Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The destruction of the pub was more complete than Jack was expecting it to be. One minute, it was a perfectly intact if crumbling building, the next, it had been swept away by explosions and the sheer force of the Rift.

Earlier in the night, Jack had been told by someone that the land was going to be used as flats. It would be easier for the construction companies now that a piece of history had been swept away, to be replaced with the future.

That piece of history was more than tied to that of Wales however. And it was what it meant that made Jack uninterested in seeing the future.

The worst part was knowing he had to.

He turned to face away from the scorched marks that remained, ignoring the woman looking for the ghosts. As he had said to her, they were gone.

Or so he thought.

Jack caught the taste of electricity on his tongue, akin to those days gone by when Torchwood dealt with whatever alien lifeform would dump themselves on Wales’ doorstep that week. With a groan, he turned around.  It was most likely Syriath, he knew, and he really wasn’t in the mood for killing eldritch death gods from beyond time again, but he knew he had to, otherwise his sacrifice would be in vain.

Although the idea of trapping himself in the void between worlds was still appealing.

What Jack was actually met with could be best described as a pulsing ball of light, flickering in and out of existence. Beside him, he could see the woman turn to look at it in awe. “I knew I would find the ghosts!” she shouted, edging closer to the orb.

“Don’t go near that!” Jack held out his hand, blocking her from going any further.

Didn’t stop her from squirming against his arm though. “You don’t understand. If it’s my father…”

“I know more than one thing about ghosts and they usually don’t look like that.” Jack’s tone was more bitter than usual. Understandable, he thought, considering the horrific day he had.

“But there’s a man coming though! That’s gotta be him – I know it just is!”

Jack blinked, then tilted his head upwards.

His eyes widened.

The orb of light had grown, allowing a man-shaped figure to collapse through. If it was this woman’s father, than he had a very dapper dress sense, albeit torn up and covered in plaster dust.

And blue eyes and a button nose and a cut on the side of his cheek and…

“Ianto?” Jack ran up to the body who looked painfully like the lover he had never expected to see again and stroked his right cheek, flinching as his warm hand came into contact with cold skin. For a moment, Jack was back in that dreadful sports hall, gazing upon the pale dead face of his lover. But no, this wasn’t the same as then, Jack realised as he felt warm breath ghost his hand.

Behind him, the young woman rubbed the back of her neck. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He will.” The tone in Jack’s voice came out stronger than he liked to, which seemed to have made the girl flinch slightly.

Underneath him, he could feel movement, a soft groan escaping from Ianto’s lips as his eyes slowly flickered open. “J-ack?” he managed to croak.

It didn’t sound right, the way it came out, but that voice was still recognisably Ianto in it’s deep Welshness. Jack leaned down to kiss on the forehead, hoping to get more of those words out. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Jones.”

Ianto’s deep blue eyes darted from side to side, his head turning slightly with them. “Where are we?” he asked.

“What do you remember?”

“There was this pub, and…” Ianto trailed off, eyes widening as he sat himself up to face Jack. “I died, didn’t I?”

Context could be applied to that phase in two different ways, Jack lamented, although he suspected it wasn’t the former.  “No, you didn’t. If anything, you’re very alive.”

Ianto rolled his eyes, looking down at the tattered state of his suit. “At least I didn’t die like this. It would have been very undignified.”

Jack laughed at this, his first proper laugh in who knew how long. “Never change, Ianto. Never change.”

Ianto stood up, plaster dust falling from his trousers. “First thing in the morning, buying a…” he yawned, “… new suit. Before that, sleep. Since I’m legally dead, I suspect I no longer have an apartment, do I?” He raised an eyebrow at Jack.

“It got sold off,” was all that Jack could say.

“Were my possessions at least kept?”

“I think so? I’m sorry, I told you I had to leave.”

“You should have checked then.” There was something in the way that Ianto looked away from Jack, a small frown on his face, that made Jack think that Ianto was angry at him. If he was, Jack understood why. Jack had seemingly declared his love for him, yet he couldn’t be bothered to keep souvenirs of their time together.

Still, he could start making up to Ianto now. “Don’t worry. Gwen probably knows where they ended up in.”

“Where is Gwen by the way?” Ianto had asked the question so innocently. He didn’t know that Jack had left her behind in her grief whilst running away for a release that never came.

“She’s in hiding with Rhys at the moment. Almost seven months pregnant – should be expecting soon.” Jack didn’t know just how much Ianto remembered, but he doubted that it extended as far back as that last hopeful moment they had as a team, knowing that in spite of it all, a life was forming. The new generation, which was pretty ironic knowing that it was their chanting that partially led to Torchwood’s last end. If Jack vaguely recalled right, two members of that generation were a nephew and niece of Ianto.

“And you left her alone.” Another innocent statement, another dagger to the heart.

Jack turned away, Ianto’s agitated shout of “Jack!” in his ear. “I’ll call her tomorrow. For now, we should get some sleep.”

Ianto grunted. “Is the Hub at least available?”

“No. It… blew up six months ago.” At the glare sent in Jack’s direction, he added, “Government agents wanted to destroy me and Torchwood.”

Ianto’s gaze softened as he reached out to grab Jack’s hand. “Where have you been staying then?”

“I was travelling a lot. Slept out most of the time.” Jack didn’t add that when he did try to sleep, it was in the most remote, dangerous locations he could find. As gruesome as it was recovering from a bear attack, the black void of nothingness was much better than Ianto’s look of anguish as his life ebbed away in front of Jack and the blood coming out of Stephen as he dropped dead. “You know, me and you, in a tent…”

“Excuse me.” The young woman hadn’t moved at all – entranced by the fighting couple, Jack assumed. “I was wondering if you could perhaps stay with me for the night?”

Jack whirled around in surprise. From the corner of his eye, he knew that Ianto had done the same. “Really? Why are you doing this?” he asked, looking for any evidence of guns hidden in the girl’s pockets or secret alien technology poking out of that pink handbag she had around her shoulders.

“It’s just that Dad always told me to not be a stranger, and to help others in need,” the women explained. “Since you guys don’t have a home right now…”

Jack turned to Ianto, who shrugged. “Well, we might as well take up your offer of hospitality, Miss…”

“Oh!” The woman startled. “Silly me! The name’s Sally.” She motioned for Jack and Ianto to follow. “Now, you’re going to have to be quiet coming in. I’m technically not allowed to have two guests at once under the term of my apartment lease, but hey, it’s not like there’s any surveillance cameras or anything like that.”

Jack and Ianto followed her out of the car park in total silence, interrupted only once they were out in some nondescript road in the middle of Wales.

“Jack?”

“Hmmm?” Jack turned back.

Ianto’s face was scrunched up. “When we get to wherever we’re going, you need to tell me everything. About my death and before.”

This time, Jack knew that Ianto was talking about his first death, He didn’t want to have the conversation, but Ianto had been right – he needed to be less secretive. After all, Ianto told him everything. “I will, Ianto, I will.”

Chapter Text

The walk to Sally’s house was both longer and shorter than Jack anticipated. To his relief, wherever she lived, it wasn’t anywhere near the Plass. When Jack had been last there, around the time when Suzie had been briefly resurrected again, the place which had once been the Hub was swarming with agents and researchers from some shady sector of the Government called “The Department”, extracting everything that Torchwood held dear. That was about four months back. Now he wondered if he would find any trace of the Hub if he ever went back. He doubted it of course. All that was left of Torchwood was him, Gwen and Ianto, and Jack had set Gwen free from the organisation to start a family in the letter he had sent anonymously before he left.

Speaking of Ianto, he was trailing behind Jack, hand tightly against Jack’s own, silently taking in his surroundings. It had only been six months since he had died, but already, he was looking at Cardiff as if he were a stranger, almost as if he were looking through Jack’s eyes. Jack wanted to move in closer, wrap Ianto around the waist, but whenever he did, Ianto almost seemed to shy away from the physical contact. Understandable, Jack thought, Ianto had never been the sort of man to get that close in public. In private however…

Eventually – it couldn’t have been longer than half an hour - Sally stopped in front of a typical-looking house. Jack vaguely recalled the street – Rawden Place, he thought the name was. He had been there once, around the 1990s, fighting some sort of mantis-like alien that was threatening the locals.

Sally motioned at them to be quiet, then slowly creaked open the door.

Sally’s room turned to be on the first floor of the house, up past a barren-looking room which, with its grimy floor and crumbling walls, had definitely seen better days. Sally led them to a small, neat-looking corridor with several doors hanging open. Jack guessed that one room was that of the bedroom from the giant bed in the middle, duvet messed up as if the occupant was in a rush.

Ianto’s eyes widened. “The rest of the apartment won’t be like that is it?”

“Oh!” Sally’s eyes widened. “I was in a bit of a rush. University life, you see. Don’t worry. The rest of the place is clean.”

Sally led them to the door at the front, leading to what looked like a cross between a living room and a kitchen. A small sofa faced a blocky TV connected to a VHS player, its back against a kitchenette that was barren except for a kettle, a toaster, a microwave, and a coffee maker.

Jack suddenly felt the urge to have a cup of coffee.

In the corner, Jack glimpsed a small selection of CDs, although he couldn’t tell what they were of. Overall, the lived-in, homely feel of the apartment reminded him of Gwen and Rhyy’ apartment, a place which he had practically chased them away from.

“Right, I realize now that you both might not be able to fit on the couch.” Sally was saying, brushing a few crumbs of indeterminate origin off the sofa.

“Ah, I’ve fit in much smaller places.” Jack neglected to add that it would let him snuggle closer to Ianto. Already, he was finding it hard to resist clenching his hands in Ianto’s own, hands refraining from stroking his shoulder and neck.

“Right. Well…” Sally’s eyes darted around, as if looking to explain something else.

Ianto eyed the coffee maker. “Your coffee machine is not up to scratch.”

“It’s alright to me!” Sally said. “And besides, I can’t afford anything better.”

“Get a new coffee machine as soon as possible. Your taste buds will thank you for it.” Ianto sighed. “If only I had the PowerBean 12 with me.”

Jack mentally sniggered at that. Ianto really did take that thing everywhere. Then his heart stung with the knowledge that it either blew up with the Hub or was otherwise thrown away. For Ianto’s sake, he hoped that either Gwen or Rhiannon had it.

“Anyway, clothes!” Sally’s face brightened up with an awkward smile. “I’ve got a few spare in my closet if you want them.”

“I can sleep naked. As long as you get something for Ianto.” Jack could feel the cold emanating from Ianto. He hoped he would warm up soon.

Ianto’s head snapped towards him. “Jack, you don’t want to traumatise the young girl!”

“I’ll be fine. I can just hide my eyes when I come in for breakfast in the morning.” Sally stuttered, before heading off in the direction of her bedroom.

Ianto pulled two plain purple mugs from the cupboard and headed towards the coffee machine, his face strained as if it was producing the most horrific liquid imaginable. Which for Ianto, it probably was.

Still, in Jack's opinion, it was better than coffee that wasn’t produced by Ianto.

Jack wanted to grasp him, wrap Ianto around his waist and never let him go, but there now he noticed the current of tension in the air, one which admissions of love had been incapable of dispelling.

A few moments later, Sally returned with several bundles of clothing. “Thankfully, I still have some clothes from my ex-boyfriend. They should fit you. I hope.” She glanced over at her room. “I should just head off to my room. Let… you guys… change.” She went awkwardly back through the door.

Jack went for the slightly bigger bundle, ending up with a pair of black pyjama trousers and a blue shirt. Not his preferable choice of clothing, but it would have to do, although it was worth seeing Ianto eyeing him, face flushing with a slight red.

Ianto looked perfect. Of course, Ianto would have looked perfect in anything, but he looked very beautiful in his striped trousers and logo-ed t-shirt.

“Edge of Insanity.” Jack read aloud, taking in the sharp angles of the font against some form of symbol. “Ex must have been into some death metal.”

Ianto’s face remained passive, making a huff of agreement as he sat down. Whilst most of their clothes were scattered on the floor, Jack’s coat was hanging on the doorframe. Jack took it from there and wrapped it around Ianto, hoping to warm him up.

Ianto’s face briefly broke out into a smile, but it just as quickly settled back into a frown. “Jack,” he said in a tone that brokered no argument. “I absolutely appreciate this coat, but we do still need to talk now.”

Jack sighed and settled down on the sofa, wrapping himself around Ianto’s body. His skin still felt chilly, but Jack had felt the cold of the apartment as he was getting changed, saw the single turned-off radiator at the back of the kitchen. It was nothing to worry about.

“I suppose,” he said, taking in a deep breath. “What was the last thing you remember?”

“The last thing… was us. In my bathroom. Then we were called off for that symbiote thing. Next thing I knew, I was at some pub waiting for a God of Death to show up. I thought the symbiote emitted some sort of gas that was driving me insane,” Ianto explained, taking particular attention to the slightly dusty floor.

Jack chuckled at the thought. It had been a nice morning, all things considered. The Rift had been quiet, so the hope was a week where Torchwood Three could get some downtime. How very wrong they were.

Still, at least Ianto’s amnesia didn’t seem to be too bad. Jack had been worried that his only memories would have been those that would help serve Syriath, which would be almost none at all. “Not quite, Ianto. The symbiote was harmless. It was the children. All of them had stopped, chanting a message from a horrific alien race known as the 456.”

Jack expected Ianto to make an inquiry about his niece and nephew, about whether they had been effected or not. Instead, he asked, “Then what happened?”

“The Government came after us. Blew up our Hub and forced us to run for our lives.”

“And you always said Torchwood was “Beyond the Government, Above the Police”,” said Ianto. “I knew marking the SUV with the name would bite us one day.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, maybe you make a good point. We should have made ourselves more hidden, less likely to be chased. Still, we managed to fight back, get them to allow us to tackle the issue ourselves. You and I, we went into Thames House together, and tried to threaten them into leaving Earth.” The next words were harder to spit out. “Standing up for the human race, which was something I should have done against them a long time ago.”

Ianto looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Jack took another deep breath. He remembered the last time Ianto had reacted when he said this, but he did have to tell everything. “Almost 45 years ago, I gave up 12 children to the 456. It was a gift in exchange for a cure that would wipe out a plague.” He practically vomited out the words, afraid of meeting Ianto’s gaze.

“You should have stood up to them before,” Ianto said. “Then maybe none of this would have happened.”

Jack looked up to meet Ianto’s gaze, pained with fury. Some things don’t change then, even if the anger in those stormy blue eyes was somewhat new.  “You said that the last time, too. But I took you with me, wanted you to see that I was someone worth looking up to.”

“And that’s how I died.”

Jack held back a sob. “The 456 were masters in making viruses. They locked up Thames House and released one into the system. Everyone was dead within minutes. You died in my arms.”

Ianto was silent for a moment, which came as a relief to Jack. He wasn’t sure if he could say anything more without breaking into tears. “And you never considered any way to mitigate the damage?”

“I ran and told everyone to get gas masks, hazmat suits – anything which could prevent them from breathing the air.”

“Did you get any for me?”

Jack felt his heart plummet to his chest as feelings that he had somewhat successfully bottled began scratching for the surface. “I was in a panic. I—”

“Beforehand?” Ianto raised an eyebrow.

“I…” It was the very questions that had cycled through Jack’s mind the entire time he had travelled. There were ways of saving Ianto from harm, but he had been too short-sighted to consider it. Too focused on saving the world. Besides, the Doctor was talented in this sort of thing. Jack had thought it would be the same for him.

Right there and then, the tears which Jack had been holding back for several months burst free. “Ianto,” he sobbed, arms clawing for Ianto’s waist, hungry for the forgiveness of a man who had been dead for six months. “I’m so sorry. I should have saved you.”

Ianto must be so angry at him, Jack knew. He could feel it in the tenseness of Ianto’s hands around his shoulders, as if he was considering strangling him to death.

“You can’t change the past,” Ianto said as he pulled Jack down against the sofa.

It wasn’t forgiveness, Jack knew. But it would do.

Chapter Text

Jack woke up to cold skin.

This wasn’t exactly abnormal for him, for over the course of his lengthy life, he had gotten used to waking up either beside the corpses of his fallen comrades, or covered in blood out in the streets. In fact, considering his… current lifestyle, he fully expected it. Still, there was something about the overly happy feeling in the back of his head that made him fully rouse and pull back.

Underneath him was one Ianto Jones, lying still and pale. This must be a nightmare, Jack assumed, swearing to never again try to sleep. His own mind reminding him that his lover was dead.

Ianto Jones moaned and moved his head to the side.

Jack looked at him perplexed. Strange. His nightmares hadn’t yet progressed to taunting him with an alive Ianto. Still, it had been only a matter of time.

It was at this point that he finally remembered what had happened before he had gone to sleep. Of going to the House of the Dead to seal the Rift for good. Of losing Ianto all over again. Or so he had thought.

He should be happy. Ianto was back after all. Yet, he couldn’t ignore the niggle in the back of his head screaming at him that he shouldn’t be that cold. If there was anything his long life had taught him, it was that there was always a price for coming back.

Still, he shoved it aside for now, watching his lover on the couch, his chest rising up and down slowly. Jack didn’t know how long he had been doing it for, but eventually, those blue eyes bleared open to look at him.

“How long you been watching me for?” Ianto mumbled.

“Not long enough,” Jack replied, winking. “Morning, princess.”

Ianto grunted at this and made to sit up, rubbing at his eyes.

It was at this point that Jack’s head niggle forced itself forward. “Are you cold?”

“After the way you wrapped over me, not particularly.”

“You feel cold to me.”

“Probably the house then.” Ianto grumbled, making to pull himself away from the couch.

A loud yelp permeated the air. Jack was about to reluctantly remove himself from Ianto to tackle the clearly malevolent force when he remembered a few things, one being that he had left his guns behind in their safe lockers, and the other being that the scream sounded more embarrassed than horrified. The third thing that he remembered involved the aspect of last night which entailed them being taken home by a stranger. Not the smartest decision in retrospect, but Jack’s mind had been occupied at the time. At least the stranger was not a threat, Jack assumed, although he idly wondered whether the temperature of the house was caused by something alien.

Sally walked into the kitchen/living room, hands shooting up to cover her eyes. “I knew there was something I forgot.”

Beside him, Ianto gave Jack a withering glare. Jack just laughed. “Like what you see?”

“Maybe?” Sally’s face blushed a deep red. “But I really don’t want to be thinking about it over breakfast.”

“What do you have in there anyway?” Jack asked, mind registering the light rumble in his stomach. Again, something which he had learned to ignore, but he knew what Ianto would be like if he didn’t eat.

“Mainly Cheerios. I have a bit of milk – now, it might be out of date, but still, it should do the trick.”

“I’m not particularly hungry, Jack,” said Ianto, frowning.

“And the last time you ate?”

Ianto’s frown deepened. “I don’t remember.”

(With that, the niggle became even louder.)

“Then eat, or I’ll force you to.”

“As long as you eat too.” At once, Jack was reminded of Ianto’s habit of putting sandwiches in his coat for if he got hungry, a pang of pain coming with the memory.

The cereal was fine. Jack personally preferred porridge, but this wasn’t bad. Nor did the milk taste off. Ianto ate with a napkin which seemed to have magically appeared over his pyjamas, positioning the plain bowl carefully on his lap and slowly manoeuvring his spoon into his mouth. Yet another of Ianto’s quirks which Jack had missed.

It was after Jack had eaten that Ianto had said, “We should call Gwen, let her know we’re safe.”

“Gwen’s probably sleeping right now,” Jack said with his cereal in his mouth, earning him a much missed eye-roll from Ianto.

“Doesn’t seem to have stopped you from doing so during a Rift Alert,” Ianto grumbled. “Gwen wasn’t too happy the last time you did that.”

Ianto had a point, Jack knew. He had intended to call her anyway, during that brief moment when it seemed as if he would have to continue living without Ianto. He had known from the tabs he kept that she had retrieved his Vortex Manipulator, and he had intended to use it to run even further from his guilt.

Now though…

He still wanted to go, but he wasn’t sure if Ianto wanted to leave Earth. After they talked to Gwen, he would ask.

The first thing that needed to be done though was making a move on from this house.

“Er, we’ll be taking our leave if you don’t mind.” Jack called out to Sally, who was making an effort to not look at them whilst washing the dishes.

“Jack, I don’t have any clothes on me.” Ianto managed to squawk out indignantly.

“It’s okay. You can have all my ex’s clothes. I was going to throw them out anyway,” Sally replied with a shrug.

***

It was a short distance away from the house, far enough that Sally’s house wouldn’t be destroyed if things went downhill, that Jack finally called Gwen, pulling the phone from his pocket. He winced at the amount of text messages and missed calls on his screen, pushing them away and pulling up his contact list. He hesitated as his hand hovered over the button that he knew would connect him with Gwen, but pressed it anyway, bracing himself for the pain which he was about to undergo.

Jack expected the call to ring out. He did not expect it to connect.

“Hello?” The voice was tense, weary.

“Hello, Gwen,” Jack replied back, hands shaking around the phone.

There was a pause on the back, quiet except the muffled sounds that sounded like swearing. “Jack? Wh-- Where have you bloody been?!”

“It’s a long story. Look, I’m sending you some co-ordinates. Do you still have the Torchwood medical scanners?”

“Of course I—Jack, why exactly do you need this?”

“Again, long story,” Jack sighed. “Look, I’ll explain everything. Just come down here.”

“You better, Jack Harkness.”

Jack sighed again and ended the call. It was clear that Gwen was mad at him. He perfectly understood why. After all, he had left her with only her husband and her unborn baby to help cope with the grief.

The last time he had checked up on her, she was in a safe house on the outskirts of Cardiff, so it would be a few minutes before she arrived.

Which meant plenty of time to be gawking at Ianto.

He looked so young – way too young to die - in the black t-shirt and jeans which he had been given, It almost looked identical to the clothes he had worn when they had first met, when Ianto had tried to charm his way into Torchwood. He had to admit that Ianto had picked the perfect clothes to charm him.

Still, it was… weird seeing Ianto out of his suits. That was a luxury suited only for sleepy, Rift-free nights.

As if he was reading his mind, Ianto grumbled, “I need to buy some suits. The rest of my clothes are… gone, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jack replied.

“That’ll be half of Torchwood’s funds depleted then,” Ianto groaned, sending a look in Jack’s direction which screamed guilty.

“Hey, it will be a valuable use of expenses!” And only, Jack supposed depending on what would end up happening to Torchwood in the near future. He had been considering burying the institute for good – too much death on his watch and it wasn’t like there was a Rift to watch anymore anyway.

It was not long afterwards that a small, unassuming car drove up. Jack did not recognise the car, but he did recognise its rider as she waddled up to them. Immediately, his heart clenched seeing the swollen belly that Gwen now had, unwelcome memories of Stephen trailing behind. Beside him, Jack could see Ianto gawking at the sight.

Jack expected to be slapped for what he had did to Gwen. He did not expect to get a hug.

“You silly man,” she said. “You run off on us without a word. Do you know how worried we were for you?”

“That doesn’t matter. Not anymore,” replied Jack.

“I was half-expecting to see you on a rainy hill,” she continued. “The Great Jack Harkness, brooding.”

“It’s for the good of the husband,” Jack replied, which managed to get an “Oi!” out of Rhys, eyeing them carefully from his position in the car.

“Anyway, Captain Jack Harkness, you’re going to—” It was only then that she finally registered the fact that one of their fallen comrades was just casually standing behind Jack, quietly listening in on them. “Who. Is that?”

Jack briefly watched the look on Ianto’s face flicker to a worried expression. “Ianto, of course.”

“Jack. You know that Ianto’s dead, right?” Gwen pulled into her handbag. “Which means that there’s a shapeshifter taking the bloody form of our dead friend in Cardiff.”

“Gwen! It’s him!” Jack moved slightly so that he was in front of Ianto. He trusted Gwen to not shoot one of her friends, but in a situation like this…

“Jack, it’s understandable.” Ianto pointed out, leaning slightly to look at Gwen. “The dead do tend to stay dead.”

“Please!” Jack’s tone was pleading towards Gwen. “Give him a chance.”

Gwen looked at the two of them for a long minute. Then, she took a deep breath. “What is your Torchwood Access Code?” she asked Ianto.

“220022…” Ianto trailed off, his face twisting into horror. As if he didn’t know the answer.

“Wrong answer.” The gun went off.

Chapter Text

Jack supposed he should have known, at the very beginning. The dead just didn’t come back. The best-case scenario was those whose echoes had returned, like what had happened to Owen and Suzie. The more likely scenario were monsters who made it look like the dead had gone back to life. Those were the resurrections that hurt the most.

The blood that leaked from Not-Ianto should have been red. Red might symbolise death and danger, but it also symbolised vivid life and love. The creature’s blood was the colour of total death, cold blue broken by streaks of white, bobbing and merging as they poured out into the streets. It wasn’t a fatal shot. Jack could tell from the fact that Not-Ianto was still breathing, the wound not square in the chest or the head but rather in the waist, although knowing aliens, such a place could house a vital organ.

That, and the alien was groaning, struggling to get back onto its feet. Not that it got very far.

“What are you doing here?” Jack growled, and Gwen shoved the pistol closer to Not-Ianto’s face. “Can’t you see that we’ve suffered enough?”

The alien looked up at him, grimacing as it wiped the blood of a cold dead relationship from its mouth. “It’s Ianto. Jack, please…”

Gwen’s pistol shot again, and the Not-Ianto collapsed, more blood coming out of its head. For the horrific fate that Ianto had, at least Jack had taken comfort in the fact that he had not been defiled in death, simply looking like he had gone into an eternal sleep. Now, such an image had been ruined by the horrific doppelganger lying in front of him, its chest no longer rising and falling as blood and gore splattered all over its face..

Gwen knew too evidently, as she blinked once, twice, then lowered her gun, her doe eyes wobbling and threatening to break.

Jack was about to comfort her – because he knew perfectly clear what it was like to kill alien doppelgangers, both of them really – when there was a gasp behind them. A big one, just like the ones that Jack always did when he came back to life.

Behind them, Not-Ianto sat up behind them, the brief glare on its face soon twisting with panic. “I think I’m going to need a sufficient explanation for that.” it said, and Jack noticed the way it was panting, as if it had run a marathon whilst torn through broken glass.

The more worrying thing however, he noted, was the way that Not-Ianto’s head wound shrunk and vanished.

***

Gwen and Rhys’ new car was not like the SUV at all. It was smaller for a start, designed for a family of three and not a group of five or more. It was also harder to hold still any captured aliens. If Torchwood was still around, Jack might have bought something better than this.

Of course, Torchwood didn’t exist anymore.

“So I suppose you’re going to have me locked up in UNIT then?” Not-Ianto asked, almost as if it were reading Jack’s mind, figuring out the best way to break his heart further. Jack supposed it could have, which was a worrying prospect considering his psychic block defences.

Jack turned around to glare at Not-Ianto. He didn’t like UNIT – never did – and Ianto had known it, but… “We don’t have the resources to detain an alien threat for any amount of time nowadays. I don’t like it, but I can’t have you going around potentially killing the locals. Especially with that face.”

Not-Ianto was currently bundled up in the car boot. There wasn’t much space there, being currently filled with bags of clothes, lavatory products and children’s toys. Still, they managed, and if it made the alien uncomfortable, then that was a positive in Jack’s book.

“There… we… go!” Gwen had spent the last few minutes wiping the blood from Not-Ianto's face, a fruitless attempt at reducing the nightmares which Jack knew they would have from seeing Ianto's face drowning in blood. Now she was tying the last of the rope which Jack had seen retrieve from her purse around Not-Ianto’s waist.

Not-Ianto rolled its eyes at her, a motion which caught in Jack’s heart. “I don’t think you tied my hands up enough. I can still feel them move.”

“Hey, it’s something I’m learning to do,” Gwen replied. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure Rhys is the better rope tier of us.”

“To be fair, that has never extended to tying up a person,” Rhys interjected.

“Why are you telling us this anyway? Usually, we don’t get anyone making our jobs easier,” asked Gwen.

“It’s because I’m very good with ropes,” Not-Ianto answered bitterly. “And anyway, maybe I want to make it more challenging for myself, struggle to make it to my flat before sunset.”

This response made Gwen’s face soften. “Oh, Ianto…” But then, her face hardened. “If you’re doing this part of him, maybe I should duct tape your mouth.”

Not-Ianto simply rolled his eyes again.

“Will this take too long?” Rhys asked, eyeing the Not-Ianto with curiosity. “It’s just with Gwen being pregnant…”

“It will be out of your hair in the next few hours, and then you will be good to resume your lives.” Jack replied.

“What lives?” Gwen sounded somewhat exasperated, saying the exact question Jack didn’t want to hear.

“Safe ones away from Torchwood.”  Safe lives away from me, from the man who would kill his own grandson, ruin everyone’s happiness was the unspoken thought that Jack knew ran through everyone’s heads.

“You mean lives being chased by the Government, wondering where you had run off, leaving us alone with the grief of losing Ianto? Because from where I’m sitting, it’s not much of a life to me!” Gwen pointed at Not-Ianto with a fierceness which coupled with her words made Jack wonder how long she had been bottling this in. “I had to talk to his sister over very lousy coffee, learn the secrets that he, my best friend, had been keeping from me.”

“Secrets?” Jack frowned at Not-Ianto, the phrase I tell you everything repeating in his head like everything did on that last day.

“I’m not telling you unless you tell me where you went these past few months.”

Jack gave a bitter laugh. “Sneaky, I’ll give you that. But I don’t think it’s a good idea telling in front of the alien shapeshifter…”

From her purse, Gwen pulled out a pair of headphones, dingy and scratched. She clamped them over Ianto’s head, ignoring his noises of protests. “See? One of those mother things I’m trying out.”

“I imagine it stops you from having to listen to Rhys snore all the time,” Jack replied, a joke against the oblivion of their situation.

“I don’t snore, alright?” Rhys protested.

“I know you don’t,” Gwen soothed him. “Anyway. Speak. Now.”

Jack laughed nervously, for how could he put his horrific experiences in a few words. “Well… I travelled a lot.”

“Where?”

“All sorts of places,”   Gwen kept staring at him, motioning to continue. He sighed. “Tokyo, London, Russia…”

“And it?” Gwen motioned again to Not-Ianto, glaring at them from the back of the car – if there was anything else the alien doppelganger had gotten correctly, it was Ianto’s cold icy-blue stare.

“I found it at this pub. The House of the Dead, they called it. Built on ancient leylines. There was an Old One from the beginning of time – Syriath, they called her. She recreated the dead, tempted people into following her.”

“So like spooky ghosts, yeah?” Rhys asked.

“More like visions – they were tangible, but nothing more than echoes.” Some more than others, but still echoes, Jack thought ruefully.

“So like the one in the middle of the road then?”

Jack turned to look in the direction of where Rhys was pointing at.

There was a man on the road, one wearing a fetching suit and glasses. He was not a particularly peculiar sight, albeit one that looked enough like Ianto that Jack would have briefly assumed it was him if it wasn’t for the fact that he was slightly transparent, a bluish tinge to his features. Jack pushed down on the brakes hard, stopping the car to a halt in front of the phantom.

Jack opened the window to look at the strange ghost. “Hey! Are you—”

He didn’t get any further. The ghost scowled at them, as if mocking them for living whilst he was forever dying, before fading away in front of their very eyes.

“… Okay, I think we might have a mystery on our hands,” Jack could only reply. Once, it would have been a Torchwood mystery. Now, it was a mystery for… whatever he, Gwen and Rhys were now. Definitely not one for the Not-Ianto in the back, although Jack already suspected a connection between the two.

In the distance, they could hear panting sounds, getting closer and closer to them. Soon, the source managed to run up to them. Jack recognised her as Sally and belatedly realised that, in the passionate debate that he and Gwen had been having, the car had barely moved.

“Is he gone?” Sally asked.

“Who?”

“Him! The man right in front of you!” Sally’s eyes widened at the sight of Not-Ianto wedged uncomfortably in the back, holes still visible in their t-shirt and hair crusty with blood. “You alright?”

“Fine. Was just participating in one of my favourite hobbies, that’s all,” Not-Ianto replied dryly.

“But you should go get that checked—”

“I’m his partner,” Jack replied, and from beside him, he knew that Not-Ianto was giving him an odd look. It was almost like the weird labelling dance they had in the lead-up to Ianto’s death, except here, it was nothing more than a façade, like the doppelganger itself. “He’s fine. Just a bit scruffed up. Now, what was it you were saying about that man?”

Sally stared at Ianto with concern for a few seconds more before going, “Oh! Oh yeah! You know that man you saw? He’s my Dad.”

Chapter Text

If Sally’s apartment hadn’t seemed cramped before, it was now that there were two additional full-grown adults using the facilities. Gwen was awkwardly perching on the sofa, whilst Rhys was crammed into a nearby wooden chair. Not-Ianto was still tied up and on the floor, giving the mother of all death glares at anyone within his eyesight. Personally, Jack would have preferred that the alien doppelganger was not in this apartment or indeed anywhere near him and the others. Yet, there was the risk that if Not-Ianto was freed, then he would terrorise some other poor family, and whilst Jack would have preferred leaving Earth to its fate, he found that he couldn’t let go.

At least not yet.

“Can you tell us about your father, Sally?” He asked, trying very hard not to look at the Not-Ianto.

“My Dad… well, what can I say?” There was something wistful and sad about the way that Sally looked. “He was a good one. I remember when I was young, he and I would go out and play football together, and he always took me out for ice cream afterwards, even though Mum always hated that. Too many calories apparently.”

“I mean, they do give out headaches,” Not-Ianto provided.

Gwen just glared at him.

“And how did he die?” Jack continued.

“We just found him out in the street dead one day. He had these massive claw marks around his back, and it looked like his throat had been torn open. The police reckoned it was a wild dog, but I sometimes worry whether it was something worse.” Sally looked on the verge of tears now.

Jack wondered whether Sally’s Dad was a victim of a Weevil or not. So many people had died to Torchwood, if not the organisation itself, then the aliens it fought.

“Have you got any idea how this has to do with the ghosts, Jack?” asked Gwen, head nudging towards Not-Ianto.

“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. “Ianto was far more real than any of the other ghosts at the House of the Dead. The others were just shades designed to trick innocent people into letting Syriath free. Ianto though…”

“I am sitting right here, you know,” Not-Ianto pointed out. “And I feel real. Maybe.” In a complete contradiction to his claim, he pinched his hand.

“So tell us, Jack – what exactly did happen at the House of the Dead?” Gwen’s tone was forceful.

Jack felt himself “Syriath was there to use the dead as a weapon to tear the world apart. Feeding off the needs of the people to see their loved ones one last time.”

“So she used Ianto?” Gwen asked.

“The one person I wanted to see when I came to the House of the Dead,” Jack replied bluntly. In his peripheral vision, Jack saw Not-Ianto’s head turn away. He wasn’t quite sure whether it was from shame or not. “Syriath had to be defeated, so I came with a box of old pebbles. In these stones, horizons sing,” He continued.

“That sounds a bit like crap to me,” Gwen admitted.

“That’s what I thought too,” added Not-Ianto.

In normal times, there would have been a shared look, one of understanding between two friends, Jack knew. But these were not normal times, and one friend merely looked like a friend, so Gwen simply glared at him before returning her attention to Jack. “So if Syriath has been defeated, why hasn’t he vanished yet?”

This was not a topic that Jack wanted to continue with because he would have to talk about his risky death move and—

“I was at the very epicentre,” Not-Ianto butted in. “And all the other ghosts had gone. Maybe I had to… move on the normal ghost way.” He awkwardly wriggled his fingers for emphasis.

“I’ve an idea,” said Rhys. “Maybe Syriath needs Ianto to be in this world. Like a bookmark or something.”

Jack opened his mouth, then closed it. “That… might actually be a good theory.”

“See!” Rhys said in a slightly smug manner. “Told you some of us normal people might have the right idea.”

“I’ll need to test it first though. Gwen, is there enough gas in the car for a return trip to the Pub.”

“Well, I got Rhys to fill it up before coming here.”

“And do you have the Particle Scanner?”

“Yes, I managed to pick it up when I—Wait, how did you know this?”

“I kept some tabbing on you, made sure you’re okay.” Jack decided not to bring up the fact that he had been particularly interested in the vortex manipulator, which Gwen had managed to obtain from the ruins of the Hub, so prepared his backup escape plan was.

“And yet, you still kept away from us.”

“It was for the best,” Jack said, ignoring the judgemental look from Ianto. He knew Gwen enough that she would try convincing him that none of what had happened was his fault, so he changed the subject. “Shall we hit the road?”

“Can I come?” Jack turned to see that Sally had stood up, bang already hoisted a bag over her shoulder. “You see, I’ve always been interested in ghosts and—”

“No,” Jack replied, knowing full well that nothing that Sally would say would convince him otherwise. After all, he had put retcon in that cup of subpar coffee she had in her hands. “I can’t have anyone die as a result of this. Do you even have the needed training?”

“Well, I took a few karate classes when I was 15,” Sally gave timidly.

“Then no.” Jack had reached for the nearby door in preparation for walking through it. “Let the experts deal with the ghosts.”

As lies went, it was a comforting one.

***

The trip back down to the House of the Dead came and went in awkward silence. There wasn’t even any further complaints from Not-Ianto. Perhaps even he had figured out the futility of getting himself freed, Jack guessed.

Maybe if Not-Ianto had been the real deal, he would have felt sad that he had been tied up.

If Not-Ianto really was the real Ianto, he would not be tied up at all.

Instead, he had a creature – probably one of Syriath’s own – who wore the face of his lover.

He was reminded now of the lengths which Ianto had gone to save the Cyberman who wore his girlfriend’s face. Jack had understood it clearly back at Thames House, desperately begging for Ianto’s life in exchange for the lives of millions of children.

It didn’t work of course. And Jack was no longer that man.

Jack had been hoping for the ruins of the Pub to be more than a simple hole. Maybe if it was, then he would get some answers, hopefully do something with the alien doppelganger in the back, and finally leave Earth and follow in the Doctor’s footsteps in a brand-new way.

Instead, there was still just a hole.

“So what exactly are you scanning for, Jack?” Gwen asked as Jack got out of the car and opened the boot, hands rustling through the random alien junk in the back which he knew was all that the remainder of Torchwood had.

“Rift particles. Syriath would have left tons of them floating all around. If the theory is correct, there should be lots of it on him over there.” Jack replied, turning his head to look at Not-Ianto as he spoke.

Jack pushed down the goggles so that they were placed over his eyes, watching as his world darkened into shades of black and blue. As he had expected, the blue glow was most prominent around the wreckage of the Pub. It almost made for a pretty sight, but Jack was not exactly in the mood for pretty sights.

More interesting was the way the glow seemed to stretch, a tendril weaving out and latching on to the car. Jack followed the tendril right up to where it had grasped Not-Ianto in its grasp, smothering him in eerie undead blue.

As he had expected. Not-Ianto was not of this plane of existence. All that there was left to do was to kill him. Make it so that he didn’t emotionally manipulate anyone ever again.

If he could actually go through with it of course.

Jack had been about to remove his goggles to reveal what he had found when the Not-Ianto began to scream and buckle to his knees. In normal times, Jack would have run towards Ianto and held him, clutching at him using the language that he had learned to use best. He would have tried to chase away the demons which came with their lives, let Ianto cry it out.

Instead, he watched Not-Ianto with a grim determination. In the corner of his eye, he knew that Gwen had gotten the same idea, body language hesitant as if the alien doppelganger had already convinced her deep down.

Still, there was something very unpleasant about listening to Ianto screaming, more so from a creature who acted like him. Ianto had been the sort of man who repressed his pain until it was almost too late – screaming only occurred when even he couldn’t maintain that mask. Screaming made him think of cannibals and metallic monsters.

Not-Ianto stopped screaming, frozen to the ground as he greedily gasped in deep breaths. His eyes had gone unfocused as if he was remembering something, and his body had stiffened.

“What is it? What happened?!” Jack’s voice came out more stern than he liked, more bite.

Not-Ianto forced himself to meet Jack’s gaze, shakily making to stand up. “I remember dying now,” he said softly, eyes blinking away tears. “I was in your arms and – Oh, God…”

“Ianto…”

“It’s fine, Jack. I forgive you. I just don’t want to talk about it, alright?”

Jack still had his goggles on, which was good, he supposed, as he watched the tendril connecting Ianto begin to fray and wither.

But not break.

Chapter Text

There was something in the way that Ianto stood now, shakily drinking from a bottle of water, which made Jack realise that he was more in this world now, more like the man that he had loved. And yet, there was something in the vacancy of his eyes, so disturbingly reminiscent of those days after the Cyberman posing as his girlfriend had been shot down. Jack knew the feeling, of being torn from the cold darkness of death, dragged through broken glass, forced to live in the world of the living.

“I died,” Ianto eventually managed to gasp out. “I actually died.”

“And you came back,” Jack noted, arms clutching around Ianto’s sides. He had known from lengthy experience that coming back from the dead, whilst horrific, always felt slightly better with someone there to welcome him back.

Ianto grimly nodded. “I should be dead. I feel like I should be dead.”

“And you’re not.” Jack kissed Ianto on the forehead. He missed giving Ianto kisses.

“So what happened back there, Jack?” asked Gwen, peering from the front of the car with those inquisitive eyes.

“Syriath had a counter-plan, a way to remain in the world even after she was sealed away,” Jack explained. “She left behind some of her presence, upon which she could grow and develop until she breached this world.”

“So I’m not… me, then?” Ianto asked, looking rather troubled.

“Syriath reached into time and recreated you, Ianto. You’re as real as they come.” Jack gave Ianto a rare soft smile. “What Syriath doesn’t know though is how powerful memories can be. Each memory a person has strengthens them, makes them more able to overcome her influence, makes them more human.”

“So what you did back there…”

“I have a good memory.” Jack had needed it of course, when buried underground for so many years, remembering what he was fighting for. He needed it now, for remembering those who had already been lost to him. “But she didn’t bring back all of them. Only what was needed for her plan. Anything more and she would have been overwhelmed.”

“So what do we do, bring back his memories?” Gwen asked, squinting at Ianto in the backseat of the car.

“You remember how you first joined Torchwood. How you were able to regain your memories in spite of me retconning you?” Jack brought up.

“I still haven’t fully forgiven you for that,” Gwen said in a tone that sounded less agitated than Jack had feared.

“And yet you’re here,” Jack gave his cheesy grin. “I figured that our best bet is to go to the places in which Ianto had the deepest connections, jog his memory.”

“But how are we going to do that, Jack?” Gwen continued, her voice sounding like it was on the verge of tears. “It’s not like he ever told us about his personal life. I had to find out that his father actually worked at Debenhams from his sister, not him!”

“But my father is a tailor.” Ianto stared up at them with the most confused face. It would have been almost comedic if it hadn’t been so honest, so genuine.

Nonetheless, Jack taken aback by this. “Ianto never told me—”

“So I see he hid from you too. I think that’s what hurts the most, Jack. Ianto was my best friend. I know that he can be a repressive bastard…”

“Oi!” Ianto interrupted her.

“But after what had happened with Tosh and Owen, I don’t want any more secrets kept. I love you, Ianto, but you know the worst thing about it was when you died? It felt like I didn’t know you. Not really.”

Ianto stared at her for a long moment. Then he nodded his head. “I’ll explain everything. Once I get my memories back.”

Gwen smiled softly and pulled out to pull Ianto into a hug. Jack had noticed the way that Ianto got more comfortable with Gwen-hugs over time, even if his muscles still tensed slightly underneath the physical affection. That was absent here. Jack decided not to think about the implications.

“I did miss you, though.” She told Ianto, against his shirt.

“I missed you too. Well, as well as one could miss you when one has only been gone for a few days.”

“You sod!” Gwen nudged Ianto playfully.

 “I did always want to meet the family,” Jack admitted. “No time like the present.”

“Before we go on any further,” Rhys butted in, “this isn’t going to hurt my wife?”

By all accounts, there wasn’t anything overly dangerous about his plan, Jack thought. But his out-of-the-blue road trip did involve trips to areas such as the wreck of Torchwood One. Jack hadn’t deigned to follow up on what was left once the initial clean-up was done, but he knew that it could still mean dangerous alien technology. That, and his plans did tend to end with someone dying. So he said honestly, “I can’t guarantee it, Rhys. You’ve seen what Torchwood is like.”

“Well, I should be angry at you for that. I should be raging.” Rhys admitted.

“Well then, be my guest then.” Jack almost wanted Rhys to do something which would get him and Gwen away from potential danger. Towards a better life.

Instead, Rhys gestured in an almost placating way. “But these last few weeks have been a lot for us, and, well, we did both like Ianto. In a platonic way of course.”

“I knew those archiving skills would lure you in.” Jack replied, struggling to keep a snigger underneath his words.

“And I know how determined my Gwennie can be when it comes to stuff, so I’ll come with you, see if we can all bring Ianto back.”

Jack looked at Gwen, who nodded back at him, looking at him like she was going to destroy anything that came in her way if it meant getting her best friend back.

“One warning, though, Harkness. If you put my wife in danger…”

Rhys didn’t finish the sentence. Jack understood the threat for what it was.

***

Jack regretted never being able to see Ianto’s family. Of course, this regret was one he kept hidden in a box in the far corner of his mind, trapped by the lock of immortality alongside the words of “love” and the full embracing of a romance. But it was a regret that still got out from time to time, bringing with it the other regrets he had about how he handled Ianto.

Of course, he suspected that that was how Ianto wanted things to be, really. He still remembered that casual comment at the zoo, the way that Ianto held back on the idea of introducing his family to Jack. He still remembered the leg break recorded in Ianto’s records, the way Ianto always seemed to dodge the question whenever the subject of his father ever came up.

And of course, there was the fact that he had never told Ianto about his daughter and grandson, not until near the very end.

Still, he did want to see them, see the sister who Ianto never brought up. Understand how they made Ianto the man he had been.

Pity that this was how he was going to meet her.

Jack watched Ianto beside him. He knew Ianto, expected him to look more recoiled, more staring ahead. Not that it wasn’t there, but he blinked more often, kept his position a little looser than he expected.

Nor did he expect Ianto to almost jump out of his seat. “Jack! I just remembered! David, Mica, were they—”

“We saved them. The 456 are no longer a threat and the children are safe.”

In the back, Jack watched Ianto visibly relax. Towards his front, he caught Gwen mouthing “Does he know?”  He shook his head, hands gripping firmly against his coat as he stared ahead.

The estate in which Ianto grew up wasn’t too far away from the House of the Dead, a mere half an hour by Jack’s estimates. It was long enough though for Gwen to pull out something which resembled a food bar from her bag. “God, I’m famished,” she said to no one in particular. “Who knew that babies needed so much food to live?”

“At least it isn’t celery in an ice cream tub again, eh,” Rhys said, briefly glancing over at Gwen. “That last cashier was looking at me very oddly when I bought those.”

“Well, sod him. He must be getting, what, lots of pregnant women trying to satisfy their cravings on a typical day. He should know what he’s getting into.” Gwen relaxed just slightly. “At least our baby will have good taste in ice cream.”

Jack nodded quietly, his heart aching at the sheer humanness of such a conversation, a quality that he had almost robbed Gwen of. His eyes settled upon Ianto. “Are you hungry?”

Ianto shook his head and resumed staring at the car window.

The thing was, Jack wasn’t quite sure why Ianto wasn’t hungry. Of course, he might be hungry, but was too polite to admit it, but there was something… different about Ianto now that made Jack think otherwise. Was it a part of his biology, like his strange blood? Was it something else distorted in his resurrection, something which Jack had ruined?

Jack’s thoughts were interrupted by the car turning into Cromwell Estate. For an estate, it looked rather run-down. The houses looked rather shoddily constructed, as if someone who had been given responsibility for the estate took one look at the plans and gave up altogether. This, he supposed, was not a surprise, seeing that the last time Ianto had been there, the SUV had been taken by a bunch of hooligans. It was also rather at odds with the image that Ianto had cultivated.

Then again, he suspected that there was a lot about Ianto he didn’t really know.

“Do you remember the house where your sister lives at?” Jack asked as he and the others got out of the car.

Ianto simply shook his head. Somehow, that shattered Jack’s heart just a little bit more.

“If it helps, I know the way at least,” Gwen said, taking the lead up to one of the houses. She pressed the doorbell and took a few metres back.

The door opened to a young girl who couldn’t have been much older than 8. “Mum!” she shouted back from whence she came. “There’s people at the door. I think it’s the Government.”

“Mica, sweetheart, what did I tell you about—” A woman came to the front door, freezing at the sight of the quartet in front of her. Her eyes first lingered on Jack, just staring at him as if he was a thing of beauty.

Then they looked at Ianto and simply lingered.

“Hi, my name is Captain Jack Harkness, and I just want to—”

“You had him.”

There was an awkward beat in the air. “You must be Rhiannon, right?”

“How long have you had my little brother for?”

“Let us in and we can explain everything over a cup of coffee.”

The woman – Rhiannon – simply stared at him with a look which could have killed Jack, if he was still mortal. It was so hypnotic that Jack didn’t see the fist against his face.

***

Rhiannon let them in in the end – she clearly didn’t want to lose the opportunity to reconnect with her younger brother, Jack thought. All five of them were currently hovering around several cheap-looking chairs in a small kitchen drinking from a pot of coffee that thankfully had not been ruined by Ianto’s amnesia. From Jack’s view, he could see a photo of Ianto taking pride of place on the kitchen windowsill. He looked a little younger, cheeks more pudgy and hair a little bit more curly. He was also wearing clothes with what seemed to be labels for rock bands on them. Jack had seen clothing like them, far in the back of Ianto’s cupboard, but whenever he had asked about them, Ianto had shrugged them off as reminders of a misspent youth.

Rhiannon was staring at them with an expression bordering on shock and horror. “So you’re telling me that my brother was not actually dead, but was in a coma all this time?”

“Exactly. It was only in the past few weeks that he regained consciousness.”

“You told us that he was dead! We buried him!” Rhiannon jabbed a finger in Ianto’s direction.

“It was felt that his life was in danger,” Jack lied. “Necessary measures were taken to protect him.”

“And you’re telling me that Ianto over here doesn’t remember us?” She gestured over to Ianto, who gave an awkward little wave from his position beside the coffee machine.

“He sustained a fairly major hit to his head,” Jack continued to lie. “The doctor said it would be best if he was around people he knew.”

“You know, it would have been bloody nice to have been told beforehand. Do you know what we’ve been through?!”

“I know and I deeply apologise for that.” This at least was honest.

Rhiannon turned to looked at Ianto. “So? Has anything come back yet?”

Ianto frowned. “Sorry, I don’t remember you very clearly.”

At this, Rhiannon looked rather downtrodden. “I figured as such. Even before whatever had happened to him, he was barely down here. Once he went to London, it was like being with a stranger.”

“You said that his father actually worked at Debenham’s,” said Gwen. “Can you explain that?”

“Oh, that bullcrap he gave you.” Rhiannon laughed a little awkwardly. “My brother and Dad never really saw eye to eye. I think Ianto still loved him, in the end. Ran off to find him in London and that was when I stopped seeing him that much.”

“I’m sorry for whatever it was that I did to you,” Ianto said.

“When you did show up, you were wearing suits and had this job that you couldn’t tell us about - and it wasn’t just a civil service job, was it, because I’ve never heard of any civil servants giving up their lives for others – and I thought, you’re ashamed of us. So ashamed that you would lie about us to complete strangers.”

“Rhiannon, again I apologise. Once I get my memory back, I will try to be there for you.”

“Will you though? Or will whatever you’re busy with take over again?”

“So what was Ianto like as a child?” Jack asked, wanting to change the conversation.

“He was fairly quiet. As I said, he didn’t like Dad very much, so he would just hide himself away.”

Jack looked at Ianto again and he understood more now the pain which Ianto had underwent. Understood how it contributed to a mind perfect for indoctrination into the Torchwood machine.

Rhiannon had been about to continue when Ianto screamed in pain, his eyes closed tightly shut.

“Ianto!” Jack shouted, pushing himself off the chair and taking Ianto’s weight, trying not to think about how the last time this had happened involved Ianto dying.

Over his shoulder, Rhiannon hovered anxiously. “This is part of the head injury, isn’t it?”

Jack’s head whipped his head around at Rhiannon. “I’ve been meaning to also tell you this, but he also has a form of epilepsy. He’ll be fine in a few seconds,” he lied once more, struggling to keep his voice calm under the panic he felt for Ianto.

“I knew you lot were still keeping secrets from me. Am I going to find out now that he has hearing problems?” Jack recognised the tone of her voice, the same kind that a worried mother got regarding the health of her children.

“That is the extent of his medical issues,” Jack put bluntly, feeling Ianto calm down in his embrace. He was relieved to see that there was nothing more than a few bruises on his hands from where they had hit drawer handles, nothing which showed open and pulsing blue blood. He wasn’t entirely sure how to spin that as a symptom of a traumatic brain injury.

 “Ianto?” He called out to Ianto, watching him as he sucked in deep breaths, his blue eyes refocusing and deepening in understanding.

“Oh God,” Ianto managed to rasp. “I remember now.”

In a scrabble of hands, he managed to pry himself away from Jack’s hands and ran out of the room. He didn’t heed Jack’s calls to come back.

Chapter Text

“I didn’t do something wrong, did I?” Rhiannon asked, staring towards the kitchen door.

“I don’t think so,” said Jack, not bothering to wait for Rhiannon’s answer as he ran straight after Ianto, worry pooling in his stomach.

For once, Jack was relieved that the house he was running around in was not particularly big, and that he was able to find Ianto within minutes. The first thing he noticed was the way that Ianto was sitting on the doorstep, curling himself around like he was a child. The second was the haunted look on his face, almost akin to what he was like in the weeks after Lisa. After what had happened in the kitchen, Jack had his suspicions as to what Ianto might have remembered.

“Ianto?” Jack asked.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Ianto replied, his hands rubbing through his hair in frustration. “I mean, yes, I should be here for David and Mica and Rhiannon, but…”

“Yes?”

Ianto stared at him for a long moment, as if weighing up what he was about to say. Then, he sighed. “I remember all of them now. For real this time.” He took a deep breath. “I also remember my Dad.”

“You never told me about your father,” Jack pointed out. “All you said was that he was a master tailor.”

“I had my reasons for saying it.”

Jack leaned in expectedly. He had known Ianto long enough after all to know the way his Ianto would be with personal details, the way he would clam up and dodge the questions. Still, he would eventually give up his secrets, even though Jack suspected now that he hadn’t been entirely truthful when he had claimed about telling him everything.

Therefore, it was to his surprise that Ianto opened up almost instantly. “My Dad was a piece of shit, but I still loved him.” He sobbed out, and Jack felt the need to comfort him fight with the need to stay away, because he wasn’t sure if this was Ianto and not a doppelganger. “I think I pushed Rhi away to protect her. She had her own life – she didn’t need to get pushed into mine.”

Almost immediately, Jack wondered what Yvonne had done to this young man, made him clam up forever more.

“There’s this nothingness in me,” Ianto confided. “I feel like I’m no-one. It just makes me feel more worthless, if you know what I mean.”

“I get the feeling,” Jack said on the matter.

“Of what?”

“Of having a gap in your memories. Of feeling like you’ve did something horrible. Of feeling worthless.” Hearing Ianto speak to him like that made him think of what the Time Agency did to him, taking his memories against his consent. For so long, he had spent his days thinking that he had done something awful. Still thought he did.

“Sorry, I don’t usually speak out like that,” Ianto admitted, laughing nervously. “Something must have just -you know…”

Jack simply held his hand, ignoring the coldness which still emanated from him. Maybe he should try reassuring Ianto a little more, he thought. But he didn’t really have the words to put it in, so instead, he said, “We need to go to Torchwood One next. I suspect that that’s where the majority of your memories are.”

“Mmmmm,” Ianto stared ahead. “I sort of remember it, but…”

Jack understood. He had to have remembered the Battle of Canary Wharf. It was one of those things that not even Retcon could wipe from a person’s mind. “You OK now?” He asked, almost a little paradoxically.

Ianto hummed slightly. Sort of OK then, Jack understood.

“Then come on.”

***

“I’ll come visit,” said Ianto, hovering around the car door.

“I hope you do. Mica and David probably think you’re a stranger to them,” Rhiannon replied, leaning out of her own front door. “Oh, and please not try to keep more secrets, eh?”

“I’ll try not to.”

Ianto was probably being honest back there, talking to Rhiannon like that. That was what broke Jack’s heart most of all.

“Oh, and Jack,” Rhiannon turned to look at Jack. “I blame you for what happened to my baby brother.”

“I understand.” He blamed himself every day.

“But,” She exhaled. “This will help, yeah? Getting all his memories back. And,” she looked over at Ianto briefly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop him from what you’re all trying to do, can’t I? He is stubborn like that after all.”

“I assure you, I can’t get him to do anything,” Jack said, mentally admitting that maybe it would have been for the best if he had been less stubborn.

“So please, bring him back in one piece, yeah?” She asked.

“I’ll try,” said Jack as he placed himself in the car. Perhaps it was all they could hope for.

“So where are we heading off to next, Jack?” Gwen asked as the car drove away.

“We’re going to Canary Wharf,” said Jack.

***

The trip to Canary Wharf took about two and a half hours in total. It would have been shorter, but Gwen had let him know that in no circumstances could he utilise one of his shortcuts. That, and they were constantly stopping in ditches to let Gwen go to the toilet. According to Rhys, this was one of the symptoms of pregnancy, cracking some joke that Jack didn’t quite catch. Personally, it made him think about what Melissa had been like when she had been pregnant with Alice. It had made alien stakeouts an interesting experience to put it bluntly.

Then the trail of thought shifted to Steven and Jack regretted going on the train in the first place.

Eventually though, the car drove into London. The first thing that Jack noticed was the translucent figures floating around the streets, never interacting with the living. They glowed with an overworldly light, and Jack found himself checking up on Ianto to see if it was happening to him as well.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t.

“It’s getting worse,” Gwen muttered, taking in a sight strange for even Torchwood.

“We’ll fix it, as we always do,” said Jack, staring ahead.

Gwen gave him a worried look, one which gave away to a yawn. Jack blinked, and only now realised that the sun had set, turning the streets almost dark. Ianto and Rhys looked to be in the same state as Gwen, blinking rapidly and looking like they were about to drop off. He sighed. “I suppose we can’t sneak around at night, can we?” He offered as a suggestion.

“I’ve already tried that. The baby doesn’t like it,” said Gwen.

“Then I’ll see if we can book a hotel for the night.”

“With what money, Harkness?” Rhys said, glaring at him.

“You Welsh never look a gift horse in the mouth.” When Rhys continued staring at him as if he was going to skin Jack alive, Jack added. “I stole it from the Government when they weren’t looking.”

Now that earned some very dirty looks from all of them. “We’re not going to get arrested, are we?” asked Gwen.

“It’s fine. I used a lot of false accounts – for all they know, the thief is a government employee complicit in the 456 affairs.”

“We’re all going to die…” Ianto muttered.

***

One of the many difficulties that Jack found about London, aside from the presence of one Torchwood One and a Director who never liked him, was how hard it was to get anything. Money was never an issue for him, thanks to the many accounts he had lying around the world. The problem was the sheer amount of people fighting for rooms. It almost made him nostalgic for his childhood, where people shared their stuff.

As it was, Jack could only afford them an average hotel which had a few complaints online about itchy bedsheets and the occasional glance at a rat. Once he had ignored the glares, he had sent Gwen and Rhys on their way to their own rooms, leaving him and Ianto alone.

“At least it’s not blindingly pink,” Ianto was saying as he dumped himself on a hotel room, a bundle of pyjamas borrowed from Gwen and Rhys under his armpits. “The last hotel I went catered towards couples. Personally, I thought it was some sort of alien invasion. Conquering each country through the power of love.”

Jack laughed a little. “That was your undercover mission with Gwen last year, wasn’t it?”

Ianto nodded, then flinched a little. “Still feels like it was a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah,” Jack could feel the tension between them rising, infusing itself with a feeling of sadness. “What do you remember about us, Ianto?”

“I remember Myfanwy, and joining you, and Lisa,” Ianto’s face darkened. “And I also remember Tosh and Owen. I also remember the bombs.”

Jack wrapped his hands around Ianto’s waist, knowing he needed it.

“See, I think I remember most things, it’s just these gaps.” Ianto looked frustrated.

Jack didn’t like seeing Ianto frustrated like this, so he resorted to his useful method of getting rid of it – kissing them away. Ianto gladly obliged, and Jack would have continued with it if it wasn’t for the feeling of being watched. Well, actually, he usually didn’t matter if he was being watched like this – he mainly relented for the sake of Ianto – but there was something in the way he was being watched that made him feel like he should answer.

(That, and the lingering thoughts that maybe this was still not Ianto, that the conman was being conned.)

Struggling to ignore the look of disappointment on Ianto’s face, he pushed himself away and went to open the door.

“You’re both dressed in there, are you?” asked Gwen, looking at Jack both up and down.

“We are,” Jack confirmed. “Although, if you want me to strip…”

“No thanks,” Gwen looked a bit disgusted. “I actually want to talk to you, if you don’t mind. In private.”

Jack looked over at Ianto, who shrugged, then went to follow Gwen down a corridor and into her own room. Almost identical to his and Ianto’s, Jack noticed, but with a slightly bigger bed. “Where’s Rhys?” he asked.

“He’s down at the reception arguing about our towels,” said Gwen.

“Knew those ranting skills would come in handy,” said Jack. “But I imagine this is not what you’ve come to me for.”

“I just wanted to check that you’re alright. With Ianto, I mean.”

“I’m always alright.”

“Jack, you ran away from me. From Rhys, from Cardiff. That’s not alright behaviour.”

“How did you know you could trust Ianto,” Jack asked, dodging the criticism against him entirely.

“Don’t you dare dodge me, Jack,” said Gwen, her voice rising up a pitch.

Jack knew he couldn’t avoid this entirely, so he said bluntly, “Too many ghosts. But really, how did you know?”

“I think it was just the little things, see,” Gwen admitted. “I saw the way he smiles at you, the way he looks at me, the way he is with his sister, the way he cracks jokes, the way he remembers our coffee orders perfectly. I think it’s him.”

“Gwen, you know at least five different types of alien shapeshifters who can mimic behavioural traits,” Jack pointed out.

“I know, but,” she let out a tearful exhale. “You believe it’s Ianto, isn’t it?”

Jack considered the thought. There were ways in which the Ianto with them was different now. This Ianto felt almost lighter, more open with his emotions. But more accusing somehow. That was the pain of memories, he supposed. But as this journey had gone on, he knew that he was seeing the Ianto he knew fade back into existence like a newborn baby. That even if he was different biologically, it was still him. So he was entirely honest when he said, “I do.”

“Then, I guess I still trust you, even after all that has happened.”

You shouldn’t trust me, thought Jack.

“Are you staying? After we save Ianto?” Gwen asked desperately.

Jack didn’t reply.

***

The team were out of the hotel by 9:00AM. Part of that was Gwen’s morning sickness. The other was that Jack wanted to get this sorted as soon as possible.

It had been a few years since the Battle of Canary Wharf, yet Jack still expected to see it a wreck, debris and bodies scattered throughout the area. There was a way in how Ianto held himself that made Jack know that he must have been feeling the same, like the echo of a memory.

Personally, Jack had mixed feelings about letting Ianto find out about Torchwood One. He didn’t know that much about Ianto’s life before he joined Torchwood Three, but he knew exactly what Torchwood did to anyone who got in its grip, knew that Ianto had gotten a larger dose of it than anyone else alive.

Alas, he had to, or the world would blow up.

Just for once, he didn’t want to be responsible for these difficult choices.

Jack was expecting the reception desk to be a little more than a typical reception desk, if he was going to be honest. As it was, it was just a normal reception desk, complete with a young woman who looked like she would rather be anywhere else.

Jack walked up to her, flashing his typical Jack smile. “Captain Hark Jackness,” he said, using an old name from one of his past misadventures. “We’re here to inquire access for a specific floor?”

“Captain what?” Ianto looked baffled, Gwen and Rhys giving Jack identical looks from their place behind him.

The woman stared at him passively. “Did you book it?”

Jack’s smile faltered a little. “What do you mean?”

“Anyone who wants to avail of the facilities in Canary Wharf has to book in advance first. You should have done it months ago – place is always busy.”

The charm intensified. “Well, I don’t think they’ll mind if we check it for just a few minutes. At least not our beautiful troop.”

In normal days, this flirting tactic would have actually worked. This was not a normal person, so the woman remained unmoved. “I’m sorry, but the visitor rules are pretty strict.”

“Stand aside Jack,” Gwen spoke up, pushing her way forward. “My name is Gwen Williams. I’m here for the children party at 1?” she said.

At this, the lady keyed through her keyboard, her eyes lighting up. “Ah yes, we’ve gotten your record. Come with us.”

Jack stared at her in confusion until his eyes flickered over towards the glowing device partially hidden under her hands.

Ah.

The door opened and everyone walked through.

***

It was hard to believe that this was intended to be the start of a Dalek/Cyberman combined invasion effort, Jack thought as he snuck everyone in to the office, ignoring the odd glances from the people working there.

People working there. That was one of the more surprising things about humanity in this century – one could just throw an alien in their face and they would pass it off as a drunk man in a costume. The unspeakable tragedy, boxed away and turned into something mundane. They would eventually have to accept, follow their destiny towards the stars, but for now, they were so content that Jack had pondered the futility of retconning the general population.

Just as he was pondering whether the business he had ended up was a secret front for selling alien products, he was interrupted by a scream – thankfully not Ianto’s.

“Ghost!” screamed a nearby businesswoman. Beside her, other business people looked around in confusion, their faces a portrait of panic.

Jack followed their lead, trying to see what they were looking at.

He got his answer rather quickly. Everywhere he looked, the room was covered by ghosts, their faces half-blurred. Jack remembered the suits though, knew who the blurs were meant to represent.

He stared at a feminine-looking ghost at the front, walking from one end of the room to another. This one he knew very well – Ianto too if he still had his memory.

He looked back at Ianto, who was staring at the female ghost as well. “Yvonne?” He asked, his voice half a whisper and half a sob.

He didn’t get any further before his scream joined the others.

Chapter Text

Jack paid no heed to the ghosts as Ianto fell, arms reaching out to prevent him from injuring himself. Granted, knowing Ianto’s different biology now, it was possible that it wouldn’t even hurt him, but it was only that, a possibility.

And Jack didn’t like seeing Ianto get hurt.

Was this how Ianto felt every time he held Jack’s dead body? That worry that both of them were trapped far away, in pain? Jack shook the thought away, letting Ianto fight it out in his arms.

Eventually though – and it felt longer than the last few times that this had happened – Ianto relaxed. He didn’t feel as relaxed as he had been previously, though, the tension lightly wrapping around Ianto’s body. If he was going to be honest, Jack wasn’t surprised. He knew enough about Torchwood One to know that pleasant memories were not going to come with it after all.

“Ianto?” He asked, stroking away the sweat which had accumulated on Ianto’s forehead.

In response – and much to his relief – Ianto’s eyes shot wide open, blank-looking at first before refocusing into something determined. “I need to go… somewhere,” he rasped in lieu on an actual answer, pulling himself out of Jack’s grasp once again.

“Where exactly?” Jack demanded.

“It’s… hard to explain,” Ianto’s forehead scrunched up in frustration. “I just… need to go there.”

“Ianto, I need the co-ordinates…”

“Look, I know where it is! But…” Ianto’s hand clenched tightly against Jack’s own. “You have to trust me.”

There was a point in their lives, after what had happened with Lisa, in which Jack couldn’t trust Ianto, couldn’t trust a man who hid so much of that darkness under that mask. This was a different point, one in which Jack had dug deeper and saw even more mystery.

The difference was that Jack knew by now that whoever Ianto was (is), he always wanted to do good, cared for Jack even when he shouldn’t.

So he said, “I trust you.”

“Right,” Ianto managed to fully untangle himself from Jack’s grasp, got to his feet, and started walking out the door.

***

The place where Ianto had directed them to all go to was only a brief walk from the Torchwood One building. Jack was privately grateful for this – he already felt guilty bringing Gwen along, and he didn’t want her to lose the baby because she was overexerting herself too.

Still, there was something… odd about this place. Something awful. Something very not-Ianto.

“I thought you didn’t like Starbucks?” asked Gwen.

“Gwen, what Starbucks does to their coffee should be banned by Geneva convention, and that’s not getting into the way they do their cappuccinos. Still,” Ianto squinted, staring at two hipsters in the corner, “there’s something about this place that makes me think that I have to be here for.”

“Like a vision or something?” Rhys asked.

“I’m not a psychic, Rhys. It’s,” he pinched the front of his nose, “more than that. It’s—”

Ianto stopped, his eyes widening in shock. Jack followed his gaze, watching as several ghosts faded into view. It was getting worse, Jack thought. Beforehand, one could tell that these people were echoes. Now though, they lacked their initial transparency, were indistinguishable from the living.

One face at a table caught his eye. Or rather two.

One of the faces was recognisable as Yvonne Hartman, which surprised Jack. She never really struck him as the sort of woman who went into coffee shops and relaxed. Then again, he suspected that there were a lot of things that Yvonne was hiding from the world for the sake of King and Country. Not that he was ever interested in uncovering them.

The other face came as more of a surprise though. Accompanying her was another Ianto, dressed in a barista uniform and placing two coffee cups on the table with an awkwardness that Jack didn’t associate himself with. This Ianto also seemed younger, more akin to that photo he saw of him back at Rhiannon’s house.

Jack tried not to think too hard about what it meant to see another ghostly Ianto. Instead, he watched as the two phantoms communicated with each other, their voices lost to time and memory. He watched Ianto moved with a degree of animateness that Jack rarely saw. He wondered what Ianto was talking about, then, seeing the look of fear on his face, started wondering even more.

Finally, he saw Yvonne walk away, her image fading away. Ianto did the same thing, but he noticed the way he now moved drowsily, yawning inaudibly. He noticed the cup of coffee that Ianto had sipped from.

There was only one explanation for this sudden lack of inhibition from Ianto.

Jack turned to see Ianto sporting a barely concealed look of horror on his face, and understood that he had come to the same conclusion.

“She—” Ianto’s mouth opened and closed, as if he was trying to formulate something semi-lost to him. Then, without another word, he turned and left the Starbucks.

Gwen attempted to reach out and grasp Ianto’s hand. “Ianto--?”

Ianto whirled to look at her with barely concealed fear. “I think she did something to me.”

***

Ianto had at least bothered to hand out coordinates this time, shaking slightly as he recited them. Jack wanted to rage at Yvonne, wanted to shout at her for hurting Ianto this much, but there was nothing he could do. She was dead now, and it was better that the dead stayed that way.

The coordinates were a little further this time, enough to require the car and deep in the heart of London. Eventually, though, they pulled up to a dull concrete building, it’s windows smashed and it’s colour fading, in as much as a shade of grey can fade.

“Gwen, seeing as we can still connect to Mainframe, any information on this building?” Jack asked. When Gwen gave him a look, he elaborated. “You’re the only one with the laptop out of all of us.”

Gwen awkwardly maneuvered her hands into a bag placed in front of her, pulling a shabby-looking laptop with an antenna tied to it with sticky-tape. For a few moments, she typed her way through access panels and computer programs. “Ah, here we go. Much of the information is encrypted, but from what I can gather, this building’s been closed since the mid-2000s. By the looks of it, it was closed by the order of Her Majesty herself.”

Jack turned to look at Ianto, who was staring at the building. “What about you, Ianto? Anything?”

“Well, I do have questions about the atrocity of that grey colour. Otherwise, nothing.”

“Then let's head out and look for clues,” said Jack, opening the door.

It was Ianto who headed out first, the others following him as they walked towards a heavily barbed fence. Now that they were nearer, Jack could see something of interest flashing in what seemed to be the front of the building. However, nor was there any way of getting in. Not for the first time this trip, Jack cursed the explosion that destroyed so many of Torchwood’s tools.

Almost as if in response to Jack’s train of thought, Gwen pulled out yet another piece of half-melted piece of technology from her handbag, a small laser coming out of it as she used it to cut a hole through the fence.

“How did you manage to scavenge that much technology?” Jack asked.

“We were looking for something,” Gwen admitted, offering no more.

Ianto ran towards the flash in the distance, the others following closely behind. The flash became bigger before it developed into a shape, a spheroid object with long, spindly legs rusting away on the ground. Jack knew that it wouldn’t function – Earth’s technology had not progress enough yet to make any effort at fixing it. The more concerning thing was why this object was there. Ianto stared at the corpse of the robot, his face blank.

“A 24^th century Arachmed,” Jack said, suppressing his Time Agency urges. “Not meant to be in this century and no idea how they’re supposed to be here. Highly advanced medical droid – you could lose your leg and it could replace it for you in ten minutes flat.”

“It’s one of Torchwood’s,” uttered Ianto.

“Not surprised if I’m going to be honest, but—”

“Well, not exactly—”  Ianto grimaced, and Jack knew immediately that he was recalling something. There was something unsettling about the way in which he seemed less affected this time. That could two things, Jack understood. Firstly, Ianto was beginning to mask again. Secondly, he was being to get used to the pain.

Both ideas unsettled him.

Eventually, Ianto’s facial features settled again, his eyes opening. Every time he remembered something, his eyes seemed to deepen in colour. That had to mean something good, Jack hoped.

“You alright?” asked.

Ianto took a few deep breaths, his eyes taking on a worryingly manic look. “She used me. She lied about my Dad and—” Ianto half-laughed. “She used me!”

“What do you remember?” Jack asked, worry pooling within him.

“She wiped my mind over and over because she was lonely!” Ianto sobbed, and for a moment, Jack worried that he was about to watch the Ianto he knew shatter into a million pieces. “She tricked me into coming here, getting injected for one of her mind games and…” He collapsed to the ground, and Jack ran to him, wrapping his arms around Ianto’s shoulders.

“There there…” Jack tried to say reassuringly.

“She put a trigger in me… forced loyalty in me…how much of us was us?!” Ianto pleaded, stabbing a piece of his identity into Jack’s soul.

Jack should have fought back against Yvonne sooner, he knew. He should have had words. Should have stopped her from altering the sheer identity of someone, replacing them with someone who was wholly loyal to the British crown. Perhaps that was why he saw Ianto’s ghost in Starbucks. He was seeing the spectre of Ianto’s former self.

Instead, he asked, “Did you ever feel any attraction to Yvonne?”

Ianto snorted. “God no! Although there was this Spanish copy of her. Well. Long story. But Yvonne. Even I have my limits.”

“Yvonne manipulated you,” Jack reassured him. “But you’re stronger than her. Where’s the man who fought off the Good-Thinking Virus, eh?”

“Touche, Jack. Touche,” Ianto looked a lot more relaxed now. He leaned more into Jack, trying to reassure himself that what he was thinking were his thoughts and those not of Yvonne’s, and Jack was more than happy to oblige.

Although there was something nagging at Jack’s mind. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Definitely getting less blaming.

“I brought you back like this!”

“I won’t deny that I’m still a little mad at you for what happened back there, at the House of the Dead. And I keep wanting Retcon. Allow me to forget all of the crap I did. But…”Ianto took a deep breath. “I need to do it. For the sake of the world. And I suppose I would have been found out eventually.” His expression darkened. “If I had somehow not died.”

Jack flinched at the way Ianto casually dropped the idea of his death and chose to change the subject. “Let me tell you. Your sister is kinda cute.”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “If you start talking about my sister like that, I swear to God that you’ll be on decaf for the rest of your life.”

“Jack? Ianto?”

Jack turned away from Ianto to look at Gwen. “What is it?”

 “You might want to look around.”

Jack helped Ianto to his feet and followed Gwen’s gaze to the empty street beside them.

Or what was of it. Everywhere on the street now, there were people, all in different pieces of clothing. Whilst a few wore modern for this era clothing, other were wearing dresses and garments which he had last saw in the 19^th century. He felt a pang of memory at the yellow dress that he saw one person wore, before shaking the thought away.

“It’s getting even worse,” he said.

“What are we going to do, Jack!” asked Gwen.

Before Jack could answer, he felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it away from his pocket, frowning from the unknown number, and answered it. “Hello?”

“Jack?” Sally’s voice came through the receiver.

“How did you—” Jack cursed himself. Of all the days to find someone on which the Retcon drug would fail. “How did you get this number?”

“I found it on my sofa. I think it fell out of your pocket.”

“Not entirely sure how that could happen. Got very good pockets, me.” They were definitely very useful when fucking Ianto, Jack thought. “But why are you calling?”

“There’s a long tornado growing outside of my house, I think it might be alien, and if you don’t come here now, I think it’s going to destroy my house!”

Chapter Text

In comparison with the trip down to London, the trip up to Cardiff went by much quicker. It was Jack who saw to this, barely glancing at the traffic lights as he passed them. Neither Ianto, Gwen nor Rhys had called him out, although he could tell from the way they glared at him that they were not pleased at him. Jack suspected that it was because even they knew how vital it was to be heading back to Cardiff so quickly.

It was almost a blessing, seeing how few were crossing the streets. At least, not many people that could be considered alive. Jack suspected that even this was too odd for the common person, not enough for them to truly question things, but enough for them to hide away.

It was the dead who were the bigger problem. There were more of them than there had been yesterday, crowding around pavements and the front of people’s homes. There were a few instances where the ghosts were so close that they overlapped, giving them an eerie purple shine. Not that they seemed to notice. In fact, each ghost seemed to be lost in their own little world, blankly staring ahead or walking forward without any heed to those near to them.

“We need to evacuate them,” Gwen had said somewhere along the route, after Jack had deftly avoided what looked to be a spectral mother and baby crossing the middle of the road.

“That’s probably the best thing to do,” Jack agreed, hands reaching for his mobile phone. Privately, he wasn’t looking forward to speaking to DI Swanson – they had never gotten along – but better that the casualty rate be reduced as much as possible.

Jack opened up the phone and dialled in Swanson’s number, waiting for the line to go through. The phone rang for a minute straight, then went to voicemail.

“Dang,” Jack had muttered as he put the phone down. “I could have really used the help.”

“Phone lines must be overloaded with people getting away from Cardiff,” Gwen offered as an explanation.

“I would try calling her myself, but I would be wasting time explaining how I’ve somehow pulled a resurrection trick,” Ianto said. “If that is indeed what has happened to me.”

“I’ll just keep calling her then,” Jack said a little grumpily.

By the time they had passed the sign welcoming people to Cardiff, Jack had still not managed to make it through. Although, as he turned straight into a long queue of cars, he decided that there was no point anyway.

A quick glimpse out through the car window revealed just exactly what everyone was driving away from.

If the ghosts didn’t prove that there wasn’t something seriously wrong about Cardiff, then the weather did. Off in the distance was a tornado, a large tunnel of air which whipped through the skies. It flashed purple, blue, and green, colours which looked more suitable on the dead than the living. Periodically, lightning bolts lashed out of the funnel, striking more and more with every minute.

“Hold on, kids, this might get a little bumpy,” Jack said, pulling out of the street and driving along the pavement. He was grateful to see no ghosts walking around, only the grumpy honking of cars as he drove up the street.

Once they were all clear of the traffic jam, Jack continued weaving through the streets, trying desperately to not sink under the memories of living here for over a 100 years. It sort of worked. In fact, it worked too well.

“Jack!” Gwen exclaimed.

Jack shook himself free mentally long enough to realise that there was an alive-looking woman just in front of the car and pulled on the brakes. With a deafening screech, the car slowed, coming to a stop just in front of the woman. His eyes widened as he took in her appearance. “Sally?! You shouldn’t be here.”

“Firstly, the polite thing to say is 'Hello', although I’ll forgive you for it this time. Not that I’m overly bothered – just, you know,” Sally replied, shrugging helplessly. “Although if I’m going to be honest, you might be right,” she panted deeply, eyes darting over the abnormal force of nature in the background, “but I feel like I need to be here.”

“Get out of here, Sally!” Jack yelled back. “Whatever this thing is, it’s too dangerous.”

“And where will I go?” Sally said sadly. “I can’t leave my Dad’s house – it’s one of my last mementos of him. Besides, I feel like I have to do something. I mean, it’s the end of the world, isn’t it?”

Jack had to admit, she made a good point. But if she came with them, she would end up another grave in the ground, another reminder of how he ruined every life that he came into contact with.

But before he could open his mouth again, she was already pushing her way into the car, squashing her way beside Ianto.

“You know, there are these things called traffic laws, you know,” he bemoaned.

Sally ignored him.

Jack was reminded of Gwen – the way that she had been absolutely determined to follow up a mystery, the way she tangoed with Torchwood even after she knew exactly what she was getting into.

Perhaps in another time, he would have least considered the idea of letting her join. Instead, he made a mental note to Retcon her again when all was said and done and drove the car off towards the general direction of the tornado.

***

Jack had expected the tornado to have occurred at the ruins of the House of the Dead. After all, it was where the Rift was at its strongest, the ley lines opening the tear just enough.

This, he supposed, was why he was so surprised to see himself turn the car towards Roald Dahl Pass, right where the former Torchwood Three base had been. He sucked in a breath as the giant hole the base now was came into view, excavators dotted around the construction site.

The tornado was smack dab in the middle of the hole, and the car shook as it drove up towards it. For a brief moment, Jack pondered what was left that the tornado would take, and for once felt relief that the Government had been rooting through the hole.

Still, it didn’t make much sense.

“The Rift wouldn’t be big enough to let Syriath in. So how is she--?”

“The Rift Manipulator got shattered in the explosion,” Gwen explained. “There’s been Rift-quakes in the past few months because of it. Me and Rhys have been trying to stop them, but it’s been bloody difficult doing it with the Government trying to take us in for questioning. That and…” she glanced down at her swollen stomach.

“And you let her do it?” Jack asked Rhys incredulously.

“I did do a lot of shouting at her. Almost got through to her before you showed up,” said Rhys, a little bitter.

“Besides, it wasn’t like there was anyone else unless you count UNIT,” said Gwen, just a hint of blame in her voice.

“So what are we going to do to stop Syriath?” Ianto changed the subject, although not without giving Jack a look which clearly marked the conversation as one to be continued when everyone’s lives weren’t at risk.

“Maybe there’s a little more you need to remember?” Sally suggested.

“You might be right,” Jack replied, opening up the car door and hopping out, hands clenched tightly against the handle.

Ianto followed him, also gripping the car as he eyed the hole warily. “I’m not entirely sure what I’ll take away from a 1-mile hole, to put it bluntly.”

“Trust me. Seems like you can remember stuff very quickly anyway.”

“Benefits of an eidetic memory.” Ianto shrugged.

Not that Jack and Ianto could make it as far as the hole. With a roar, the tornado began blowing even harder, and it was all that they could do to hold on tight. Underneath him, Jack could hear the car groaning. “Gwen! Rhys! Sally! You gotta get away from here!” He shouted.

“We’re not leaving you, Jack!” said Gwen.

“At least drive the car a little bit backwards,” Jack shouted back. He turned towards Ianto, taking in the way his clothes and hair were blowing against the wind, “Anything?”

“Jack, I can’t just remember something instantly,” Ianto snapped, voice now barely audible.

“Try to remember anything about Torchwood Three.” Jack told him, his vocal chords hurting a little from how loud he was talking now.

“I see my poor creature doesn’t remember Torchwood Three.”

Jack and Ianto snapped up at the source of the voice. There was something in the tornado, something which shifted every eyeblink. Jack squinted, trying to get anything recognisable, but had no luck. The best he could describe the shape was vulture-like, with traits of hyena, rat, and any form of animal he could associate with death.

(Credit to USS_Genderprise for the picture)

“Syriath…” He uttered. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, the great Jack Harkness, back again.” Syriath sounded like a whisper, magnified and echoed many times over. “You should know all too well by now the great advantage that the dead have over the living. They have time.”

“Even with the Rift-quakes, you shouldn’t have been able to tear through the Rift. So how?”

“It is quite simple,” Syriath laughed, a bird-like screech altering into a hyena-like cackle. “I had one of my creatures in the world of the living gathering up memories. They can be the strongest things of all.”

“Who?” Jack didn’t want to think about it. Truly understand that there could only be one person who fit the bill.

“Your memories were very vivid. So many dead. So much to feed on. There was one though – one who you cared for so much.” A pair of red eyes stared down at Jack, at once similar to a hawk and a mosquito.

“Not him,” Jack forced himself to consider the possibility. Syriath was not permitted to taint the memory of Ianto Jones. Never him.

“Ah, but the feelings are here. All I needed to do was to reach into time, take your memories and guilt, and give him form.”

“Guilt?” Everything else, he fully understood – told Ianto about. But guilt…

“You’re an impossible thing, Jack Harkness. A mockery of both life and death. You needed to be locked away so that I can feast.”

“Then why…” Realisation dawned on Jack. “You need me to open the Rift fully, don’t you?”

“That is not a question I intend on answering, especially from a mere non-God like you.”

Chapter Text

Jack did not want to look at Ianto right now. He knew the exact emotions that Ianto would be going through right now, knew that they always ended with him gone. He wanted to run, far, far away, from these lives which he had shattered. But he couldn’t. If he did, the whole world would end.

“Jack?”

Jack forced himself to open his eyes, found himself staring into pained eyes. “Ianto… what you saw back there…”

“What happened to him?” Ianto didn’t directly blame him, Jack noticed. Ianto could be good like that, when he came to his words. Jack expected this to change.

“But Syriath…” Jack tried to deflect the subject.

“No, Jack,” Ianto’s face twisted into a scowl. “Don’t fucking avoid the subject. I told you the important things – why can’t you do the same?”

“And when were you going to tell me about your family!?”

It was a cheap and nasty way to score points, Jack knew. Still, it got the job done. Not that it made Jack feel any better, watching the frustration appear over Ianto’s face, the expression he got when he had been caught out. “You know I had my reasons. But for the sake of the world, I would like to know. Please, Jack.”

Jack felt himself give in. He didn’t exactly like the idea of being honest, but Ianto had been right in the way he always was – he did need to open up more. “After you had died, I found a way to stop the 456 once and for all. A constructive wave, reflecting back at the 456. A good idea except for one snag – a child was needed.”

“And Steven was the only child nearby.”

“I should have found another way.” He turned away from Ianto, fully expecting him to leave now, perhaps give him up to the Rift. After all, it had been Ianto who had been so angry at him for what he had done to the 12 children. It had been Ianto who had wanted Jack to be better, to stand up to the 456.

At least, he supposed, the Rift was not the worst place to spend eternity. It would be rather peaceful, as close to real death as he could ever cross.

“I should hate you,” Ianto admitted quietly. “I should really, really hate you.”

“Then why don’t you!” Jack half-sobbed, drowned out by the loud force of the tornado.

“You had no other choice, didn’t you?”

“There should have been, but…” I was so distraught over losing you. So broken that nothing really mattered anymore.

Ianto seemed to understand in the way he always understood. “Please, don’t condemn yourself, Jack. What you did… I don’t blame you for it.”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Ianto silenced him by leaning in for a kiss. He felt warm now, not in the way he had been at the beginning, and for the first time in a while, Jack felt a sense of true hope blooming deep within his heart.

“This should be impossible.” Syriath was still there, Jack remembered. Still ready and prepared to take down the planet.

He broke the kiss with Ianto to stare up at the tornado. “What do you mean?”

“He is meant to be nothing more than an extension of my own will. Yet he disobeys.”

Jack glanced at Ianto, an idea forming in his head. A risky one, one which Ianto wouldn’t like, but if his career doing cons had taught him anything, it’s that it’s the risky jobs which paid out the most.

“You’re wrong,” he told Syriath, arms reaching out in a way which reminded him of one of Earth’s prophets. “He’s succeeded. You can take me into the Rift, leave you to feed on the dead.”

Behind him, he could hear Ianto gasp. “Jack… please don’t give up your life!”

“Ianto…”

“What if I’m meant to be taken, just like before?” Ianto tried to argue, his tone clearly controlling the anxiety that must be nipping at him. “After all, I’m dead. Past tense. And I’m not real. Shouldn’t have been brought back in the first place. At least this way, I’ll be saving the world.”

It was way too similar to what had happened at the House of the Dead, Jack knew. But this was different now, one which the dead couldn’t solve. “You’re you.” He put it to Ianto simply. “You’re alive, more than Syriath ever expected. And I’m not letting you go without a fight.”

“That doesn’t mean that I can let Syriath take you.” The look of anguish on Ianto’s face was so, so vivid. Horrifying to witness, but it proved to Jack beyond a reasonable doubt who he was.

“Do you trust me, Ianto?” It was a bit of a loaded question. Jack still expected Ianto not to trust him, after all that he had learned from Jack.

Instead, Ianto scoffed. “I still don’t know why, but yes. Yes, I do.”

Jack felt himself fill with an odd kind of relief. “Then trust me when I say that I will come back. I always will.”

Ianto stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, letting out a shaky exhale. “Then please don’t die for good, or I’ll find out some way to get mad at you from the land of the living.”

Jack laughed at Ianto’s snarkiness, always a good source of humour even if it could be grim, then turned away from him to look at Syriath. “Syriath! I’m ready for you to take me!”

Through the darkness, a row of shark-like teeth flashed in the darkness. And then he saw it. The shape was becoming less blurry and more distinct, red eyes of precision sizing him up. The abomination pounced, at once a panther and a human, and was on him. Jack was almost overwhelmed by the stench of decay, rotten flesh and fruit intermingling, and he found himself struggling to stay conscious as a slimy texture slithered over him, merging into him. He was lifted high into the air, and through blurry vision, he could see Ianto as he watched everything that was happening to him. He could see Gwen and Rhys dash out of their car, struggling against the wind to catch up to Ianto, arms against his as if a form of emotional support.

He felt a foreign presence in his mind crawling towards him. Normally, he would have had his shields up all the way. Instead, he let the presence invade him, sorting through his mind in a bid to shut it down. Because this, he knew about Syriath from experience – that she would try to drain the life from him in anyway possible, and that if she did succeed, then he would be reduced to nothing more than her puppet.

He remembered the first years of his life, the joys of playing on the sandy beaches of the Boeshane settlement with Grey. Of course, even then, he was prepared for the possibility that it would end in ashes and destruction and tears, but for now, he was content with his brother and mother and father.

He remembered the grief ripping his body apart, seeing his father dead like that. The sheer guilt over letting his brother’s hand go.

He felt the presence slither away, frightened by the sheer vitality of his memories.

“Ha!” He laughed, opening his eyes to watch the way the face twisted into a rictus. “You can’t hold me long enough, can you?”

Again the tentacles slithered in, trying to grab at corners of Jack’s mind.

He remembered cracking a joke with Rose, the Doctor tutting at him with a expression of concealed interest. He was happy then, because after what the Time Agency had done to him, the Doctor had taught him the Key to Life, the proper way of doing things.

He remembered waking up in a dusty corridor, alive in spite of everything. No sign of Rose or the Doctor. He remembered eventually trying to follow them, only to end out of time and space. Of waiting for him because he had put his entire faith in the Doctor.

“You must be locked away.” Syriath’s voice scraped inside Jack’s mind.

“But you can’t, can you? Too many memories in this body. So many experiences, so much life.”

He remembered the joy he felt, however guilty it was, in recruiting his own team. Poaching brilliant Suzie from her workplace, the intelligent Ben Brown. Of saving Tosh from the cramped UNIT prison, of allowing Owen to understand where his pain had come from. He remembered the pride and joy he felt following in the Doctor’s footsteps – of being the one to save them, to save the world.

He remembered how he got there, the look of guilt on Alex’s face as he told Jack that he had to kill his comrades to save them. He remembered thinking that, with the way Suzie looked upon her death, the blood pouring from Tosh in her final moments, and the dust that remained of Owen in the power plant, that perhaps Alex might have been doing the right thing.

Syriath screamed, more and more tentacles reaching out to grab Jack. “The Dead will inherit the Earth. Don’t you want that – the chance to see your loved ones again?”

“It would have been nice,” Jack admitted. “But their time has passed. They shouldn’t come back.”

“Even the one you love the most?”

He remembered the first time he knew he had fallen in love in Ianto, which should have been an impossibility, knowing their history. Of their relaxed dates during the few moments that the Rift had kindly given them, the knowledge in Jack’s mind that they did both love each other, although he knew that saying the word would make their simple relationship too complicated.

He remembered the light going out of Ianto’s eyes as he laid on the floor of Thames House, taking a piece of Jack’s heart with him. Of the guilt he felt afterwards over pushing him away, making him doubt when he really shouldn’t have.

Of being broken, so much so that, when he was given the trigger over his grandson’s life, he willingly pressed it.

“In your attempts to puppet the dead, you created life, an impossibility to you,” Jack told Syriath. “And I have a duty to protect it.”

With a final push, the tentacles came out of Jack’s mind. Syriath screamed in a long, agonizing wail as she melted before Jack’s eyes. Within minutes, she had become nothing more than a black, goopy puddle, splattering down the funnel. The tornado calmed down, and the faces that Jack had known and loved vanished alongside it. They were not real, even if Syriath would claim otherwise, but Jack suspected that maybe if enough time and memories were given, maybe they could have been resurrected.

Sally’s words had been true. That was the price he paid for saving the Earth, he supposed.

If only it wasn’t that way.

“Jack!”

If he was going to be honest with himself – and it was something that he needed to learn – Jack almost expected to lose Ianto in all of this. He knew it would hurt just a little less, now that he had just a little more time and knew more about his lover. That didn’t mean that the pain would go away fully though and he still feared losing Ianto. Hence, it was to his immense pleasure that this niggling fear faded as he turned around to see Ianto forcing himself out of Gwen’s grip to stand in front of him, Rhys and Sally’s heads poking out of the car. For a moment, they stood there, unsure of what to say. It was enough for Jack to notice a cut on Ianto’s cheek, eerily similar to the one he had gotten back during that Hellish week.

“Ianto…” Jack reached out to lightly graze it, somewhat guiltily marvelling in how red and human it looked.

“I must have been grazed by the debris,” Ianto offered as an explanation. “  I think I can safely say that Syriath would not be my first choice for someone to help me clean up the Hub.”

That was enough for Jack. In a mad dash, he bundled Ianto into his arms and tightly gripped him for fear that Ianto would just vanish into thin air. Somewhere under the almost maniac whispers of Ianto’s name, he could hear Ianto murmur, “I’m here now. I won’t leave you again.”

Chapter Text

Jack no longer had a home – that had been the Hub, and that was currently a deep hole in the ground. Nor did Ianto have a home – Ianto had already tried calling his landlord under the name of “Stanford Jones”, and after a comment or two about how he had the same voice as that “poor Welsh fella that died recently”, had been told that the flat was now occupied by a pair of Americans who were interested in the Welsh culture.

And so it was that they were currently in yet another hotel room, albeit one that was much nicer in Jack’s opinion than the last place they were at, trying to figure out their next steps. The Bekran scanner was lying on the bed, readings confirming what Jack had already suspected – Ianto was a mortal human again. Internally, Jack wasn’t looking forward to what would happen after Ianto died again, but at the very least, he hadn’t cursed Ianto into an immortal life, and he hoped to at the very least allow Ianto the chance to live again, to go through the life that he should have had.

His eyes shifted to the nearby laptop, Sally’s personal details laid front and centre. He had decided to leave Sally’s memories intact in the end and let her go home to her apartment, but not without stealthily giving her some money in her account. There had been enough messing around with the minds of people this night, and he felt that it had provided some form of closure to the young woman.

As for him…

He wasn’t quite sure what he had wanted to do next, if he was going to be honest, but if he was going to be doing anything, it was going to be with Ianto. After all, he had his second chance now. And he wasn’t going to let go of it.

Jack looked up from his borrowed laptop as Ianto walked into the hotel room, hair dampened from the shower. He was wearing a hand-me-down bathroom robe from what seemed to be Rhys, and Jack was reminded of the need to buy Ianto proper clothing, now that the main threat had been vanquished. Ianto was clearly hesitant in his body language, and Jack recognised it for what it was – the tension of unsaid things in the air.

“Ianto, we don’t need to talk if you don’t have to.” They had never been the sort to talk, instead preferring to fuck their feelings out. Talk would mean change, and he was in the same boat as Ianto when it came to change.

But then again, maybe it did need to happen.

“I think we do need to talk. About everything.” Ianto took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. “About what happened to Stephen…”

“It was not one of my best moments,” Jack put to Ianto bluntly. “And I don’t blame you for walking away from me now.”

“It’s not you killing Stephen that I’m angry about. You’re you.”

“Ianto… if you were told that you had to kill Mica or David, all to save the world, would you do it?”

There was a long pause. “I… don’t know. But that’s the point I’m trying to explain. You make all the heroic decisions.”

“Even if it costs me everything,” Jack lamented.

“You haven’t lost me,” Ianto told him. “But… we do need to talk more about ourselves.”

“It would have been nice to learn about Rhiannon before this all happened,” Jack agreed. “And I should have introduced you to Alice and Stephen before it was all too late.”

This, he supposed, was one of the prices that Jack would have to pay – the opportunity to have Ianto meet the family gone forever.

“Also, Jack, another thing. What you said back at the House of the Dead.”

“Ianto, I was being serious when I wanted to cast myself into the Rift between the worlds.”

“I know, but…” Ianto tilted his head to one side as if thinking of something. “You told me, back during what happened with Lisa, that there was always something to lose.”

“Well, I definitely understand your mindset more back then now,” Jack admitted.

“Jack… I know that I’ll just be a blip in time to you…”

“You’re not, Ianto.”

“But please don’t be that stupid again. You embody life, Jack. You should keep living. Even when I… you know…”

“I’ll try then.”  He would try now. For Ianto’s sake.

Ianto leaned back, rubbing his hands against his face. “I think that’s enough openness for one day. Have you seen a drinks cabinet in this room?”

Jack pointed over to a small cupboard in the corner of the room. “Right over there. Don’t worry,” he winked. “I didn’t go through all of it.”

“As long as you didn’t go through the wine.”

“I don’t know – you’re cute when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not cute,” Ianto muttered.

“You are when you’re drunk-singing.”

A pinkish flush spread up Ianto’s cheeks. Good. That was just what Jack wanted.  “Maybe if you got drunk enough, maybe I could get you to sing.” He purred, staring at Jack with a degree of ferocity. Belatedly, Jack realised that to Ianto, the last time they had sex was the morning before the children. All at once, he wanted Ianto bad.

He smiled and pulled Ianto in for a kiss.

***

The sun had fully set now, and the hotel room was completely dark. Jack had heard the occasional mutterings from the other room – Gwen and Rhys, he knew. But now, everything was quiet – just him and Ianto cuddled in a hotel bed.

“So what are we going to do now,” Ianto asked sleepily.

“What do you mean?”

“Torchwood.”

“The Rift’s gone. Made that certain when I put Syriath back the way she came. No need to protect Cardiff from any threats.”

“Torchwood One wasn’t near any Rifts and look what they had to deal with.”

“That’s London for you. It’s like a big flashing sign encouraging aliens to come invade our planet.” Jack sighed. “We don’t have to have Torchwood immediately rebuilt. Could go travelling.”

There was a quiet hum as Ianto considered it. “I suppose if there is something to be taken from the experience that I had, it’s that I do need to broaden my horizons a little. I don’t regret being at Torchwood. I never will,” Ianto stroked Jack’s face and he took at as meaning I don’t regret falling in love with you. “But I don’t want to be defined by it. Don’t want to be boiled down to “Torchwood Operative” when someone finds mention of me in a dusty tome a thousand years from now.”

“You won’t be, Ianto,” Jack kissed the forehead of Ianto lightly and made to pull the covers over them. “Never to me.”