Jack was there.  It may have started as a dream, but as Ianto drifted to consciousness he was aware of Jack’s fingertips trailing over his cheek, tracing his jaw.  Ianto groaned and turned toward the attention, still slightly foggy from the tablet he’d taken, but bright enough to respond, to want.  Lips touched his, the merest hint of a kiss.

“Jack…” he whispered, and Jack was there.

Another kiss, stronger, more possessive, and—

Ianto came fully awake with a lurching start, shoving away the man leaning over him and scrabbling to the far side of the bed.  He wiped his mouth, wiped it again with the sheet, feeling sick, feeling polluted.

John Hart was there, gloating as he studied Ianto’s reactions.

“You figured out it wasn’t Jack then,” he grinned.

“Jack,” Ianto ground out, “tastes good.”  Hart laughed and leaned back against the wardrobe; Ianto wasn’t fooled for a moment by the pseudo-casual stance.  “What do you want?” he demanded.

“I was under the impression that you wanted me.  You spent an entire night missing me by seconds, remember?”

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t miss much.  Eye Candy.”

Ianto’s glance automatically flicked to his own side of the bed, where his gun would usually be in the cabinet drawer.

“Not there,” Hart informed him.  “I checked.”

Abruptly recalling the why and how of getting home, Ianto wasn’t surprised.  His gun was in his desk, his mobile was probably sitting on the bottom of the Hub’s pond.

“You’re naked in there; I checked that too.  Very nice.”

Ianto grit his teeth at that.  He had needed to find Hart, and now he had him he was wasting time.

“You still want Jack?” he asked.

Hart’s expression wavered.

“What kind of question’s that?”

“I take it the answer’s yes.”  Hart remained silent, studying Ianto intently.  “Jack’s been poisoned,” Ianto explained.  “There’s an unknown element that our doctor can’t pin down.  We could lose him.”

“He’s not about to die.”

“Death isn’t the only end.  He’s losing…  He’s losing his mind.”

“What then?  You think I…”

“I think that you don’t want that to happen any more than I do.”

Hart paused, his expression inscrutable.

“This…unknown element…?”

“I’m assuming Gray poisoned him.”

With a deepening frown, Hart shook his head.

“I’d’ve known.”

“That’s what I hoped.  That you would know, that you would help.”

“I’m no doctor.”

“You know where Gray came from, where he’d been.  If there’s anything you can remember…”

“What do I get out of it?”

Ianto missed a beat in surprise.

“You need more than Jack surviving this?”

A harsh laugh broke out of Hart; he began to pace.

“The goodness of my heart is a dead, shrivelled thing.  Last time I helped Jack I was ejected the moment I was no longer of any use.”

“The fact you kept your freedom…”

“Freedom, my fucking arse!  I’m trapped here…”

“You told me you’d take Jack and go.  You said…”

“I’d skip the planet, yes, I know.  May’ve exaggerated that,” Hart conceded.

“Okay.  Help me, and then I’ll find a way for you to leave.  There are aliens passing through our space all the time, one of them…”

“That’d suit you, wouldn’t it?  Get rid of the competition.”

Ianto bit back the obvious retort.  Dragging the duvet with him, he began to sit up, swinging onto the edge of the mattress.

“Stay where you are,” Hart ordered.

“I want to get up, I want to get dressed.”

“Stay.  Where.  You.  Are.”

The order was cold and threatening.  Ianto froze.  Almost froze.  The hand that was now masked from Hart was frisking Jack’s side of the bed.  There were two things that Jack tended to leave wherever he spent any amount of time: weapons and lube.  Sigmund Freud would have loved him to bits.  And here, tucked between the mattress and divan, was exactly what Ianto was hoping to find: one of Jack’s scavenged collection of very alien, very small blasters.  Concealing the weapon beneath the duvet, Ianto slowly moved back onto the bed, finding himself staring along the barrel of John Hart’s heftiest gun.

“You won’t help then,” Ianto said quietly, hiding any sign of aggression or intent, playing the part of a man giving up.

Hart’s gun hand gradually lowered.

“I didn’t say that, didn’t say won’t.”

“You can’t help?”

“I might have…implied that.”

“Then…?”

“Really.  What’s it worth?  What do I get out of it?”

“What do you want?”

“How about…  You, me and Jack?  We could be a happy little threesome.  A team.  I get to choose the name.  And then there’s Gwen…”

“What about Gwen?” snapped Ianto, automatically in protective mode.

John smiled and suggestively twitched his brows.

“Happy little foursome?  We might even find a use for that lumbering hulk of hers.”

“Forget it,” Ianto said flatly, knowing that Hart would suspect any other answer.

“Selfish boy.  Just you then, throwing yourself on my altar?  Bending over it, even.”

“I thought it was Jack you wanted.”

“Mmm,” Hart agreed.  “But he’s blind to my considerable charms.  And I can’t decide if he doesn’t see me because of his grief, or because he’s allegedly losing his mind, or because…because he can’t take his eyes off of you.”

“None of that will matter soon.  In less than a week, he’ll be past help.”

Whatever reaction Ianto was expecting to that, it wasn’t the leering dismissal Hart delivered.

“Less than a week, eh?  Then it’ll be just you and me.”

“Never.”

“Universal adage: never say never.”  Hart’s thumb hooked in the front of his waistband, fingers drumming lower.  “Sure you don’t want to take immediate advantage of my very generous offer?  After all, it isn’t as if Jack’s been supplying the goods, is it.  No wonder you’re so tetchy.”

“How do you know—”  Life descended into slow motion as realisation set in; Ianto had only mentioned Jack’s mental failings, not his physical.  The only way Hart could know that…  Ianto gazed at Hart in disbelief.  “You.”

“Me?”  Hart raised his brows questioningly, a stomach-turning picture of faux innocence.

“It was you.  You poisoned Jack.”

“Actually, you poisoned him.  I may have spiked his drink while the two of you were crying on one another’s shoulders, but ultimately you gave it to him.  You poisoned him.  He’s slipping away because of you.”

“But…  It makes no sense.  You want him.”

“I’ll still get him.  And when I transport his living corpse to a certain planet that has a vast bounty on him thanks to the indiscretions of the Time Agency, I’ll be very, very rich.”

“Money,” Ianto said breathlessly.  “You destroyed that wonderful man for money.”

“Not destroyed.  Not yet at least.”  Hart reached into his jacket and brought out a small vial of colourless fluid.  He showed it to Ianto.  “The cure,” he explained.  “Now…  What will you do to secure it for Jack?”  Ianto stared at the vial, silent and grave.  “Or put it this way…” Hart continued, “I have a gun in one hand, something you desperately want in the other; you’re very pretty, and very naked.  Combine those factors and we could have some fun before attending to other matters.”

Ianto swallowed hard as his mind raced.  Ultimately, that vial, its contents, were all that mattered.

“I might be prepared to…negotiate.”

Hart barked a laugh and sauntered forward.

“Negotiate.  Is that what we’re calling it?  Fine by me.  Perhaps you’d like to start the negotiations on your knees.”

“Not quite what I had in mind.”

“Really?  So, Eye Candy, what have you got for me?”

“This.”

Ianto’s hand pushed past the covers and fired the blaster, shattering Hart’s right leg from mid thigh to ankle and sending him reeling across the room.  The screams of agony were horrendous, but Ianto blanked them, leaping up and kicking Hart’s gun under the bed before dragging on the clothes he’d discarded…when?  How long had he slept for?

The vial was gone: Hart had dropped it when he’d been sent flying.  Ianto searched frantically and eventually found it in the room’s furthest corner.  On examination, there wasn’t a mark on it, and in his mind Ianto was already phoning ahead with the good news.

“You don’t win,” Hart gasped.

Ianto spun back and displayed the undamaged vial.

“You think?”

Groaning painfully, Hart waved a small, rectangular box; with a dripping, crimson grin, he offered it to Ianto.

“What is it?”

“Activated, that’s what it is.  Landed on it and…”  Hart paused to spit out blood.  “I warned you about this.  Now…  Gray’s out.  Gray’s free.”

Ianto immediately felt as if his heart had turned to ice; he had to forcefully remind himself of the obvious.

“A dead body.  A dead body is free.  Even if you’re right about this,” Ianto held up the box, “Gray won’t be any kind of danger.”

“If I tell you the truth will you put me out of my misery?”

Ianto took a good look at the irreparable mess that was Hart’s body and tried to imagine the agony; in similar circumstances he might make a similar deal.

“The truth,” Ianto demanded.

“I wasn’t lying.  What I told you about those chambers having the facility to resuscitate their contents?  If he doesn’t choke on his tongue during the process, Gray’ll be awake.  Alive.  Free.”

“Impossible.  I took expert advice.  Not only that, Jack assured me…”

“Jack wouldn’t see it.  Nobody would see it.”

“We’ve studied the schematics…”

“Forget schematics.  That technology isn’t from this planet, I know the basics better than you ever will.  I visited your base in nineteen-seventy-three, did the necessary, exactly as I told you.”  Hart pointed shakily at the box.  “Doubt me all you like, but…  Can you really take the risk?”

Hart was right about one thing: Ianto couldn’t afford to take any chances.  He raced to his landline phone, only to find that Hart had yanked the cable out of the wall.  Fighting full-blown panic, he ran back to the bedroom for his shoes.

“You insane bastard, what did you ever hope to gain?”

“You poisoned Jack,” Hart taunted, “you’ve delivered your friends into Gray’s hands, and I’m the insane bastard?”

The blaster was on the bed, so close, and Ianto could almost taste the pleasure of using one squeeze of the trigger to pulp Hart’s head.  But that that was exactly what Hart was waiting for, hoping for.  So…no.  Ianto went into the hallway, finding and jangling his keys, sending an unwelcome message to Hart.

“What are you—  No!  Finish it now, Jones!”

“I don’t have the time,” Ianto shouted back as he opened the front door.

“You leave me like this and I’ll die anyway.”

That was possibly the best thing Ianto had heard in days.

“Good.”

The door slammed behind him, and John Hart’s howls of pain and rage fell on empty space.

…

Ianto’s return to the Hub was just short of frenzied, breaking speed limits and jumping lights as too many gruesome possibilities raced through his head.  What was the price of behaving like a petulant brat with his phone, unable to warn Gwen of the imminent danger, unable to waste time stopping at a public call box.  How many things, exactly, would he and Jack never be able to forgive him for?

Gray.  Gray.  With Gwen.  Catherine?  Rhys?  Eleth.  The prospects were terrifying: the man had no qualms about the damage he did.  Insane.  But Jack had been, rather sweepingly, labelled insane.  Insane did not mean evil.  But Gray…  Evil.  Too much to hope that the pteranodon  would just bite his fucking head clean off, first chance it got.

The device for releasing Gray, and the vial of antidote sat on the seat beside Ianto, and he tried to focus on the vial, the cure for Jack.  Jack would be back, regardless of any price, even if Ianto died making it happen; Ianto did rather have the reputation of doing whatever it took to save the person he loved.  All he needed now was to get to the Hub and put himself between Gray and too many potential victims.

…

Abandoning the car as close to the Hub’s entrance as he could take it, Ianto swore at himself as he fumbled over the keys in his haste to unlock the Tourist Office door; once inside he snatched his gun out of the desk in the ante-room, slammed his hand on the button to open the secret door, and squeezed through the moment there was enough room.  Acutely aware of every sound he was making, from breathing to footfalls, he padded along the corridor and, ignoring the lift, crept down the stairs.

The cog door was open, and Ianto peered through into the Hub’s main area while keeping as out of sight as possible.  Everything was quiet; everything felt normal.  Was there any such thing as too normal?  Moving slowly forward, Ianto hesitated at the cog door, sneaking a quick glance around it.  Rhys was sitting at Ianto’s workstation with a heap of paperwork, methodically sorting through; Gwen was on the sofa with Eleth and, if Ianto concentrated, he could just hear her…  Explaining colour schemes.  Bruce’s house, the new alien hostel, Eleth’s home-to-be.

With a wave of bone-deep relief, Ianto lowered his gun and stepped inside.  A round of hellos greeted him, and Gwen crossed to his side as he stood scrutinising every visible inch of his surroundings.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

Everything looked as everything should, but Ianto needed further reassurance.  He hurried to the nearest available computer, sitting in Owen’s chair and bringing up the interface for the cryogenic chambers.  Gwen followed less urgently and tugged at his rumpled shirt, giving him a cheeky grin.

“Did you sleep in this?”

“Very nearly,” Ianto tried to smile back.  “I’ve seen Hart,” he informed her as calmly as possible.  “He says he’s released Gray and – allegedly – has already been back in time to deactivate an override that would prevent the chamber from resuscitating him.”

“That’s not—  Is that possible?”

“He was adamant, and I couldn’t risk not believing him.  But now…  Everything seems…right,” he muttered as he checked and double-checked.

Gwen leant on his shoulders as she studied the readings; she gave a squeeze.

“We know how calculating Hart can be.”

“It’s a trick?”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it.”

Ianto suddenly felt a little foolish.

“Jack and Tom did both dismiss the likelihood,” he admitted.

A rapid computer sweep of their base revealed nothing amiss and, after resetting or enabling every alarm they had in use or on standby, Ianto slumped in his chair.

“I might take a look around anyway,” Gwen said as she went to her desk for her gun.

“No, I’ll go.”

“I’d rather you tried to get in touch with Catherine.  We’ve heard nothing and she occasionally answers her phone for you, doesn’t she?”

“Catherine, yes.”  Ianto groped in his pocket for the vial, having temporarily forgotten all about it in the panic over Gray.  He showed it to Gwen, who looked a question.  “Hart said it’s the antidote.”

Gwen’s face began to fill with excitement, only to stall and fall into an expression of great suspicion.

“If he was freeing Gray, why would he do anything to help us?”

Ianto quickly, if selectively, ran through what had happened at his home, producing the damaged device that allegedly had the power to free Jack’s psychotic brother from his cryogenic slumber.

“He was convinced that it had been activated,” Ianto concluded, before turning his attention back to the vial.  “What do you think?”

“Evidence points to the contrary.  And if his control for Gray is fake, who’s to say the antidote is real?”

“Catherine, I suppose.  However tempted I am, I’m not prepared to risk giving Jack this until she’s analysed it.”

“Agreed.  Although…  I thought Hart loved Jack.”

“Yes, well, his idea of love and our idea of love are worlds apart.  The prospect of Jack as a living corpse suited him perfectly well, just as long as he could claim a bounty on him.”

Gwen fell silent, obviously deep in thought, before re-establishing Hart’s fate.

“Died in agony, you reckon?”

“Do you think I was I wrong to…”

“No.  I’m just…enjoying the moment.”

Out of fear, Ianto had resisted asking until now, but he had to know.

“How’s Jack?”

Gwen took a few seconds to answer, trying and failing to present a brave front.

“A stranger.  One who tells me he can’t understand the words in books.” 

Ianto, somewhat desperately, waved the vial.

“We don’t give up hope, not yet.”

“No.”

Ianto found himself mentally debating how big a lie that was, distractedly watching Gwen going to the stairwell.  He suddenly shook himself out of his funk and pursued her.

“Gwen, let me do this.”

“It’s more about my peace of mind than Gray.”

“Yes, but if…”

“The computer says…”

“I don’t care what the computer says,” Ianto snapped.  “If anything happened to you I’d never forgive myself.”

“Tell you what: you have my permission to not give a toss if I’m eaten by a stray weevil.  Now…”  She made shooing gestures.  “Catherine.  Please?”

Ianto reluctantly let Gwen go.  Despite knowing Catherine would only make contact when she was good and ready, Ianto tried her phone.  Even voicemail had been switched off.

“I am dusting before tea,” Eleth announced as she presented herself before him, waving a feather duster and evidently as pleased as punch with it.  “And no longer making a fuss because Ianto is away.”

“Did you miss me?” Ianto smiled.

“Don’t be daft,” Eleth parroted Gwen, complete with accent; over his shoulder, Ianto heard Rhys chuckle at the impression.  Back to being herself, Eleth gave Ianto a quick flick over with the duster, brow crinkling as she was defied by the immovability of his stubble.  “Sick as a parrot Ianto is now fit as a…a…fit…parrot,” Eleth stumbled to a verbal halt.

“Fit as a fiddle?” Ianto offered, and left Eleth discussing fiddles with her translator.

“Couldn’t help overhearing,” Rhys said, drawing Ianto’s attention away from Eleth.

“It wasn’t private,” Ianto assured him.  “We all need to know what’s going on.”

“This place is safe, isn’t it?”

“As safe as we can make it,” Ianto replied with complete honesty; he knew better than most about exploiting security loopholes.  Still, his transgressions had highlighted flaws that, when subsequently addressed, had made their workplace safer.

“’Cause, you’ve let Gwen go wandering off…”

“I let her?  This is Gwen we’re talking about.  Besides, I didn’t see you trying to stop her.”

“Been put in my place, haven’t I.  My coming in here to help out has a list of conditions as long as your arm.  And it’s me doing you lot the favour!”

“You don’t have to.”

Rhys flourished the pile of papers he was still in the process of sorting.

“Someone does while you’re busy getting stoned.”  Ianto’s wry smile met Rhys’ ‘gotcha’ face, and he acquiesced with a single nod.  “Seriously though,” Rhys continued, “this Hart bloke…  Everything he’s caused to happen, that’s all down to Jack, isn’t it.”

“Not in any kind of deliberate way.”

“Yeah, but still, no Jack would mean no Hart.”

“No Jack would mean no human life on this planet.  Trust me on that.  Hart’s a small price to pay.”

“So you don’t ever…I d’know…wonder if he’s worth it?”

“No,” Ianto was able to reply with complete conviction.  “I’ve never wondered.”

Rhys accepted that with a thoughtful hmm and went back to his paperwork.

Ianto glanced upward, eager to see Jack but not sure how much more rejection he could handle.  He convinced himself that it made much more sense to search for his mobile, which he eventually found in a heap of scrap motherboards; the redundant technology had provided a cushioned landing, and the phone was virtually without a scratch.

A further check of their security systems, a few words over the comms with a contentedly bored Gwen, a phone that didn’t need essential, time-consuming maintenance, Rhys on office duties and Eleth handling refreshments; Ianto had no legitimate excuse not to pay a visit to Jack, however much it was due to hurt.

Ianto’s dread increased with every step in Jack’s direction.  He’d lived through this before, seeing someone he loved have the spirit, the soul, literally sucked out of them.  At least Lisa had remained cognisant, even if the intelligence she showed after conversion proved, in retrospect, to be sly and manipulative.  Jack didn’t deserve to be a stranger who couldn’t understand the words in books, it was heartbreaking; Ianto faltered, wondering if he could bear to face the remains of his partner, having to force himself to cover the last few feet.

Of course, the moment he stepped inside Jack’s door and set eyes on him, Ianto was overwhelmed with the knowledge, with the deepest gut instinct, that anything was better than nothing, and that his love would never be conditional.  Jack was Jack, and he was adored regardless of the dire circumstances.

“Hello,” Ianto offered a softly spoken greeting as he crouched beside the leather chair where Jack sat, staring ahead of him, unfocused and unmoving.  “Jack?  It’s me.  Ianto.  Do you remember your Ianto?”

Ianto placed his hand on Jack’s wrist and gave a gentle rub.  Slowly, Jack showed signs of noticing the touch, and his head began a sluggish turn.  When he set eyes on Ianto there was no recognition, and every thought appeared laboured.

“Hello,” Jack replied in due course, his voice weary and dull.  “Who?”

“I’m Ianto.  Ianto Jones.”

Jack weakly tapped his own chest.

“Who?”

“Jack Harkness.  Captain Jack Harkness.”

Ianto gave him a playful salute and a smile, and Jack gave an almost-smile back.

“I don’t know…  Don’t know…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ianto waved away Jack’s lack of knowledge.  “Nothing matters very much right now other than you being comfortable until we can sort this out.  Are you comfortable?”  Jack looked lost.  “Warm?  Sometimes it gets a bit cold when you’re sitting still for a long time, doesn’t it.”  He brought Jack’s hand up and pressed it against his face, glad to have an excuse for much needed contact.  “Yes, you’re warm.”  Ianto refused to let the hand go; Jack didn’t appear to notice.  “What about…hungry.  Thirsty?  Shall I get you something to eat and drink?  You never usually say no.”

Jack finally took charge of his hand, clumsily touching Ianto’s nose and brow and hair.

“Who?”

“Ianto,” Ianto reminded him.

The hand dropped lower, dabbing at the wet on Ianto’s cheek.

“Why?”

“Just…  Because.”

“Because.”

Ianto sniffed and nodded.

“Sometimes, things are just because.  No better answer.”

Jack touched Ianto’s mouth, and Ianto kissed his fingertips.  Jack evidently liked that, his smile easy and honest, so Ianto kissed again.  In fact, he kept kissing until Jack’s hand began to sag, and he murmured,

“Sleep.”

Ianto assumed that was a request, as it definitely reflected Jack’s general doziness.  Was it too much to hope that he’d just caught Jack at a bad time, when he was in the process of nodding off?  When Jack had rested he’d be more…  Or should that be less…  Ianto shook his fears away and clung to unspecified hope, regardless of the evidence that suggested every trace of his Jack was well and truly gone.

“Can I help?”

Jack allowed himself to be assisted out of the chair and onto the bed; Ianto arranged and rearranged the covers, simply to be doing something useful, but when he recognised the deep, rhythmic breathing that announced Jack was asleep, he stopped fussing and wilted onto the edge of the mattress.  He checked the date on his watch, hoping that he’d slept through several days, in fact he’d welcome any excuse for Jack’s advanced state of mental deterioration other than the obvious, the ‘less than a week’ that Catherine had warned him of.  But his watch insisted on a single, bald, bad-news fact: Ianto hadn’t even been gone twenty-four hours.

Shifting around so he could see Jack’s face – thankfully peaceful in rest – Ianto spent a few solemn minutes whispering absurd promises, then hurried away to see if there was any way on Earth he could keep them.

Rhys had wandered off; that gave Ianto the opportunity to transfer the paperwork to Owen’s desk and reclaim his own workstation.  He immediately located the alien file that had led to his meltdown the previous day, and, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the result, politely suggested to the mainframe’s translator that it get on and do its bloody job.

Amazingly, the translator complied.  Ianto gawped at the monitor, at what it was conveying.  He’d fixed the programme they needed.  He’d actually fixed it.  Okay, he couldn’t remember how he’d done it – any ability he’d gained from the using Eleth’s drug was long gone – but that didn’t matter because the alien file that could hold the answer to Jack’s condition was being effortlessly and methodically translated into English.

He watched, full of cautious hope, as the monitor gradually filled and he was faced with a catalogue of symptoms to match Jack’s.  He urged it on under his breath, waiting for the moment when the cure would present itself, when he wouldn’t need John Hart’s snake oil, and Jack would never need to condemn Ianto for killing the man who had, once again, saved his life, conveniently ignoring the fact that he’d been the one who had endangered it in the first place.

A few more lines and…Ianto found himself staring at a plea for help.  On behalf of someone who was suffering from, rather than able to help alleviate, Jack’s condition.  The let-down was as brutal as a physical blow, but Ianto kept reading in case an addendum appeared with good news, knowing all the time he was fooling himself.  A swift glance to the end of the document, and Ianto closed down the programme in a bid to avoid the detailed account of this other victim’s fate.  Another unfortunate who had crossed John Hart?  Well, no more.  No more.

As he sat and brooded, Ianto was vaguely aware of Eleth’s voice on the periphery of his hearing – Jack’s office, from the direction – and assumed that was where Rhys had gone.  Although…  It wasn’t like Rhys to go in there without okaying it, bearing in mind how touchy Ianto and Gwen were over Jack, or anything associated with Jack, nowadays.

Ianto dragged himself away from his workstation, feeling obliged to check that everything was…normal?  Yes, normal.  Really normal.  Really, really normal.  He met Eleth as she emerged from the office, notebook in hand.  On seeing Ianto she stopped and stood, self-importantly, to attention.

“Tea for Ianto, tea for Gwen, instantwilldo for Rhys, hot chocolate for Eleth, and…”  Eleth puzzled over what she’d written.  “Ianto.  How do I make… ‘Retribution’?” she painstakingly quoted.

“Retribution?” Ianto repeated with equal confusion.  “What was Rhys talking about when…”

“What’s that about Rhys?” came Rhys’ voice from the direction of the cog door.

Ianto swung in Rhys’ direction and then back to Eleth, in time to witness Gray stroll from Jack’s office to stand behind the alien.  Ianto almost fell over his own feet in a bid to reverse to his workstation, where he snatched up his gun and levelled it at Gray.

“No?” Eleth whispered, bottom lip trembling as she misinterpreted Ianto’s move.

“Not you,” Ianto assured her.  “Not you.  Come to me, Eleth, slowly.”

“Stay here,” Gray told her as he gently placed his hands upon her shoulders.  There was no intimation of threat in his tone, and Eleth glanced between Gray and Ianto in bewilderment.

Ianto was aware of Rhys arriving at his side.

“C’mon, love, over here.  Ianto and this…gentlemen, have things to discuss, they don’t need us in the way.”

“She needs to understand about retribution,” Gray calmly insisted.  “You all do.  Allegiance, particularly misplaced, is a dangerous thing.”

“This is nothing to do with the girl,” Ianto made himself match Gray’s apparent composure.  “Let her go with Rhys.”

“I like Rhys,” Eleth volunteered, and she cautiously patted the hand that lay on her left shoulder.  “You’ll like Rhys.  Rhys and lasagne.”

Gray smiled down at her, a chilling smile that never touched his eyes.  He looked back to Ianto.

“The gun.  Down.”

“Let her go.  Then I’ll put the gun down.  You have my word.”

“Is that as good as Jack’s word?  I imagine his words are as reliable as his deeds.”

“My word,” Ianto stressed, “mine.  Nothing to do with Jack.”

“Where is he?”

“You’re wasting your time,” Gwen’s voice suddenly rang out across the Hub.  “He’s too ill to know you.”  Gray watched as Gwen approached, very pointedly setting aside her gun.  “He’s lost his mind, everything he is, everything he ever was.”

“How can he lose everything if he can’t die?”

“There’s nothing left of him,” Gwen stressed, “nothing for you to punish.”

“I’ll decide for myself.  Where is he?”

“Let me take you to him,” Ianto offered.  “Leave the girl.”

Gwen held out a hand for Eleth, who tried to go to her, only to be held firmly in place by Gray, his fingers clenching into the flesh of her shoulders.  She whimpered in discomfort; Ianto, Gwen and Rhys all took an involuntary step forward.

“Don’t hurt her!”  Ianto reminded himself he shouldn’t be antagonising Gray with threats.  He changed his tone, made it more conciliatory.  “Don’t hurt her.  Please.”

“Let me take her place,” Gwen offered.  “Look at her, she’s a child, she shouldn’t be stuck in the middle of this.”

Gray blinked quickly, as if remembering something; a glance shot between Gwen and Rhys, apology meeting plea.

“Let me take her place,” Gwen repeated, softly and persuasively.

“Not every child should suffer,” Gray quietly conceded.

Gwen nodded encouragingly, and made a slow approach, giving Eleth a reassuring smile.  As she came closer, Eleth’s hands eagerly rose to meet Gwen’s.

“You will never suffer,” Gray leaned down to promise Eleth.

In a sharp move, Gray’s grip left the alien’s shoulders and transferred to her head; one brisk turn, and the sickening crack of a breaking neck filled the air.  A chorus of despairing and pained exclamations met the action and, as Eleth’s lifeless body was thrown aside, Gray snatched at Gwen, seizing her by the hair and roughly yanking her to him, twisting her arm up her back as, in the most callous of ways, he accepted her offer to replace Eleth.

It happened so fast that Ianto barely had time to take in Eleth’s demise before facing the reality of Gwen’s situation; she was calling out to a moving Rhys, telling him to leave her gun where it was, urging him not to inflame the situation.  Good advice but probably useless: Gwen might have thought that Gray could be talked down, but Ianto was pretty certain she’d die trying.  She couldn’t see Gray’s face, the grim satisfaction there at having one of Jack’s own at his immediate mercy.  Staring very pointedly at Gray, Ianto firmly told Gwen to be quiet; the breath she was halfway through drawing caught in her throat at the sight of Ianto’s strained features.  She gave a single, shallow nod and fell silent.

“What do you want?” Ianto asked Gray.

“Retribution.”

“If you want to hurt Jack, this is all pointless.  He really doesn’t know us, if you kill us he won’t care any more than a detached bystander would.”

“He’ll care.  And it’s just the beginning.”

“What if I bring him to you and you see for yourself the state of him.”

A painful creak escaped Gwen’s throat as Gray’s hold tightened.

“You want me to pity him?” he sneered.

“I want you to realise that hurting us will not hurt him.  We are nothing to him, none of us.  He doesn’t know us, and he won’t know you.”

“Impossible.”

“The person you’re looking for no longer exists.”

“We understand what happened to you,” Gwen quietly interjected.  “We want to help you.  Right now, Jack can’t, but we can, if you’ll just…”

“What will it take to expose your lies?”

“I’m not…”

“This?”

Gwen intended words became a cry of pain as her arm was twisted until the wrist fractured.

“Don’t!” Ianto shouted over Rhys’ yell of impotent rage.  “Don’t, please.”

“This perhaps?”

Another yell broke out of Gwen as a clump of her hair was torn from her head and offered to Ianto.

“A trophy of your failure.”

“You fucking coward,” Rhys taunted.  “Women and children.  Come over here and pick on someone your own size.”

“What will it take?” asked Gray once again, ignoring Rhys entirely as his hands slid to cup Gwen’s head, precisely as they had Eleth’s in the split second before her death.

“Shoot him,” Rhys hollered at Ianto in sheer panic.  “Stop him.”

In that slow-motion moment Ianto heard a voice in his head from the not-so-distant past, taunting the office boy who had been promoted beyond his measure.  His self-doubt back then was multiplied exponentially now, with Gwen’s life at stake, and with the knowledge that if his aim was fractionally out, at this range he’d take off the side of her head.

The only person he could share his crisis of confidence with was Gwen herself; he met her eyes and saw she understood.  More than that, he witnessed her absolute faith in him, a trust he was desperate to believe that he’d justifiably earned.  ‘Do it,’ she mouthed.  ‘Do it.’

Ianto’s trigger finger flexed in time with Gray’s hands; a noise from the walkway above them distracted Gray, Jack having emerged from his quarters to ascertain the source of the commotion that had woken him.  That extra fragment of time was all Ianto needed to be sure of his aim: as Gray’s head turned in the direction of his brother, Gwen flinched down and Ianto fired.  One shot, one lethal bullet blasting through Gray’s temple and rendering him, at last, harmless.

Ianto stood immobile with shock as Gray folded and fell, and Rhys rushed in to catch Gwen.  He knew what he’d done and why and…he should probably lower the gun now.  His hand was shaking crazily and the weapon had somehow quadrupled in weight.  Gun down, yes.  The gun was down.  Gray was down and the gun was down.  Eleth was…down.  He gazed at Eleth’s body, and the strange sensation of disconnection was nauseating.  It was not real.  If all this could be not real for just a little longer…

He stared at his surroundings, feeling betrayed by the technology that had left them falsely secure and dangerously vulnerable as Gray found his way to freedom.  That was Hart; Hart killed Gray.  Hart…

“…warned me.  He warned me what he was capable of,” Ianto murmured to himself.  “I should have listened.  I should have…”

There was Hart’s device, sitting on Owen’s desk.  Was that the answer?  Or was it, at least, one answer?  In a daze Ianto crossed to it and smashed it with the butt of his gun.  Immediately, alarms erupted, every alert that Hart’s interference or Gray’s release should have triggered flashed or wailed; the monitors blinked and re-set at the same instant, one showing a rarely accessed low level portal to the cryogenic facilities with a single casket deactivated and gaping open.  Another flickered and revealed Catherine Cullen on the Plass, looking anxious and stabbing impatiently at the keys on her phone.

Ianto’s mobile rang.  Catherine, of course, and he answered, mumbled who-knows-what, and automatically activated the invisible lift when he saw her step onto it a few seconds later.  He watched her descent, seeing the horror of this situation reflected on her face as she began to appreciate that his warnings of the dangers of Torchwood had never, for a second, been understated.

After determining that there was nothing to be done for Eleth or Gray, the doctor saw to Gwen, assessing the injury to her wrist and ascertaining the condition of her scalp, trying her best to help despite Gwen’s attempts to brush her off and return to the comfort of Rhys’ embrace.

Catherine then came to Ianto, carrying out a swift appraisal and sitting him down before making him open his mouth; she slipped a capsule inside.

“Bite down.”

Ianto mindlessly did as he was told, too numb to argue, or to prevent the gun being prised out of his hand.

“They had blueprints,” he mumbled to himself, “blueprints.  A trip in time.  Gray knew.  Gray knew everything.  We were never safe.”

“I’ve given you something for shock,” Catherine belatedly informed him, “you’re in shock, Ianto.  This will help.  In ten minutes you’ll be able to think straight.”

Whatever the drug was – and Ianto had never tasted anything quite like it – it worked as rapidly as was promised; soon his mind began to clear, his temperature rose and his heart rate fell.

He eventually noticed that the alarms had been deactivated, but knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else until the most thorough security sweep he could initiate had been set in motion.

When he braced himself to deal with the bodies, he found they were already bagged and waiting to be moved.  There was no rush, even if they were out of sight they wouldn’t be out of mind for a long, long time.

Catherine brought her medical case and joined Ianto at his workstation.

“What did you give me?” he asked as she took his pulse.

“You know nothing about that.  Won’t be legal for a good while yet.”

Ianto appreciated why Catherine had taken her investigation into Jack’s condition to London, if this was an example of the advanced drugs they were developing.  It gave him a few seconds respite from life’s insidious pessimism.

“Tell me you can cure Jack,” Ianto said hopefully as Catherine assessed the dilation of his pupils.  She finished what she was doing, put away her torch, and finally faced the question head on.

“I’m sorry.  We can’t destroy or disable the catalyst.  We can’t touch it.  There’s no way to stop the effect it’s causing, and…there’s presently no way to help Jack.”

Ianto fumbled in his pocket and brought out the vial he’d killed Hart for.

“The man who poisoned Jack said this was the cure,” Ianto said as he handed it over.  “But I don’t know…”

Without another word Catherine was snatching up her case and hurrying toward the medical bay to run tests on the fluid.  Ianto dithered between following her and staying, juggling expectation and dread and the need to know and not know.

“Ianto…”

Ianto turned and found his arms full of a pale and battered Gwen.  She hugged him as hard as she could, as well as she could, bearing in mind the damage she’d sustained.  It was with a degree of gratitude that couldn’t be verbalised; Ianto almost wanted to point out that she’d effectively saved herself with the trust she’d shown in him, but he chose instead to wallow in her uncomplicated affection.

“Jack saw everything,” she whispered to him.

“I know.”

“Shall I go and talk to him?”

Tempting, but…

“No.  I’ll do it.  You get yourself looked after.”

Since he’d stepped out onto the walkway to be confronted by mayhem, Jack had watched everything, and Ianto had become increasingly aware of his presence.  Ianto hadn’t so much as glanced at him, afraid that, with rest, Sane Jack had returned, only to witness the murder of his brother.  Ianto couldn’t, however, construct a scenario for himself in which Sane Jack didn’t become loudly, furiously, and actively involved in the aftermath of what had occurred; the prospect of Mad Jack was, for the first time, a blessing.

Ianto took his time crossing to the stairs that led to Jack’s quarters; he tried offering an inoffensive smile as he approached but it was obvious from the petrified expression on Jack’s face that Ianto was viewed as a threat rather than a friend.  The posture that could only be described as frozen with fear broke as Ianto reached the walkway, and Jack bundled himself behind the door of his quarters with an alarmed wail.  Ianto picked up speed, trying to reach Jack before he shut himself away, but as his hands flattened on the door’s glass he heard the lock click.

“Jack…”

“Go away!”

“Let me explain.”

“You killed that man.”

“I had no choice.”

“What kind of place is this?”

“If you let me in, I’ll…”

“I’m not letting you in, you killed that man.  You killed that man.”

“He would have…”

“Murderer!  Murderer!”

Ianto remained with his brow pressed against the door for several minutes, listening to Jack pacing frantically inside.  All he wanted was the chance to make the both of them feel better – if such an outlandish objective was possible to fulfil – but he couldn’t do that barred from Jack.

“Please, Jack,” he groaned.  “It’s me, it’s Ianto, please.”

No answer, even the muffled pacing stopped.  Nothing more.  Ianto turned and let himself slide down the door until he was sitting on the floor; exhausted by his own trauma and the weight of Jack’s distress, he leant his head back, closed his eyes, and pointlessly tried to blank his mind.

Predictably, the desired void was immediately filled by a tumble of images and thoughts, none of which he wanted to face or accept.

Murderer.  Jack was right, no denying that.  No attempting to.

There was a body currently lying in his bedroom at home, one he cared the very least about, but…  He’d have to move now, no living with Hart’s ghost.  A new home and he’d want Jack involved, but Jack didn’t know him, and if – when – Jack eventually did know him and discovered what he’d done, he wouldn’t want him.

What he’d done.

Gray.

The remains of Gray, Jack’s beloved, long-lost Gray, were too short a distance away, and the looped replay of Ianto’s bullet shattering the man’s head was closer still, an ever-present source of torment playing behind Ianto’s eyes.  The air stank of blood.  Gray’s blood.  Ianto imagined he cared.  Selfishly, not humanely.  Unforgivably.  Gray.  Jack’s Gray.  Jack who thought—

Murderer.  Yes.

Eleth.  And Ianto cared.  So.  Fucking.  Much.  He felt as if he’d killed Eleth with his own hands, personally grasped her head and snapped that scrawny neck.  He was to have been her saviour.  He was going to provide her with a home and find her a job she’d like, watch her grow up free from tyranny and warfare, in a world as safe as Torchwood could make it.  He could make it.  He was to have been her saviour.  Now his stomach rolled at the thought of yet another wasted life, and the bitter knowledge that he was the cause.

He had no idea of how long he sat there, caught up in his grief and self-condemnation.  Long enough for bagged bodies to be moved, and blood and brains to be scraped up or mopped away.  Long enough for Catherine to complete her initial findings on the alleged antidote: the repeated shouting of Ianto’s name made him jump out of his preoccupation and lurch to his feet.

“Catherine, yes, here.”  He clambered down the stairs and rushed to her.  “It’s a cure?” he asked hopefully.

“It’s water,” Catherine sighed, “plain Welsh tap water.”

“Water,” Ianto repeated blankly.  “Water.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Does…does Gwen know?”

“She was with me when I found out.”

“She all right?”

“Not especially.”

Ianto paused, and made himself take the news in, really in.  Stupid to have been duped by Hart one last time, when he knew so much better.  The man was an absolute shit and what he’d done to Jack…  For the first and last time Ianto regretted Hart’s death.  Hart being dead meant that Ianto couldn’t kill him, and Ianto wanted to kill him very much indeed.

“What do I do now?” Ianto said aloud; the question was directed more to himself than Catherine, but it was the doctor who answered.

“Even if Jack appears to be incurable, I’m prepared to take him to London and carry on working on this.  If we can isolate and remove the catalyst without killing him in the process…”

“Would death work though?  I mean, if Jack died, would the catalyst die too?”

Catherine frowned.

“You’re thinking…euthanize him to kill this thing off, then resuscitate him?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t know.  The catalyst is intelligently – brilliantly – manufactured.  It may have been created with the ability to survive for an amount of time in a dormant state to preclude that kind of cure.”

“We have nothing to lose.”

“What if he can’t be resuscitated?  What if that strategy was anticipated and…”

“This is Jack.”

“I know, but…”

“Jack’s special, he’s different, he’s…  He can beat this, he won’t let that bastard do this to us.”

Catherine grabbed Ianto’s arm and gave it a hard shake.

“Ianto.  He may not have any choice.”

“You think I’m hysterical?” Ianto demanded.

“I think…you need to stay calm.  We’ll discuss this with Gwen and between us decide the best course of action.”

Ianto tore his arm away.

“I know what Jack would want.  He didn’t become the man he is by not taking risks.”

“The man he currently is…”

Ianto’s hand rose in warning.

“Don’t go there.  We both know what I mean.”

Ianto dashed off in the direction of the medical bay, calling Gwen outside because he couldn’t face being in the same room as the bodies that rested there.

“You should come and see her,” Gwen told him.  “She looks quite peaceful.”

“I can’t.  Not yet.”

“It wasn’t your fault, it was Hart’s, it was Gray’s.”

At the mention of Hart’s name, Ianto bristled, grabbing Gwen’s good hand and hurrying her back to the centre of the Hub, passing a bemused Catherine on the way.

“What, Ianto?” Gwen asked as he finally let go of her.

“I think – no, I know – Jack has to die.”

“No.  Before, you said…”

“I know what I said, but there’s nothing left, no potential solution other than death.  If he dies and stays dead…well, that’s something he’s wanted on and off for too long to count, so maybe we’ll suffer more than him.  If he comes back and the drug comes back with him, at least there’s a chance he’ll be himself for a while and we can explain everything and see if he has any answers.”

“What if he comes back in a coma and we can’t wake him?”

“That’s where we’re heading anyway.  There’s nothing left, Gwen.  Nothing but death, and…trusting him.  We have to trust him to beat this.”

“Catherine spoke about taking him to London.  Isn’t that less of a risk?”

“You want to let him go?” Ianto challenged.  “You honestly think they’ll make any progress against this drug?  ‘Brilliantly manufactured,’ Catherine said, and I doubt that whatever genius created it left loopholes for our doctors to exploit.”

Gwen hid her face behind her good hand for a full minute, before taking a deep breath and once again addressing Ianto.

“I don’t want to let him go.  So…  If you’ve made up your mind, just do it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“What then?  If you need my support…”

“What I need from you is pretty basic.  Jack won’t let me in, but he may trust you.”

Gwen’s eyes filled with fresh horror.

“You want me to kill him?”

“No, just get him to let you in.  Us in.  Then I’ll…”

“I can’t be there, I can’t watch you shoot him.”

“Once that door is open you can get out of the way, I’ll take responsibility for this.”

“Are you sure?  Because when you convinced me that we shouldn’t kill him…”

“I’m not sure about anything,” Ianto told her with honest desperation.  “But I don’t see what choice we have, other than letting a virtual stranger take Jack away and experiment on him.”

“You think you can do it?” Gwen asked in a shaky whisper.  “Kill him?”

They exchanged a long, miserable look.

“I do need your support,” Ianto confessed.

Gwen was already nodding.

“Yes, then.  Yes.  You have it.  Is that enough?  I’m sorry I can’t…”

“That’s more than enough, it’s all right, it’s…  I’ll do it.  I can do it.  I think he’d expect me to.”

“That’s horrible.”

Ianto gave a gentle, teary laugh and shook his head.

“It’s love.  I’ll kill him out of love.  Fucking hell, my life is so twisted.”

Gwen gave his hand a squeeze and slowly mounted the stairs to Jack’s quarters, quite evidently loathing her part in this but prepared to see it through.  She tapped on the glass.

“Jack?  It’s me, Gwen, I need to see you, make sure you’re okay, can you open the door for me?”

“I don’t know you,” came sharply from behind the door.

“Yes, you do.  Gwen, Gwen Cooper.  We’re good friends but you don’t remember that because you’re not well.  I promise you we’re good friends, and I want to help you get better.”

As Gwen carried on with what appeared to be a quite pointless near-monologue, Ianto went to his workstation and collected his gun.  He had a sudden thought, and began to search through the various gadgets Toshiko had collected until he found what he was looking for: it was a particular favourite of the team due to its ability to open any lock or cripple any locking system.  If Gwen couldn’t get him to Jack gently, Ianto would have to go in the hard way and risk scaring Jack more than he already was.

Tucking the key in one pocket, his gun in another, Ianto went up to join Gwen, receiving a downtrodden shake of the head as he arrived at Jack’s door.

“Sorry, love,” she said with an apologetic smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ll try.”

“He’s gone quiet.  You know what he’s like, he could have sat down and fallen sleep.”

“I almost hope he has,” Ianto shakily admitted.  “Might be—  Not easier, but…”  There weren’t the words.

“Do you need me again?  To be honest, if you get in there…  I don’t even want to hear the shot.”

“Go.  Do whatever you need to.  Take Rhys and leave.”

“I’ll wait, I’ll be with Catherine in the medical bay.”  She indicated her strapped wrist and puffy hand.  “Don’t know what help I can be, but I can keep them company while they’re cleaning up.”

Ianto agreed and leant on the walkway banister, watching Gwen until she was out of sight and trying his best not to think about the euphemistic ‘cleaning up’ or the bodies it involved.  His heart was pounding and the nausea returned with a vengeance when he forced himself to consider what he was about to do and the choices he was left with.  Choices: a shot to…?  What did Jack prefer?  Sick, sick question.  What hurt least, had Jack told him?  Anything fast.  He had to be fast.  He had to kill Jack quickly.  Quickly and accurately, that went without saying.  Now, if only his hands would stop shaking.

A few fortifying breaths, and Ianto used the key, unlocking the door quickly and efficiently.

“Jack?  It’s Ianto.  I’m coming in, all right?  Please don’t be frightened.”

As he took his time pushing the door open, it struck Ianto that he had no idea of where Jack’s Webley was.  It had been in the safe, but Jack might have reclaimed it during a lucid episode, and for all Ianto knew it could already be pointing at him, with Jack lethally alert and only waiting for him to take a step into the room before firing.  He hesitated.

“Jack?”

No reply, so Ianto had to take a chance.  On consideration, the way his life was currently headed, perhaps death would be a blessing.  That made him smile.  Jack often said he had a bizarre sense of humour.  Two more steps and he’d be past the door, in the line of fire.  He took the two steps.

Ianto thought that Jack might be hiding away, or locked in the bathroom, but he was sitting in his favourite chair, the Jones chair, and apparently waiting for his fate with quiet dignity now he’d finished panicking.  The unexpected air of sanity denied Ianto the option of fast and accurate.  If Jack had screamed and flailed, fought Ianto and been unfamiliar, he could have carried out his execution.  But not this version, who reminded Ianto so much of his lover.  Ignoring the close scrutiny and the apprehension in Jack’s eyes, Ianto crossed and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I know what you saw,” Ianto said evenly.  “I know what you think I am.  But I was saving Gwen’s life.  If your memory was intact you’d know that it was the right thing to do.  You understand that an evil act is sometimes the only way to defeat evil.  I’m sorry, though, that you had to see it.  And that it scared you.”

“I…I—”  Jack started, and stuttered to a halt.  “I’m…  I’m lost.”

Ianto battled to fight back the swell of emotion those simple words provoked.

“I know you’re lost.  Will you let me help you?”

“Who’s Jack?  You and that woman keep calling for Jack.”

“That’s you.  Jack Harkness.”

“I don’t remember.  I can’t think and…I’m so tired.”

“Can I just…”  Ianto’s voice gave a traitorous wobble.  So much for calm.  “Can I…”  He slid from the bed to his knees and shuffled closer to Jack.  “Do you mind me here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I…”

Ianto crept closer still, until he was knelt between Jack’s feet.  He took Jack’s hands in his own and caressed them.

“Why?” Jack asked.

The answer caught in Ianto’s throat.  He kissed the knuckles of Jack’s right hand then unwillingly left him, backing off until he was able to lever himself onto the bed.  He took a moment to regain his composure.  The pretence of composure.

“I have to tell you something that you’ll think is insane.”  The wary expression immediately returned to Jack’s face.  “And you might think I want to hurt you, but I don’t.  The thought of hurting you breaks my heart.”

Jack brow crinkled with the strain of thinking through what Ianto had said.

“You seem…honest.  But I don’t know.”

“Will you at least listen?  Try to understand?”

“I’ll try.”

It hadn’t taken Ianto long to realise that he’d made a huge mistake by not just hurtling in and pulling the trigger.  The last thing he needed was to have to think about what he had to do, and now he was stupidly going to try to explain to Jack first, attempt to secure this slow and distant stranger’s permission to kill him.  He wondered if he should wait until Jack went to bed, then he could kill him in his sleep.  And then he wondered when exactly he’d gone completely mad.

“You’re a special man, Jack, you’re not like the rest of us.”

“How?”

“Something happened to you a long time ago, and because of that, you don’t stay dead when you die.  You come back.”

“No.”

“I told you it sounded insane.  I couldn’t believe it at first, but I’ve seen it happen.  More than once.”

“No.”

“Yes.  And…”  Ianto drew in a deep breath and braced himself.  “And it needs to happen now.  Because of everything you’ve forgotten.”

“I – I…  I don’t…”  Jack could barely speak, and he looked beyond scared by the murderer coming into his space and informing him that he was the next victim.  “No.  No.”

“I know it seems impossible, and it’s a terrifying thing to face, but…”

“Please…don’t.”

“We need you back.  You need you back.  You’ve been poisoned, Jack, someone did this to you, they made you lose your memory, and soon you’ll be – you’ll be nothing if you don’t do this.”

“I…?  I do this?”

“Once you would have, yes.  Done it yourself.  But I’m here to—”  The last of Ianto’s composure disintegrated; he rose and headed for the door, but turned back at the last second, fighting the need to escape from this pain.  “I love you.  You don’t remember me or that, but I love you.  I never chose to, or wanted to, but I love you, and the fact these feelings are so completely involuntary makes them more—  Sorry.  Sorry, last thing you need to hear.”

Jack, when Ianto dared to glance in his direction, seemed more awake, suddenly more intrigued than concerned.

“And, do I…”  He made a vague gesture, himself to Ianto.

“Yes.  You do.”  Ianto returned to Jack, falling to his knees as before and leaning in to place a gentle, passively permitted, kiss on Jack’s mouth.  “Are there instincts left?” he whispered, nose-to-nose with Jack.  “Shouldn’t they be the last to go?  Don’t your instincts tell you that I’m a part of you?  Don’t they tell you to trust me?”

Jack placed a fingertip on Ianto’s chin and eased him away.  Ianto sat back on his heels and waited as Jack stared and stared at him.

“I love you?” he eventually queried.

“Yes.”

“I…  I trust you?”

“Yes.”

“And now…  I have to trust you…most?”  Ianto nodded, biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling.  “I don’t want to die.  But this…this…isn’t living well.  I don’t need to know anything to know that.”

“You’re right, how you’re existing isn’t fair on you.”

“If I die…?”

“You’ll come back.  And I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

“If…if…”  Once again Jack gestured between the two of them.  “I want that.”

“You can have it.  Have us.  But…”

“I trust you.”

“You have to, yes.”

“I trust you.”

It took Ianto a few seconds to realise that was a statement and not a question, and it was essentially the permission he’d thought impossible to gain.  Without even knowing him, and thankfully not presently quick-witted enough to ask the many questions that no doubt needed asking, what remained of Jack instinctively trusted him enough to offer up his life, and that show of faith was almost more than Ianto’s already fragile state could bear.  Jack edged forward in his seat and reached for him, pulling his shaking wreck of partner into a consoling embrace.

“Do you want more time?” Ianto whispered.  “To think it over?”

“You don’t…  You’re not…acting like there’s time.”

“You have to be sure.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“And after…  I’ll remember you?”

“You will,” Ianto choked out.

“I want to remember you…  Your name?”

“Ianto.”

“Ianto.  I like that, it’s…  Let me remember your name.  Ianto.”

Jack’s strength became Ianto’s strength, and Ianto gave Jack a last, fierce hug and a brief kiss before standing and offering Jack a hand up.  Jack accepted, rocking on his feet slightly with fatigue rather than stress; he kept his eyes fixed on Ianto’s, continually searching for reassurance of the truth.  He must have found it; he didn’t hesitate for a second as Ianto laid him on the bed before rushing to the bathroom for towels.

“How?” Jack asked as Ianto mentally debated his next action.

“I wish you could choose,” Ianto confessed.

“I don’t…”

“Course not.  Fast and accurate, that’s what you want, what you’d ask for if you remembered.  Fast and accurate.”

Jack considered that and lifted his head up a little.  Ianto took the prompt and put a couple of the towels on Jack’s pillow.  Jack then took the last towel and, however awkwardly with his present clumsiness, folded it and placed it across his brow.  Ianto felt oddly comforted; this was his Jack even without being his Jack.  A man who took charge and did what he believed to be right, even when the outcome couldn’t be guaranteed.  So astoundingly brave Ianto felt humble in his presence.

“Wait for me,” Jack murmured as he shared one last look with Ianto before pulling the towel down over his eyes.

“I’ll be here.”  Ianto drew the gun from his pocket, and quickly checked the safety catch was off.  “I’ll be here, I promise.”

“I trust you.”

Ianto clung to those final words and acted before he could talk himself out of this.  He levelled the gun at Jack’s covered forehead and took the shot.  Jack shuddered with the impact then became completely still.  And that was it.  Ianto had killed him.  He’d murdered Jack.

The enormity of what he’d done hit Ianto hard, and he might have been tearing at his hair and screaming in horror if he hadn’t had to race to the bathroom so he could empty his stomach, retching repeatedly until he felt as hollow physically as he did emotionally.  The capsule Catherine had given him earlier prevented the onset of shock, although he was experiencing a rippling lethargy that he supposed was his system trying its very best to shut down.  Forcing himself to overcome his initial hysterical reaction to killing Jack, he returned to the bedroom, kicking aside the gun he’d dropped but remembering its final location precisely – if this was the worst mistake he’d ever made and Jack was lost to him, Ianto suspected he’d be taking that gun to his own head.

He carefully sat beside Jack and, after convincing himself he had the courage to do this, edged the towel up with trembling fingers, extreme care being taken not to expose the wounded forehead.  Jack appeared quite peaceful: his eyes were closed, and there was no fear in his final expression.  That in itself was an unquantifiable relief.

Ianto trailed a loving touch over Jack’s cheek, his lips, the cleft in his chin; he finally placed his hand on Jack’s chest, very deliberately over his lifeless heart.

“I’ll be here,” he swore, and began his vigil.

…

“That was a shot,” Rhys said, voice heavy with disbelief.  “That was a shot.  He did it.  I can’t believe he did it.”

“He had no choice,” Gwen told him flatly.

On the far side of the medical bay, Catherine’s head snapped around in their direction.

“He did what?  Ianto did what?”

“Killed Jack,” Rhys answered.  “I can’t believe he did it.”

“Oh my God, we need to start resuscitation, why the hell didn’t he bring him down here?”

Gwen and Rhys watched Catherine dash madly around collecting pieces of apparatus.  Rhys leaned toward Gwen.

“You going to tell her, or should I?”

“You tell her.  I have to see if Ianto needs me.”

Gwen was soon back.  Catherine, by now, was sitting and staring at the computer monitor, her face an absolute picture as she tried to assimilate not only what she’d been told, but was now reading in Owen’s reports on Jack.  There was also CCTV footage.  Rhys couldn’t wait for her to see the CCTV footage.

“All right?” Rhys asked charily as Gwen came to his side and leaned against him.

“It’s done.”

“Is Ianto…”  Rhys’ voice trailed off; he wasn’t quite sure what he was asking.

“He looks terrible.  I don’t know what it’ll do to him if he was wrong about this.”

“Had to take a chance, didn’t he.  He was losing Jack.”

“Could you do it?”

Rhys pressed a gentle kiss into Gwen’s hair.

“Let’s not ever find out, eh?”

“This is impossible,” Catherine announced.

“We’ve all been there,” Gwen said, trying to make light of the whole situation.  “You get used to it.  He’ll be back soon, you’ll see for yourself.”

“He’d better make it fast.”

“What?  Are you…”

“I’m not stopping.”

“You’re resigning?”

Catherine gave a wry smile.

“Is it possible to resign from a job I haven’t officially started yet?”

“Because of this?” Gwen asked, “Because of Jack?”

“Not because of Jack.”  Catherine nodded in the direction of the trolley that bore Eleth’s body.  “Been there, done that.  No more dead children.”

“But she wasn’t a—”

Gwen’s voice broke and she frantically tried to find a way back to the calm place she’d retreated to when she first saw Gray hours earlier, but at every mental turning all she discovered was a tiny broken body, the head twisted at an impossible angle.  She could still feel Gray’s hands on her, hard, frigid hands that had snuffed out Eleth’s life and Owen’s life and Toshiko’s life, and broken her wrist and torn out her hair, hands that had taken hold of her head with unquestionable intent and—

Despite her chemical props, Gwen abruptly and thoroughly fell apart, sobbing in pure anguish and only vaguely aware of being supported by someone strong and male, and…Rhys.  In these surroundings it should have been Jack.  Although she loved Rhys dearly, Jack was the one who belonged here, and he was the one who made things right, made the shit that Torchwood was steeped in bearable.  With the gut-wrenching possibility of no more Jack, Gwen clung on to Rhys for dear life, and would have begged Catherine not to leave if only she could have gathered enough breath to speak.

…

Ianto sat and paced and paced and sat and, when he was too exhausted to sit or pace any longer, he discarded his jacket and shoes and laid down beside Jack, never questioning his need to inch closer and closer until he could hold his lover as if Jack was alive, resting his head against a stiffening shoulder and draping his arm across a chest notable for its distinct lack of rise and fall.

He thought back to seeing Gwen carrying out this task after Abaddon, albeit with less snuggling: the mortuary wasn’t conducive to snuggling.  This time around there had been a point when he’d heard Gwen and Rhys arguing outside about her wish to perform the same duty now.  Rhys had been less than impressed going by the squabbling and intermittent bad language.  ‘Ianto’s place,’ Ianto had heard, quite distinctly.  Waiting beside Jack’s dead body was apparently ‘Ianto’s place,’ and, either Gwen had finally grudgingly acquiesced, or she’d been marched bodily from the Hub, because Ianto didn’t see so much as a glimpse of her and there’d been silence ever since.  He wasn’t sure about Catherine.  Maybe she’d stayed, maybe she’d gone, maybe she’d had her eyes opened wide to their brand of life and wouldn’t be seen ever again.  Well, not if she had any sense.

Ianto rolled away from Jack and stretched.  He rose and paced and had a drink of water.  He sat and paced and paced and sat, and ended up beside Jack once again, cuddling his corpse and finally succumbing to exhaustion.  As Ianto gave up on trying to keep his eyes open, he guided his thoughts away from recent horrors and concentrated on happier times, when Jack was alive and sane and clever and horny and couldn’t keep his hands to himself; when it would never have occurred to Ianto to fall in love with Jack and have his heart torn apart by the possibility that he would succeed where the mighty and the monstrous had failed.  That he would be the one to bestow a final death upon Jack Harkness.