Jack wondered if this was the way it would always be from now on: harmless debris arriving via the Rift, a recovery that should take ten minutes at most, drawn out to over an hour as they checked and re-checked the area because of the possibility of someone/something lethal piggy-backing to the planet without detection.

He was satisfied that the job was done, bored now and leaning against the SUV as he observed Ianto and Gwen completing their thorough, possibly paranoia-level, search.  Gwen looked tense and ready to shoot anything animal, vegetable or mineral that showed signs of questionable intent, and Ianto was more than happy to follow suit.  Provided, of course, that he was following orders, not relying on his own judgement.

Jack checked his watch.  There were two options as far as he was concerned: they could continue vigorously pursuing nothing until Gwen and Ianto were too weary/hungry/thirsty to be of any use to anybody; or they could hop into the SUV, drive back to the inviting little country pub they’d passed on the way to this unprepossessing field, and have a bite to eat there before returning to the Hub satisfied with their morning’s work, having chosen to stop being completely neurotic and in danger of losing touch with reality.

“Hey!” Jack called to catch his colleagues attention.  “Back in the SUV.  Now.”

Both Gwen and Ianto swung around in alarm, hurrying to join Jack.

“What’s happened?” Gwen demanded as she covered the last few yards.

“Nothing.  Lunch is about to happen, accompanied by a stern yet sympathetic lecture from me on putting events into perspective.  Or would you prefer to bypass the lecture and opt for therapy?  Torchwood will happily pick up the bill.”

“Bollocks to you,” Gwen muttered as she climbed into the passenger’s seat and sat, arms crossed, and glowering.

Jack turned to find Ianto equally unimpressed.

“What?” Jack demanded.  “Is offering food and support a crime now?”

“If you want to kick us up the collective arse you could at least be professional about it.  Sarcasm neither suits you, nor helps us.”

“I wasn’t…”

“Can we go?”

“That was the general idea.  Want to drive?”

“No, I’m…”  Ianto hesitated.  “I’m too tired.”

The slightly peeved expression on Jack’s face turned immediately to concern, ‘tired’ having lately become a favourite euphemism for the onset of venom-related symptoms.

“How tired, what kind of tired?”

“I don’t know.  Normal tired.  I think.  I’m not sleeping well, am I, so…”

“That’s it,” Jack said irritably as he bundled Ianto into the back seat of the SUV, “I’ve had enough of that damn woman never answering her phone.”  Jack hurried to the driver’s seat and climbed in, starting the engine before the door was shut.  “Ianto, how do you fancy a trip to London?”

“I don’t.”

“Tough.  Gwen, you’d be okay for a couple of days?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired,” Ianto said quietly.  “I’m sure there’s…”

“Yes, go, I can take care of things here.”

“Just you?” Ianto questioned.  “Hardly the safest or…”

“I’ve got Rhys for support, there’s Andy, I can call on the entire Welsh police force and the massed ranks of UNIT if I need to, so don’t use me as an excuse for not getting this resolved.”

Ianto sighed and pulled out his mobile, calling up Catherine’s number and dialling/re-dialling eight times until he finally got an answer.  He switched to speakerphone.

“Ianto, I’ll be calling you later,” Catherine explained briskly, showing every sign of immediately hanging up.

“We can talk now, or you can find an extremely pissed off Jack Harkness on your doorstep by dusk.  Up to you.”

All three of them instantly had a mental picture of Catherine Cullen seething; admittedly it was an unusual form of team bonding, but their previous squabbles were instantly forgotten as they exchanged comradely smiles.

“Wouldn’t you rather wait a few more hours and have the test results as fully explored and reliable as possible?” the doctor asked, sounding a little more reasonable.

“Please, Catherine,” Gwen implored, “you have no idea how much these two are suffering.”

“I had no intention—  I simply—  I want to get this right, Gwen.  No half-cocked theories or educated guesses.  Plain fact, no room for doubt.”

“Ianto’s tired,” Jack interrupted.  “I’m at the point of not knowing whether to tuck him up in bed, or in a cryogenics capsule.”

“How are you, Jack?”

“This isn’t about me.  At the moment, all I care about is Ianto’s welfare.  That shouldn’t surprise you.”

“And it shouldn’t surprise you that it’s also my primary concern, which is why I need a few more hours to corroborate the initial findings.  If you’d get off the phone and stop wasting my time—”

Catherine disappeared as Ianto disconnected the call mid-sentence.

“That’s surprisingly satisfying.  No wonder she’s always doing it to me.”

“Want to go to London?” Jack asked.

“I don’t see the point.”

Jack studied Ianto in the rear-view mirror, trying to assess his state of mind.

“Have you given up?”

“No.  Just can’t be arsed to go to London.”

Jack turned to Gwen.

“Has Ianto given up?”

“No.  He just can’t be arsed to go to London.  I’m not entirely sure, but I think he might’ve even mentioned it.  Shall we ask him?  Ianto?  Do you want to go to London?”

“No.  Can’t be arsed.”

“There you are, Jack.  Satisfied?”

“Five minutes ago you thought it was a good idea.”

“Five minutes ago I was prepared to hold the fort if going to London was what Ianto wanted.  Apparently it isn’t.  I could always check for you.  Ianto?  Do you…”

“All right, all right,” Jack gave up the fight.  A glance at Ianto showed him to be quietly enjoying Gwen’s brand of persecution, and just for that he was almost tempted to let Gwen carry on.  “Pub?” he changed the subject.

“Pub,” the Welsh contingency agreed in unison.

…

“Go and lie down,” Jack encouraged Ianto when they arrived back at the Hub, fed and watered and trying not to count the minutes until Catherine’s call.  “Get some rest.”

“I can’t.”

“Ianto…”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I just…can’t.  That’s what it’s like every night now.  Once we know about the toxin it’ll be different, even if the news is bad.  The not knowing…”  Ianto sighed and shrugged.  “I need to find something to keep me busy.  Anything you want done?”

Jack didn’t stop to think, he simply asked Gwen to give them a shout if they were needed, then hustled Ianto up the stairs to their quarters.  Once inside there was an odd sort of impasse: a few months ago a moment like this would have been a prelude to sex, nothing more or less, but now they stood and looked at one another for what felt like a long time before abruptly moving together and holding one another tightly.

“I’m a bit scared,” Ianto admitted.  “Feel like I should be choosing my drawer.”

“Don’t think like that, you have to stay positive.  Don’t leave me.  Please don’t leave me.”

“You say that as if I have a choice.”

“You’ll have more of a chance if you look after yourself properly.  Listen, I have something I take when I’m desperate for sleep but can’t stop my mind ticking over.  Why don’t you try some, I’ll stay with you and…”

“Not in a million years and you know it.”

“Tiny, tiny dose, enough for two hours max.”

Ianto patted Jack’s back distractedly before reversing out of his grip.

“I know exactly what I’m going to do.”

Jack turned to see what Ianto was staring at over his shoulder but couldn’t pin down what had caught his attention.  Then Ianto went and picked up the hourglass, fiddling with the broken base.

“I want to fix this.”

“Why that?  Why now?”

“Seems…appropriate,” Ianto smiled.

“You’re not running out of time, Ianto.”

The smile didn’t waver for a second.

“That isn’t what this is about.”

“What then?”

“You’ll see.”  Ianto gave Jack a quick kiss on the way to the door.  “Meanwhile, why don’t you pretend to do some work?”

“Yeah, like I can concentrate…”

“Pretend.  Pretend.”

Ianto dashed off and Jack followed at a more leisurely pace, pausing to lean on the rail and survey his domain.  Ianto was already out of sight, but Gwen was sitting at Owen’s desk and, despite what was showing on the computer monitor, apparently doing nothing.  Or rather, nothing but remembering; Jack recognised the signs, and his heart went out to her.

“It gets easier,” he told her as he made his way down the stairs.

“Wasn’t so long ago that Andy was accusing me of being cold, of not caring any more.”

“You think he was right?”

“In a way.  It’s defensive, isn’t it?  It isn’t not caring, it’s being afraid of caring too much and always getting hurt.”

Behind Gwen now, Jack rested his hands on her shoulders and gave a reassuring rub.

“What do you want to do about that?” he enquired softly.

Her hands came up to clutch his.

“How can I not care?  I have to care and…I have to risk the pain.  Don’t we all?  Maybe it does get easier, but I’ve realised I’m prepared to face the consequences if it doesn’t.  Anything less would be letting down Owen and Tosh, and I refuse to do that.”

Jack moved to sit on the edge of the desk and shared an understanding smile with Gwen.

“How we are,” he said thoughtfully.  “You’ve been frightened of what makes you you, and me…I want to somehow…”  Jack groped for the right description and, with a shake of the head, settled.  “I want to absorb you, what you are, how you’re brave enough to let yourself be.  I was out in the cold for so long and…you let me be warm again.”

“But Ianto…”

“Ianto gets this, you and me, he figured it all out long before I did.  Why do you think he buys you those sinfully good chocolate biscuits twice a month?”

Gwen laughed at that, but there were tears in her eyes.

“We won’t lose him, will we?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Nodding and muttering about needing shares in a mascara company, Gwen wiped her eyes and turned to the computer, drumming her fingers on the desk before unapologetically minimising her work and clicking into her saved game of Solitaire.  If she could pretend to work, Jack accepted that he could certainly do the same, and went to his office.

Although Jack booted up his own computer he wasn’t about to play games.  There was a program they used to alter appearances: scan in a photograph and it was possible to change the subject’s hair, skin and eye colour, give them facial hair, plastic surgery, from basics to minutiae, a new ‘do to enlarged pores.  It could also be used to age a face up or down.  Jack had saved some stills from the CCTV of Gray, attempting to secure one single picture that captured the boy he’d known on the Boeshane Peninsula.  Time and circumstances had conspired to ensure that couldn’t possibly work for him, but this just might.

Calling up the most harmless likeness of Gray, Jack set about making changes, removing the pain and the scars and the years of damage, endlessly tweaking until he was staring at a picture of Gray – his Gray – on the monitor.  Jack forced himself to look aside for a few minutes, and when he looked back for a fresh impression, what met his eyes took his breath away.

As he sat and stared he began to experience the oddest sensation, shuddering with it as his skin prickled.  It was almost…a memory, an impossible memory.  Jack tried his best to dismiss the vague spark in the back of his mind as the remnant of a dream, and yet…it felt real.  It couldn’t be real.  He shuddered again as he rose from his chair to find some photographic paper to print the picture onto, and the more he tried not to acknowledge that eerie feeling, the stronger it became.  I forgive you, came from who knows where.  I forgive you.  Jack collapsed back into his chair and dropped his face into his hands.  I forgive you.  Denial crumbled as the longing for those words from Gray became paramount.  I forgive you.  An impossible memory that was embraced and clutched to a broken heart that, after so long, might have the chance to mend.

I forgive you.

It was virtually the last time that Jack would cry for the Gray he’d lost, but certainly not the last time he’d hear I forgive you in some corner of his mind, offering him comfort.  And never, never would it occur to him to question the accent.

…

Jack, as recovered as he would be for the present, looked up with interest as Ianto entered the office bearing the repaired hourglass.

“You’ve been doing that all this time?”

“Took longer than I thought it would.  But it was worth it, I’m very happy with the result.”

Ianto placed the hourglass on the desk in front of Jack and let him take a look for himself, basking in the praise that followed.  In the space of a few hours a worthless broken artefact had been transformed into a meticulously repaired antique – still worthless monetarily, but fairly priceless to Ianto.  Jack’s admiration eventually extended to the contents.

“The sand’s an extraordinary colour.  Where d’you find it?”

“It isn’t sand.”

Intrigued, Jack turned the hourglass over and watched the grains pour through into the lower globe.

“What then?  If not sand?”

“Do you remember, a couple of years ago, Tosh and I recovered a few bits of gadgetry from that crashed spaceship, the one near Cwmaman?  Generally it was all harmless and useless junk, but we played with a few bits, got one or two working again.”

Jack frowned as he thought back.

“Specifically?”

“A granulator.  One of the machines was a granulator.”

“Oh, so…”  Jack went back to watching the not-sand.  “You made the sand.”

“I did.”

“Clever,” Jack grinned.  “What’s in here?”

Ianto took a deep, self-satisfied breath.

“Put it this way…  This gift, is an agent of time, for my very own Time Agent.”

It took a moment for that to sink in, but when it did Jack turned to Ianto in shock.

“Agent of time?  Are you saying…  This is…?”

“You wanted to remember John Hart.  I thought this made him fairly unforgettable.”

Jack pushed the hourglass away from him, staring at it with a blend of fascination and shock.  Then he sat well back in his seat, withdrawing further, and unconsciously wiping his hands on his trousers.

“Seriously?  That’s—  Seriously?”

“It took quite a while to calibrate exactly how much of him to put in there so the timing would be precise, but I did it in the end.”  Ianto brushed a fleck of non-existent dust from the glass surface.  “An hour’s worth of John Hart.  In any other situation that would be an hour too much, but…”

“Ianto.”

“Yes, Jack?” Ianto asked blithely.

Jack drew breath to speak, but nothing emerged.  Still transfixed by the hourglass – by its contents – Jack reached out and gradually drew it back toward him.

“Couple of things,” Jack said slowly.  “One…this is in extraordinarily bad taste.”

Ianto didn’t so much as flinch.

“Two…?”

“Sometimes you actually scare me.  And…honestly?  I love it, I really do.  But…I’m not sure I love this.”

“It’ll come in handy.  Perhaps you can use it to time my stay in cryogenics.”

Jack looked sharply to Ianto and, despite the inscrutable facade, Jack knew the man was still seething over what Hart had put them through, and how he was continuing to torment them from the grave.  Or rather, from the hourglass.

The thought of losing Ianto put everything into perspective, and brought out a little belated vindictiveness that was satisfyingly assuaged by the object sitting before him.  He smiled meaningfully at Ianto.

“Lots of things you can do with an hourglass.”

Ianto’s rigidly straight face was broken apart by an abrupt laugh.

“Doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“Maybe not.  But it has the same invitation.”

Jack rose and strolled around his desk to where Ianto stood, the desire in his eyes growing with every step.

“What’s on your mind?” Ianto asked when Jack was only inches away.

“Oh, I d’know.  You fucking me in front of him, something like that.  Simple but effective.”

“Didn’t you say it was the level of affection he’d hate?”

“Yeah, well, you’d fuck me lovingly, I’m certain.”

“Hmm, I think that sounds quite feasible.”

“Perfectly feasible.”

Ianto tilted in to kiss Jack but suddenly stopped with their lips no more than a breath apart.

“Where’s Gwen?”

“Uh…  Somewhere?” Jack replied vaguely, now trying to catch Ianto’s lips despite his target’s snazzy avoidance techniques.

“Just somewhere?”

“Like she isn’t used to this,” Jack said dismissively, pursuing Ianto’s mouth as he leant away.  “Ianto, come back here.”

“She’s only used to so much of this,” Ianto pointed out.  “And I doubt her first consideration when she catches us this time will be to wonder whether or not the hourglass is wipe clean.”

Jack’s playful pestering for a kiss came to an abrupt halt.

“Mental.  Picture,” Jack groaned.

“Yes, well, there may be certain things I have planned that…”

Jack lunged for Ianto, finally catching him and kissing him greedily, cupping his head so he couldn’t escape.  Not that Ianto was trying to escape, it was simply in the back of his mind that a little privacy was preferable to a scenario where, at some point in the future, Gwen would be able to pick his naked arse out of a line up of naked arses.  Laughing into the highly persistent kiss, Ianto finally managed to prise Jack away for long enough to make a few reasonable demands.

“Upstairs, yes,” Jack agreed.  “Although…if I sent her home we’d have the run of the place.  We could…”

“Upstairs will do,” Ianto insisted, evading the six pairs of hands Jack appeared to have magically sprouted, and escaping to the far side of the desk to pick up the hourglass.

He saw the picture that Jack had printed off, and for a moment he struggled to place the face.

“Gray,” Jack explained a little awkwardly, “how I remember him from our childhood.”

Ianto studied the innocent young face and his heart ached for Jack.  Also, amazingly, for Gray, this Gray.  Life dealt some exceedingly cruel blows, there was no disputing that, but Jack had shown him time and again that it was how you dealt with those blows that proved your worth.  He gave Jack a kind smile.

“I think there might be a frame for this.  I got some spares when I was tarting up your quarters.”

Jack’s surprise was quite endearing.

“You wouldn’t mind having it on show?”

“Of course not, why should I?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

They exchanged a loaded look.

“I didn’t kill this boy, Jack.  I look at his face and…I know I didn’t kill this boy.”

“That isn’t entirely what I meant but…  Good.  As long as you can forgive him his sins, we can…”

“Future sins.”  Ianto once again studied the picture.  “What is this boy guilty of?  Not washing behind his ears, and skipping his homework?”

“He did some terrible things.”

“Eventually, yes.  But we’ve all done terrible things.  I may even begin to forgive Hart once he’s been in that hourglass for a century or two.”

Jack came and took the photograph.

“The quality of mercy is only slightly strain’d?”

“Unconstrained.  For that child.”

“You saying this for my sake?”

“No,” Ianto promised.  “My only objection to this picture, this presence…  He might have to be turned to the wall when we get adventurous.”

“Never thought of that, but yes.  One almighty yes.”

A few more kisses renewed their interest in finding a little privacy, but they’d only got as far as the office door when Ianto’s phone rang.  Catherine’s ring tone.  Ianto bundled the hourglass into Jack’s arms and, taking a deep breath as if that would miraculously calm him, proceeded to answer his mobile.

“Catherine,” he acknowledged.

“Am I on speaker?”

Ianto pressed a key.

“You are now.”

“Jack there?”

Jack hurriedly put the hourglass back on the desk, almost as if he was expecting to hear something so shocking he’d drop the thing otherwise.

“I am, yes.”

“I won’t keep you in any further suspense: all the tests have been run, corroborated several times, and…good news.”

“Good news?” Ianto blurted as he sank into a chair.  “Seriously?”

“You’ve created an antidote?” Jack pressed.

“You don’t need one.”

“What!”

“The way this toxin is sustained, the reason why it’s so difficult to affect in any way, is because it’s self-replicating.  Each time that happens the catalyst multiplies in number, and it’s as if the host is, not only being re-infected, but doubly re-infected with a strain of this toxin that has learnt to fight off anything that had previously attempted to disable it.  Told you it was intelligent, didn’t I.  Those cycles you noticed, Ianto?  A reflection of the process: Jack was more himself when the strength of the venom was ebbing, but when it replicated its power was restored, the vagueness would set in as the catalyst screwed with the body’s natural chemicals to create what it needed to live on.  The more times this happened, the more damaged the host would be, the less able to function normally.  We assumed that coma would be the end result, but systemic corruption and brain death would be closer to the truth.”

“I don’t understand.  As intriguing as this is, why does it preclude the need for an antidote?” Ianto asked.

“Getting there.  The nudge to self-replicate came from the initial donor of the venom, some kind of prompt, and going by your report on the alien, it was probably a telepathic energy pulse, similar to what you theorised, Jack.  I’m hypothesising that the gradual effects of the toxin were caused by natural pulses the alien was emitting, and the times when you were forced unconscious were more deliberate, focused telepathic prompts.  Whether or not that’s entirely correct, it appears that, without the source energy…”

“It died,” Jack interrupted.  “It died along with the Jukulka.”

“Yes.  As brilliant as it was – and let’s fact it, not much can match up to evolution, whatever the species – without that prompt to self-replicate, it became completely redundant.  We’ve tried everything we can to revive it, but the venom from source is inert, and your blood samples are both clear, as are our test subjects.”

“Are you sure?” Ianto demanded.  “Are you absolutely certain?  It seems too simple, almost too good to be true.”

“See why I took this long to tell you?  I had to be sure there wasn’t an iota of doubt.  No false hope.  I am absolutely certain, Ianto, absolutely.  It’s over.”

“Could another Jukulka trigger it?” Jack asked.

“Even if it wasn’t already dead?  I doubt it.  Genetically, it’s exclusively linked to its donor.  Gentlemen…your lives are your own once again.  Although, with that bloody job…”

“Thank you, Catherine,” Gwen said from the doorway, “thank you so much.”

“Gwen, you heard all of that?”

“Enough.”

“So you appreciate the need for a stiff drinks all ‘round?”

Gwen gave a relieved and teary laugh as she headed for the brandy, but glancing over at Ianto’s pale, shocked face inspired a detour, and she spent a full minute giving him the hugest hug.

“We really can’t thank you enough,” Jack told Catherine.  “If there’s ever anything you need from us, you only have to ask.”

“It’s been fascinating, all of this, truly, and a pleasure to meet you all.”

“But…?” Jack smiled.

“I think you can guess.”

A few last goodbyes, a throwaway, ‘Ianto, there’s an email for you’, and Catherine rang off.  Gwen’s hug transferred to Jack, affording Ianto the opportunity to pursue a few solitary minutes outside the Hub, desperate for some fresh air to revive him while the news finally sank in.

As he leant on the rail and looked out over the bay he felt quite disorientated, as if the part of his mind that had grown used to having something extreme to worry about was flailing around, trying to find what it had missed, attempting to extrapolate what shit was due to hit Torchwood’s fan next.  But there was nothing left to focus on, or nothing out of the ordinary at least.  It was draining, completely and utterly draining.  He’d expected to be exulted by good news, stoic in the face of bad, but he hadn’t considered this general nothingness.  Nothingness, and exhaustion.  Nothingness, exhaustion, and…hang on.  Was that a speck of hope on the horizon?

Ianto was distracted by Jack arriving, leaning alongside Ianto so they were shoulder to shoulder.

“Just another day at the office,” Jack said with light-hearted jollity.  “Damn, you’ve gotta love this job.”

Jack’s happiness was infectious; Ianto’s speck of hope expanded.

“It’s extraordinary.  I feel as if I have my whole life in front of me.”

“You do.”

“Yes, but I’ve got so used to thinking one day at a time.  I’m not accustomed to having a future.”

“What would you like to do with your life?” Jack smiled.

Ianto paused in thought.

“Know what?  I’m doing it.  Torchwood is as much a part of me as you are.  I appreciate that sounds a bit…”

“Don’t ruin it by qualifying it.  I like how it sounds.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Jack confirmed.  “I don’t want you discovering there’s a life outside of this one that needs living, and deserting me for it.”

Ianto laughed and leaned in closer as Jack’s arm slid around him.

“I have my whole life ahead of me, and right now, all I can think of is…food, and lots of it; fresh coffee; ten hours sleep.  Ten hours minimum.”

“Can you fit me in there?”

“You get me in the morning when I’m awake enough to appreciate all your nifty little tricks.”

“And when I’ve nifty tricked you for several hours?”

“I think…”  The semi-perpetual frown was back.  “I always appreciated the irony of me moving in here: me having to look after you becoming you having to look after me.  But now…now the necessity of this arrangement has passed, I’d like to find a new flat.  Or a house perhaps.  Garden would be nice.  Nice and pointless, seeing as I’d have no time to look after it, and even less to sit in it.  But…”  Ianto stopped himself rambling and looked to Jack.  “Would you be okay with that?”

Jack had known this was coming and, prepared for the blow, gave him an entirely genuine smile.

“Of course.  Whatever works best for you.”

“Daylight.  That alone would be enough of a reason.  Waking up to daylight.”

“Go wherever you like,” Jack told him glibly.  “It’s not as if I can’t track you down in a minute.  Hey, we could turn it into a game.  Cardiff-wide hide and seek.  Clothing optional.”  They chuckled at that, and Jack turned in toward Ianto.  “Seriously?  It’s not as if I won’t be waking up to daylight with you, nine times out of ten.”

“Five, maybe,” Ianto adjusted.  “Five times out of ten.”

“New team and I could drive that up to eight.”

“And we’re both humouring me if we don’t accept I’ll be waking up here with you on a far more regular basis.”

“You mind that?”

Ianto pretended to think it over, scrutinising Jack’s face, but his affection for Jack soon won out.

“No.  I don’t mind at all.”

“That’s a relief, you look ready to drop rather than fight.  I’ll go and get us something to eat, you sit down before you fall down.”

Ianto watched as Jack left at a wander, before evidently making up his mind where he was headed and picking up speed.

Sitting down before he fell down sounded pretty good, but not quite as appealing as a steaming mug of his best coffee; Ianto went back inside, switched on the machine, and as he waited for it to warm up he remembered Catherine mentioning an e-mail.  Okay, his very weary mind might have a little difficulty if the full details of the toxin became too technical, but he was still interested enough to boot up his computer and open her mail.  Maybe it wasn’t too late to help that poor soul whose file he’d had so much trouble translating.  Although Catherine’s full report about the venom and its attributes was attached for their scrutiny, the main message wasn’t anything he’d expected, and he stared at it in a mixture of surprise and disbelief for several minutes, even starting a tentative reply, before deciding his time would be better spent elsewhere.

Having Gwen to talk to would have been a useful diversion, but she’d evidently left for the day, so Ianto took a good look around and, noticing that the hourglass was still sitting on Jack’s desk, he retrieved it, and Gray’s picture, and took them upstairs to his – Jack’s – their…  Ianto decided not to get into that.  He took the hourglass and photograph upstairs, setting the timepiece back in its usual spot before rummaging in one of the cupboards for a frame.  Seconds later Gray was placed on the chest of drawers alongside Jack’s other photos, but everything was rearranged so the picture of Tosh and Owen was as far away from Gray as possible.  Ridiculous, really, but Jack could rearrange them again if he chose to.  Ianto doubted he would.

Once again he found himself staring at the boy, surprised that he was able to disregard the source of this photograph and accept Gray as an innocent child.  The similarities to Eleth didn’t escape him and, surely, if he was able to extend a metaphorical olive branch to one victim of circumstance, the same compassionate gesture shouldn’t have been an impossibility when considering the other.  Or perhaps it was himself that he needed to afford the benefit of the doubt, himself who deserved a little forgiveness.  Could he trust himself to help any of the genuinely needy and lost aliens who turned up on Torchwood’s doorstep until he did forgive himself?  Another Bruce Fairlus, due to lead a blameless life and be well liked by his neighbours would, with Ianto’s present state of mind, be treated like a war criminal, and not because Ianto had good cause to condemn every unfamiliar being he met, but because he no longer felt he could rely upon his own instincts.

“We eating up here?” Jack’s voice broke into his deliberations.

“Can do,” Ianto answered distractedly.

Jack went into the kitchen and began warming plates.

“I turned the coffee machine down for you.  I swear it glared at me.  Ianto.  Ianto?”

“What?  Sorry?”

“Food?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.”

They sat at the table and Ianto gave a wry smile when he saw what Jack had chosen.

“Haven’t had fish and chips since Eleth,” he quietly observed.

“I know.”

“I was just thinking about her.”

“I heard from the Swansea couple, did I mention that?  Now the Llandudno couple.  I tried to apologise for the upheaval, but all they wanted to talk about was the sea view.  Nice people.”

They were quiet as they ate, Ianto caught up in his own thoughts, Jack trying to read Ianto’s expressions and body language, and wishing he had Jukulkan-level access to that complicated mind.

“Tell me about it?” Jack eventually prompted.

Ianto took his time replying.

“How often do your question your own judgement?”

“All the time.”

“How often does that make you hesitate?”

“Sometimes you can’t put too much thought into what you do.  Decisions are often urgently needed, and…”

“See, it’s instincts, isn’t it.  I want to be able to intellectualise everything from now on so I make fewer mistakes, but most of the time it’s impossible.”

“You will get over this,” Jack said firmly, as he’d done dozens of times before.  “If you can’t trust yourself, trust my trust in you.”  It was almost a mantra.

Ianto sat back and studied Jack.

“I think I’m about to see how much you trust yourself.”

“In what respect?” Jack frowned.

“Downstairs.  My computer.  There’s an e-mail open on there.”

“The one Catherine sent?”

“Yes.  Go and read it.”

“If it’s about the…”

“Assume nothing.  Go and read it.”

Still frowning, particularly at how serious Ianto was, Jack hurried down the stairs and to Ianto’s computer, not hesitating for a moment before starting to read.

Jack read the message again and again, leaning on the workstation for support as his heart raced with the shock and he grew positively lightheaded.  Ianto arrived and pulled a stool over, nudging it up against Jack’s thighs and persuading him to sit, remaining by his side and taking his hand, linking their fingers together.

“What do I do?” Jack gasped.  “God, Ianto, what do I do?”

“Trust yourself?”

“With this, with Gray?”

“You did say you’d do whatever it took for another chance with him.”

“But I screwed up the first chance so badly.”

“Different child, different life.  If our experiences are what makes us, this boy wouldn’t really be Gray at all.”

“Look at this: ‘a happy life lived’.  That’s what I cost him when I let go of his hand, so…  Don’t I owe him that?  Can I give him that?”

“Think of the cons: he’d be vulnerable to Torchwood’s enemies, he’d make you vulnerable.”

“You make me vulnerable.  Gwen makes me vulnerable.  And…we could keep him a secret, nobody here gets to know about him other than you and me.  Not Gwen, not any new team members, that’s as safe as we can make it.”

“And if you RetCon me now, it would only be you.”

“No.”

Ianto accepted his inclusion with a nod.

“What else then, under cons.  He could get run over, or he could fall in the bay and drown.”

“But that’s normal, that’s life, and death is a part of life.  It still isn’t captivity and torture.”

“What if…”

“Enough!”

Ianto happily stopped playing devil’s advocate and gently rubbed Jack’s back.

“Uncle Jack, eh?  Suits you.”

“And…if he’s with a good family…”

“How much damage can you personally do?” Ianto smiled.

Jack laughed weakly and leaned against Ianto.

“Can I do this, Ianto?”

“Yes.”

“Do I have the right?”

“These circumstances…who cares!”

“I do, I—  Ah, Gray,” Jack sighed, eyes squeezed shut as he remembered.  “Gray.”

“Welsh lad this time around.  Gwynn, or Hywel, or something trendy like…Merlin.”

“I want this.  I want this,” Jack repeated, growing ever surer.

“Then you know what to do.”

As Jack refused to let his hand go, Ianto rather clumsily brought up the reply he’d begun earlier.  He’d got as far as one word: yes.

“You knew?” Jack asked.

“Better than a time machine.  I don’t get to lose you, for one thing.”

“Do you trust Catherine?”

“Well, as you know, I’ve decided never to trust anyone ever again, as long as I live, but…yes.”

“So…”

“Up to you, Jack.”

Ianto kissed Jack’s cheek, untangled their fingers, and stepped away.  A good time for coffee, although Ianto felt, temporarily, wide awake.  While he made their drinks he kept an eye on Jack, seeing the indecision and longing, the toing and froing, and sympathised with his partner for having to make such a monumental decision.  Maybe a mug of the good stuff would help, he reasoned, and took Jack’s coffee to him, leaning across the desk to put it where it wouldn’t be knocked over, and pausing to give Jack a bit of a smooch for Dutch courage.  As he withdrew and went to fetch his own drink, Jack’s attention returned to the monitor.

“It’s gone.  Ianto, it’s gone.”

“What’s gone?”

Jack pointed at the screen in panic.

“The ‘yes’.  It’s gone, it’s been sent.”

“Really?  Oh, perhaps I caught a key with my sleeve.”

“Ianto!”

“What?”

“It’s been sent.  Yes.  It’s been sent.”

“Follow up with a retraction if…”

“No.  No.”

Strolling to Jack’s back, Ianto rested his chin on Jack’s shoulder.

“If you can’t trust yourself,” Ianto whispered in his ear, “trust my trust in you.”

Jack’s hands shot behind him to clutch at any part of Ianto he found accessible.

“I do.”

“Nothing more to say then.  Other than…congratulations.”

Actually there was one thing more that needed to be said, something Jack felt so strongly at that moment it was irresistible, even if it was still ever so slightly terrifying and against his better judgement because he’d been reminded often enough that it was not what Ianto wanted to hear.

“I love you.”

Amazingly, the world didn’t come to a crashing end, and if Ianto’s first reaction was to flee the building at speed it wasn’t apparent; Jack suspected that, at last, he’d got this right.  Of course,

“Hmm,” was all that Ianto gave away.

Jack swung the stool around so he could hold Ianto properly, and it wasn’t long before his hand was taken and he was led upstairs.  Once inside Jack’s quarters Ianto turned the hourglass over.

“Don’t wander off.  Wake me up when that runs out,” he instructed as he sat on the edge of the bed and flopped backwards.  “No longer, or there won’t be time for any of your nifty tricks before I have to feed the inmates.”

Jack barely heard him, captivated as he was by the framed photograph of Gray.

“I think…however much time has passed, something inside me has been standing still since the day I let him go.”

“Can’t imagine how you’ve got away with that.”

“In what respect?”

“Torchwood, by its very nature, demands forward momentum,” Ianto explained, interspersed by yawns.

Jack finally turned his full attention to Ianto, removing his shoes and rearranging him more comfortably.  He seemed so at home here, it begged the question.

“Are you seriously moving out?”

Ianto peered at Jack with one slitted eye.

“Yes.  I am, yes.”  He snuggled into the pillow.  “Well…there’s no rush.”

As Ianto dozed, Jack settled himself in the Jones chair and watched the remains of John Hart trickle through the hourglass; he still felt a little queasy over those strangely coloured granules, but was perversely full of lust for Ianto for carrying out the gruesome act.  Uncle Jack might turn out to be doting pushover, but Uncle Ianto would be a protective force to reckon with.  It made Jack feel a little more reassured about his decision.

There was nothing but silence for a long time, a restful silence full of past and future Gray, bittersweet reflections and semi-realistic hopes and dreams, promises of second chances and the best of everything that Jack could provide.  Despite having to frequently remind himself that there were no guarantees, within three hours he had fantasy Gray grown up with a gorgeous, devoted family and a glowing career in an extraordinarily satisfying but entirely safe environment.  Uncle Jack’s only worries were what to buy the man who had everything for his birthday.

“You didn’t wake me,” came Ianto’s sleep-gruff and decidedly grumpy voice from the bed.  “I didn’t want to sleep this long, now I’ll have a thick head for hours.”

Jack looked over with a smile.

“Sorry.  Too busy cataloguing my nifty tricks.  Now…”

“There isn’t a now,” Ianto yawned as he creakily sat up.  “Not that kind of now, at any rate.  There’ll be a then at some point, perhaps, if you’re lucky, but not a now.”

“What is there to do that can’t wait?  Other than me.”

Ianto fixed an old-fashioned look on Jack.

“Did I mention that Tom texted about lights over Merseyside?  No, I didn’t mention it, did I.  Lights over Merseyside, Jack, you know what that means.”  Ianto yawned again.  “Bloody hell, it’s going to take me three days to wake up.”

“Well, I could…”

“Weevils.  I’d better feed the weevils.”

Jack mustered himself, determined to put a stop to Ianto’s imminent exit, but before he had a chance to slip into weevils-be-damned seduction mode his phone rang and a contact was piquing his curiosity with veiled allusions to a top secret UNIT project he was bound to be interested in.

Noise downstairs indicated the return of Gwen, whose personal Rift alarm had temperamentally chosen to announce a global invasion after experiencing a nasty encounter with an exploding milk carton, and Rhys, who had intercepted Ianto and was enthusiastically explaining that he’d noticed an advertisement for a batch of ‘dinosaur eggs’ in a local newspaper’s For Sale column which had triggered his newly discovered flair for spotting the kind of oddities that literally screamed for Torchwood’s attention.

Jack ended his call and watched from the walkway outside his quarters as the Hub sprung back into life, with cross-talk of the disruptive properties of semi-skimmed on technology, whether a pteranodon was capable of self-fertilisation, and those bloody Cablaskan tourists coming to watch Liverpool play at home yet again.

Ianto was right: Torchwood, by its very nature, demanded forward momentum.  Noticing Ianto quickly close Catherine’s e-mail before Gwen or Rhys discovered it was a reminder, in a small but immense way, of where certain individuals were headed.

History could not be tampered with, Jack knew he had to accept that, and to allow himself a few metaphorical steps toward laying the past to rest.  Gray – the Gray – had been lost.  Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato had been lost.

But Ianto was here, whole and healthy, presently using the intergalactic equivalent of Morse code to shoo away a bunch of football-obsessed aliens; Gwen and Rhys were here, resilient in unity, poring over Google Image’s best selection of dinosaur eggs.  A glance back into his quarters revealed the photograph of Gray, and reminded him that a ‘nephew’ was soon to be here if Catherine Cullen had her way.  Butterflies gathered in Jack’s stomach at the thought, and a tentative fluttering of joy in his chest suggested that hope, so recently believed destroyed, could be rekindled.

Jack turned to see Ianto gazing up at him with a knowing smile, and that inviting expression was as good as a homing beacon.  With a sense of purpose he hadn’t experienced for quite some time, Jack headed for the stairs and his team, feeling strong and invigorated, and ready to face the future as Torchwood moved inexorably on.