((All good things must come to an end. Thank you so much for your continued support, your favorites, your follows and your reviews (especially PadawannaB, it has been an honor to be regarded so highly by someone I also respect.) Also, special thanks, to SarahCat1717 and tomchyk who were kind enough to beta—your comments and suggestions were incredibly insightful and I owe you so much. You both were invaluable and "thanks" is nowhere near enough to express my gratitude. Now there's nothing left to say but it's been a heck of a trip—see you on the other side.))

xXx

Chapter 9: The Conclusion

There were some things that even Torchwood couldn't fix. As it turned out, Ianto Jones was one of them.

"We've done what we can," Owen had said as he helped Ianto hobble up the last few steps to his flat. "Now it's up to you and time."

He hadn't been back to his flat since; he was too proud to admit that he couldn't surmount the obstacle of three flights of stairs on a daily basis. If he was being honest—and there was little use lying to himself while he snuck through the long forgotten corridors of the Hub—it was more than that. His flat had never been more than storage for his clothes and food. He'd bought it, certain that one day he'd bring Lisa back to it, but now he only kept it for appearances' sake. The Hub was the only place for someone whose life had been utterly wrecked by the preternatural (which was still Ianto's working hypothesis as to why Jack chose to call the Hub home). Even before the incident that nearly killed him, Ianto spent more nights ferreted away in the Hub than in his own bed.

Honestly, he'd expected it to be far more difficult to maneuver in secret, especially after Lisa. But for the most part, he was met with little resistance. The girls were the simplest; as long as he went out for a pint with them at least once a week and carried on with a smile, they wouldn't think to pry. Owen was surprisingly harder to fool, every so often Ianto could feel the doctor's gaze on him, evaluating him. Every time Ianto met his gaze, he could feel the grudging camaraderie between them. He'd come across Owen's file a few weeks after he'd started work at Torchwood, and even then, as he stood crouched over the dusty paper, he couldn't help but notice the similarities between the both of them. And now, after Lisa, it was entirely possible that the only person on the planet who might be able to understand Ianto's situation was Owen—so Ianto began avoiding him as much as possible. (The last person he wanted to be was Owen Harper.)

And the entire time he'd avoided Owen, Jack avoided Ianto. It was actually something of a surprise to Ianto; he'd originally thought Jack would be the hardest to evade. But Jack had remained steadfastly out of Ianto's sight, either holed up in his office or out running cases with his team. The most Ianto ever saw of him was the five minutes each day that Jack took to descend to Ianto's workstation and order his usual extra-strength coffee. The first few nights that Ianto had slept in the Hub, he'd taken great pains to sneak in, even more meticulously than when he'd been storing Lisa next to the outdated computer parts. However, after night after night of an absent Jack, Ianto considerably relaxed his efforts. By the end of the second week, Ianto had begun nursing a pint at a local pub for an hour or so after the others departed before simply strolling back to Hub to bunk in one of the forgotten cells.

It should have been perfect. Jack had made no mention of what had transpired between the two of them, content perhaps to chalk it up to a fluke—an effect of too little oxygen perhaps. Still, after months of working under Jack's constant surveillance, the sudden inattention was jarring. Ianto was no fool; he saw the opportunity that Jack had laid at his feet—the chance to keep things between them as stationary as it had always been. If he wanted to be free of whatever tangled mess they'd gotten caught up in under the piles of rubble, he could. He was also aware that it was probably for the best; Jack being immortal and open to doing just about anything that gave him the green light, and Ianto being the broken little traitor that he was. No one had to tell Ianto that anything other than a professional relationship with Jack was a bad idea; Ianto was fully aware of that. Sometimes, Ianto would even try to remind himself that he hated Jack Harkness. He tried to remind himself that Jack had thrown thown Lisa to oblivion without so much as an attempt to save her, that he'd taken away everything that had meant anything to the Welshman. He was supposed to hate Jack Harkness, not fantasize about him.

But as Ianto drifted to sleep at night, he dreamt of Jack's fingers threading through his hair. He dreamt of the way Jack's lips felt against his, of the heat of his tongue as it invaded Ianto's mouth, of how his caress might feel against his thigh. Every morning he awoke, gasping and aching for more, and his resolve to keep a healthy distance between himself and Captain Jack Harkness became just a bit less sturdy.

That night began just like any other. Ianto hobbled through the dank and darkened tunnel, clutching his cane in his hand. He set up in Cell 328, wrote down the day's events in his journal by the light of an electric lantern, and turned in, settling onto the small cot and pulling the scratchy sheet around him. He was very nearly asleep when the soft but unmistakable click of the cell door latching into place registered in his mind. Ianto sat up instantly, his mind reeling, panicking; until he caught a glimpse of Jack Harkness leaning against the wall facing Ianto's cell. Ianto felt his breath catch. Even in the underbelly of the Hub, Jack's eyes sparkled, and that enigmatic smile of his was firmly in place—Ianto wasn't sure whether to be worried or aroused. He stood at attention, waiting for Jack to start, to crack some joke, or pass some judgement… anything.

They stood in silence for what felt like hours, each one regarding the other warily, waiting for the other to break. Ianto thought back to his confrontation with Owen and began to wonder if every conversation included a showdown, or if it was just the ones that he took part in.

This time Jack was the one to surrender first. "I have just one question," he said, looking around the darkened cell block with a critical eye. "There's just one thing that's been bothering me."

"Yes, sir?" Ianto replied, determined to go down with dignity, despite the fact that his boss had just found him camping out in a prison cell in his pyjamas.

"Back in the basement… how did you know I'd come back? I hadn't told anyone about my secret," Jack said, finally meeting Ianto's gaze. Ianto felt a bit like a tree must feel when it meets a bulldozer. "Gwen knows, but only because I miscalculated and took a bullet to the head while we confronted Suzy—"

"I know," Ianto interrupted softly, as he shifted slightly, his bad leg still shaking under his weight. "I saw the footage—you ordered me to comb through the CCTV of that night, remember?"

Jack paused, looking thoroughly perplexed. "You're joking," he said finally. "I wouldn't have been so careless." Ianto stifled a snort, Jack would be exactly that careless. Honestly, if it hadn't been for Ianto's quick clean- up work, half of Cardiff would know about Jack's secret.

"You had a lot on your mind," Ianto said calmly. "It's understandable."

Even in the dim light, Ianto saw Jack grimace. "So that's when you found out?"

"Yes." Actually Ianto had unearthed Jack's file about a week into his employment at Torchwood. Despite what Jack said about his 'secret', it was all too easy to find the proof. Or was, until Ianto Jones had buried it.

"Oh." They lapsed into another round of silence. Ianto, effectively trapped within the cell, had little to do but wait. Jack sighed and glanced around, his hands shoved firmly into his pockets, looking for all the world like an uncomfortable schoolboy.

"Ianto, can I ask you something?" he asked finally, his hand sliding along the glass of the cell.

"Do I have a choice?" Ianto replied hesitantly, as his eyes followed the smudge that trailed behind Jack's fingers.

"Of course," Jack said with a shrug. "But then, I don't have to let you out until it's time for our morning coffee. I'm sure the others will wonder where you are..."

Ianto felt a shiver run down his spine at the thought of his teammates finding him locked away in the cell. "What would you like to know?" he asked, sighing in resignation. "I'm an open book."

Jack let out a sharp booming laugh. "I truly doubt that, Ianto Jones."

Ianto glowered at him. "Just ask."

Jack's smile wilted slightly. "Fine," he replied with a sharp look of his own. "How is it that I keep happening across you, hidden away in my Hub? I've been keeping track of you these past few weeks, and I think you've spent nearly every night here except perhaps one."

"Everyone has to have a laundry day," Ianto replied glibly.

"You have a perfectly good flat. I've seen it." Jack countered, pointedly ignoring Ianto's jab.

"I do."

Jack's eyes leveled sternly on Ianto. "So then why are you holed up in an abandoned cell?"

Ianto closed his eyes. There was no evading this one. "Because there is no other place for me," he replied, through gritted teeth. "Because after all that I've seen, all that I've done, how can I go back? How can I clean up Torchwood's messes, dump bodies, wipe memories, then go back to that empty flat? What would I do?" Ianto's eyes flashed open, sending a clear challenge to Jack. "Heat up some dinner? Watch crap telly? Fall asleep alone in a bed that I bought to be shared?" His head shook sharply. "Torchwood has been all I've known for nearly all my adult life. How the hell am I supposed to pretend to be normal?" Jack was silent, his eyes hooded from Ianto's view. Ianto let out a frustrated noise, feeling very much like an animal in a cage. "Tell me, Jack." He challenged, smacking his hand against the glass. "You are always so quick to dole out advice. So advise me! What do I do? How do I go about being normal when I have nothing to go back to?!" He hit the glass again, the sound echoing achingly in the quiet.

Jack hand slowly slid over the same glass, his fingers ghosting over the pane and coming to a pause facing Ianto's clenched hand. His eyes seemed to lift on their own accord, as though being dragged upwards to face the boy imprisoned in his cell, chained to his Hub. Ianto, perhaps for the first time, caught the remorse - , the festering regrets - , in Jack's gaze as he stared at him.

"I don't know," Jack finally replied, his voice sounding raw-Ianto hadn't heard him sound like that since the cellar. Jack's hand drifted back to the side of the cell and Ianto heard the mechanical locks unlatch once more. Jack squared his shoulders, and just like that, the authority figure was back. "I expect my coffee by eight o'clock sharp, each morning. You are also free to use my shower-I don't want to imagine what the ones down here are like."

"Sir?" Ianto wasn't sure if he'd heard Jack correctly.

"You don't have to stay here in the cells," Jack replied curtly, as though Ianto hadn't spoken. "But the Hub is yours, for as long as you want it." His face finally relaxed into a roguish grin, one that Ianto couldn't help but return with a shy smile of his own. Jack actually chuckled and shrugged his shoulders dramatically. "Who knows, it might be nice to have another warm body to keep me company at night."

Ianto fought the urge to swallow heavily at the implication. "No doubt Janet and Myfanwy are hardly good drinking mates."

Jack snorted. "Yes, their conversation is horrible." He shrugged again with an exaggerated sigh. He began to walk away, but only took a few steps before pausing and turning back. "Oh, and Ianto?"

"Yes?"

"Don't forget, eight o'clock-"

"Sharp," Ianto finished smoothly, a fragile smile gracing his features. "I will be there, Sir."

xXx

The next morning, Ianto went about his morning routine of spooling up the Hub and feeding Myfanwy and Janet before carefully climbing the stairs to Jack's office, coffee-tray perfectly balanced on one hand and his cane tightly grasped in the other. He knocked politely before letting himself in., Jack had his back turned away from him, chattering away on the phone in what sounded like French. He ran a hand through his hair and Ianto paused to admire the way Jack's hair stood up in defiant spikes. For a single mad moment, Ianto was tempted to smooth the wayward strands. However, common sense made a quick return, so Ianto contented himself with placing the tray on the table and beating a quiet retreat.

"Hold it," Jack's stern voice stopped him about a foot away from the door. Ianto heard the phone being unceremoniously dropped back onto its cradle and he turned to see Jack surveying him sternly, his chin propped precariously on a pyramid formed by his hands.

"Sir, is something wrong?" Ianto asked blankly, giving the tray a cursory glance to make sure that everything was in place.

"You disobeyed me," Jack replied sharply. "What time is it, Mr. Jones?"

Ianto looked down at his watch. "Er... seven fifty-two, sir."

Jack leaned back into his chair victoriously. "Exactly," he gloated. "And if I remember, I told you to be here exactly at eight o'clock." Ianto closed his eyes in defeat, suddenly realizing his mistake. Jack smirked and twirled a pen nimbly through his fingers. "So, now what do I do? I obviously have to discipline you, Ianto."

Ianto felt a tremble run through him at the mention of 'discipline.' "What-" He stopped, his throat suddenly parched. He licked his lips carefully. "What do you have in mind, sir?" he asked. Jack was regarding him silently, making Ianto all too aware of himself. But just as Ianto began to feel the first pangs of panic, Jack leaned over, pulled another coffee cup from his desk and sat it down with a clunk.

"Sit down, Jones," Jack ordered, pouring a second cup of coffee. "We're going to sit down and chat."

"About what?" Ianto asked, eyeing the cup-and Jack- warily.

Jack actually managed a decent pout. "You don't have to sound so guarded. We're just going to chat, Ianto, isn't that what office people do? Go on coffee breaks, gossip about their bosses-"

"You're my boss," Ianto pointed out. "And most aren't gossiping under orders."

Jack waved a dismissive hand. "Yes well, this is Torchwood; we can only be so normal." His eyes softened. "But if you need a little bit of normal, Ianto, then I'll help you find it. If it helps you remember that there's more to life than the next crisis lurking around the corner, I can do normal." Ianto bit back his scoff but Jack must have caught his incredulous look. "I can do normal," he repeated, before pausing and allowing himself a brief grin. "Well, normal-ish. Too much normal is bad for your health." He held out the cup to Ianto. "Sit."

Ianto's hand curled around the cup as he slid into the chair, the heat warming his fingers. He finally looked up to meet Jack's eyes, turning the cup slowly in his hands. Jack smiled, not one of his film star affairs, but a small and timid thing. This was new ground for them, whatever this was. Ianto felt himself smile back as he took a careful sip of his coffee.

It felt good.

xXx

((Thanks again for the support and I hope you all will tune in to my next story. Is there anything you'd like to see? I am certainly open to requests, if you can think of something, feel free to pm me or even request it in your review *wink wink*. I am so proud to have finished this piece and I have you all to thank. Please let me know what you think.))