Instinctively, rather than by choice, Jack stayed awake that night, not quite watching over Ianto as he slept, but feeling very aware of him.  Jack couldn’t explain it any better to himself – every breath that Ianto took, he took too; it reminded him of being mid-battle and acutely conscious of the wellbeing of his brothers in arms.  Is that was this had evolved into?  They were at war with John Hart?  Ridiculous.  Jack couldn’t help wondering what had happened to Hart since they’d originally been partners, what had occurred to turn him into the unbalanced man he was today.  Or perhaps he’d always been this way and Jack hadn’t seen it.  Hadn’t seen it, or hadn’t chosen to see it?  Jack may have witnessed some extreme acts – to his present shame, he’d participated in more than a few – but he wanted to believe—  No, he’d been fooling himself that Hart could never sink as low as this.

Jack soon reached a point when he couldn’t think about it any more, knowing that probing Hart’s actions would mean venturing too close to his own ignominious past.  Besides, there were more useful ways to spend this time: he liberated Ianto’s diary from its most recent hiding place and settled himself in his favourite armchair to re-read the account of when he’d been, as Ianto unhappily referred to it, mad Jack.  He wanted to know the signs to look for, he wanted to be ready to shoot himself and save Ianto – to save any friend or colleague – from having to perform that distressing task ever again.

A few pages in and Jack had had enough, finding himself far too sensitive to the trickle of misery that kept creeping through Ianto’s attempts to be completely objective.  He went further back, beyond Gray and the most recent team deaths.  He found passages that reflected, in however round about a way they were recorded, times when Ianto – and by extension the two of them – were completely content with their lot.  Those moments seemed so long ago, and the memories set Jack wondering what he could do to restore the past simplicity of their relationship.

He wasn’t aware of losing focus or becoming drowsy until he jerked fully awake at the sound of Ianto’s mobile – Catherine’s ring tone.  Scrabbling to find the phone, he frantically whispered to Ianto not to wake up, that he’d deal with whatever it was, and was relieved when Ianto slept on.

“Catherine,” Jack began tersely as he moved to the far side of the room, “it’s the middle of the night!  We may not sleep but Ianto…”

“He’s asleep?  Oh, shit!”

“Catherine?”

“Wake him up, Jack, whatever it takes.  Wake him up and do it right now!”

The doctor’s frantic command was enough to make Jack simply drop the phone and rush to Ianto’s side, urgently patting his partner’s chest and, in a few chilling seconds, understanding exactly what Catherine’s panic was about.  Ianto would not be roused: he was unconscious rather than asleep.

“Ianto.  Ianto!”

Jack dragged Ianto into a sitting position, roughly shaking him, apologising as he slapped his face, pleading for him to wake up.  No response.  Letting Ianto fall back onto the pillow, Jack recovered the phone.

“Catherine, you still there?”

“Is he waking?”

“No.”

“Check to see if he’s wet himself.”

Jack threw back the bedclothes and felt around Ianto.

“No.  Good sign?”

“Good sign.”

“What should I…”

“Shock to the senses.  Damn, I miss good old-fashioned smelling salts.  Water, Jack, lots of it and as cold as possible.”

Jack shoved the phone into his trouser pocket and dashed into the kitchen, returning with the largest container he could find, icy water slopping over the edges.  Without hesitation he emptied the whole bowlful over Ianto’s naked body, shouting his name now, ordering him to consciousness.  There was a faint reaction, no more than a subdued twitch, but it filled Jack with hope; he relayed the information to Catherine, yelling at his pocket and hoping they hadn’t been disconnected.  More water, more shaking, more slapping, more begging and demanding, and Ianto finally gave a distinctly pissed off moan before his eyes opened to slits.

“Not now, Jack, I’m tired.”

“Nonono, don’t you dare go back to sleep.”

Propping Ianto up with one arm, Jack fished in his pocket for the mobile and switched it to speakerphone before leaving it on the bed and heaving a very reluctant Ianto to his feet.

“He’s awake,” Jack told Catherine.  “Just.”

“Are you walking him?”

“Dog, am I?” Ianto slurred.

“Yeah, he’s up, but he’s weak, unfocused.”

“That’ll pass.”

Jack forced Ianto to stroll around the room several times before he started to become more aware of himself and his surroundings.  Eventually he edged Jack away and went to douse his head under the cold tap in the bathroom.  Jack spelt this out for Catherine, who seemed as relieved as he was.

“Did you feel drowsy?” Catherine asked.

Jack thought.

“I did.  I was sitting reading, and…  The phone made me jump before I could completely fall asleep.”

“But you didn’t pass out at all?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Can’t believe I’m asking this but have you died recently?”

“Yesterday, and it was exactly as usual, I was back in less than five minutes.”

“Well, Captain, dying yesterday might just have saved your life today.”

“What happened tonight?”

“I don’t know how or why it happened,” Catherine explained, “but every test subject, every clinical sample, regardless of whether it was from your blood or Ianto’s, reacted at the same time.  It was almost as if it was triggered.”

Ianto caught most of Catherine’s account as he came back in and sat on the end of the bed; he appeared a little dazed, but was wrapped in towels to warm himself up, and he stopped rubbing his hair long enough to ask the obvious question.

“Triggered?  How is that possible?”

“Ianto,” Catherine said warmly, “it’s a relief to hear your voice, I thought we’d lost you.”

“Y’know, I’ve seen that before,” Jack told them.  “Intelligent chemicals that respond to certain kinds of external stimulants.  Energy pulses, radiation, even sound waves.  It can be quite a weapon – infect a troop of soldiers without them knowing, hit a button and—”

“How do I go about tracing that kind of stimulant?”

“I’ll check our equipment.  If Ianto and I were affected that way, the Hub’s monitors should be able to tell us.”

“You’ll be able to pin it down exactly?”

“Only if it’s something our equipment is calibrated for,” Ianto explained, “otherwise the reading will be meaningless.  Pertinent but meaningless.”

“It will be a place to start,” Jack insisted.  “Meantime…?”

“Someone needs to stay awake.  As Gwen and Rhys haven’t been infected…”

“They’re gone.”

Catherine hesitated.

“You don’t mean…”

“They went away.  Security issue.”

“If it’s just the two of you I don’t know how you’ll cope.  If necessary you’ll have to come here.”

Ianto looked pointedly at Jack, waiting for him to mention his theory that Hart had the cure, but Jack remained stubbornly quiet.

“We’ll let you know how we get on with the readings,” Ianto told Catherine, “and make other arrangements as and when we need to.”

“I’ll send you some personal monitors so I can track your vitals.  Maybe we can rig them so that I can give you a shock if their readings correspond to my test subjects.”

Before either Jack or Ianto could argue against that disagreeable proposal, Catherine muttered a distracted goodbye and broke the connection.

“Electric shocks?” Ianto yawned.  “She hates us.”

“She hates this,” Jack corrected, ‘this’ being a sweeping statement of everything that had, or was in the process of, going wrong for the present incumbents of Torchwood.  “She’s not the only one.”  Jack grabbed Ianto’s wrist and dragged him to his feet.  “No going back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t.  I’m just a bit dozy.”

“Today, we find him.  I don’t care how far beneath the radar he’s managed to stay up until now, this has gone far enough.”

Ianto nodded half-heartedly; the thought of chasing after John Hart through chilly Cardiff streets wasn’t fractionally as appealing as the bed he’d so recently left.  The bed which, he now finally noticed, was soaking wet.

“Bollocks.  Have to dry out that mattress.”

“Ianto,” Jack snapped, “don’t you think that’s the least of our worries?  Get dressed, get downstairs, we need to find…”

“What?” Ianto snapped right back.  “We need to find what?  Yet another non-traceable, indefinable nothing, care of your adorable fucking ex?”

The door slammed as Jack made an irritable exit, and Ianto was left tutting at himself for being cross and moody and…honest?  Next time he met an ex of Jack’s he’d shoot him/her/it on the spot and save them all a load of grief in the long run.  Quickly dressing, Ianto followed Jack, finding him at Owen’s workstation and stopping to read over his shoulder.  Nothing to do with any energy signatures picked up by their monitoring equipment, but local police reports.

“I’m sorry, I should have been straight with you,” Jack said, coldly but sincerely.  “There have been several reports of incidents that I think may have something to do with Hart.”

“What sort of incidents?”

“Violent incidents.”

“You kept them from me?  You think he’s murdering his way around Wales and you simply failed to tell me?”

“I’ve had no solid proof it was him.”

“Sounds like you know, proof or not.”

“I’m so on edge, I’m prepared to blame him for everything right now.  It’s almost simpler that way.”

A wave of empathy hit Ianto; he laid his hands on Jack’s shoulders and squeezed.

“We’re both on edge.”

Jack reached up and lightly touched Ianto’s fingers, the briefest connection, but it was enough to put an end to their sniping.

“That’s right, that’s excusable.  Just keep reminding yourself: no divide and conquer.”

“No divide and conquer,” Ianto agreed, and he squeezed Jack’s shoulders again before going to his own workstation and beginning thorough checks on any anomalous readings registered over the last few hours.

Barely forty minutes later, Jack’s spying on the police produced exactly what he’d been expecting: the report of a brutal, unprovoked assault, very much in the style of an attention-starved Time Agent trying to secure the interest of one specific party.  Jack was already fetching his coat when he drew Ianto’s attention to it.

“This is too obvious, surely.”

“He’s tired of being ignored.”

“This was meant to draw you out?”

“Yep.  And it worked.”

“But…if he somehow triggered that drug in us, he must think we’re unconscious.”

“If he’s monitoring calls in and out of the Hub, he knows we’re not.”  Taking a last glance at the location of the assault, Jack made for the cog door.  “Stay inside, okay?”

“I’m coming with you!”

“No.  You stay here, you stay awake, you monitor…everything.  Let me know if there are any other incidents that bear Hart’s signature, but other than that, no comms.”

“Jack…”

Ianto’s voice was so troubled that it made Jack pause and turn back.

“You okay?”

“If something goes wrong, I might never see you again.  He’ll take you away, or I’ll be in a coma…”

“Don’t think like that,” Jack ordered.  “Couple of hours, this will be over.”

Ianto made himself give a shaky nod, and Jack left.  Easier said than done, no thinking like that, but Ianto did his best.  Impolitely instructing himself to be positive, Ianto made some scarily strong coffee before returning to the computer and looking for any clues that might help Catherine cure them.

He noticed that Tom Caldwell was online but, however tempted he was to talk to him, Ianto wouldn’t risk his friend’s safety by making contact.  Caldwell obviously didn’t know of his concerns and eventually sent a cheerful and chatty email, talking about a trip to Iceland to see the Aurora Borealis, the palm tree he was growing in his greenhouse that was about to shatter the glass roof, his granddaughter’s school play, and the exorbitant cost of upgrading his computer.  ‘As for the parts you sent,’ Caldwell wrote, ‘they arrived in good time and although one was unfortunately damaged, it was thankfully not beyond repair.  Have a moan at your delivery people.’  Ianto spent a good few minutes frowning over that – he hadn’t sent a single thing to Caldwell – and then he realised.  Gwen and Rhys.  Ianto had told Gwen all about Caldwell and how much he trusted the man; she had taken the unfortunately damaged Rhys to him and they were safe.  Justifiably paranoid, he refused to react in any positive way, physically or vocally, in case he was being spied on.

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered at his screen, grouchily playing his part, “you got them for nothing, didn’t you?”

And he dismissively clicked back to his search programme, features rigid to hide the beaming smile that threatened to tellingly emerge.

It didn’t, however, take long for the inclination to grin like a lunatic to be eradicated.  Another report from the local police detailing a vicious attack on a Cardiff man, and amongst the victim’s injuries were the initials J.H. carved into his forehead.  Ianto’s stomach turned, and all the hatred he had for Hart didn’t so much as bubble to the surface as erupt.  He attempted to contact Jack via every method at his disposal, only to find communication impossible – it appeared that Jack’s earpiece and phone were both, far too coincidentally, malfunctioning.  Ianto had no choice: he made a note of the area where the last attack had occurred, checked his gun was fully loaded, scribbled a message for Jack, and headed out.

The police were still at the scene when Ianto arrived, and a few words with one of the constables confirmed what Ianto had already guessed: no arrest had been made and, at that moment in time, there wasn’t even a firm suspect.  Not for the police, maybe, but the lack of any kind of clue or forensic evidence made Ianto surer still that this was Hart’s work, and he began a wary search of the surrounding area.  Movement, very deliberately at the periphery of his vision, drew him and kept drawing him away from the initial area, away from any support the police could offer him.  Ianto was acutely aware that he was less safe with every step, but caution would not put an end to the appalling situation they’d found themselves in, and this way perhaps – just perhaps – he’d have a chance to disable Hart before the man employed whatever he was using to induce the pseudo-narcolepsy.  An unbidden scenario appeared in Ianto’s mind’s eye: a volley of shots shattering Hart’s skull.  So good it was almost pornographic.

It didn’t take long for Ianto to figure out he was being drawn to the Wetlands – that brought a wry smile to his face as the reserve was an excellent place to dispose of a body, and he should know.  The figure he was pursuing gradually let himself be seen, and in a wooded area near to the edge of the bay, Ianto finally came face-to-face with John Hart.  Or rather, John Hart came face-to-gun with him.

“Eye Candy!” he was cheerfully greeted.  “Fancy meeting you here.”  Hart made a show of peering behind Ianto.  “What?  No Jack?  Doesn’t he know it’s not safe to let you out alone?”

Before Ianto could utter a word in response, Hart’s face caught the light that flickered through the trees; Ianto couldn’t help the shocked gasp that emerged.

“What happened to you?” he asked without thinking.

“You did, Ianto Jones.  You happened to me.”

Succumbing to the fascination of the horrible, Ianto took a few steps forward, needing to take a better look at Hart’s skin.  It was translucent with an oily, nacre sheen.  Bile rose in Ianto’s throat, and he quickly swallowed it down.

“How could I do that?”

“No, the question you should be asking is why didn’t I die?  When you have the answer to that…”

“Why didn’t you die?”

“Nanogenes,” Hart volunteered.

“But Jack asked you…”

“Not my own, think my own would do this?  These were…borrowed.  And pre-programmed for another race.  Could’ve been worse,” Hart concluded with a frightening grin and a shrug that didn’t quite come off as blasé.  “I knew you’d let me live, you spiteful little shit.  Get you off, did it, the thought of me lying there in complete agony?”

“Something like that.  Certainly worked wonders for Jack.”

The smile on Hart’s face stiffened, and he turned his back on Ianto, slowly strolling away.  Ianto followed, gun still trained on its target.  He was about to introduce the subject of his and Jack’s poisoning, but Hart got there first.

“How is he?  Jack.  His condition?”

“As if you don’t know.”

Hart twisted around with a laugh.

“Your condition.  You boys really share and share alike.  Of course, if you’d been just a little more generous with your toys, we wouldn’t be here now.”

“No,” Ianto answered coolly, “we wouldn’t.  But y’know what?  My priorities have changed since we last met.”

Hart cocked an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Why do you think I’m here alone?”

Hart smirked.

“Didn’t like to ask.”

“Jack has all the time in the world for these games of yours; I don’t.  I may be willing to make a deal.”

“This should be fun.  Go on.”

“You get what you want, you get Jack, but you leave me, Gwen, Rhys, and all of our associates alone.”  Hart nodded thoughtfully.  “And you give me the cure,” Ianto concluded.

“Which I don’t have,” Hart sighed.  “You know that.”

Ianto shook his head.

“I’m not buying it.  You wouldn’t have risked putting me and Jack in comas earlier today if you didn’t have a way to wake us, or at least him up.”

“The race that issued the bounty on him aren’t fussy about him being conscious.  As a lump of meat he’ll make me a fortune, and as a comatose lump of meat he’s a fraction of the trouble.”

“That’s bollocks and we both know it.  What’s it going to be then?  The antidote, or a prolonged dip in Cardiff Bay?  I’m warning you, I won’t be sloppy this time, and unless your nanogenes can reattach a head to a body and reanimate the dead they won’t save you.  Your choice: rot in the bay, or hand over that cure.”

Hart’s expression wavered, if only for an instant; Ianto couldn’t decide if he’d made his point, or if he was, once again, being played.  Hart gave another of his theatrical sighs.

“You don’t believe me.  I don’t trust you.  We should be partners.”

“Where is it?”

There was a loaded pause before Hart started to reach into his pocket.

“Right here.”

“No,” Ianto snapped.  “Throw your jacket to me.”

“Does Jack know how much you want me out of my clothes?”

“Get on with it!”

Infuriating Ianto with his most arrogant smile, Hart casually removed his jacket and tossed it in Ianto’s direction.

“How are you going to do this?  Moment you’re distracted looking for that drug, I’ll be on you and your throat will be slit to the spine.”

“On your knees,” Ianto ordered.

“Is that all you people ever think of?  Although…okay, I admit the thought of your blood all over my skin is a little erotic, and…”

“On your knees, hands behind your head.”

“Kink after kink after kink.”  Hart dropped to his knees and clicked his teeth.  “C’mon then.  I won’t bite.”

With his gun and the best part of his attention on his prisoner, Ianto retrieved the jacket and began to explore the inordinate amount of pockets and hiding places.  Barely avoiding catching his hand on a razor-sharp blade secreted in the collar was enough to distract him for a split second, all the time Hart needed to retrieve a small control pad from inside the waistband of his trousers.

“And goodnight to you, Ianto Jones,” he muttered as his thumb hovered over a glowing button.

Both men jumped as a shot rang out, and Hart hissed in pain as the pad was ripped from his hand by a bullet from Jack’s Webley.  Despite feeling as if he’d leapt a foot in the air with shock at the sudden noise, a glance in Jack’s direction reassured Ianto and he turned his attention back to the jacket.

“It won’t be in there if he gave it to you willingly,” Jack told Ianto, eyes locked with Hart’s and glaring with undisguised hatred.

“I thought not,” Ianto admitted, “but I had to try.”

“You almost had me believing that,” Hart told Ianto.  “Jack in exchange for the antidote.”

“As if.”

“Offer’s open.  Think about it.  He worth your life?  Let’s be painfully honest now: if it was the other way around, don’t you think you’d be deserted in a second?”

“Frisk him,” Jack interrupted, aware that Ianto was very nearly tense enough to be antagonised into shooting Hart.

Ianto holstered his gun and did as Jack ordered, kicking Hart hard in the back to knock him onto his face before going through every discernible hiding place, plus a few surreptitious ones that Jack guided him to.  Hauling Hart back to his feet, Ianto carried on looking until it was plainly obvious that the cure wasn’t on the man’s person.  More strangely still…

“He’s basically unarmed,” Ianto frowned.  “Couple of small blades and that’s it.”

“Guns can be so impersonal,” Hart told him.  “Sometimes, feeling flesh tear and bone crunch under your own, lethally trained hands, is pleasantly intimate.  Jack would know, he was one of the most adept torturers the Time Agency ever produced.  He ever tell you about his specialty?”

“Perhaps he’ll take the opportunity to show me,” Ianto replied in the same tone of fake geniality  “After all, we have a subject who’s refusing to part with necessary information.”

“With our past?  Don’t fool yourself, he wouldn’t.”

“He would,” Ianto assured him lightly.

“He would,” Jack confirmed, far more chillingly.

Hart’s attention returned to Jack, and Ianto couldn’t miss the brief flicker of honest emotion in his eyes, something that betrayed all the crap he habitually spouted.  This wasn’t about revenge or bounties, he and Jack had been closer to the truth when they’d speculated about control, although not exactly the kind they’d hypothesised: Hart’s actions were purely and simply about a fanatical desire to secure the subject of his obsession.  The covetous expression was there and gone, and Ianto wasn’t sure if Jack had noticed it at all, or if he already understood Hart so well he didn’t need to have the man’s fixation confirmed for him.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” Hart addressed Jack, back to taunting.  “Hardly my fault I got bored maiming people and started going for the kill.  A little of your attention, that’s all I ask.  Or rather…a little of your attention, everything of value in your vaults and coffers, and an adequate ship.”

“Where is it?” Jack demanded.  “The cure?”

“I told your boy, there isn’t one.”

“‘Offer’s open’,” Jack threw Hart’s words back at him.  “How can you make the offer without the cure?”

“I expected your bit of fluff to fall for that, not you.”

“So I have nothing to lose by killing you here and now?”

Hart started as Jack took aim, raising his hands in absolute surrender

“C’mon now, let’s not be hasty.”

“Wait, Jack,” Ianto interrupted.  His attention had turned to the control pad that Jack had shot from Hart’s hand; he retrieved it from the patch of grass it had landed in.  “How does this work?  If it’s what he used to trigger the narcolepsy…”

“Just a toy,” Hart dismissed the device, “and you both fell for it.”

Jack held out his hand and Ianto carefully placed the device on his palm; Jack glanced at it.

“Not a toy, and these materials aren’t from Earth.  We’ll take it back to the Hub, run a few tests.  Find out what or who it’s connected to.”

“What about him?”

“If there’s no cure he’s expendable.  You want the pleasure of killing him, or…”

“As if he’d understand,” Hart abruptly snarled, “the true pleasure of it, the beauty of it.  You need a man, Jack, not a boy.  You need someone who understands the truth about you, who’s seen the goodness in your heart and the evil in your soul.  You need someone who’s been there, someone who’s lived.”

“I don’t need someone who’s happy to wipe me out with the press of a button,” Jack shot back as furiously.  “Ianto is never going to betray me.”

“That can’t be all, that can’t be enough.”

“It isn’t.  It’s merely…the icing on the cake.”

With an infuriated growl Hart swung away, picking up his jacket from where Ianto had left it on the ground, and shrugging it on.  Ianto drew his gun and was taking aim when Jack stopped him, indicating he should hold fire.  Seconds later Hart was heading for the path out of the Wetlands, scowling at them over his shoulder.

“What are you waiting for?  Want this fucking drug or not?”

Jack shot Ianto a told you so look, and they briskly fell in behind Hart, not letting him out of their sight for a second.

“How did you find us so quickly?” Ianto asked Jack quietly.

“I read your note.  As soon as I realised our comms were being blocked I headed back to the Hub.”

“You weren’t drawn here by him?”

Jack gestured to Ianto.

“Indirectly.”

“Phone?”

“Phone.”

“If I ever lose my phone I really am in deep shit.”

“I could always microchip you,” Jack offered helpfully; Ianto almost took that seriously before returning to the matter in hand.

“He planned this, he was obviously counting on you turning up.  Now we’re walking into a trap.”

“Probably.”

“Does that in any way explain why he isn’t armed?  He needed to avoid a showdown here so he could lead us into that trap?”

“I have no idea of how this will play out,” Jack admitted.  “But I do believe he has the cure or he’d already be face down in the bay.”

“What do we do then?  Play it by ear, and expect the worst?  Essentially…”

“More of the same.”

Ianto’s grip tensed around his gun.

“Right.  More of the same.”