Summary: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

Rating: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-15ish?

Warnings for this chapter: Profanity, violence, angst… and that's it for now?

Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

Author's note: So, we now have the return of Captain John Hart. Gotta love a man's who not afraid to be a homicidal maniac, huh?

Also, there's a bit of filler in this chapter, but stick with me and we'll be getting to the good parts soon.

This chapter: John hates 21st century humans; Jack and Ianto look after each other.

ALSO: Thanks to my wonderful betas, Vittani and ArizonaGarbage, for looking over this chapter for me!

Chapter Nine: A Truth Not So Common

"Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do."

William Shakespeare, As You Like It: Act III, Scene 2

Captain John Hart was not amused.

Standing outside on wet sidewalks, giving everyone the eye was fun for a time (if only to get reactions out of these poor primitive folk. Twenty-first century humans were so sexually repressed that a misplaced wink might start a brawl, which was only worth the effort if the blokes could actually throw a decent punch), but it had far passed the amusing stage and was moving deeper and deeper into the unbelievably dull stage.

Let's not mention the fact that he wasn't back on Earth out of his own doing—he wondered if he would ever get to this mud-ball of a planet without somebody dragging him by the short hairs. This whole threaten-Captain-Hart's-life thing was getting a bit tedious, even for him. Which was saying much, because he'd always enjoyed a good death threat. Especially if the one dealing it might be able to follow through.

But there was nothing "good" about this.

John was pulled out of his thoughts as a lovely dark-skinned girl walked by with more skin exposed than covered, sashaying in a way that attracted more gazes than just John's, but that was all it was. A lustful stare. Nothing behind it. She wasn't the One.

But who the hell was it, then?

The clock was ticking, and he was still no closer to securing eternal life—or any life once nine months is over, really.

See, he'd gone to see a woman about a myth. An impossible myth that made an impossible promise, but John had seen enough impossible things in his life that it hardly seemed like a terrible choice to make. Because, back then, John thought he knew who he wanted and that the only way to get his ex-lover's attention was to become like him—immortal.

Except, to quote the Old Earth cliché, things didn't exactly "go as planned."

Got the whole youth thing, but the eternal bit isn't quite right. Not yet. Not without… without something John was almost certain didn't exist.

Love.

The word itself left a chalky, bitter taste in his mouth.

On his planet, love was a fairytale. Granted, it wasn't that way for all humans from his time. Silly little beach colonists like Jack grew up in backwards communities with all kinds of Old Earth customs—monogamy (though the man rarely practiced it), religion, and the belief in true love, to name a few.

John never believed in any of that tripe filth, at least not until Jack-bloody-Harkness swooped in and saved the day—and in an instant he fell in love with the man's ridiculous bravado and stupid, cheesy grin.

Except, that wasn't true, now was it?

That woman—if you can really call the thing that simultaneously blessed and cursed him a woman—ripped open his mind in the worst kind of rape, forced him to face the truth of his own feelings. Showed him that he never really loved anyone, even though he had came dangerously close with Jack.

Selfish, self-destructive obsession, now that was John's poison of choice. That's what he'd felt for Jack, with a healthy dose of denial and jealously thrown in the mix.

But now, because John invoked an ancient, spiteful myth of a woman by promising he would do anything to attain "forever", he had to look for his "one true love" in a time so backwards people still believed they were alone in the universe.

Imagine that.

He hated 21st century humans. So stupid, with tiny little brains and even tinier imaginations. Unable to see anything beyond the tip of their noses, with a pesky penchant for dying far too easily. Most of them couldn't even imagine that a man like John existed, and if they did, "scared shitless" wouldn't even begin to cover the fear they would feel.

If he had to be paired up with one of these primitive apes, he only hoped it would be a woman.

The last thing he needed was to be running after a homophobic little bastard harboring more than one homoerotic fantasy in his repressed little mind.

Did John mention that he hated 21st century humans?

Bloody hell, he needed a drink. Or, you know, twelve.

Ianto's flat still bore the marks of a man who hadn't quite moved in yet. Boxes were stacked along the walls, although the younger man had seemed to unpack a large portion of the furniture. It wasn't surprising that things weren't completely organized yet (despite the fact that the place was disturbingly clean for someone who was in the process of unpacking), since Jack knew from personal experience that one was left with little spare time after assuming control of Torchwood Three.

Ianto's sigh of frustration reached his ears as the younger man sat down on a leather couch. Jack wanted to ask if he was alright, but he was sure Ianto would never be "alright" again.

People changed after facing death in this way. If you remembered the darkness, nothing else would ever be the same.

And even though Jack didn't know what had happened to the younger man yet, he knew it had to be causing quite the mind-fuck. Hell, there were times that Jack—when truly faced with the reality of his own immortality—wanted to fall to the floor screaming and thrashing around like an angry toddler.

He didn't, of course, (except for, maybe, that one time) but it was tempting.

Ianto clapped twice and lights came on from the ceiling, causing Jack to raise an eyebrow.

"Shut up," Ianto muttered in an embarrassed way before Jack could even think of something witty to say. "When I was… the landlord had them installed. Apparently they're 'all the rage,'" he groused, drawing the quotes with his fingers. "I just think it's a reason for the bugger to go up on the rent an extra hundred."

Jack didn't respond, but he sat down next to Ianto. The young man endured the uncomfortable energy between them for all of a few moments before popping up, mumbling something about coffee. Jack caught him by the arm, halting his motion.

Ianto gave him a frustrated look, which soon morphed into a slightly rueful expression. "It's horribly awkward between us right now. I don't do awkward well—you should know that."

Jack smiled. "Right. Go make your coffee, then."

When Ianto moved towards the kitchen, Jack moved with him. "Making coffee is not a two person process, Jack," Ianto called from over his shoulder as he turned on his machine. "Especially when the point of me making it is to move away from you."

"Maybe not," Jack agreed, pretending that last comment hadn't hurt, leaning against the marble kitchen counter. "But I'm not ready to let you out of my sight yet."

"You might want to work on making that sound a little less creepy," Ianto replied after a pause, still facing away from him. "Unless that's what you're going for, of course."

Jack laughed quietly, enjoying Ianto's dry way of speaking. Galaxy above, he'd missed that. "You're still as witty as I'd remembered."

Ianto rolled his eyes, although the older man could hardly see. "I was dead twelve weeks, Jack, not twelve years."

The sudden silence that followed was nothing short of agonizing.

Turning around to face the other man and seeing the pained look on his face, Ianto sighed. "Jack, what I said earlier… I didn't mean… I can only imagine what it must have felt like to think that I'd died."

"Honestly?" Jack responded after a moment. "It felt like my world had ended. No, worse than that. Because I knew that, no matter what, I would have to survive whatever tragedy was thrown at me—not because I wanted to but because I didn't have any choice. You can't imagine how that feels, knowing that you'll have to watch everything die and turn to dust. Knowing that, one day, you'll be the only thing left," he finished quietly, eyes averted.

Ianto swallowed, staying silent for a moment.

"Is it always such a curse, Jack? To live forever, I mean?" Ianto murmured finally, looking as if his whole life depended on Jack's answer.

Jack shrugged, suddenly not willing to respond.

Knowing the moment was over, Ianto turned back to the counter in a deft move, turning on the settings of his coffee maker. After a moment's pause, he reached to the cabinet above his head to retrieve a bottle of whiskey and then moved to another cabinet to pick out a can of condensed milk.

"Irish cream?" Jack asked from behind him, sounding faintly impressed. "You've never made that for me before."

"You never seemed very interested in alcohol," Ianto countered while reached for a bottle of heavy whipping cream in his fridge, back still turned. "You must have had all of three drinks since I've known you."

"Yeah, well, things change," Jack replied darkly as he remembered himself drowning in alcohol for the first weeks after Ianto's death.

Things stayed silent between them until the drinks were finished, Ianto handing Jack a plain blue mug while sipping out of his own red one. Covertly watching as Jack took his first swallow, Ianto felt a bit of smug delight at the way the man's eyes nearly rolled back into his head.

"Good?" Ianto asked, hiding his smirk behind his mug. Some things never changed.

Jack gave him a knowing look. "As if you don't already know the answer to that. Come on, let's sit back down."

Ianto let Jack lead him back to the couch, as most of the nervous energy between them had dissipated.

Tucking his feet underneath him, Ianto realized with a grimace that he was still wearing his suit. He'd rather take a shower and change into something a little less stiff, but undressing in the apartment with Jack there was similar to waving a red cloth in front of an angry bull.

"So," Jack began, squirming slightly.

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"You said you would tell me how you came back."

"I said I would tell you tomorrow morning," Ianto countered smoothly, rolling his eyes. Never let it be said that Jack didn't have a one-track mind.

"Yeah, well, it's tomorrow morning," the other man said, tilting his head towards the clock on the wall. "12:45 am to be exact."

Resisting the urge to throw his coffee at Jack's face, Ianto sighed. "I'd forgotten how much of a bastard you could be."

Then, for some inexplicable reason, he began to talk.

"Well, I don't remember anything between the time that I… died and when I woke up," Ianto began softly.

"Not even the darkness?" Jack interrupted, eyes roving over Ianto's face.

"Well," Ianto replied with a grimace, "I do remember a bit of that, although I wish I didn't."

"You would have been there for so long," Jack said quietly, trying not to imagine his lover lost there for weeks.

"It only seemed like a split second, honestly," Ianto admitted. "Next thing I know, I'm waking in my own coffin. Wonderful surprise, that."

Jack's back straightened suddenly, his eyes cutting into Ianto's. "You woke up in your grave?"

Ianto nodded jerkily.

"But how in the hell did you get out?"

"I dug my way out," Ianto replied after a pause, but Jack was already shaking his head.

"Ianto, there's no way you got yourself out of that grave. You would have died from asphyxiation long before you were able to even to begin digging! Not to mention the weight of the casket lid with dirt piled on top—no way could your oxygen starved body have had the strength to lift it."

"And you don't think I already know that?" Ianto hissed back furiously. "What I did shouldn't have been possible, but…" He hesitated, not wanting to say what he'd been thinking for so long.

"But?" Jack prompted.

"It… it felt like I couldn't die," Ianto finished with an almost whisper, eyes moving to meet Jack's.

"W-What?" Jack gaped, his mouth open as he gasped out the word harshly.

"I said it felt like I couldn't die!" Ianto yelled back, springing to his feet before beginning to pace. "I felt like it took hours to get myself out, all the while, my lungs were slowly roasting, burning, burning from the lack of air but I couldn't die! I can't even begin to account for what happened to me there," Ianto finished with a shudder, still pacing.

Jack stood as well, stopping Ianto in mid-pace. "Stop it. You're making me dizzy. Just… are you sure? Sure that something didn't help you get out?"

"Positive," Ianto snapped, scrubbing a hand over his head. "I could feel my nails tearing, fingers cramping as I dug my way out, the feeling of all that dirt swallowing me, holding me down and crushing my chest. God, the taste of it," Ianto choked out. "I don't think I'll ever forget the taste of it choking me."

"I know," Jack responded quietly, holding him steady. "I know." And Ianto realized after a moment that Jack did know what it was like. "I would have given anything to not have you feel what I felt all those years ago."

"God," Ianto whispered finally, his hands grabbing at the other man's jacket. "How did you stand it? All those years, Jack! You must have been in so much pain."

Jack shook his head, smiling sadly. "It was bad, not going to deny that, though not as bad as you're probably imagining. After the first few dozen deaths or so, my body stopped resurrecting. I think it was because there was no more air left where I was, so my body couldn't draw on anything to keep waking me up. If I did wake up at all, it must have been for seconds at time… and I can't remember it."

"That's probably best. If you would have actually remembered…" Ianto left the rest unsaid, shuddering.

"And after you got out?" Jack asked after a moment. "What happened then?"

Ianto shrugged, trying not to feel overwhelmed the warmth of Jack's hands against him. "Walked back to the Hub, discovered Gwen never logged me out of the system, took a shower… the rest is, as they say, history."

"History," Jack mused, their lips nearly touching. "And you haven't noticed anything odd since then?"

Ianto's slight look to the side gave him away.

"What?" Jack asked warily.

"Just… just small things," Ianto responded quietly. "Things that only I would notice. I even tried to use the scanner we used on Owen after you brought him back; to see if something was changing inside me, but it only blinks now… the explosion damaged it. I'm not even sure if it's salvageable."

"Let's go back to these 'little things'," Jack said with a frown. "Just what have you noticed?"

"This is going to sound silly," Ianto began. "It's… well, I suppose it's better if I show you."

He moved towards his bathroom, Jack following him closely. Turning on the harsh fluorescent lights in the spacious room, Ianto turned to the other man, fidgeting nervously. "Do you see it?" Ianto asked, pointing to his head.

"See what?" Jack asked curiously before he noticed. "Your hair, it's sort of burgundy-ish in the light," he remarked after a pause. "Kind of cute, really."

Ianto paused in his nervous movements. "Really?"

"Definitely," Jack responded immediately. "Goes well with your skin and eyes."

Ianto looked pleased for a moment, before rolling his eyes. "Yes, well, that's hardly the point. My hair's never done this before, so unless I tinted it and somehow forgot—"

"It's part of the transformation that brought you back," Jack finished for him. "Anything else you noticed?"

"Not really, other than my chest hair falling out and an odd skin thing, that is."

Jack's eyes widened. "Did you check for—"

"Radiation? Of course," Ianto scoffed. "What do you take me for, a fool? There's nothing that would suggest I've been affected by anything of the sort."

"Okay then," Jack replied, stressing the word. "It's obvious some miracle didn't bring you back, so we have to assume that what ever did, did so for its own purpose. A purpose that may not—"

"Be benevolent. I know, Jack. God, I've been able to think of little else since I came back," Ianto nearly growled out, trying to avoid the other man's eyes only to find them again in the mirror's reflective surface. "But it's looking like, until this thing shows itself, we're not going to know how I'm back, or why. The only thing we can do is wait."

"And how is that working for you?" Jack asked astutely.

"It's driving me fucking mad, to be perfectly honest," the younger man admitted wryly. "But it's not like I have much of a choice, do I?"

"Not really," Jack responded, his eyes moving from Ianto's eyes to his lips for the third time in two minutes. "But I can think of better things to do right now than continue this conversation," he added with a shadow of a grin Ianto knew far to well.

A rather flat stare was all Jack got in response.

"Or… not."

"That, Captain, may be the most intelligent thing you've said in a long while." Ianto moved away from other man, leaving the bathroom with Jack following closely behind him.

"Could you try to leave a bit of my ego intact?" Jack muttered, a bit upset although he logically knew sex was highly unlikely at the moment.

Ianto snorted, negating a reply.

"Gee, thanks, Yan."

Ianto finally turned around at the sound of the bitterness in Jack's voice. "Look, Jack… I think that it's time for us to go to bed."

Jack nodded in agreement, following Ianto to the door of his room.

Ianto frowned. "And just what do you think you are doing?"

"You told me to go to bed."

"And what made you think I mean here?" Ianto asked archly. "There's linen in the hall closet, but you have to put it on the guest bed. I haven't had much of a chance to set up the other room."

"The guest room?" Jack asked incredulously. "I haven't been your guest in a very long time."

Ianto gave him another one of those flat looks. "I'm exhausted and I just…" The younger man trailed off.

"You're really going to go to bed alone, aren't you?" Jack didn't sound hurt, surprisingly enough. In fact, he actually sounded a bit bemused.

"I need to think, Jack," Ianto replied quietly. "And I can't do that with you lying next to me."

Jack gave him a slightly frustrated look.

Ianto gave him an equally frustrated one. "Goodnight, Jack," he said, moving to close the door.

Jack halted the movement, putting a hand against the door.

"If you think I'm going to spend one day outside of your bed now, Ianto Jones, then you're not as smart as I thought you were."

Then, quicker than he should have been able to, Jack pulled Ianto in for a quick—and dirty—kiss. Moving Ianto backwards by sheer momentum, Jack found his way into the room before breaking the kiss.

"I'm staying right here," he snapped, emphasizing his point with a fierce expression. "You won't move me."

Ianto glared back. "Yes, well, be that as it may, I can certainly move myself." With that, Ianto left his bedroom, making a beeline for the bathroom. Jack made a move to follow him before thinking better of it, cringing at the sound of Ianto turning the lock on the door.

By the time Ianto left the shower, Jack had already stripped down to his boxers and made himself comfortable. He'd also submerged himself into quite the self-pitying, pouty sulk.

When Ianto returned to his room, dressed in pajamas, skin glowing and hair wet from the shower, Jack quickly pulled his petulant expression into something slightly less childish.

"Did you want something?" He asked archly, still a bit stung from Ianto's abrupt exit.

"My bed," Ianto answered evenly.

"Well, I told you before, I'm not leaving."

"I'm not asking you to." Ianto sighed heavily before continuing. "I… overreacted earlier. I'm sorry. Today has just been so…"

"I know," Jack agreed, his eyes softening. "We're out of sorts, which the lack of sleep definitely isn't helping. Just come to bed."

Ianto did exactly that, taking his customary position on the left side of the bed, leaving Jack the side closest to the door. Jack swallowed harshly, unable to stop himself from reaching for the other man and aligning his chest with Ianto's back. The younger man stiffened briefly, before, thankfully, relaxing and leaning back with a grateful sigh.

They lay against each other in silence for a few long moments.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you come back? To Earth, I mean."

"It's a long story."

"One I'm expecting to hear in the morning. No more secrets."

"No more secrets," Jack repeated quietly, wondering how much Ianto was going to regret that promise when he found out Jack had been dragged back to Earth kicking and screaming by John Hart.

Jack was overpowering, uncontrollable. It was easy to be that "teaboy" when he was around, easy to lose himself to the relief and passion and catharsis Jack had brought simply by returning.

That's why, when Jack pushed him on the bed, Ianto felt himself falling. He didn't remember hitting the soft fabric of his bed sheets, but he must have considering that Jack was already on top of him, hands insistently roving over pale, exposed skin.

He was somehow naked as well, but Ianto was hardly concerned with that now. Why wouldn't he be, with an equally naked Jack Harkness on top of him? Men have given up their lives for less.

Jack pulled away from his mouth for a moment to give him that look, the look that Ianto often imagined was a silent 'I love you.' Silent, because Jack could never say it. Silent, because Jack could never bring himself to utter the lie out loud.

But Ianto didn't dwell on the pain beginning in his chest as Jack looked down on him, instead concentrating on the strong hand that moved down his chest, skimming over his leg all the way to his knee, before moving upwards again, coming ever so close to where he wanted it to be. Closer… closer… almost there.

And all the while, Jack looked at him. Waiting for something. Perhaps for the expression on his face when Jack finally stopped being a tease and bloody put his hand on Ianto's—

Ianto woke suddenly to find Jack leaning over him, intent blue eyes locking on his own. For a moment, he thought he was still in the dream—the dream that had haunted him since he came back to life, but he was dressed, and no matter how much Jack was leering at him now, they weren't about to have sex.

Ianto just wished his cock would get that message.

"Good dream?" Jack asked finally, his mouth moving into a grin. "I assume, of course, that I had a starring role."

Flushing, Ianto opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was intimately aware of how he must have looked at that moment—face red, forehead beaded with sweat, breath coming out sharply. There was no hiding what he'd dreamed about. And now Jack was looking a bit too smug to be tolerated.

Eventually, he settled on something to say. "Too bad, really, that reality never lives up to fantasy."

Ianto was gratified to see Jack's mouth open incredulously. "You… you…"

"Goodnight, Jack," Ianto interrupted, turning around and trying to ignore the warm body of his indignant lover lying next to him.

There was silence for a few minutes. Ianto could feel himself drifting off again, but just as sleep was about to take him away, he felt Jack's warm breath on his ear. "Just wait, Ianto, just wait…"

TBC