His mind never closed down completely, and Ianto could eventually think, albeit in a clumsy, stilted way, about his predicament.  He wasn’t dead, that was something, and he clung to that when the terror of being trapped in the dark threatened to send him into any kind of hysterical fit.  It didn’t help that, although he was alive, he was alive and very likely at the mercy of John Hart, who owed him a phenomenally huge helping of retaliatory pain.

He attempted to plan a course of action for when he was released, revived, whatever he would be, if he ever was.  Pointless, of course, because he was crippled and helpless and could not hope to save himself; Hart would probably have time to shred him as another sadistically administered designer drug kept this victim under the strictest control.  Panic surged and was quelled despite the brief interlude of frenzied mental screaming, and Ianto took refuge in thoughts of Jack, and he wondered if Jack had been screaming in his head for that whole time underground.  Then it struck him, the possibility that Hart’s chemically induced withdrawal was what saved Jack from a full-blown mental breakdown in the wake of all that had happened to him.  The irony was almost painful.

The passage of time was impossible to gauge, and there were moments when Ianto felt himself on the brink of unconsciousness.  As much as he longed for a respite from this horror he was afraid to let it happen, just in case this spark left in his mind was all that was keeping him alive.  He found he could sing to himself, and the pursuit of half-remembered lyrics helped sharpen his thoughts.  But the sharpened thoughts returned too keenly to his predicament, and this time the interlude of frenzied mental screaming wasn’t quite so brief.

Recovery seemed to take hours.  Once back in the relatively calm place he focused on the mundane, nothing as emotive as a song to keep him occupied.  He ran an entire inventory of Torchwood’s forms and document codes before letting himself turn to a more personal list.

He wanted…daylight.  Daylight and fresh air, and to know he was breathing.  Daylight, fresh air, breathing, warmth, food, alcohol – a veritable shitload of alcohol – and…  Jack.  He wanted Jack.  Not Jack to save him, just Jack.  The way he smiled and touched him and kissed him and made him feel when, by all rights, he should be so far beyond being capable of feeling a thing, his heart a stunted, withered victim of—

If Ianto could have caught his breath, Ianto would have caught his breath.  The strangest sensation rippled through him, and the fact he could feel any kind of sensation at all was miraculous.  He was at once exhilarated and terrified, desperate for his body to wake up, but knowing that if Hart was involved, there was every possibility he would wake up under many feet of dirt in a macabre homage to his lover.

Noise.  He was gradually starting to hear, although the sounds were oddly warped and distorted.  Cold.  He began to understand how cold he was.  Warmth had made his list, so maybe he’d known all along but—  Another sound focused his thoughts, and he concentrated on listening.  That was…a voice?  Faint and garbled.  Yes.  No.  Perhaps a voice.  And possibly…a long way away.  A new rush of despair came and went and Ianto tried harder to reconnect with his retarded, inaccurate senses.  Damn, he hoped Hart was a long way away.

Another ripple of strangeness and the first indication of…crawling.  It was as if his skin was crawling with life, and Ianto mentally gritted his teeth against a wave of revulsion.  He was feeling.  That was good.  Unless it wasn’t good, unless he was—

No more frenzied screaming in panic, he decided, forcing himself calm.  Well, calmer.

More distorted sounds, and tingling flesh, cold, so cold.  Wet.  Wet?  That was water lapping against him, water against his skin, against his cheek.  Semi-submerged, was that why his hearing was off, his ears were under water?  Focusing hard, he attempted to take a conscious breath, wanting to smell his surroundings.  It took several attempts and then an unmistakeable stench seeped through.  It was a sewer.  He was in a sewer.  Luckily he was incapable of throwing up despite a quite rampant inclination.

It was as if recognition of his surroundings encouraged the worst case scenario: reverberating through the water came the roar of a weevil whose territory had been invaded.  The lack of any discernible reaction in his immediate vicinity convinced Ianto he was alone, the voice hadn’t been a voice at all.  He experienced a whole new fear, and an entirely novel reason to curse the monstrosity that was John Hart.

His entire body juddered as he put all his energy into trying to move, and he began to feel the rise and fall of his chest.  Pain in his back, the original puncture site; pain, yes, that was okay, that was a good sign, any sensation was welcome.  His fingers very nearly twitched.  Another roar, closer now, and it was almost drowned out by the thick, wheezing sound as his respiration rate increased through exertion and mounting alarm.

Then a sound so loud he was deafened again, temporarily stunned.  Water splashing over him brought him back to alertness.  A dull touch to his face, and the screech of protest in his head emerged as a broken croak, a disgusting sound, he never imagined he could make a noise like that.  He’d been tricked, Hart had never left him.  Ianto mentally braced himself.  Let that fucker touch him, he was ready now, there wouldn’t be any more pathetic croaking, he’d die quietly and with dignity, no satisfaction in that for your average psychopath.

He felt himself being hefted clear of the water, a hand roughly brushing debris from his face.

“Ianto.”

Ianto experienced the sense of his arm being moved, perhaps shaken.

“Ianto.  Ianto.  Can you hear me?  Ianto!”

Once again his fingers tingled, and now they burned as they started to come back to life in response to external stimulation, and there was discernible contact, there was—

“Ianto.”

If weeping in relief had been an option, Ianto would have taken it.  Jack.  That was Jack’s voice.  Jack’s touch.  Not Hart, not Hart.  He was safe and, if he tried really hard, could fractionally close his fingers around Jack’s.  Jack’s voice, he could hear that reassuring voice.

“Try to open your eyes,” he was instructed, and Ianto tried in vain.  “Not yet?  Okay, just relax, you’re getting there, it won’t be long.”

He was being moved again, and from the shape his body appeared to be in, he was over Jack’s shoulder.  Weevil snarls echoed through the sewer, warnings rather than outright aggression, and as the sound of the weevils lessened, the air grew sweeter and dryer.  More manhandling and Ianto knew he was in the open, and he could hear Jack catching his breath after their frantic escape.

“Ianto, can you hear me?”  Ianto managed a grunt in response.  “I’m putting you in the back of the SUV now.  I’ll give you a sedative to help you through this, but you’ll be okay, I promise.  Go to sleep.  Don’t be scared to go to sleep.”

The inner protestations remained inner – Ianto had no choice but to accept the sedative – and soon his mind was drifting.  Jack kept talking to him, although Ianto couldn’t follow what was being said, and as his body began to warm up, he unwillingly followed Jack’s advice and slept.

…

When Ianto came to he recognised his surroundings, once again, by scent.  He was laid out on a trolley in Torchwood’s autopsy bay, and his hearing was now clear enough to make out the precise sounds of Jack clattering around as he carried out what appeared to be a telephonic interrogation of Martha Jones.  Details were being demanded, everything Ianto would need to prevent him contracting any of the ghastly options the water from the sewer offered, Jack repeating Martha’s advice aloud and not knowing that Ianto was silently willing him in the direction of what he was looking for.

The phone beeped off, and Ianto felt his arm being exposed and cleaned prior to the many injections he was due; he twitched his hand and managed to alert Jack to the fact he was conscious.

“Hi,” Jack said, a tiny word packed with heavy affection.  “You know what I’m doing?  One finger for yes, two for no.”  Ianto slowly tapped one finger on the trolley.  “Great.  Martha says you’ll need a course of antibiotics as well, but these shots should make sure you don’t come down with anything.”

Several injections later, Jack cleared the medical equipment aside and returned to Ianto, taking his hand and stroking the knuckles.  With a supreme effort, Ianto managed to open his mouth, just enough to make himself audible.

“Ja—”

Jack moved closer still; Ianto was dimly aware of heat.  The grip on his hand grew firmer.

“Just relax.  You’re in the Hub and security is boosted to the max.  I know this is scary, but you’ll be fine, I promise.  Not long now.”

“Ja…ck.”

“Shh.”

“An…ti…dote.”

“For what Hart gave you?  You’ve had that, it’s just a matter of recovery time now.”

“Wha…?”

“He gave you a tranquillizer we used to use for capture or restraint.  There’s a scent, I recognised it immediately.  If you concentrate you should have a trace of the flavour in your mouth, something a little citrusy.”

Ianto concentrated on his mouth, his tongue; he could taste the remnants of the drug, exactly as Jack had described.

“Ye…s.”

“Every Time Agent has the antidote,” Jack explained.  “Hart knows that.  It’s fatal without the antidote, but I got to you well within the prescribed time.”

Ianto confirmed that he understood with a bit of a wheeze and an attempted nod.  Jack squeezed his hand and moved a few steps away.  Shortly afterwards, a thick, antiseptic smell assailed Ianto’s nostrils.

“Wha…?”

“I’m putting some ointment on your grazes.  I cleaned them up when you were unconscious.  Nothing serious, they’ll be gone in a few days.”

Ianto became very aware of his cheek tickling where Jack was touching him, and he attempted to move his head in that direction.  There was a tremor but no definite movement.

“I…all…right?”

“Once the antidote has been administered, this drug is completely harmless.”

“Ha…  Hart?”

“Didn’t see him, not unless he was in a weevil suit.  But he left your phone with you so I could trace you.”

“Gu…?”

“He didn’t take your gun, or your wallet or keys, he even left them on a ledge so they wouldn’t get wet.  I put them on your workstation.”

“Bu…”  Jack frowned at that one.  “Bu…” Ianto repeated, finally adding a “…g.”

“Bu…g?  Oh, bug!  No, he hasn’t bugged you, I’ve scanned for that.”

“Stup’d.”

“You, me, or him?”

“M…me.  Care…less.”

“Don’t blame yourself.  And really, really don’t blame me for letting you walk out of here earlier instead of pinning you to the bed and refusing to let you go, ‘cause…I know what I wanted and you were being a temperamental brat.”  Ianto’s laugh rattled unattractively in his throat.  “I’ll get you some water,” Jack said before his body heat disappeared, and his footsteps audibly took him away.

“Jack,” Ianto demanded him back, not wanting to be left alone for a second.

“I’m here, I’m right here.”  A fingertip gently touched the corner of Ianto’s eyelid.  “Try to open your eyes.”  Ianto did, and this time he could, only just, but that fraction was enough to quell a little of the vulnerability he was experiencing.  Jack smiled at him.  “Hello.”

“Hi.”

A straw was introduced to the corner of his mouth and, after a few minutes figuring out how suction worked, Ianto was able to drink.

“Better?”

“Bit,” Ianto said around the straw.

“Good.  Keep going.”

When the glass was empty Jack set it aside.  With barely a pause for breath he chatted away to Ianto about irrelevancies as he grabbed the opportunity to wash and change into fresh clothes; that done, he dragged a stool over so he could sit with Ianto, arm draped across his waist, quiet now and still, content to wait until Ianto had recovered before further discussing what had occurred.

A little over an hour later Ianto was physically sound; mentally, he was disgruntled but definitely no longer scared, simply full of appreciation for Jack, and hatred for John Hart.  He turned his head to look Jack in the eyes, seeing the concern that had been so audible in Jack’s voice and wanting to kiss him silly to prove he was back to normal.  Soon.  But first…

“Help me up.  I need to get clean.”

Jack did as he was asked, on hand to steady Ianto as he wobbled along for the first few steps, ready with quick reflexes to catch Ianto when uncooperative feet threatened to tie themselves in knots and send the young man flying.  Jack held him tightly and stared into his eyes.

“Blink,” he instructed.  Ianto blinked.  “Again.”  Ianto blinked again.  Jack carried on staring.

“Well?” Ianto asked with mounting concern.

“You have gorgeous eyes,” Jack grinned.  “Even if you do smell foul.”

Ianto rolled his allegedly gorgeous eyes.

“Yes, well, if you’d stop acting the fool I could get to the shower.”

“Found your sea legs?”

Ianto took a couple of hesitant steps.

“Think so.”  Ianto prodded Jack away from him and tried again.  “I’ll manage.”  Jack offered his arm, but Ianto waved it away.  “Stop fussing.  Find something useful to do.  Track that bastard down and find a way of setting the city’s weevil population on him.”

“First things first.  You, upstairs, shower.”  Ianto opened his mouth to protest; Jack jumped in before he could.  “You think you can climb up there without help at the moment?  Of course, I could let you try.  I could also take footage on my phone to send to Gwen – that way I won’t have to explain why your head is broken and you’re in the next bed along from Rhys.”

With grouchy acceptance, Ianto let Jack help him, and eventually he was in Jack’s bathroom, shedding his stinking clothes and stepping under water hot enough to sterilise, let alone clean.  Ianto rather expected Jack to join him, but Jack was clearly preoccupied; he chose to sit on the closed toilet seat and listen to Ianto rant venomously about John Hart, zoning out after a while due to the repetitiveness of the theme and only zoning back in when Ianto emerged to announce his intention of heading out immediately to hunt Hart down and put an end to his vicious games.  Towel around his waist, Ianto went to the mirror and made impatient attempts to style his hair, hating the new cut, hating the fact he couldn’t use his regular barber thanks to…oh, yes, that would be John fucking Hart.

“Go like that,” Jack smiled, barely listening but completely admiring the view.  “That’d bring him out.”

“Fuck off,” Ianto snarled, hardly in the mood for jokes, especially ones that jogged memories of certain people taking a good look under the covers when he was sleeping.

Jack sighed heavily.

“You know there’s no way I’m going to let you go after him in this mood.”

Ianto swung around and glared.

“I am perfectly capable of…”

“Getting yourself killed because you’re too angry to think straight.”

“Bollocks.”

Ianto marched back into the bedroom, weaving for the last few steps and furious at this sign of weakness.

“Ianto…”  Ianto flinched as Jack’s arms trapped him from behind, forcing him still.  “I won’t let you risk yourself,” Jack murmured in his ear.

“I can’t do nothing,” Ianto insisted.  “At the moment we’re not even able to do our job.”

“I know.”

“Then feel like I do!” Ianto yelled, breaking out of Jack’s hold.  “How about a little less of the knowing, enigmatic crap, and a lot more action?  Get out there and kill the fucker before he wipes us out and leaves this world completely vulnerable.”

“At the moment – as he’s going out of his way to remind us – we’re the vulnerable ones.  He’d love us to run ourselves ragged chasing after him, and he’d make his move precisely when we were too exhausted to think straight.  We have to deal with this calmly and rationally, or we play right into his hands.”

With a contemptuous shake of the head, Ianto went to the wardrobe to search for clothes.  Jack followed and slammed the wardrobe door; Ianto snatched his hand away just in time to save his fingers.

“Jack!”

Jack shoved Ianto away from the wardrobe, deliberately provoking him now, and Ianto responded pretty much as Jack had hoped: Jack found himself seized by the collar and forced up against the nearest wall.  Jack exploited the momentum and pulled Ianto close; all it took was their bodies being pressed together and the rage in Ianto’s eyes wavered as it met the heat in Jack’s.  Trapped by his own untimely desire rather than any hold Jack had on him, and bar the occasional drug-induced tremor, Ianto was motionless as Jack’s fingers drew loops across his bare skin, eventually resting on the towel for an instant before teasing it loose and letting it drop to the floor.

“There are better ways to work off frustration,” Jack said, face deadly serious, his hands roaming to cup Ianto’s buttocks.

When Ianto mustered the strength for a minor rebellion and began to pull away, all Jack had to do was squeeze.  With a groan of annoyance, Ianto dropped the collar and clumsily buried his hands in Jack’s hair, ignoring the ouch that was smothered by his ferocious kiss.

If Ianto, in his many moments of wistfully missing Jack, had imagined their next coupling to be an emotionally warm and loving affair, he couldn’t have been more wrong.  It soon became more about scrabbling at Jack’s flies to release his erection, crashing onto the bed, lube appearing as if from nowhere and the fingers of Jack’s right hand roughly pushing inside Ianto as his left hand pulled at his cock; within minutes of that first kiss, Jack was pressing into Ianto’s body as Ianto’s nails sank encouragingly into his arse through layers of clothes.  Growled demands were met and the rutting was fast and frenzied, leaving no time for thought or affection; their climaxes were pursued at breakneck speed, and were accompanied by hollering that was more about the release of tension than any degree of pleasure.

Afterwards, they lay together in drained, uneasy peace, Ianto incredibly aware of the texture of Jack’s clothes against his naked skin, Jack refusing to move even when Ianto complained about being squashed and breathless.  Ianto ran his hands over Jack’s back before hugging him tightly, earning himself a long, tender kiss.

“You need that?” Jack asked.

“Mmm.”

“Yeah.  Me too.”  Another kiss.  “If I get off you, will you leap out of bed and go chasing after Hart?”

Ianto seriously considered that.  Jack’s eyes pleaded with him.

“No.  Or, at least, not yet.”

That would have to do; Jack carefully slid out of Ianto and moved to his side, leaving an arm draped across his body.  Ianto wasn’t sure if that was about contact or possible restraint but, acknowledging a complete reluctance to be anywhere other than this, he had no real objections regarding either, and laid his hand over Jack’s forearm, methodically stroking with his fingertips.  Both men would have preferred to doze, but two minds that wouldn’t stop churning over everything that was happening denied them that luxury.

Ianto sighed deeply and posed, what was to him, a fairly baffling question:

“Why didn’t he kill me?  He might not have left me in the safest surroundings, but he let you find me, and he was sure you’d have the antidote.”

Jack shifted a little closer and kissed Ianto’s shoulder.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

Ianto paused in thought.

“He made it quite clear that he hates it here and wants to get off of this planet.  He’s trapped on Earth, he’s lost control of his own destiny, so he asserts control over the people he blames for his current situation.  But to what end?  If he thinks we’ll hand over a free ticket out of here…  Well, I’d be willing, but…”

“I can’t let him leave.  He’s too dangerous and I feel responsible for him, ever since I let him get away with…everything.  Ianto, I…”

“Let’s not go there, eh?  I’ve had enough of that.”  Jack obligingly kept quiet on that particular subject; Ianto continued:  “If it’s about escape, he’d be better off keeping under our radar and conning a passing alien into giving him a lift somewhere.  Wouldn’t be hard.  Sometimes our local could be mistaken for a Mos Eisley cantina.”

“I don’t think it’s about leaving.  It’s more about what’s here.  He wants my attention.  This assures he gets it.”

“What if he was serious when he asked about joining Torchwood?  Perhaps this is his way of proving his worth, of persuading you you’d be better off with him on your side.”

“And that if he doesn’t kill you all in the process, I’ll be in some way grateful to him for letting you live?” Jack hypothesised, his voice incredulous.

“He might believe you’d give him credit for that, yes, rather than simply condemning him for hurting us in the first place.  Warped logic, but what he’s doing isn’t exactly rational.”

Jack considered.

“That could be twisted enough for him.  Or, just maybe, he intends to kill you all, but this way his fun lasts longer.  I have no doubt that you’ll be targeted again, as will Rhys; my guess is that Gwen’s next on his list.”

“Does she…”

“Yes, she knows,” Jack interrupted.  “I spoke to her after I picked you up.  She’s going to stay with Rhys until he can be moved, then they’re taking off.”

“Where to?”

“She’s not going to tell us and we’ll only contact her in an absolute emergency.  I don’t want Hart tracing her phone the way I just traced yours.”

“But he doesn’t have our facilities.”  Ianto tutted at his own naivety.  “As if that stops him.”

“We don’t know what he has, what he’s managed to construct or scavenge.”

“Think he’s getting help?”

“Maybe.  But I have no idea who, or even why.”

“Might be a less benevolent version of Henry Parker.”

“Could be someone who’s being coerced…”

“Or charmed.”

“Whatever, we can’t take chances.  Gwen isn’t using her phone, her cards, anything that can be traced until this is over.  She’s just taking a wad of cash via that pet cop of hers, and the messenger unit Tosh was working on.  It’s all we have that’s untraceable.”

“The beeper?  But that’s a prototype, we don’t know if…”

“It’s the only tech that Hart won’t be able to find.”

Ianto accepted Jack’s decision with an unhappy nod.

“What do we do next?”

“Well…”  Jack paused, knowing that Ianto wasn’t going to be happy about the decision he’d made.  “I’ve been thinking I should make myself a little more accessible.”

“No, Jack, we know what he wants with you.”

“Nothing is that simple with him,” Jack insisted.  “My hunch?”  Ianto nodded for Jack to go on.  “He has the cure for the drug he gave me.”

Ianto shuffled around to face Jack as his interest soared.

“You really think that’s possible?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“How d’you work that out?”

“I can’t explain it, I just…know him.  He wouldn’t want me not knowing how smart he was to get away with this scam, he’s going to want me awake.  Maybe he planned to sell me, collect the bounty, then wake me up so he could gloat at my situation.  But more likely, he’d wake me up once he had the bounty so that we could make a break for it together.”

“But then…  If he killed us all off you’d have nothing to come back to, letting us live makes even less sense.”

“If he killed you I’d still be emotionally bound to Torchwood, I’d need to come back here because I couldn’t let your sacrifice be in vain.  However, if I knew that by returning I was placing all your lives in danger from him, I’d be more inclined to stay away.”

“Surely he wouldn’t expect you to stick with him after that?”

“We stuck together in worse circumstances,” Jack said with a bitter laugh.  “You don’t want to know.”

“For once you’re right.”

Jack flinched, unable to forget their conversation earlier that evening.  He leant in to brush a tentative kiss over Ianto’s mouth, before steeling himself for the next part of the conversation.

“On the subject of wanting to know, or rather, needing to know…”

Ianto looked at Jack curiously, able to read the trepidation in his tone.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No.”

“Great.  Whatever happened to dessert?”

“Didn’t we…”

“That wasn’t dessert.  Dessert is sweet, that wasn’t sweet.  That was—”  Ianto began to undo the buttons on Jack’s shirt.  “I was on my way here, y’know, when that bastard got me.”  As Ianto’s thoughts flashed back to their earlier row, he abandoned the buttons and laid his hand on Jack’s chest instead.  “Jack…  I dread the prospect of, one day in the future, watching you suffer because of something you haven’t told me.”

“I know.”

“But…at the rate we’re going, I’ll probably be dead well before that can occur.  Therefore, it’s ridiculous to be oversensitive about you not confiding in me, and deny myself spectacularly good sex for a wholly inadequate reason.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“The sex?”

“The dying.”

“Could’ve happened tonight.  Speaking of which…”  Ianto slumped onto his back, wriggling and flexing his body.  “Perhaps you should check, make sure the feeling’s returned everywhere.”

Jack chuckled and leant over Ianto, letting himself be drawn into an increasing passionate kiss.  When he broke it he avoided Ianto’s persistent attempts at resumption, then when he had Ianto’s attention rather than his lust, he gave him a self-conscious half-smile.

“It’s, umm…  It’s one of the few things that makes me feel normal, not talking to you about how different I am.”  Ianto took a few seconds for that, for the implications, to sink in.  Jack saw the truth hit home.  “I can’t help behaving like this with the people I care most for.  I pretend we’re going to grow old together, that I’m not…wrong.”

Ianto reached up to gently stroke Jack’s troubled face, his thumb, through habit, sitting in the cleft of Jack’s chin.

“If I ever need to know anything, even if it seems intrusive or painful, can I ask?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll tell me what I need to know?”

“Yes,” Jack promised.

“Without me beating it out of you?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s enough.”

“Really?”

“Really.  Although…  You may be different – I mean, we’re different enough as people without the bigger picture – but that doesn’t make you wrong.  I hate hearing you say that when you have no choice about how you are.  Not wrong.  Just…different.  Special.  Very special.”

“I don’t pay you enough to say this,” Jack smiled.

“Well, you can always rectify that.  Better still, pay me in kind.  Wasn’t there something about dessert?”

“Hmm.  Spectacularly good, I believe you ordered.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ianto sighed appreciatively at the mere thought, making Jack grin.  Ianto’s acceptance, his humour, touched Jack in ways that any and all proclamations of love from the partners in his past never had.  Being loved was old hat; being taken as he was, for what he was, was unique.  The grin trembled away, and he buried his face in Ianto’s neck, trying to find a refuge from what he was feeling.  Needing to muster the courage to share another painful revelation.

“Jack?” Ianto whispered, a little alarmed by the sudden change.  No answer and he wrapped his arms tightly around his partner.  “Jack?”

“I was so afraid when I saw you lying there,” Jack mumbled against Ianto’s shoulder.  “I can’t stand to lose anyone else.  I can’t stand to lose you.”

“Don’t think about that.  Here and now, we’re together, we’re safe…”  Jack leaned up and shook his head; Ianto frowned.  “We’re not safe?”

“What I need to tell you…”

“The thing I won’t like?  Can’t it wait?”

With another shake of the head, Jack reluctantly eased away from Ianto and sat up.

“The antidote.  To what Hart drugged you with.”

“What about it?”

“The reason he knew I’d have it, is because it’s in the blood of every Time Agent.”

Ianto pushed himself up to face Jack.

“I don’t…  How…”

Jack took Ianto’s left hand and showed him the thumb; there was a healing cut in the pad.  Then he showed Ianto the last traces of a matching wound on his own hand before pressing their thumbs together.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered.

“Why?  It worked, and…”  The colour drained from Ianto’s face as he finally understood Jack’s preoccupation since they’d been back at the Hub, and his upset now.  “Your blood.  The other toxin.”

“There’s no guarantee you’re infected.”

“But no guarantee I’m not,” Ianto contradicted, his voice hoarse with shock.  The misery and guilt on Jack’s face compelled Ianto to think.  To comfort.  “This isn’t your fault, Jack, I know that.  If you hadn’t done what you did I’d still be out cold in that sewer, wouldn’t I?  Out cold or worse.”

“By now?  Worse.”

Ianto let out a slightly hysterical laugh.

“He made me poison you, and he’s made you poison me.  He’s so fucking warped it’s perversely funny.”

“He made you poison me?”

“He doped your drink when we weren’t looking, then I gave it to you.  He knows we won’t harm one another without his manipulation.  But if he thinks it’ll turn us against each other, he’s going to be bitterly disappointed.”

Jack fiercely nodded his agreement.

“I meant what I said,” Jack reiterated.  “I firmly believe he has the cure, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get it for you.”

“For us.”

“You’re the priority now.”

“We might be jumping the gun.  We’ll send some of my blood to Catherine.  If I do have that catalyst in me, maybe it’ll help her in some way, help her find a cure so we don’t need Hart.  We don’t know, do we.”

Ianto’s brave facade gradually crumbled away and he buried his face in his hands, the seething rage he felt toward Hart wholly eclipsed by the breath-taking realisation that he might personally experience what he’d seen Jack suffer.  The fear of, not dying, but dwindling to nothing very nearly overwhelmed him, but he felt Jack move, and then there were supportive arms around him, kisses pressed against his scalp.

“Please, Ianto, be strong.  We can get through this.”

Jack’s plea was exactly the prompt Ianto needed: his selfless core would always insist that he act in the best interest of those around him.

“I’m all right,” he assured Jack, taking a deep breath and adopting an appropriately brave face before tilting his head up to meet Jack’s eyes.  “Just regretting that I don’t have your reset option.”

Ianto could see by Jack’s expression that he wished he had something inspirational to say, but there was nothing, and no wonder.  Ianto gave him a heartfelt kiss before insistently freeing himself and leaving the bed, finding a pair of his own trousers to wear but, once again, choosing a t-shirt of Jack’s.

“You’re not leaving the Hub,” Jack told him.

“No, I’m not,” Ianto agreed.  “There are things I need to get done, all inside.  You can watch me on the CCTV if you like, I don’t mind.”

“Want company?”

“No,” Ianto answered, rather too quickly.  “I just…”

“You don’t have to explain.”

Ianto knew he was under no obligation to tell Jack anything, but he appreciated being assured nevertheless.

His shoes were ruined; two pairs of thick socks ensured the spare boots he borrowed from Jack didn’t rub his feet raw.  Naturally he was under intense scrutiny and felt obliged to give Jack a twirl, finding himself genuinely warmed by the affectionate amusement on Jack’s face at the odd attire.

“Shall we visit your flat later?” Jack suggested.  “Bring more of your clothes here?”

“Are you saying this looks less than bespoke?”

“I’m saying…I want you to be comfortable.”  Jack watched Ianto dither.  “You don’t have to decide now.”

Ianto didn’t attempt to hide his relief, gave Jack another kiss, and rapidly left.

After the shortest while spent on internal debate, Jack took Ianto at his word: if he didn’t mind being spied on, then Jack would spy.  It wasn’t about expecting Ianto to rebel and pursue Hart, he simply couldn’t help worrying about the young man, particularly because of the way he’d dealt with the latest turn of events.  Ianto was due more than a few minutes of self-mourning, he was entitled to a fit of rage of epic proportions.  Instead he chose to feed weevils.

Hurrying down to his office, Jack used the CCTV to find Ianto.  His heart ached when he saw the figure he’d tracked down: his partner was outside the cell Eleth had used as a home, and even at this distance Jack could sense his dread as he faced a clean up that he’d spent weeks avoiding.

Jack couldn’t bear to witness it and the CCTV was quickly toggled off.  He could pretend that he was respecting Ianto’s privacy, but this was more about a final farewell of his own that he’d been resisting.  Ianto had shown the way and Jack needed to follow his lead, in more ways than one.

When Ianto had, in his own words, ‘come to his senses’, he’d acknowledged very quickly that Lisa had died at Canary Wharf and the cyberman was nothing more than a malicious alien using her face and knowledge of their relationship to manipulate him.  Taking strength from that, from the memories of his real lost love, he’d moved decisively on with his life.

Perhaps that was exactly what Jack had to do now.  Accept for once and for all that he’d lost Gray as a boy, and that alien intervention had ensured that the man who had recently caused so much chaos in his life was as little to do with the real Gray as the cyberman had been to do with Lisa.

Jack had spent so long grieving, an extended lifetime full of remorse.  Any possibility of forgiveness from his brother was gone.  Following Ianto’s lead, and relying on his complete and knowing support, Jack wondered if it was unreasonable to hope that one day he would be able to forgive himself.

He returned to the CCTV.  The past rather than the present.

Ianto had made up his mind that this couldn’t wait any longer, he had to clear Eleth’s cell while he still had his wits about him and could carry out the duty with suitable respect and decorum.  He’d always known how difficult it was going to be, but this was appalling, he could barely set a foot inside.  If he closed his eyes he could see the little alien sitting there, bright as a button and gleefully anticipating the next meal or the prospect of company, ready and willing to show off all the new words she’d learnt.

Catherine had been right.  Losing Eleth was about the loss of hope, about having to face up to his own inadequacies.  Okay, not quite how the doctor had put it, admittedly, but how he’d chosen to interpret her words.

He knew too well what it was like to feel alone and lost and helpless, and, twice in his life, he’d been lucky enough to be rescued by wonderful people he’d come to love.  Twice.  He couldn’t manage it once, when Eleth needed him, and when he had so much to prove to himself.

He shifted uncomfortably, experiencing a dull ache that was the result of an out of practise body indulging in very rough sex.  How appropriate that, at this moment in time, his and Jack’s relationship should be symbolised by a dull ache.

Not wanting to think about that, not wanting to think about much at all, Ianto took a first momentous step into the cell and promised himself he could do this, yet another clean up.  Then he found Eleth’s squishy toy, and that was all it took to destroy any composure he’d managed to fake.

…

By the time Ianto went looking for Jack several hours had passed, as had the crippling sense of being utterly useless.  The cells were back to normal, the weevils were fed and contentedly dozing, and the Hub was running like a well-oiled morgue.

What he wanted now was a large dose of Jack to make him feel so he didn’t have to think.  Make him feel while he still could, before he was mindless and impotent and didn’t recognise his lover or called him…  What would he call Jack?  Who would he see when he looked at him?  That reminded Ianto, he had to ask who Rowan was.  Or maybe he shouldn’t ask.  No guarantee he’d like the answer, and he didn’t want to find out that Jack had only fancied him in the first place because he reminded him of an old flame.  Ianto paused to laugh at himself.  Did it really matter?  With the prospect of losing his mind, losing everything, did it really, really matter?  He had to make the most of what time he had left, and ‘making the most of’ featured Jack heavily, if not entirely.

Picking up speed, Ianto took the last of the stairs at an ungainly run, experiencing a sense of exuberance that was completely at odds with his circumstances.  He was stunned to a halt in the doorway of Jack’s office, seeing that Gray was back on the CCTV, and Jack was mopping up tears for the nth time.  An unforgettable scene was playing out on the monitor: Eleth was already dead and Gwen was at Gray’s mercy.  The shock of witnessing even a glimpse of that traumatic time was enough to turn Ianto away, nauseous, reliving the fear, and retroactively furious.

“Ianto!”  Ianto ignored Jack’s call, and although he was aware of Jack following, he picked up speed to get away from both the man and the memories he’d stirred.  “Ianto!”  Jack caught him at the cog door, seizing his arm and swinging him around to face him.  “I don’t know what you think I’m doing,” Jack told him hoarsely, “but it’s…  I’m saying goodbye.  I have to say goodbye.  I know you understand that.”

“You don’t have to explain anything, you have every right…”

“I don’t want to do anything that affects you, especially this negatively.”

“You haven’t done…”

“I saw your face.”  Jack reached up and gently stroked Ianto’s cheek.  “I don’t want to see that expression again.”

“You wouldn’t, not normally.  It’s been a bad day.”

Jack’s hand slid to the back of Ianto’s neck and he pulled him close, resting their heads together.

“Yes.  Bad.”

“I’ll go home, I think, give you some space.”

“Don’t leave, not yet.  Just…c’mon back, sit down.  I need to…”

In the midst of ushering Ianto to the sofa, Jack dashed to his office to switch off the footage he’d left on pause; he couldn’t help shuddering when he saw the monitor: the frozen image had caught Gray’s expression, the madness in his eyes, so vividly.  A few seconds to regroup, then he returned to Ianto at a snail’s pace, studying the young man’s uncomfortable demeanour as he approached.

“I really should go,” Ianto told him.  “You need privacy for this.”

“What happened to you hating me keeping so much to myself?”

“This is different.”

“Why?  Because it’s Gray?  If you’re feeling bad for rejoicing at his death while I’m mourning it…”

“There’s no rejoicing,” Ianto interrupted crossly, appalled by Jack’s suggestion.  “I may have conflicting emotions over it, but I respect your feelings and…”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  If you respect my feelings then you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

“How can you say a proper goodbye with me here?  If you suspect even for a second that I’m rejoicing…”

“I accept you’re not.”

“Just like that?”

“I trust you.  You’ve told me you’re okay with this and…”

“I’m better than okay if I leave you to it.”

Jack flailed, huffed and puffed for a few unfocused minutes before making himself tell the absolute truth.

“I don’t want to be alone.  Please, Ianto.  You know the history, I don’t have to explain why it’s so hard.”  Ianto nodded, staring at the floor in the hope that Jack wouldn’t notice the turbulent emotions he was having such a difficult time suppressing.  “I feel like…”  Jack’s voice wobbled to a halt.  He cleared his throat.  “I feel like I’ve lost the one person I could truly call my own.”

Inevitably, the turbulence erupted; Ianto was on his feet in an instant.

“Me!” he shouted at Jack.  “What about me, you fucking idiot!  Think I’m in this because I have a choice any more?  Think I’m in it for the fun?”

Jack raised his hands in a pointless, placating gesture.

“I don’t mean—  It isn’t the same.”

With an indescribable noise of pure frustration, Ianto spun and stomped away, spinning back when he figured out he didn’t have a clue where he was going, and brushing Jack aside to get to his workstation to collect his wallet, keys, phone and gun.

“I’ll be at home if you need me,” he muttered as he tried, unsuccessfully this time, to push past Jack.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m not chasing after Hart, I’m going home, that’s all.”

Ianto took a step to the side; Jack mirrored it.

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Ianto took a deep breath and attempted to sound reasonable.

“Stay here.”

“Anyone would think you were trying to get away from me.”

“Anyone would be right.”

A shared moment’s glaring, and Jack moved aside.  As Ianto passed by, Jack gave him a smile, causing a hint of hesitation.

“Why don’t you have a choice any more?” Jack asked.  “Who took that away?”

“Not now,” Ianto threw over his shoulder.

“I need help figuring this out.  Apparently I’m a fucking idiot, so…”

Ianto ground to a halt and sighed.

“No, you’re not.  Sorry.  But doesn’t that tell you I shouldn’t be here?”

“To me, it says more on the lines of…you shouldn’t be alone when you’re feeling so bad.”

“It’s not that—  I can’t seem to stop being angry.”

“That’s understandable.  You’ve lost your friends, your charge, the belief that you’re safe here, safe anywhere.  You keep losing me, and now there’s a chance you’ll be losing yourself.  Ianto, you have every right to be angry.”

Having so many of the reasons for his current rage acknowledged had the strangest effect on Ianto: it didn’t make him feel vindicated, or miserable when faced with certain truths, it just drained the energy and the fight right out of him.  He allowed Jack to come and take his hand, to lead him back to the sofa and sit him down.  Jack made tea, and he put in too much sugar.  ‘Sweet tea for shock’ Ianto heard in his head, in his gran’s voice.  Sweet tea for shock, and perhaps Jack was right.

They sat together, shoulder pressed against shoulder, thigh against thigh, for two mugs of tea and an entire family pack of Twix’s that Jack had discovered in one of Gwen’s drawers.

“You all right?” Ianto enquired, quietly and guiltily, when the last of the chocolate was gone.  “Of course you have to say goodbye.  I’m sorry I…”

“It’s done.”

Ianto hesitated before asking very quietly,

“Am I still forgiven?”

“Always.”

Jack took Ianto’s hand and squeezed.

“You okay?” Jack checked in turn.  “I know where you went.”

“Had to be done, didn’t it.  All the cells need to be available.”

“I could have…”

“No.  You couldn’t.”

A shift and a wriggle, and Jack put his arm around Ianto, bringing him closer.

“I’m very proud of you.  The way you’re coping with so much.”

A wry laugh escaped Ianto.

“You think I’m coping?  I wanted to take some blood to send to Catherine.  My hand shook so much I couldn’t do it.  You’ll have to.”

“You want to do it…”

“Tomorrow.”  Ianto glanced at his watch.  “Actually, it’s already tomorrow.  But the blood can wait.”

“You still want to leave?”

Ianto thought about his cold, empty, haunted flat and concentrated on Jack’s warmth.

“Not especially.”

“Do you want me to speak to Catherine about…”

“No.”

“So…”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Ianto leant his brow against Jack and closed his eyes; outwardly he was a vision of calm, but his mind continued to race.

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Should we have been more careful earlier?”

“Careful?” Jack frowned.

“Perhaps…  Until we know whether or not I’ve got what you’ve got, we should use condoms.”

Ianto felt Jack’s body stiffen, a chill passing through it as he considered the consequences of their earlier actions.  Cuts on thumbs weren’t the only way to pass on blood-borne infections and the sex had been pretty rough.

“I didn’t think,” Jack said, his voice weak with shock.  “I just wanted you so badly, and I didn’t want you to leave, I—  I didn’t think.”

“I’m not apportioning blame, I’m trying to…”

“Oh my God, Ianto, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not too late to be careful.”

“What if it is?  What have I done?  I didn’t stop to consider…anything.”

Ianto began to sit up, determined to look Jack in the eye for the remainder of this conversation, but Jack tugged him back into a crushing hold.

“Did I hurt you earlier?” Jack whispered.

“I’m a bit achy, that’s all.”

“Sore?”

“Little bit, but…”

“Bleeding?”

“No.”  Now Ianto did manage to shrug off Jack’s grasp and scramble upright.  He leapt to his feet to avoid Jack’s subsequent lunge and huffed an irritated breath as he retreated a few steps.  “Listen to me, Jack.  As far as we know I’m fine.  We’ll be careful until we get the results of the blood test, all right?  That’ll be enough.  Decide to abstain to protect me and I’ll skip the country out of spite, understand?”

Jack stared at him, unreadable for a full minute.

“Yes.  I understand.”

Regardless of Jack’s frigid tone, Ianto smiled.

“Good.”  He gestured up to Jack’s quarters.  “Shall we?”

“I don’t feel like it.”

A laugh escaped Ianto, but it wasn’t particularly good-humoured.

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Jack repeated coldly, standing and making for his office.  “I’m not a fucking machine, and I don’t feel like it.”

Bizarrely, Ianto paused to question whether that ‘fucking’ was expletive or adjective, and by the time he’d finished dissecting it, Jack was at his desk and moodily rearranging files he obviously had no serious intention of dealing with.  Ianto strolled to the doorway and leaned on the frame.

“Just as well really,” he said casually, “seeing as we’ll need some supplies.  What do you fancy?  Colours, flavours, ribbed, glow in the dark…”

“Whatever,” Jack responded without looking up.

“My choice then.”  Jack shrugged and paperwork was brutally reshuffled.  “I’ll get some on my way in tomorrow,” Ianto continued.  The papers crumpled in Jack’s tense grip.  “I’m going straight home, I won’t be going looking for Hart, and I have no intention of falling prey to him twice in one day.”

“Good.  Take care.  Please,” Jack ground out; Ianto gave a brief, unseen nod, and left.

Alone and feeling fucked up beyond description, Jack lowered his head into his hands and groaned in frustration and sadness and—  No time for this.  He appreciated that Ianto needed to escape the tension between them and, under the circumstances, Jack absolutely had to respect his partner’s right to leave without interference, but it didn’t mean he was happy to see him walk away, however careful he’d promised to be.

Jack hurried to Ianto’s workstation, calling up as many CCTV camera views as possible and tracking Ianto’s journey home from every conceivable angle.  It was impossible to calculate the amount of times he could have lost Ianto in the past twenty-four hours and that had to stop.  John Hart was going to be found and, in Time Agency terminology, the threat he posed was going to be nullified.  Taking into consideration what he’d done to Ianto and the mood Jack was in, that nullification wasn’t due to be painless.  And frankly?  Jack couldn’t wait.