Ianto's POV

I stared at the small silver blade in my hand. A new one, of course. I can't stand to use an old one. I pulled up the sleeve of my suit, and then my shirt, tracing over the light scars there. Slowly, I lowered the blade to a clear spot.

As soon as the blood beaded on the cut, all of my pent-up emotions just spilled out.

First Suzie, then Lisa, and finally Tosh and Owen. So much death. Too much.

Tears dripped onto my arms, burning the sensitive cuts. It was a good pain, reminding me that I was alive, that I was real.

I was so caught up in the pain, both physical and emotional, that I didn't hear the washroom door open.

"Ianto?"

Jack's POV

Ianto looked up, and each tear, each cut was like a fresh wound to me.

"J-jack?" said Ianto, dropping the razor in surprise. Before he could say another word, I was at his side, cradling him as if he were a small child. He sobbed into my neck, and it was a few moments before I could make out what he was saying.

"Why did they have to die?" he whimpered, sounding like a child lost in the dark, scared and confused.

"I don't know baby," I murmured, rocking him back and forth. We sat like that for a few more minutes before I realised that Ianto's blood was seeping through my shirt.

Without a word, I lifted him onto the counter and began to clean his arm. Luckily, he'd only had time to make three cuts.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, leaning against me. He was obviously physically and emotionally drained.

"How long?" I asked. He hesitated. "Ianto, I need to know. How long?"

"Since Canary Wharf," he replied softly, avoiding my gaze. My heart clenched at that. He'd resorted to harming himself for years. He hadn't had anyone, for years. I gently kissed him, then all of the scars on both of his arms.

"If you ever want to do this again," I said, my voice cracking, "come to me. I'll take all of the sadness away. You can cry when you're with me, because I'll always be there. Always."