Chapter 5 ~ Seeing Ianto

The hub was quiet at three in the morning—a stark contrast to the screeching battle and bloodshed that took place only hours ago. The man sleeping on the couch was dead to the world. His face was pale, but smoothed over in a sedated sleep.

He looks so young. No, he IS so young. Jack though from his perch on the coffee table. He'd been sitting there for some time, unable to look away from his new charge. Owen had left sometime after one, promising to return before noon. Jack figured that meant sometime between 11:45 and 11:59am.

The captain shifted and winced as muscles protested their seating arrangements. Ignoring them, Jack continued to study Ianto. The clothing Owen had given him to wear hung loose on his frame and made Jack realize how much the suites had allowed to remain hidden. The boy had clearly been losing weight. Now that he was really looking, he recognized the signs on the gaunt face. Eyelids looked bruised, cheekbones protruded too far, skin so colorless it was almost translucent—it was written all over him, but Jack had been too distracted to see.

How did we get here? Jack wondered sadly. And what the hell am I supposed to do now?

Jack considered the previous night to be one of his greatest failures in all his decades at Torchwood. Since Owen's departure, he'd been mentally replaying the hours over and over, trying to make sense of it all. The "should of's' and "could of's" plagued his mind and left him with fewer answers and greater guilt. Then he would remember how close the world had come to being converted because of one man, and he'd feel the anger well up—only to be deflated again as soon as he'd glance at the pitiful, ashy figure lying unconscious on the couch.

Ianto's accusations kept ringing in his ears: "When did you last ask me anything about my life?...You're the biggest monster of all...Have some fucking mercy...Haven't you ever loved anyone before, Jack?" Each word stabbed deeper, made him feel a little more hollow inside.

And the words weren't necessarily the worst thing weighing heavy on his soul. Jack had recognized that Ianto was a powerful empath from very early on. When he'd first hired the young man, he'd been thrilled by the chase—both physical and mental. Every day he would reach out and brush against those shields and revel at the electrical rush they'd send through him. The few occasions that he'd been able to actually get a read on Ianto had been like touching a live wire, and it always left him wanting more.

Tonight, Ianto had died. Jack wasn't sure if Ianto was aware of this fact or not, but by the time he'd reached him his body had already begun shutting down. It was only through some instinct that he was able to will Ianto's soul back into his body. Jack hadn't even known such a thing was possible. It wasn't like the Doctor had given him a manual to his immortality before abandoning him. He hadn't even given him a "good-bye."

So, he kissed Ianto and pushed as much energy into him as he could. And when he felt the trail leading to other man's lost soul, he grabbed ahold and pulled him back. Then, Ianto's eyes opened, and Jack could feel all of him—every nook and cranny of that intricate and fascinating mind. There were no barriers, no shields, nothing to stop him from seeing into Ianto. Of course, it also meant that there was nothing there to prevent Ianto from absorbing everything pouring off of everyone else either. It had been an enormous shock for them both.

Jack had built such a pretty little picture of who Ianto was in his mind—the mysterious boy who was equal parts coffee god, gorgeous suit wearer, and elusive flirt. And someone who just happened to be an extremely hard worker and good at what he did. Gods, I'm so stupid, so petty! Jack shook his head as he remembered what he felt in Ianto's head when the walls fell and there were no barriers to keep him out. Pain beyond measure, fear enough to freeze most seasoned soldiers, and a love mixed with enough determination to shame even the Doctor. He'd seen how isolated and lonely Ianto felt—not just at Torchwood three, but for the majority of his life. Flashes of his life with Lisa pre-cyber conversion had given Jack insight into the woman who'd been able to reach out to the desperate damaged soul and show him how to live and love. She had been truly beautiful inside and out.

Jack took a staggered breath and realized he was crying. Wiping his face, he stood even as his muscles protested the movement and went to the kitchen. Coffee was out of the question—it was too connected to Ianto for him to stomach at the moment. Instead, he set the kettle to boil and went about getting a teabag.

So much had been said on both sides. So many truths spewed out in hate and meant to hurt. Jack couldn't stop hearing everything they'd said to each other just hours ago.

"You need to figure out whose side you're on here. Because if you don't know, you're not going to make it out of this alive"

"You're worse than anything locked up down there. One day, I'll have the chance to save you—and I'll watch you suffer and die."

"You execute her or I'll execute you both!"

"I've got nothing left to lose..."

The kettle's whistle broke through his thoughts and he quickly removed it from the burner. He didn't think Ianto would be able to wake up for several hours due to the sedative, but he wasn't going to chance it. He took his tea and returned to where Ianto slept. Looking disdainfully at the coffee table, Jack instead moved over to Tosh's workstation and sat down. Her desk allowed him the best view of Ianto and her computer had the programs in place for what he needed to do.

Sipping his tea, he got to work. He started by going through Ianto's old log-ins, emails, communications, and research topics. Jack was surprised by how non-existent a trail there was leading to Dr. Tanizaki beyond a database search performed from Ianto's personal home computer—which meant Ianto was very good at covering his tracks. Jack had to do his own research to find out more about the cybernetics specialist. The realization that Ianto had probably come close to curing Lisa was a punch to the gut for Jack. He'd just assumed that it was impossible. In the end, Jack knew he'd been right—that the cyberwoman had needed to be killed—but it brought no satisfaction. Perhaps if Ianto hadn't feared his reaction, if he'd had the team's support and had been allowed to move at a slower pace with more specialists and precautions in place...who knows what that boy is capable of achieving? He thought, looking over at the still-sleeping form.

It took every bit of Jack's hacking abilities and several of Tosh's programs to piece together Ianto's movements from London Cardiff and Torchwood three. He watched the video feed of the night Ianto moved Lisa into the archives, listened to him confide in Myfanwy late at night up in the rafters, saw him fade into the background day after day as the team would dance around him in their usual childish antics. Pulling up the video feed from that previous morning, his jaw clenched as he watched himself throw the basketball at Ianto without even looking at him before leaving with the others. He paused the image.

I didn't even see him. Look at him, you oblivious ass! He's standing right there. Look at him, he's radiating fear and nerves. And I just walked past him, laughing. Jack felt his anger mount when he heard a groan. His head snapped up in time to see Ianto shift on the couch, face scrunched in discomfort. Swearing under his breath, Jack clamped down on his emotions as he stood and briskly walked over to crouch down next to where Ianto was restlessly moving beneath the blanket Owen had tucked around him.

Jack placed his hand over the tensed brow and pushed calm back into the young man. "Ssh, Ianto, back to sleep now. That's it." Slowly, Ianto's face relaxed back into blessed emotionless peace. His hands, however, continued to clench the thin blanket in a death grip. Jack gently took one of the tense hands and rubbed it until it eased its hold on the fabric. Then, he took the still-rigid appendage and held it between his own two palms. He worked at a steady rhythm, alternating which hand would hold Ianto's and which would gently massage away the tension. Jack laid the hand back down at Ianto's side when he felt the muscles give up their struggle and relax fully. He repeated this on the other hand, and only when he was satisfied that Ianto was sufficiently resting again did he return to the workstation.

Sitting back down, he stared at the screen. It was still paused on the image of Ianto's face as he'd caught the ball. Haunted eyes looking down, fingers clutching the ball to his chest. The "what if's" started playing in Jack's head again: What if he'd really seen Ianto that morning and taken the time to talk to him? What if Ianto had spoken up and asked for the help he so desperately needed? What if he hadn't caught the goddamn ball and we'd all stayed behind because I'd given him a bloody nose and we'd been here for the doctor's arrival?

Jack knew that, in the end, "what if's" got a person no where. They were empty questions that led to heart ache and anger and frustration. They didn't solve problems. Even if you could go back in time to fix things—HA! Like that hasn't been tried before!-the only real solution was to learn from mistakes and move forward.

The only question was how were they going to move forward from something like this? Jack wasn't even sure what he would find when Ianto awoke. The man had been in severe shock when they'd sedated him. It would take a lifetime to process the amount of trauma that had occurred in that single day. Never mind the countless mistakes made by all parties over the past several months. The team would need time to recover from Ianto's deception as much as Ianto would need time to accept Lisa's death.

The sound of the cog door opening made Jack glance at the clock. It was going on 9 o'clock. Looking up he was surprised to see Owen walk in. Exhaustion hung on the doctor, and if the bags under his eyes were anything to go by then Jack suspected he'd not had a very restful sleep. Owen came over to Jack carrying two cups of carry-out coffee from the local shop. He set one on the desk. "You are a saint, Owen." said Jack as he took a deep swig.

Owen snorted and took a drink from his own cup before nodding in Ianto's direction, "How's he been? Give you any trouble?"

"No, he's pretty much slept through the night. There was only one close call where I thought he'd wake up, but I headed it off."

Owen's eyebrows rose high into his forehead, "He shouldn't have even moved if he'd been on fire, Jack. That sedative is beyond powerful." The question was left unasked, but he looked at Jack expecting the answer.

"Well" Jack began, rubbing the back of his neck in a tired way, "I was looking through some stuff, and I guess I got a bit angry and he picked up on it. He didn't really wake up or anything, but he responded."

Owen glanced over at the computer screen. The picture of Ianto holding the basketball was still up and he sucked in a breath when he realized the image was less than 24 hours old. "Jesus," he swore.

"Yeah." Jack agreed. They both fell silent as they became lost in thoughts.

"So," Owen finally said when the quiet became too much for him, "what are you going to do?" Not 'what are we going to do' because there were no delusions that this was a team decision. Jack was leader and he did not rule through democracy although he usually did take the team's input into consideration.

For several minutes Jack didn't say anything. When he did speak, he surprised Owen. "What do you think I should do?" he asked with a rare vulnerability, "I've done a lot of things wrong here lately, Owen. First, with Suzie—I knew she was getting out of control and I didn't stop her. I just let her keep going, digging herself deeper and deeper until she buried herself. And now Ianto," he choked as his throat tightened, "I can't keep losing you guys. I just, I can't. You deserve better, and I honestly don't think I could take it if I lost him too."

Owen stood there, unsure what to say. He'd never seen Jack be anything but invincible. Pure confidence pushing over into cocky on more than one occasion. Never questioning his actions or abilities. "Well," he started, clearing his throat when he wasn't sure what to say past that, "well, if you aren't going to retcon him..."

Jack shook his head violently, "No! Absolutely not. I considered it, but then he'd be right. I really would be a monster. I can't take everything away from him, can't take her away from him. I'd have to go all the way back to before he joined Torchwood London, and I just," he broke off, "I can't. You don't understand. You don't know what she did for him, who he was before he met her. To make him revert back to that..." he kept shaking his head, unable to elaborate further.

"Okay," Owen said, "so no retcon, and clearly you aren't planning to kill him," Jack shot him a dark angry look that made Owen take a step back, "I said you weren't going to..." he was cut off by a groan from the couch. Both men instantly stopped in their tracks and swung around in time to see Ianto start to open his eyes. They quickly looked at each other in surprise and panic, neither knowing what to do for a moment.

Another groan spurred the men into motion. Owen quickly went into doctor-mode as he walked over to the waking man to assess his patient and Jack followed close behind. The captain hovered as Owen crouched down beside Ianto who was blinking against the lights of the hub.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Owen said in a low voice, "how are we feeling today, eh?" Reaching out, he took Ianto's closest hand and turned it over to expose the wrist. Before he could start reading the heart rate, though, Ianto had yanked his arm out of Owen's grasp and bolted upright on the couch. "Whoa, there, none of that now mister. Lay it back down before you hurt yourself." Owen tried to push Ianto back into the cushions but he only served to upset the half-awake man further. Ianto twisted away and fell over the arm of the couch, landing in the floor with a solid painful thud. His eyes were barely open, and Jack could tell that his mind was not recognizing what he was able to see. A jumble of blurry images swirled together in his drugged brain. He was scared and confused, projecting everything to anyone sensitive enough to pick it up. And Jack was getting it all.

Putting a restraining hand on Owen's shoulder, Jack moved past the doctor and slowly made his way to where Ianto sat huddled against the stairs. "Ianto," he whispered but there was no response, "Ianto. Open your eyes. Come on, time to wake up. You're here in the hub. Owen's here and I'm here. Okay?" As he neared the shaking form, Jack could pick up more images. Some he recognized as being flashbacks to the tower and the night before, but others he had no way of identifying. People and places from Ianto's past that Jack suspected had left an even deeper mark on the man's psyche than those involving Torchwood. He shook his head and tried to focus on calm and safety as he reached a hand out to Ianto's shoulder. At first touch, the shaking increased alarmingly before the muscles slowly began to relax. Jack continued to whisper encouragements and reassurances until Ianto had fully calmed.

Finally, Jack sensed Ianto's mind was awake enough to recognize where they were. He saw Ianto's eyes open and dart around the room to quickly assess the situation. Eventually they came to rest on Jack's gaze only to flinch away and look back at the ground. Jack felt him tense under his hand. He sighed. "Let's get up off the floor, okay?" Ianto didn't answer, but did his best to follow Jack's orders. He rose to his knees and almost toppled over but Jack steadied him.

Resentment poured out of Ianto at having to tolerate Jack's touch, but he didn't fight the help. Jack didn't say anything about it. They took it step-by-step until Ianto collapsed back onto the couch and assumed what was becoming his normal posture of arms wrapped tightly around his upper torso. Jack fought the urge to sigh. Again.

Owen cleared his throat, "Okay, let's try this again, shall we? Give me an arm," he held out his own expectantly, waiting patiently for Ianto to comply, but the younger man acted like he didn't hear the doctor. "Ianto, I just want to check your heart rate. Give me your arm and I'll go away."

Yeah right, thought Jack but he said nothing as he watched. Ianto's outwardly appearance of calm did nothing to betray the tumultuous storm brewing beneath the surface. He realized suddenly that Ianto had not uttered a word since the archives—since the moment they had all shot and executed the transplanted Lisa/pizza girl abomination. Staring at the still and silent man, Jack now wanted nothing more than to hear his lilting Welsh voice. Even if it was raised in accusation or condemnation.

"Ianto," he said sharply. It got everyone's attention as both Ianto and Owen's heads snapped up at Jack's tone. Once he was responding, Jack softened his voice, "you will do as Owen asks. He is your doctor. Last night, he gave you a sedative and now he needs to check you over. When he is done, we will talk. Understand?" Ianto stared wide eyed for a moment before nodding.

Slowly, he extracted an arm from around his middle and offered it to Owen who blinked a few times before realizing what was happening. Then he was back in doctor-mode, taking the arm and pressing his fingers to the pulse-point. Jack looked on as Owen continued a brief exam that included checking Ianto's temperature and pupil dilation. Finally, the doctor seemed satisfied that Ianto was out of danger from the shock he'd been in the night before. He stood and nodded to Jack before moving slightly off to the side.

Jack took a breath, not entirely sure how to start. Ianto continued to stare at the ground, refusing to look at him, and had wrapped both arms around himself again. Perching back on the coffee table, Jack placed himself so he was almost touching knees with the younger man. He knew he only had one chance to make things right. One chance to reach out to Ianto and bring him back out to the other side. One chance to say what needed to be said before the moment passed and he lost the person sitting here forever. Well, here goes nothing...and everything. "Ianto, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am."

Ianto's body jerked at the words, but he didn't look up. Jack could sense the raging conflict of emotions and decided to just keep going. "I'm sorry that we were not the team you needed us to be, the team you could feel safe coming to for help. I'm sorry that you've been going through the past several months alone. And I'm sorry for what I said yesterday. I should never have ordered you to execute her. I was angry and scared and I didn't understand everything that was going on. I'm sorry for what happened, even though I still believe it was the only outcome possible."

He watched Ianto closely for a reaction and saw him close his eyes against the words. But he felt somewhere deep inside the other man an understanding and agreement wrapped in too much pain to readily accept.

"I've learned a lot since last night, Ianto. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a few computer skills. I watched you move her into the hub that night we all went out out to the park to investigate some sighting. You were so careful, so steady, and I know you had to be terrified of being caught. I also looked up Dr. Tanizaki." He paused when Ianto let out a half sob and kept his eyes closed. "You are incredible, Ianto Jones, do you know that? You found the one man on this planet who stood even half a chance to succeed at saving her. And somehow you managed to convince him to fly halfway around the world to do just that. Amazing."

Jack glanced over at Owen to find the doctor standing there with his mouth hanging wide open in shock. For a split second, he thought he'd have to fight the urge to laugh, but then he focused back on Ianto and the feeling fled. He was like a ball of agony. Jack could feel Ianto trying to shut out the words he'd just spoken.

"Jack..." Owen started, and Jack knew he was going to warn him not to push too hard too soon. But this was important, and it needed to be understood now before it was too late. Because when Jack had felt and heard everything pouring off this one vibrant soul the evening before, he'd become aware of the fate Ianto had resigned himself to—of an early, fiery grave seemingly well deserved and meant to burn away all transgressions.

Leaning forward, Jack slowly rested one hand on the back of Ianto's neck—not holding or gripping, but just barely touching, much like he had all those months ago. "Ianto," he whispered, "I want you to know that you are not alone. That I see you now. And you have a place here as long as you will have us." Confusion and disbelief exploded from beneath the still waters that was Ianto Jones, rising with the tide of guilt and fear and exhaustion he'd been riding for so long. Teary blue eyes met Jack's, searching long and hard for something.

Time slowed as the two stayed locked in each others gaze. Ianto's mind raced with questions of why and how Jack and the team would take him back after everything he'd done. Jack smiled, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the hair tickling the top of Ianto's neck as he attempted to answer in kind—he was still out of practice with mental communications but it was easier than trying to remember bicycle riding in his opinion.

So, when Ianto asked why? Jack showed him all the ways the team needed him. How Ianto contributed, how awful they were before he came along. He thought back to Ianto's first day, when he'd given the 'grand' tour and the look on Ianto's face at seeing the single bucket and filthy rag as his only cleaning supplies. The memory brought a slight smile to both men, but it quickly slid of Ianto's face as he also remembered his words from the night before with regret: I clean up your shit. No questions asked and that's the way you like it.

I'm sorry. The words rang clear in Jack's mind as though they'd been spoken aloud. He leaned in closer so Ianto couldn't look away.

I'm sorry too. You were right. We never asked and we took you for granted. That won't happen again.

And when Ianto asked, How? How can you take me back? Jack decided to answer out loud, "With time and forgiveness on both our parts. We need each other. You need us, and we need you. So what do you say to giving this a second chance?" There was a long pause, and Jack feared that Ianto would reject the offer. But finally, the younger man gave a slight nod as tears began to slide down his cheeks. "Hey, now, none of that." Jack moved both his hands to cup Ianto's face and used his thumbs to wipe the tears away. He felt Ianto flinch slightly at the touch, but didn't move away.

The sound of Owen clearing his throat broke the moment. "I'm not even going to pretend like I know what you two are doing but it was bloody weird. Like some Vulcan mind-meld. Just thought you'd like to know that the girls should be here soon."

Jack shot Owen a playful scowl, but didn't let go of Ianto's face. Owen put his hands up and backed away before heading over to his workstation and pretending to do something important. Turning his attention back to the man in front of him, Jack gave a small smile. "What do you say we get you home before the two mother hens get in?" Ianto gave another nod and Jack helped him to his feet. "Go get your things. I'll be right back."

Jack made his way to Owen while still keeping an eye on their shaky youngest member. "Owen," Jack said quietly.

"Hmm?" Owen answered, not looking at Jack.

The captain looked down at the doctor to find him also watching Ianto closely. "I'm going to take him home. Let him rest, process what's happened, get his bearings. Does he need anything? Like antidepressants or sleep-aids? Vitamins?"

Owen snorted, "Yeah, vitamins will fix everything."

Jack frowned, "You know what I mean..."

"Yeah yeah," Owen waved him off before he could launch into a lecture, "Actually, antidepressants are a pretty good idea. I'll write a script for him. But I don't want to send him with any amount of sleep meds—nothing he could take all at once, if you get my meaning." Jack nodded his understanding. "I'll come by tonight and give him something to help him sleep. And, you know, check on him."

"Thanks, Owen." Jack clapped him on the shoulder. He saw Ianto standing nervously by the cog door, fidgeting with the hem of the too-large shirt. It was wrinkled from sleep, and his hair was sticking up in all directions. The overall effect made him look like a teen made to get up from a lie-in on a weekend. Jack put on his brightest smile before bounding over to join him by the door. "Ready?"

The ride to Ianto's house would have been silent if not for Jack's ability to maintain a steady stream of one-sided conversation. He talked about light, meaningless topics like outrageous alien encounters and funny anecdotes—anything to try and elicit a smile from his passenger. The trip was short and soon they were parking in front of Ianto's tiny house.

Jack knew where all his employees lived, but this was his first time actually going to Ianto's home. It was little more than a cottage, really, but it had the potential to be enchanting. The garden was full of weeds, choking out whatever flowers may have originally been growing there. The house itself was peeling faded blue paint, and one of the window shutters was falling off. Jack thought it was perfect.

The inside was cleaner, but just as sparse. It had the bare minimum furniture expected of a living space. Jack directed Ianto over to the couch and sat him down. The boy looked exhausted despite the hours of sleep, and Jack suspected that he hadn't been sleeping regularly for months. Humming to himself some long forgotten tune from his childhood on the Boeshane Peninsula, Jack began to rummage through the kitchen. He stopped when he realized there was practically nothing to make even a sandwich or cereal. Next to the fridge, there was a neat stack of take-out menus. There was one box of tea and a bag of coffee beans, so he resigned himself to making Ianto mint tea and decided that a shopping trip was in order sometime in the immediate future.

He returned to the living room to find Ianto sitting right where he'd left him. The disheveled figure was staring listlessly out the nearest dirty window at nothing, obviously lost in thought.

"Penny for your thoughts," Jack said quietly, hoping not to startle him. Ianto didn't react at all. Jack sighed and set the mug of tea down on the empty coffee table before sitting down next to him. He gently shook Ianto's shoulder, "Hey there, you with me?" Ianto spun around with a sharp intake of breath, but didn't spiral out of control like in the hub. Instead, he quickly regained his senses and nodded when he realized it was just Jack.

Jack offered a bright smile and scooped up the mug to offer again, "Tea?"

Ianto answered with a very slight smile and took the cup to keep his hands occupied and warm. Jack realized it also gave the boy something to focus on as Ianto's eyes peered into the swirling liquid and refused to look back up.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Jack tried again. This time Ianto shrugged and sipped his tea. Jack sighed, "Talk to me, Ianto. Please?" he begged. Ianto's head lowered even further. "Say something, anything. You can yell at me, or recite all the rules and codes for all I care, just please, say something."

Desperate blue eyes rose to meet Jack's own. Ianto's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Jack frowned, "Does your throat hurt? Maybe you...strained it yesterday? I could get some honey..." Jack moved to get up, but was stopped when a hand lightly grasped the sleeve of his great-coat.

"Jack." It came out as a whisper, but to Jack it was as loud as trumpet. He settled back on the couch, content to let Ianto continue at his own pace now that the silence had been broken.

"Yes?" he prompted after another few minutes of waiting.

"I don't know what to say." Ianto said, still whispering.

"Well," Jack started. He was usually known for his talkative nature—he'd talked himself out of more tight spots (and even into quite a few tighter ones) than he could count. But confronted by such a quiet soul in the face of utter tragedy, he now found himself in lesser-known territory. "I could ask you how you're feeling, but I think I know that answer...especially since I can feel what you are feeling, so..."

"Umm," Ianto was frowning into his tea, confusion emanating off him in waves, "about that, sir..."

Oh thank the gods! thought Jack with relief, a semi-neutral topic I know something about. Actually, it's probably the best place to start...

"Right, about that," of course knowing about something and actually explaining it using 21st century terminology weren't exactly the same thing, "I'm assuming you learned a bit about psychic defense at London?" Jack phrased it as a question.

Ianto nodded, still frowning.

"Good. Well, I'm what you'd consider an advanced student in that field. I've had a lot more training and experience with mental practices. I'd noticed your excellent shield-work from day one. I had actually meant to ask you about your psi training back when you'd first started with us, but I got...distracted." Jack grimaced and had the grace to look ashamed.

"I didn't have any training. Not really," Ianto's voice remained soft but steady, "They tested everyone as part of your entrance exam. I don't even know how I did. No one said, so I figured it wasn't enough to register as important. It wasn't until..." his voice broke. Jack shifted closer and rested his hand on Ianto's shoulder. He felt the muscles twitch under his fingers, but Ianto didn't move away so he took it as a sign of acceptance and left his hand in place. "It wasn't until the battle, when the cybermen and daleks attacked the tower that I learned to shield. My supervisor—he was really more like my mentor, almost like a grandad even—anyway, it was Dr. Bran who showed me. The tower was burning, and there were hundreds of people all burning within it at once. All of them screaming and scared and angry and I could hear and feel all of them."

Suddenly, Ianto stood up, shrugging off Jack's hand and setting down the mug to stand by the dirty window. Hugging his arms to himself, he continued, "I was useless. All I could think about was getting to Lisa, but Dr. Bran stopped me. He got me to calm down, took me to the safe room with all the other scientists." Jack watched, entranced by the emotions and sunlight playing across Ianto's face as he finally told his story. "It was there—in that tiny room where we all sat listening to the muffled sounds of battle—that Dr. Bran taught me what he knew about shielding my mind. He had to—I was losing my grip on sanity with each passing second. He taught me how to push everyone else out. And when I had it in place enough to regain my senses, he apologized and knocked me unconscious."

Jack felt himself jump at the unexpected statement. "What?" he asked before he could help himself.

Ianto surprised Jack with a slight smile, "He saved my life. When I woke up, everyone else around me was dead. Dr. Bran's body was lying on top of mine, shielding me even in death. I guess when the cybermen or daleks or whoever broke into our safe-room, they just assumed I was already dead in the confusion." He stopped, and Jack could see him getting drawn into the memories of that day.

"What did you do next?" he asked, trying to keep the miracle of Ianto talking ongoing.

Ianto shook his head slightly, trying to brush off the images, "I went looking for Lisa," he said in a broken voice, "It took ages. There were so many dead, so many dying. Fires everywhere, survivors were running, the building was collapsing in areas. But I kept going. And then, I did find her. I found her, and oh God, I wish I hadn't!" Sobs suddenly wracked his thin frame as he leaned his forehead against the glass of the window.

Jack quickly got up and went to stand behind him, but was unsure of what to do. With most people, he'd offer physical comfort—an embrace, a kiss, a hand patting the back—but this was Ianto. He was still such an unknown.

Still weeping, Ianto turned and slid down the wall to curl up with his back against the wall. "I didn't know what else to do! She was all I knew, all I had, all I've ever loved, and she was mutilated and pieced together with bits of burning metal. And she was crying from the pain, and everyone else was screaming! I can barely remember getting her out of the tower. What I do remember is seeing the soldiers arrive, and feeling so much hope—like it was all finally over and we'd be safe and there would be people who could help us—and then I saw them executing everyone who was partially-converted. So I ran." The sobs overwhelmed his speech again. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them as his arms came up around his head as though he could still protect himself from all things passed.

"Oh, Ianto," Jack said sadly as he knelt down next to him. Giving into instinct, Jack gently gathered the grieving boy into his arms and rocked him, "You have to be the bravest soul I've ever met. And I've met a lot of souls." Ianto fought against his hold for a moment but exhaustion and need for comfort won out and Jack felt him lean, tense, into the embrace. "I am so sorry you've had to be so brave all this time," he whispered into Ianto's hair, "I meant what I said this morning. You are not alone anymore. You do not have to carry all this weight by yourself. We can carry this together, in whatever form it takes. Your actions will not be in vain. Rest assured. Ssh..."

Jack kept up a steady stream of reassurances as Ianto continued his gut-wrenching sobs. Finally, after almost an hour had passed and Jack had lost feeling in both legs, Ianto's grief tapered off to quiet crying. Keeping his arms on Ianto's shoulders, Jack pulled back slightly so he could get a look at the younger man. Ianto was a mess. His face was red and smeared with snot, tears were still streaming down his cheeks, and his eyes were bloodshot and swollen. But he still looked better than he had last night. Jack reasoned it was probably his first real emotional release since the battle.

"Want to try for the couch? Not sure about you but I'm about done with this floor."

Ianto gave a surprised laugh through his tears and nodded. They had to help each other up, fumbling and falling as limbs protested the sudden blood flow with pins and needles. Limping to the couch, Jack let Ianto collapse back onto the cushions with a promise to return. As quick as his prickly legs would allow, Jack went to the kitchen and got a wet rag and cold glass of water, grateful for the drinking filter. He returned to find Ianto much calmer. The tears had stopped and his breathing was much more even. "Here you go, this should feel good on your eyes," he handed him the cool washrag. Ianto nodded his thanks and sighed as the cloth made contact with his heated skin. He let it rest on his eyes for a moment, then proceeded to wash the remains of his emotional breakdown off his face. Jack handed over the glass of water without a word and Ianto took it with another nod before gulping down half in one go.

"Thanks," Ianto said, looking down at his water. Jack could tell he wasn't just meaning the water and washcloth.

"You're welcome," Jack joined him on the sofa. The two sat in silence for several minutes. Jack wasn't quite sure what to do next. Glancing at his watch, he was surprised to see it was almost two in the afternoon. Neither of them had eaten in hours. Well, that makes our options much more clear. "What do feel like for lunch? We could..."

Ianto was already shaking his head and frowning, "Not really hungry, sir."

"It's Jack, not 'sir,' and it's been ages since you've eaten. How about some soup? Egg drop soup? It's nice and bland, good protein so Owen can't yell at you when he comes by tonight." Ianto shrugged but didn't shake his head so Jack took it as a yes and got up to find a Chinese menu from the stack in the kitchen. He quickly placed their order, getting extra so there would be leftovers to put in the fridge for later, and returned to find Ianto half-asleep on the sofa. He'd slumped down, head back, exhausted. Jack grabbed an worn-looking afghan from the back of the sofa and laid it across Ianto's chest and lap. The boy didn't move.

Jack had at least 30 minutes before their food arrived, and without Ianto to distract him he quickly turned to his surroundings. Looking through the few belongings strewn about the small house gave him great perception into his most mysterious employee. He had no kitschy items, but he did have a small collection of books and films. The books ranged from technical manuals to animal care to novels. He clearly leaned toward certain authors as there were only a few names that seemed to repeat on the colorful spines: Neil Gaimen, J.R.R. Tolkien, Annie Dillard, Edgar Allen Poe seemed to be the main ones. Several anthologies of poetry and philosophy sat among works related to advanced physics and astronomy. The films were just as eclectic. Documentaries and James Bond films shared a shelf along side the original Star Wars trilogy and several DVD cases with handwritten labels which simply read "MST3K."

Not feeling comfortable enough to go searching through the rest of the house, Jack instead grabbed one of Poe's collection of poems and sat on the couch to wait for the food. He flipped idly through the pages, not really paying much attention, until he came to one that clearly meant a lot to Ianto. It had a cloth ribbon marking the page, but it wasn't connected to the book. There were several knots tied in the deep purple ribbon. One knot held a tiny gold ring—too small to fit on any normal adult's finger. It was plain with no stones or designs, but upon close inspection Jack could make out an engraving along the inside of the band: I Promise.

With a shaky breath, Jack gently set the ribbon and ring to the side and took a closer look at the page it marked. The poem was highlighted and the page worn from countless readings. Jack didn't recognize it as one of Poe's better known works.

Alone

From childhood's hour, I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
my passions from a common spring—
from that same source I have not taken
My sorrow I could not awaken
My heart to joy at this same tone—
And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
of a most stormy life—was drawn
from ev'ry depth of good and ill
the mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—

At the bottom of the page, someone had written a note: Yesterday, you lov'd alone. Today, we love together. ~Lisa

A knock at the door forced Jack to turn his attention away from that haunting inscription. A glance at Ianto told him the man was still soundly asleep. He quickly replaced the ribbon between the pages and returned the book to the shelf before going to pay for their food. Thoughts raced through his head as he sorted through the bags and containers in the kitchen. He'd learned more about Ianto in the last several hours than he had in months, and the knowledge left him staggered. He was constantly having to re-evaluate how he saw the mild-mannered archivist. The man probably had more potential than the rest of the team put together. But that potential came with the steep price of damage and baggage.

One step at a time, Jack reminded himself as he piled food onto a plate for himself and a bowl of soup for Ianto. He returned to the living room with the food and set it down on the coffee table. "Ianto," he whispered, gently shaking his shoulder.

Ianto woke with a start, knocking the blanket to his lap. He reminded Jack of a cat—going from deep sleep to high alert in a heartbeat. "Easy there," Jack reassured when Ianto continued to blink and breathe rapidly as he tried to find his bearings. "Food's here." He turned away to give Ianto a few minutes to gather his wits, then handed him the bowl of soup and spoon. "Eat up, doctor's orders." Ianto rolled his eyes, but grudgingly took the steaming bowl and slowly started to eat.

Jack sat back with his own plate and dug in. "So," he said conversationally around a mouthful of food, "I am just dying to know something." He waited for Ianto to look up. It took a moment, and he could feel the confusion twisted with a tiny tendril of fear and Jack hoped that there would come a day when they would be able to just talk without inciting such emotions.

"Yes?" Ianto responded. His spoon was held frozen and forgotten about an inch above the bowl.

Pointing his chopsticks with a flourish, Jack continued enthusiastically, "What, exactly, is MST3K?" he spoke each syllable as though it were something scandalous. Or at least hoping it was, anyway.

Jack watched the wheels turn in Ianto's head, saw the boy's eyes follow the rice-speckled sticks to the movies and finally the realization sunk in. Relief drowned out the fear and confusion and Jack simply smiled even wider.

"Snooping, sir?" Ianto set his half-finished soup back on the table and rested his head back against the cushions.

"It's Jack, and of course I was snooping," Jack put his empty plate down next to Ianto's bowl and shifted slightly closer, "what should surprise you was that I limited my scope to just this room. I'll let you give me the grand tour at your discretion."

"Grand tour?" Ianto scoffed, "This house is hardly larger than the tourist office. You've seen everything except the bedroom and bath and back garden."

"Short tour." Jack agreed, "Is the back garden as magnificent as your front garden?"

"Uh, no. It's much worse, actually. Can't walk through it without a machete." Ianto looked embarrassed by the admission.

"Well, that could get the neighbors talking, wouldn't it?" he said it with a smirk, but the expression on Ianto's face immediately filled him with concern. "What is it?"

"I don't...I just...I can't...I..." he stuttered, trying to give voice to too many thoughts at once, "I don't know my neighbors. I don't know any of them. I've lived here for almost a year now, and I don't even know what any of them look like or their names. What am I supposed to do now? Just start over?" Ianto stood up and began pacing through the small room, "What? Dig a bloody garden? Tell me Jack! How do I start over when I didn't start living until I met her?" Tears came to his eyes and he angrily wiped them away with Owen's baggy sleeve.

Exhaustion and emotions were starting to overwhelm him again, Jack noted. And he was still without shields, which would both drain and overstimulate his brain at a much faster rate than normal. Sighing, Jack stood and approached the agitated figure. "Hey, hey," he tried to take hold of Ianto's arms to soothe the man, but Ianto ripped away from his hands.

"No!" he yelled as he slammed into the bookshelf, "Don't tell me it's going to be okay! It's not okay. Nothing's okay! This isn't okay!" he gestured between himself and Jack.

Jack held his hands up in peace and didn't move closer. "What isn't okay, Ianto?" he asked calmly.

"This!" he cried, again pointing at the two of them, "You being nice to me, like before...before..." he hiccuped as he lost the fight against more tears. "Why can't you just hate me like when she...when I...god, I wish I'd never made it out of that fucking tower!" The wail came out more like a battle cry and it was accompanied by a swift and bloody attack on the wall by his fist.

Jack winced when he heard the crunch of bone and plaster, but the pain seemed to snap Ianto out of his tirade and leave him shaking. "I know," Jack's soft voice startled Ianto, like he'd forgotten the other man was still there.

"What?" he asked, confused.

Jack didn't respond right away. Instead, he went to the kitchen to gather an ice pack and a first aid kit from under the sink. Returning to Ianto, he led him back to the sofa and sat him down. He spoke as he began inspecting the damaged hand, "I know you wish you'd never made it out of London alive. I know because I have survived more battles, more fights, more impossible situations, than anyone ever should be allowed to survive." He gently wiped the cuts with disinfectant as he continued, never looking up, "I've lost people I've loved to war, to disease, to age. And each time, the grief is new. It cuts deep, hollows me out and leaves nothing behind but memories and pain."

Finally, he looked up to see Ianto watching him, listening closely. "How do you go on?"

Jack smiled sadly, "I take it one day at a time. I wake up, I eat and get dressed. I meet new people, see the good and bad things that happen everywhere. Try to make the world a better place. And slowly, day by day, that emptiness starts to fill with new loves, new joys, new people—til I feel full to bursting."

Ianto said nothing, but seemed to be in deep contemplation over Jack's words, and Jack let him. It wasn't something to process instantly. So while Ianto reflected, Jack silently finished bandaging his hand and placed the ice pack on it. A quick check of his watch showed it to be after five in the evening. Owen would be over sometime soon to check in and give him Ianto's sleep meds.

Once all the first-aid supplies and remains of their late lunch had been cleared away, Jack returned to sit with Ianto again. The young man was much calmer now, but still looked quite lost sitting there cradling his hand to his chest. "You can never replace the people you lose," Jack said, seeing the faces of his own ghosts in his mind's eye, "When they're gone, you feel like your heart's been torn out with them. But you're still a better person for having loved and been loved by them—and in the end, the memories are worth the pain. You take what they've given you and grow from it. Because sometimes, a person comes along who shows you how much love you are capable of—so much more than you were ever aware of before. And that is just too fantastic to regret."

A hesitant touch on the back of his hand broke him out of his own memories and he looked up to see a concerned Ianto. Jack realized his cheeks were wet and that he was broadcasting his incredibly strong feelings of longing onto his very vulnerable companion. With some effort, he blocked off his mind and gave Ianto a watery reassuring smile.

"Thanks," Ianto whispered, withdrawing his hand from Jack to pick up the ice pack and return it to his injury.

"Anytime, Mr. Jones, anytime." Looking around, Jack realized the shadows were growing longer. The day was drawing to a close. "So, you never did tell me what that 'MST3K' thing was." He was delighted to see a faint blush appear on Ianto's pale cheeks.

"Um, it's actually an American show from the 90's. This guy and two robots are forced to watch awful films and they make fun of them. The comments they make are pretty brilliant sometimes. The show itself it pretty cheesy—super low budget, but very creative."

"Well, now I'm intrigued. Pick one and put it on. We've got some time before Owen comes over and I think we could both use some cheesy brilliant creative fun."

I'm not too good for begging for reviews ;) *begs*

Author's Note: I write this as a survivor of childhood trauma. Throughout my life, fan fiction has been a means of catharsis—a safe place to re-frame traumas and create healing. I dedicate this story to all my fellow survivors and supporters out there searching for their own story.

AN2: Poem is "Alone" by Edgar Allen Poe. I wrote it from memory. Double checked its accuracy at the website poestories dot com.

EDIT 4/5/14: Huge thank you to Otrame on LiveJournal for pointing out a major break in cannon that I had made by accident (involving Jack's knowledge of Rose's involvement in making him immortal). Total mistake on my part. That's what I get for allowing myself to become swept away in the rush of writing and not paying attention to the details! It's fixed now :)