Author's Note: The title comes from Emily Dickinson's "If Blame be my side -- forfeit me --". A bit of a nod to (LiveJournal) Sam_Storyteller's "It Was Not Death, For I Stood Up". This fic sort of requires that you have heard the radio play, "Lost Souls" that aired on BBC Radio 4 last September. It's readily available in parts on YouTube if you haven't heard it yet. Highly recommended. Even has Martha in it. She was always better on Torchwood than Doctor Who, anyway. This comes - guess what - just after "Lost Souls". I'm going to get "just after" tattooed somewhere. Enjoy.

Gwen fell asleep half an hour into the plane ride from Switzerland back to Cardiff. Jack glanced at her and smirked as she let out a tiny snore. She did look like the kind of woman who would snore.

Ianto had been silent the entire flight, which wasn't in itself terribly different from the norm, but the troubled creases in his forehead and the intensity with which he stared down at his folded hands were cause for concern. Jack flapped his newspaper open and said in his most conversational voice, "You know, the easiest way to get out of talking about something is to say that you don't remember it."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind the next time I want to avoid a conversation." He didn't look up at Jack, but kept looking at his hands.

"You're going to set your pants on fire."

He didn't answer this time. Jack folded his paper again.

"Ianto, tell me what happened down there."

Ianto heaved an impatient sigh. "I told you. It got in my head. It spoke in Tosh's voice, and Owen's." He paused. Color tinged his face for a moment before retreating as he breathed out and raised a hand and pushed it through it hair in his overstressed way.

Jack's face took on a bit of concern. "What's up?"

Ianto put his elbow on his armrest and held his head up, staring at the back of the seat in front of him. "Jack, it was supposed to be me."

"What was?"

"The reactor. I was supposed to be the one to go there. We were on our way when the Weevils started up. They slowed us down. Owen – Owen could get there faster. So he went instead." He gave a shaky laugh. "King of the Weevils. It was supposed to be me in there, but Owen was King of the Weevils."

Jack put his hand on Ianto's. "It isn't your fault that he's gone."

Ianto shook his head. "It is, though. At least a little. I was going to get there and lock Tosh out. Make her help from the outside, in case I got trapped. She wanted to come with me. She wouldn't let me go alone. Then the goddamn Weevils and everything went to hell."

Jack pulled Ianto against him and made soothing sounds as Ianto struggled to get ahold of himself. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were rimmed red but he wasn't crying.

"I'm sorry," Ianto said, his voice quivering. "For everything. I'm sorry."

Jack shook his head. "There's nothing. There's no fault." He put his hand on the back of Ianto's neck. "You're fine."

Ianto nodded, then looked out of the window again. Jack watched him, his heart eating itself. Because he knew, there was fault. His fault. Letting go of Gray, a domino effect. Everything, even Ianto's guilt, was his fault.

But then, a lot of things had been his fault over his hundreds – thousands – of years. A lot of things to come would be his fault. That was life. Fault. Blaming yourself. He knew that Ianto knew it now, probably knew it before, and would know it forever, just like everyone else. Fault and blame. He looked back down at his paper.

There were no surprises there, but the feeling was what mattered. Familiarity. Fault and blame.