How In the Hell…?

Ianto knelt in the blood and gore left behind after Lisa put Annie – poor, sweet, ill-fated Annie – in the conversion unit and transferred her own brain into the Welsh pizza-delivery girl. He didn't notice any of it; he didn't even smell the coppery tang of blood. His eyes were closed, his hands clasped behind his bowed head. He was waiting, simply waiting…

Jack stood in the doorway to the room, looking at the broken figure of a man before him. He had a decision to make – Retcon or a bullet. 'To erase three years of memories completely and permanently from a brain like Ianto's would leave an enormous hole in his mind… and his life.' He knew what it was like to have a gaping hole in one's memory; it had been thousands of years, backwards of course, but he'd give anything to recover the missing two years of his own life.

As loath as he was to do it, as far as he was concerned, a bullet to the brain was the kindest thing he – or probably anyone – would ever do for the young Welshman. Pulling his Webley from its holster, Jack closed his eyes briefly and sent a prayer to the Universe to watch over the soul of Ianto Jones; it was the least he could do.

Raising his pistol, Jack sited down the barrel – his aim had to be straight and true – he inhaled deeply, exhaled half-way, held his breath and then he pulled the trigger.

Time slowed to a crawl; he could see the bullet at it moved through the air, as it reached the back of Ianto's head, as Ianto's hair parted slightly, as the projectile entered his skull and finally, as it exploded out of his forehead. In slow-motion, Ianto's body, his beautiful, lithe, sexy body jerked to the left and slowly, ever so slowly toppled to the floor. Moving like molasses, Ianto's blood, a crimson river, joined the pool of blood left behind by Lisa and Annie.

The instant Ianto's body stopped moving, time snapped back into place and Jack released the breath he hadn't realised he was still holding. He felt so unbearably exhausted, his knees so weak; he gave up and let himself fall to the floor, not noticing the jarring pain the shot through his body upon impact. His Webley fell from stiff fingers and clattered to the ground, something Jack would never have allowed to happen under normal circumstances.

A few feet away, Ianto's body lay still, his once immaculate suit soaked with blood and stained with the grime from the floor. Jack was thankful that he couldn't see Ianto's face – or what was left of it. He'd seen victims of head-shots before and he knew it wasn't a pretty sight; Ianto's once beautiful and expressive blue eyes would be clouded over and lifeless, his forehead, with that one eyebrow that used to raise so eloquently would never move again, the mind that 'knew everything' gone, obliterated by a small hunk of white-hot lead.

For the first time in years, Jack felt tears fill his eyes and spill down his cheeks and his heart unexpectedly ached with loss. He never should have allowed himself to become so attached to Ianto; he should have known things would end badly. Reaching out with shaking fingers, Jack retrieved his Webley and slid it back into its holster; for a brief moment, he felt nothing but hatred for his once beloved handgun. It had saved his life so many times in the past and now it had taken a life he valued as much as he valued his own.

With a deep sigh, Jack wiped the tears from his face and rose to his feet; he had work to do. The Cyber-conversion unit needed to be dismantled and destroyed, and there were bodies to be placed in the morgue. Jack forced himself to move into the room and then against his will, he found himself stopping next to Ianto, kneeling down beside the still form.

"Ianto, I am sorry," he whispered as he stroked his hand along Ianto's arm, feeling the fine wool beneath his fingertips. "So very sorry." Jack bowed his head, scalding tears dropping into the pool of congealing blood. "I wish things could have been different, for you… for us." His shoulders began to shake as his sobs grew in intensity, and Jack huddled in on himself, letting his loss overwhelm him.

Jack was so caught up in his grief he that didn't notice a slight twitch in Ianto's arm or the sudden jerking of his leg, not until he was kicked in the knee. Shocked, Jack threw himself backwards and then laughed in embarrassed relief at his own nerves. 'It's just the body's natural reflexes, a muscles spasm!'

Standing up, Jack walked over to the conversion unit and surveyed its blood-stained machinery with revulsion. So many lives lost to the diabolical mechanism, and now he had to add Ianto Jones to the list. With a heavy heart, Jack began to dismantle the unit into smaller, easily manoeuvrable pieces, making sure they'd fit through the door of the incinerator. 'I should go turn it up so that it's hot enough to destroy every last fragment of metal.'

Gathering up a few portable pieces, Jack turned around and froze in place, the pieces of metal falling to the stone floor with loud clangs. He was too shocked by what he was seeing to even reach for his weapon.

Ianto Jones was sitting up, clutching his head in his hands and Jack watched in horrified fascination as the gaping wound in Ianto's forehead closed until, a few seconds later, the skin was completely unmarred. Slowly Ianto raised his head until he was looking up at Jack, his blue eyes filled with confusion.

Two voices – one frightened and one bewildered – spoke in unison.

"What on Earth…?"

"How in the hell…!"