational to realise that he doesn’t want to get into a hole in the ground.”

Without debate, Ianto accepted the offer of a few hours to crash, descending the ladder with the speed of familiarity, and ignoring the sensation that was possibly his heart breaking a little further as memories rushed over him of the times he and Jack had shared, happily and hornily, in this cramped space.

The bed still smelt of Jack – of them – and Ianto didn’t resist the urge when his body responded the way it always had for Jack.  A luxuriously slow wank was followed by some solid, dreamless sleep.  Didn’t stop him being grouchy and cursing the world when he woke, but it was helpful to remove a lesser excuse for it.

“What’s this number?” Gwen asked soon after he’d ascended, waving her phone in Ianto’s face.

“Uh…”  He finally grabbed her wrist and glanced at the now-still text.  “The security code for access to Gray’s chamber.  In case I succumb to the temptation to throw myself into the bay, and Jack decides to spring his nearest and deadliest in my waterlogged absence.  He can’t do it without that number.”

“Oh.  You think that’s likely?  Not you in the bay, I mean—  You’re joking.  Aren’t you?  You are joking.  I meant…  Shit.”

Ianto felt an utter bastard as he witnessed Gwen’s chemically enhanced mood begin to crumble at the prospect of being minus a colleague and plus a psychopath.

“Not very likely,” he said, smiling now as if he’d been teasing.  “If Jack tries anything and gets nowhere we’ll have to deal with the mother of all tantrums, but…no Gray.”

“I don’t want him out of there.  Ever.”

Recognising and empathising with the dread in Gwen’s eyes, Ianto agreed with a solemn nod, and they went about their respective business.

Ianto noticed that Gwen was armed for the rest of the day, even inside the Hub.  Once upon a time, he might have talked her out of that.

…

“Don’t I have any normal clothes?”

Ianto turned to find Jack standing behind him.  At a glance it was impossible to tell whether this was Mad Jack or Normal Jack, or any of the in-between Jacks.

“Any…?”

“Normal clothes?” Jack repeated.

Ianto was amused by the question and, prepared to accept Jack in any condition, opted to play this one by ear.  Anything had to be better than the abuse he was subjecting himself to, trying to reason with the mainframe’s translation programme.

“By normal, you mean…?”

Jack considered.

“Normal.”

“I’m not actually sure, there must be some packed up somewhere.  Or…we can go and buy you a few things.”

“Let’s do that,” Jack enthused, eyes filling with delight at the prospect.  “Do I have money?”

“Loads.”  Ianto went into Jack’s office and fished in the top drawer of his desk.  “Here.”  He found Jack’s wallet and brought out a credit card.  “We just need to make sure the signature is the same.  So…”  Ianto offered Jack paper and pen.  “Sign here.”

Jack stared at the blank page until Ianto took pity on him.  He tucked the card back into the wallet, and tossed the wallet into the drawer, closing it with a satisfying thud.

“How about…  I make it my treat?”

The huge grin of appreciation certainly made that worthwhile.

“Great, thank you.  I want…  What do I want?”

“Shirts?  Jeans?  Start there and see what else you like.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

“Try not to get too carried away though.  You’ll be bound to hate everything you get when…”  You get better?  If you get better?  “Well…later.”

“You think?”

“Going by your usual style of dress, anything from this century’s a no-no.”

“You choose something for me.”

“Why?”

“Something you think makes me look good.”

“You’d look good in a bin bag, Jack, you don’t need to dress up.”

Jack looked extraordinarily pleased at that compliment from someone who was probably a complete stranger to him.

“You think I’m…what?  Handsome?” Jack fished.

“I always have done.  Handsome and alluring and sexy as hell.  Even when you’re not saving the world.”

“When I’m not saving the world?” Jack asked, obviously baffled.

“Yes.  More so in fact.  Because you have more time for me, and there’s less chance of you running off with strange men in time machines.”

“Time machines?  And…and…  I save the world?”

“Regularly.”

“What then?  I’m some kind of…?”

“Hero,” Ianto smiled.  “Not that it matters to me.”

“And you like me because…  No, despite…”  Jack frowned.  “I’m kinda confused,” he admitted.  “I just…wanted a new shirt.”

Ianto went to Jack and took his hands; Jack didn’t resist or respond.

“Who am I?” Ianto asked.

Jack started to speak but stopped abruptly.  Once then again.

“I don’t know.”

“Then why are you even listening to me?”

“I…I don’t know.  But I know what my gut says.”

“And that would be…?”

“That even if I don’t remember why, I trust you with my life.  And evidently my wardrobe.”

Ianto…wibbled.

“That’s…umm…”

“Good?”

“Good, yes.  Okay.  You don’t know me, and…  Who are you?”

Jack paused for further thought, then shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Right.  There are things you don’t know, but know this.  Where you are right now, you’re safe, and you’re with friends.  I can’t risk taking you shopping, because if we get separated, you won’t be able to find your way back here.  Understand?”

A disappointed sigh was followed by resigned nodding.

“Yes.”

“Want to look at clothes on the internet?”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

Ianto sat Jack at a computer and showed him how to Google for menswear.  It was simultaneously entertaining and heart-rending, this fifty-first century male, the technically-minded and occasionally brilliant Jack Harkness being awed by his first experience of the net.

A call from Andy Davidson took Ianto and Gwen away from the Hub for a while, which was a welcome relief; Ianto thanked Rhys profusely for volunteering to Jack/Eleth/dinosaur/weevil-sit in their absence, and made him swear not to thump Jack under any circumstances.

On this occasion, PC Davidson had been a little over-zealous in his estimation of the threat involved, and the trip out was regrettably short.  Back at base, and once the SUV was parked, Gwen turned to Ianto, ready to exploit the rare moment of complete privacy.

“Tell me what Catherine said.”

Ianto lolled back in his seat, eyes closed as a litany of no’s raced through his head.

“It isn’t conclusive.”

“Nothing, Ianto, nothing affects you like Jack.  Today you’re…”

“Affected?” Ianto suggested with a smirk.

“Don’t be bloody clever.  Tell me, or I’ll track her down and interrupt her in the middle of whatever she doesn’t want to be interrupted in the middle of.  And I’ll blame you, and then she won’t come back, and then we’re…we’re…fucked.”  Ianto rolled his head to look at Gwen, one eyebrow raised in silent comment.  “Oh, shut up,” Gwen told him.

“Shut up and tell you?  That’s clever.”

“See?  This mood?  This is a ‘something wrong with Jack’ mood.  Something more wrong with Jack,” she clarified before Ianto could remind her of Jack’s general incapacity.

A terse silence settled over them; it was precisely eleven minutes until Ianto found the fortitude to speak.

“Jack’s been poisoned,” he said quietly, hating, fearing, the sound of that.

Gwen’s reaction, the struck-dumb, what the fuck, no-ness was a near-perfect imitation of the moment Ianto had been told the news.

“Jack’s been poisoned,” she eventually repeated as she tried to assimilate that impossible thought.  “Jack.  Has been poisoned.  He’s been poisoned.”

“That’s why Catherine left.  There’s a lab in London apparently, better facilities.”

“Where she’ll find a cure.”  Statement rather than question; Ianto loathed to disillusion her.  “He can recover from anything,” Gwen continued.

“We don’t know that.”

“He dies, Ianto, he dies and comes back.”

“This won’t kill him, just make him into a zombie.”

Ianto’s eyes were closed again, but he felt Gwen shudder beside him.

“Although…  If he did die…”

“I’ve thought of that.  But as we don’t know what this toxin is, or how it works…  He could die, and not come back.  He could die, and come back in a coma, or…come back still contaminated, and lose his mind all over again.  It wouldn’t be like a wound that could heal, would it.  Wouldn’t be like…recharging, or whatever he did after Abaddon drained his energy.  The poison might just stay there and—  We need an antidote.”

“What does Catherine think?  About having Jack die?”

“She doesn’t know he can do that.  Bad enough that I had to tell about Jack’s ‘abnormal longevity’ without her knowing he can return from death.  We won’t tell her unless it becomes vital she knows.”

“You don’t trust her?”

“We have to be certain she stays focused on what matters.  I’ve already caught her looking at him as if she wants to dissect him.”

“No.  No, no, no, you’re imagining that.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you are, but…okay, for now, we don’t tell her about the coming back to life thing.”  Gwen thought for a moment.  “If Jack has been poisoned, how did it happen?  When?”

“I think Gray did it.”

“How?”

“Don’t know.  But he hates Jack, was in close contact with him, even had free run of the Hub.”

Ianto could practically hear the cogs turning as Gwen went through all the permutations and possibilities he’d been considering.  He knew she’d arrive at precisely the same point as him.

“John Hart…”

“I’ve been trying to find him.”

“He’s still around.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll help look.  Me and Rhys could go out…”

“Yes, do.  But he’ll only be found when it suits him.”

Gwen punched the door of the car, punched it and punched it; Ianto turned his head away before opening his eyes again, having enough trouble with his own anger without having to deal with hers.  He left Gwen in the SUV, but took the keys when he went into the Hub.

“Ianto!” Eleth greeted him as he arrived, furiously beckoning him to join her and Jack at the computer.

“What have you been up to?” Ianto enquired with carefully constructed good humour.

“Your daughter’s been choosing my clothes,” Jack explained, sharing a conspiratorial grin with Eleth that barely disguised how exhausted he was.

“That’s nice.  Possibly.”  Ianto flicked through a few of the windows.  “I see.  Everything’s very…orange.”

Eleth nodded enthusiastically.

“Because the orange is not…not.”

“Excellent.  Well done.”  Close up, Ianto was amazed that Jack was conscious.  Maybe because he’d been occupied?  Whatever, it was not ideal.  “Eleth, perhaps you should let Jack rest now.”

“I’m fine,” Jack ensured them.

Eleth had no need to voice her agreement to that statement: she gazed adoringly at Jack.  Wondering if there was an optimum way to deal with unrequited love and teenage angst of the alien variety, Ianto fled toward the coffee machine.

“Anyone need a drink?”

Ianto barely heard the answers to that.  His mind had shot off on a tangent and he kept walking until he found a private corner and used his mobile rather than a Hub phone to call Catherine.

“I’m busy, Ianto,” was all she said when she eventually answered.

“Saving Jack, or not being able to save Jack?” Ianto replied, as abruptly.

“Can’t tell.”

“When will you be back?”

“No idea.”

Before he could utter another word, Catherine hung up.  He thought about redialling, but…what was the point?  He instantly and resolutely decided not to update Gwen, but suspected he would the first chance he got.  As he returned to preparing their drinks he saw her enter the Hub, red-eyed, jaw clenched.  She went to Jack and reached for him, but he jerked away in shock, scuttling off his stool and backwards until he connected with a wall; the expression on his face was all about not understanding the over-familiar approach of a total stranger.  Ianto hurried to join them, moving in as Gwen retreated, taking Eleth with her.

“Jack,” he said softly, giving a friendly, unintimidating smile.

“Who is that?” Jack demanded.  “Who’s Jack?”

Another step forward from Ianto had Jack reaching for the gun that usually lived on his hip; luckily for Ianto, the Webley was locked in the captain’s safe.

“You don’t need to be armed,” Ianto explained.  “I’m not going to hurt you.  I want to help you.”

Jack shot Ianto a sarcastic ‘Oh, yeah?’ of a look before staring around in disbelief.

“What is this place?”

“Torchwood.”

“I don’t—  How did I get here?”

“You work here.  But…you’ve had a bit of an accident and forgotten things.  We’re trying to help you.”

“What happened?” Ianto heard Gwen asking Eleth.

“He was Jack, and we were shopping, and…you gave him the surprise, and…”  Eleth pointed to where Jack was now, arms clutched about himself as he continued to scrutinize his surroundings.

Ianto was aware of Rhys coming to his side.

“Need help to get him upstairs?” he whispered.

“Go,” Ianto told him.  “Take Gwen and Eleth, and just go.  Quietly.”  Rhys hesitated.  “Go.”

“Right.”

Rhys passed that message on; Gwen met Ianto’s eyes before she left and gestured ‘phone me’.  He gave a shallow nod, and soon found himself left alone with Jack.

“Just us now,” he announced, keeping his tone warm and pleasant; he went back to his preparations.  “Would you like some coffee?  Or anything else?  Are you hungry?”

Ianto’s matter-of-factness encouraged Jack to venture closer, still anxious, but drawn to company.

“I’m dry,” Jack said, sounding a little more stable, but Ianto wasn’t taking anything for granted.

“Want to sit down?”  He gestured to the sofa.  “I’ll bring this to you.”

“What is it?”

“Coffee.  You love it.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.  And me, you love me.”

“Do I?”

“I don’t mind if you don’t believe it.  Hardly believe it myself,” Ianto finished under his breath.

Although a prolonged mental debate was necessary to facilitate the move, Jack did sit down, and looked happier for having his back against the wall.  Ianto was just glad he was off his feet: the shock had certainly woken Jack up, but it was doubtful that its effects would be anything more than temporary and, if there was any passing out to be done, the sofa was immeasurably preferable to the Hub’s concrete floor.  Ianto brought their drinks over, behaving naturally, and ignoring Jack’s fleeting negative reaction.

 “There you go.  Enjoy.”

Ianto drank his own coffee and felt Jack studying every move.  Before too long, the aroma from his own mug seduced Jack and, after the initial suspicious sip, Jack savoured every drop.

“Yes.  I do love it.  Which suggests you were telling the truth about…”  Jack looked at Ianto curiously, picking apart the possibility of loving a man he didn’t seem to know.  “Have we been together long?”

“Long enough.”

“I don’t even know…  Sorry, probably sounds like a stupid question, but what planet is this?”

“Earth.”

“Earth.  Okay.”

“Ever heard of it?”

“No,” Jack answered honestly.  A smile suddenly broke through the grievously serious expression.  “This is funny.”

Ianto smiled back.

“Good.”

“I know it’s not for you, your face says it all.”

“I’ll cope.”

“Do you love me back?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Right now?  Fuck knows.”

Jack began to giggle, and the giggles soon expanded into full-blown laughter.  Ianto couldn’t help joining in, although this was about as low as he could get.  It took time to calm down again, no doubt because the relief from so much stress had been desperately needed.

“You look worn out,” Ianto said as he took the mugs away, “you must be running on pure adrenalin.”

“A little tired,” Jack understated.

“Maybe if you weren’t quite so exhausted you’d remember something.”

“I don’t know.”

“And…who am I trying to fool.”  Ianto gestured up.  “You have quarters here.  You should go and lie down.”

Jack looked intrigued.  Dozy, but intrigued.

“You mean…  With you?”

“I’ll just show you where everything is and leave you to it.  Unless you want me to stay.”

“For…?”

“Anything.  Anything at all.”

Jack’s gaze raked over Ianto, and it was obvious that his instincts were telling him he should desire such a handsome young man.  Naturally, his body wasn’t about to comply.

“You’re incredibly appealing, but…  I don’t seem to be in the mood.”

Ianto forced a smile; forced an excuse.

“Hardly surprising, is it.  With things being so odd.”

Jack smiled appreciatively at Ianto’s understanding, and let his forgotten partner close enough to usher him up the stairs.

…

The effort of putting on a brave face was draining, but Ianto still found the energy to be overwrought and inconsolable when he emerged from Jack’s quarters, feeling the loss more acutely than ever as Scarily Sane But Entirely Clueless Jack made no effort to recognise him, simply accepting the void that this section of his life had become.  If Jack had appeared…well…madder, it would have been some comfort, but to be abandoned so rationally and dispassionately was agonising.

He’d settle for being Rowan, he’d be darling or honey or sweetheart or sugar or baby, he’d take any fucking label that Jack could associate with him, instead of being no-one that mattered.

He tried Catherine’s number, but was directed to voicemail.  It was only his promise to call Gwen that prevented Ianto from hurling his phone across the Hub in a fit of temper.  Gwen could wait though, right now…  Swiping the work he’d been in the midst of off his desk, he started yet another computer search, adding the latest information to the myriad previous details.  The drumming of his fingers as he waited for the primary results became the mindless thumping of the counter as his frustration grew, and when he was alerted to a promising file of information that proved to be in a language he’d never seen before in all his time at Torchwood, he was ready to—

No, this wasn’t about tearing his hair out, or wrecking the place.  The solution could very well be the tiny pill that had resided in one pocket or another since Eleth had passed it to Ianto and confided its secrets.  In less than a second, Ianto was staring at the pill and trying to weigh need versus caution: the alien file could contain the answer to Jack’s condition – his cure – and the skill to fix the translation programme was pinched between his thumb and index finger.  There was also brilliance versus sickness to consider.  Eleth could have no real idea how poisonous to humans the plant that the drug was taken from might be, and sickness might be the least of it.  Ianto wasn’t suicidal.  Although, at this rate, give him a week and it might sound like a fabulous idea.

The pill was returned to Ianto’s pocket as he reconsidered the possibility of using the translator he’d lent to Eleth, but the ongoing problem still applied: the handheld version needed sentient input from the source of the new language, and he wasn’t capable of making the necessary alterations to allow it to handle non-sentient data.  Irritably soldiering on, Ianto called up the mainframe’s translator and the reams of notes Toshiko had made regarding its use and maintenance.  Two minutes distracted study and Ianto was swearing like a trooper at his incompetence; if the fucking notes read like an alien language, how the hell did he cope with the alien language itself?

He tried Catherine’s number yet again.  This time his phone did go flying across the Hub when he was redirected.  In fact…suicide?  Not a big deal.  Brilliance, however temporary, and the possibility of a well Jack, a brief sojourn to any kind of normality…

Ianto retrieved the tablet and took it without another moment’s consideration.  He forced himself calm as he waited for a reaction, fetching himself a bottle of water from the kitchen and swigging it down, strangely content to wait however long it took for genius or death to strike him.

Nothing.  More nothing.  Ianto’s expectations wavered dramatically.  What if the drug didn’t have any affect on humans at all?  He wandered.  Waited.  Nothing.  Nothing, nothing, nothing.  He couldn’t find his phone either, that would piss him off when he eventually gave a toss.  Nothing.  At.  All.  Back to his workstation, and he sat heavily on the stool, depressed and defeated, and feeling rather stupid instead of brilliant.  When was anything that easy?  When…when…

When did Toshiko’s complex notes read like a Janet and John book?

As he sped through the text, Ianto was left gasping with the shock of comprehending the intricacies of what he was studying; references dropped effortlessly into place, and the answers he’d aimlessly sought presented themselves as obviously as if they were highlighted in neon.  With shaking hands he quickly turned the written knowledge into practical solutions, working at breakneck speed as his actions began to come from his own understanding, as it all made actual sense rather than being an exercise in repair-by-numbers.

The translation programme responded with an elegance that Ianto had never appreciated before, unfurling into life without the burden of recent technical damage to restrict its flow.  A few tweaks, and it was reaching for the file Ianto hoped contained help for Jack, infiltrating the virtual pages line by line.

Ianto, high as an intellectual kite, stood to pace as he waited for results; five steps in, his knees abruptly unlocked, sending him sprawling.  He wanted to stand up, but he couldn’t figure that out.  He could probably rebuild the translation programme from memory, but the technicalities of standing up?  Nope.  The floor was at such a bizarre angle, that probably wasn’t helping, and the whole concept of the desks floating rather than remaining firmly on the ground was ill-conceived to say the least.  He could see his breath as clouds of violet fumes, and surely his blood would need to be the colour of emeralds to send his skin that particular hue.

It didn’t actually take a genius – chemically manufactured or otherwise – to figure out this wasn’t right.  Clinging to the few things that made absolute sense to him, Ianto crawled to Jack’s office and into the captain’s chair, closing his eyes and reaching for the phone, feeling his way because trying to see was becoming a Technicolor nightmare.  He dialled Gwen’s number from a memory that could supply every set of sequential numerals he’d ever come across in his entire life, and clung to the arm of the chair to stop him floating away as he waited for her to answer.

“Ianto?”

“Gwen, you have to come back.”  That was an orchestra playing.  Ianto was impressed.  “You have to come back,” he repeated, simply to experience.

“Is it Jack?”  The fear in Gwen’s voice produced a violent discord; Ianto wanted to weep for her.  “Ianto?”

“No.  Not Jack.  Me.  I’m…sick.  Think it’s food poisoning.”

“Ah, poor love, don’t worry, we’ll head back now.  Get yourself comfortable.”

Tears did trickle down Ianto’s face now, the sweet harmonies of Gwen’s concern wringing the emotion out of him.

Phone down, eyelids opened to cautious slits, Ianto pawed at the desk, fascinated by every paper strewn there, the contents leaping at him and taking on meanings that he’d never considered, letting him read sub-text that sprang from a turn of phrase or unintentionally revealing adjective.  He found Jack’s notebook, a scruffy thing brimming with reminders and doodles and numberless equations, and it drew Ianto like the most intimate of love letters; seeing wasn’t enough, he brought it to his face and inhaled Jack and skin and pheromones and hair and the back cover was virtually porn to his heightened senses, reminding Ianto that the book had been trapped beneath him when Jack had fucked him on the desk.  Ianto pressed his lips to the scent of their sweat and semen and sucked it all into his mouth on a breath.  He came.  A dry, still, exquisite orgasm, that was everything and then gone and…he loved Jack with an intensity he had no words for, not even now, with his mind expanded to breaking point.

Dropping the notebook and fumbling in Jack’s desk, he brought out the wrist strap that had been recently discarded by his partner when its many uses were forgotten.  Ianto played with it for mere seconds before an elemental understanding clicked in; he could fix it, right now, he could fix it.

His mind soared into a future where Jack took the fixed vortex manipulator and…permutations, countless permutations, Jack staying and going, and being and never here and then there when he was and he wasn’t and saving, dying, losing, being, staying, going—

Ianto let out a yell and shook the confusion from his head, bundling the wrist strap away and staring at his pale green hands gripping the edge of the desk, magenta wood and graining that sang of life and time and past, deep past, of roots buried deep, and…and…Jack.  Buried.  Deep.

Something Ianto didn’t want to explore in depth and it was upon him, empathy multiplied by a crippling sense of reality, and he was there, and Jack was so, so dead, and Ianto was suffocating, eyes and lips squeezed tightly shut, but he was blinded and his lungs were filling with soil and there was no air and no hope and centuries to go mad in and—

“Ianto…”

Ianto flailed his way out of the terrifying scenario he’d thought his way into, catching Gwen’s hands as she tended to him and pulling her close enough to hold, seeking life and comfort and a true reality that he couldn’t bear to lose.

“Don’t bury me,” he pleaded, and he heard a jangle of triangles.

“Never,” Gwen promised, “Never.  You were dreaming, you’re all right now.”  He felt her head turn away.  “He’s burning up, he’ll have to go to hospital.”

“No.  Home.  I’m…  Home.  Sorry.”

Gwen gave him another cuddle while she muttered a conversation with Rhys.

“Rhys’ll run you home if that’s what you want, but I’ll be coming round to check you in an hour or so, and we must stay in touch.”

“Just…home.  Please.”

“Can I leave you for a moment?  Rhys is fetching the car and I have to make sure Jack’s okay.”

Ianto nodded, and the ocean swayed; he reluctantly let Gwen go.  Minutes later there was a touch to his face, and he risked opening his eyes.  To meet knowing compassion.

“Sick as a parrot?” Eleth whispered.  Flutes.

“Sick as a parrot,” Ianto agreed.  “Did you trick me and poison me?”

Eleth checked her translator.

“Pa-ra-noi-a,” she pronounced carefully.

“Yes.  And…  I’m a fool.”

“Sick as a parrot.”

“Don’t tell them why.”

“No.  Sleep.  Lots of water.  Not well for one day.”

“I can see so much more, will I lose it all?”

“This sick?  No remembering.  Poor Ianto.”

“What a waste.  Such a waste.”

“Will Catherine come home now?”

“Catherine…”

The reminder of one doctor and another was there, Owen, glowing a sickly yellow-white and disintegrating around the edges.

“Save Jack,” Ianto told him.  “Owen.  Save Jack.”

“‘And death shall have no dominion’,” Owen smiled.

“Owen…”

“No Owen,” Eleth said, and patted Ianto’s forearm.

“‘Dead men naked, they shall be one’,” Owen continued, “‘with the man in the wind and the west moon.’”

“I know all that,” Ianto protested, shards of broken metal clanging against the sweet strings of Owen’s quoted words.

“‘When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone, they shall have stars at elbow and foot.’”

“Stop wasting time, you need to help…”

Owen winked at Ianto, and tapped his nose.

“‘Though they go mad, they shall be sane; though they sink through the sea, they shall rise again.’”

“Owen…”

“‘Though lovers be lost, love shall not.’”

“If you won’t help him, go away,” Ianto choked out, despairing over this particular hallucination.  “Leave me alone.”

With a degree of cooperation Owen had failed to exhibit in life, the spectre’s hands rose to his chest, grasping fistfuls of his white coat.  Owen gracefully tore himself in two, and as his atoms exploded into rainbows before being absorbed by shadows, his words faded to wisps of violin.

“‘And death shall have no dominion.’”

 “No Owen,” Eleth reiterated, prodding Ianto’s shoulder.  “Sick as a parrot.”

“No Owen,” Ianto accepted, sniffling and swiping moisture from his cheeks with hands that blossomed, deep blue peonies.  “Death has dominion.”

“C’mon, mate, let’s get you home.”  Rhys was real.  Owen was not.  Rhys helped Ianto to his feet.  “Warn me if you’re about to hurl.  Or worse.”

“I can feel the world going ‘round,” Ianto said dreamily as he leant on Rhys’ arm, and allowed himself to be guided out of the office.

“Food poisoning, you think?  Sounds more like you’ve been raiding the pharmacy.”

Ianto laughed at that, or possibly created a symphony.  He peered at Rhys.  Rhys…  Rhys had lemons instead of hair.

“Home,” Ianto murmured.

The lemons nodded.

“Home.”

…

“Was I right?” Rhys asked as he ferried Ianto into the living room of his flat and lowered him onto the sofa.

“Right?” Ianto enquired.

“What did you take?  Is it safe?”

Ianto couldn’t be bothered to lie, all he wanted now was to be left alone to sleep for a week.

“This wasn’t intentional.  I wasn’t aware…  Side effects, y’know?”

“Safe, though.”

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“’Cause I can’t just leave you if…”

“I’ll sleep it off.  Water and sleep, and I’ll be fine.”

Ianto found himself being floated from the sofa into his bedroom, and as he sat staring at the floor and convinced the speckles in his carpet were trying to communicate with him, Rhys brought him a jug of water and a glass from the kitchen.

“Need a hand?” Rhys reluctantly offered, waving a hand to indicate Ianto’s clothes.

“No.”

“Thank God for small mercies.  Undressing you would have been a bit too Torchwood for me.”

Ianto started to giggle at that, pleasantly out of tune.

“Go.  I’ll sleep.  Tell Gwen I’m fine, she doesn’t need to check.”

“I’ll tell her, but…  Don’t switch your phone off, all right?”

“Right.”

Rhys scowled, assessed, grumbled and finally left.

Struggling out of his clothes, pausing for gulps of water, Ianto wondered how big a cock-up he’d made of everything.  But if he hummed, a choir of angels appeared, fashioned from coat hangers and tinsel, so he distracted himself with that and eventually crawled beneath the drift of deep golden marigolds that was his duvet.

‘And death shall have no dominion,’ the choir sang in Owen Harper’s accent.  ‘And death shall have no dominion.’