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-13ish?

Warnings for this chapter: Language, some minor times jumps and a whole lot angst. Also, plenty of Gwen (I think that should be warning, lol), but that will change later—I'm not the biggest fan of hers, but I'm attempting to give her justice. Let me know how I do.

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: Because Ianto Jones can't stay dead. And fanfiction is denial's best weapon.

Also, this is a prologue, so it will be rather short. I have a few more chapters written, and I can already see this going over 50,000 words easily. Feedback would be lovely, however.

IMPORTANT: Jack leaves immediately after the death of his godson, not after six months. Also, this isn't a 'fix it' story in the strictest sense of the word, as COE did happen… I'm just continuing the story ^_^

Thank you to my lovely beta, Vittani, for encouraging me with this story and correcting some truly horrendous grammar. Love ya!

Prologue: Waiting for…

Another day had passed.

Another twenty-four hours, another 1440 minutes, another 86,460 seconds.

But Ianto Jones still lay dead.

And since there were only so many times he could visit the drawer containing his lover's cold body without losing his mind, Jack left Earth. He left the entire tiny planet behind, and felt oddly unapologetic at Gwen's heartbroken face, her sobs as ineffective as raindrops on a window pane. Gwen had Rhys, and a baby, and no place for Jack to ruin her life.

It was so much better to leave her—and his memories of Ianto—a thousand light years away.

If only things were so easy.

He went to Nordamib first, a planet of insurmountable pleasure and endless partying, telling himself that adventure unlimited by the boundaries of planet Earth was just what he needed. Just a pick-me-up, and things would seem better. After all, how many times had Jack lost someone he loved? Hell, in the past few years, he lost Suzie, and Tosh, and Owen. Ianto was just a small name at the bottom of a very long list. And Jack would survive as he always did, and live to see another day.

No pun intended, of course.

But something was different—something had broken, and Jack couldn't quiet the grief as easily as he thought he might. Ianto was so much more than a name on the list of 'People Who Jack Has Loved and Gotten Killed.' He was the only name on a page titled 'Who Jack Harkness Would Have Traded the Universe For.' A page that his daughter and grandson, Steven, had never made it on.

And if that wasn't another thing to avoid thinking about.

He drank, and drank, and left planet Nordamib, and landed to drink again in a planet that was an orbital's version of a truck stop. Sitting in bars filled with aliens of all shapes and sizes, colors and hues, he drank so much that sometimes, if he squinted his eyes so tightly that they were nearly closed, he could almost see Ianto's face.

Ironic, considering he was drinking to forget.

Ironic, that every time he closed his eyes, he relived another memory of what was, and what could have been, saw another missed opportunity to say 'I love you,' to save the Welshman with the lively blue eyes and smart suits.

Ironic that the Doctor could have appeared wearing nothing more than a leopard print elephant thong and shimmied around the room, and Jack wouldn't have found the energy or the interest to so much as lift his head from his drink. A drink which seemed to have, at one point, been a sludge of some sort and that was probably fatal to humans. Not that it mattered.

Poison, bullets, explosions… none of that could kill him.

But Jack was beginning to wonder if a broken heart could.

Gwen's heart was broken, and Rhys was wishing something that he never thought he would ever wish for.

He was wishing that Jack Harkness had never left the planet Earth.

Two weeks had passed since the end of the world had been averted, and the 456's presence on Earth seemed to have been nearly forgotten. It was human nature, he supposed, to repress anything that showed the ugliness of them all—and those five days showed human nature to be hideous. The only true remnants of the alien's near-victory were the beginning of that prick of a Prime Minister's impeachment, and the ruins that remained of Torchwood Three. Now, he sat at home, staring blindly at a book of baby names (Welsh only, of course) while his wife oversaw the rebuilding of the Hub. Though why UNIT was even bothering was a mystery—Torchwood had be diminished to exactly one member, a member who would soon be on maternity leave.

But Gwen lingered over the sight of the explosion religiously, barking orders at people who were unlikely to heed anything she said. This was done while she repeatedly opened her phone to stare tearfully at a picture she had taken unnoticed of Ianto smiling at Jack, the both of them looking for all the world like a smitten couple. Rhys didn't know this, of course, and was wondering if his wife had become a bit OCD about her mobile.

He called her at least four times everyday, to make sure she was eating and keeping off of her feet. And he continually got an affirmative on the former, and an irritated 'I'm not even showing yet, Rhys' on the latter. But you couldn't blame a man for trying.

Most of all, however, Rhys found himself increasingly angry with the man who had left the burden of Torchwood on his wife's shoulders. Jack Harkness was a bastard, and a fool, and even bigger coward for running away from the mess he'd help to create. Well, they didn't have a bloody beam of light straight out of Star Trek to run away from Earth and Gwen was overcome with responsibilities that were never meant to be hers.

The phone rang suddenly, and he quickly hopped up from his seat to snatch it off the wall. "Hey, love. How are you feeling? Not having any morning sickness, are you? Do you need me to bring you something? It might rain soon, did you bring your jacket—"

His diatribe of concerned questions was cut of by an enraged snarl. "I don't bloody believe it, Rhys!"

"What," he asked warily, wondering what damned Torchwood had done now. "What's going on, love?"

"They say it is going to take them another three bloody weeks to rebuild the hub! What am I supposed to do until then? I have to get things ready for Jack, and I need a place to bring Lois to so I can—"

"Wait, wait. What on earth are you going on about?" The Hub was going to take months, no years to rebuild. There was no way they could do all of that in three weeks. "Honey, I think that you might want to take a couple of days off… the Hub is going to be out of commission for a while, yeah? So why don't you—"

"UNIT," Gwen began in obvious forced patience, "could have this mess cleared out tomorrow if they wanted to, with the alien technology they've collected over the years. But no, they keep talking about 'protocol, protocol' and having to check off things, and I am going out of my fucking mind, Rhys! This city isn't safe without us, and I can't work in these conditions!" Pause. "Look, I'm going to call you later, I have to go skin a little smarmy bastard that's been on break for the past hour. Yes, Remington, I'm bloody talking about you, get off your lazy arse and—" Click.

Rhys stared at the phone in bemusement and slight worry, wondering if he'd just encountered his wife's first hormonal outburst.

Gwen was frustrated.

The miracle she's been waiting for had yet to occur, and the Hub was still a huge crater with no signs of getting smaller any time soon. Realistically, she was well aware that less than a month was a ridiculously short time for the damage to be reversed, but damn it, she wanted the Hub back today. She wanted to see her messy workspace, with the pictures of Owen and Tosh smiling down at her. She wanted Jack strutting around in his overbearing, but utterly charming, greatcoat with that suggestive smirk on his face. She wanted Ianto with his heavenly coffee, and his perfect suit, and the secret little shy smile he gave Jack when he thought she wasn't looking. But the Hub was blown to bits, Ianto was dead, and Jack was gone.

But all wasn't lost.

It wouldn't be as long as she could get the Hub rebuilt. She had already been in contact with Lois Habiba, who was somewhat reluctantly considering a career at Torchwood. Gwen was positive Lois would be a member of the team in no time, if she only had a way to truly introduce Lois to Torchwood (though the girl had gotten quite the crash course during that five day crisis). And that way was the Hub.

Not to mention the fact that she was pretty sure, no she knew, that Jack would not be able to stay away for long if the Hub was returned to its former glory. Gwen knew him well enough to know that he would somehow be able to sense the moment the last piece of metal was put into place and would find his way back to Earth. Back to her, and Torchwood.

And, of course, there was Ianto.

Ianto deserved to be in the place where he's spent so much of his life, the place that he'd put so much of his life into. More than any of them, except for Jack perhaps, the Hub had truly been a home to Ianto—a place that had seen his best and worst, the place where the young man's love for Jack had developed. Ianto should not be put in some temporary holding drawer to be forgotten. No. That was just not acceptable.

Tears stung her vision and a sob caught in her throat, begging to be released.

She wanted to bring Ianto home, to lay him to rest next to Owen and Tosh—and she suddenly realized that the latter two's bodies must have been incinerated in the fire.

Gwen lost her battle with the tears and began to sob bitterly, staring at the sky. Jack, how dare you leave me, you bastard.

Ianto, how dare you leave Jack. How dare you?

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Three weeks later

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Gwen had expected to feel a sense of satisfaction, a glimmer of rightness as she stood in the newly-restored Hub. But she felt none of that.

No, she felt angry and oddly resentful at the pristine replica of the headquarters, a replica that had everything in it except for what she needed. There were no memories here, no smell of fresh coffee and whatever it was that Ianto used to feed Myfanwy. There was no cheer, and every surface seemed to gleam at her harshly, too new to be the same table that Owen used to lean against when he would make passes at her, or the floor that Tosh would always drop her pins onto.

It was quiet, soundless as a grave, and Gwen shivered with the realization that it was a grave—Ianto's grave. He had be delivered yesterday, and Gwen remembered that way she shuddered and shrank back she saw that his body was perfectly preserved, looking for all the world as if he had only died yesterday. It felt like yesterday, to her. Gwen wondered if it felt the same to Jack, wherever he was. Probably so, for all that he might be trying to forget.

Her phone rang and she was snapped out of her thoughts, answering with a tired, "Yes, I've eaten lunch, Rhys."

"Um, excuse me. Is this Gwen?"

Gwen colored, silently cursing the fact that she hadn't even bothered to see who was calling. "Yes, this is she. Who am I speaking to?"

There was a long pause. "It's Rhiannon Davies, Ianto's sister."

Gwen stilled, and the silence of the Hub was never more present. She wanted to say something, perhaps an awkward 'How are you doing?' her mouth dried and no words would come out. Why was Rhiannon calling her, the woman who 'didn't know her brother' at all?

After another moment, the Rhiannon's voice came out hesitantly. "I—You said I could call, any time."

"Of course, of course you can! But why…" Why are you calling me? Gwen heard the sound of children laughing, of a little girl, and suddenly remembered cradling Mica in her arms as she ran desperately for the girl's life. Her throat became even drier, if such a thing were possible.

"There, well, the thing is—A week ago, on the telly, I heard that the… bodies were finally declared safe to be released. And—well, I've been waiting for…" Gwen heard a choked sob and waited with a sinking stomach. "But no one has contacted me. Mother's going spare, she just wants him to be buried."

Oh, shite. "Rhiannon, I'm so sorry. Things have been just terrible lately, and I've been so busy, see, and it's just—" There really were no excuses.

"Do, do you have him then?"

Finally, something she had done right. "Yes, of course. Don't worry about the funeral, all has be taken care of and—"

"You've buried him?" It would have been funny, in any other circumstance, to hear a voice so shrill.

Not sure what had gotten the woman so upset, Gwen responded with a careful, "We've put him to rest, Rhiannon, Torchwood, I mean." Rhiannon only knew a bit about Torchwood, just enough to hate them. But Gwen had done right by Ianto, she had given him the resting place she knew he would have wanted. He was in the Hub, as he should be.

"And without his family's consent? Without allowing us to even see the body, or have a proper funeral? Have you lost your bloody mind? I haven't so much a shred of proof that my little brother is dead other than your fucking word, and I've been waiting to bury him—" Another sob was choked out. "You bring him to us. You bring him to us now."

Well, this was quite unusual. Gwen wondered if any Torchwood member had ever had family to demand rights to burial. Most were estranged from their relatives, and how extraordinary that Ianto seemed to have kept a remotely close relationship with his sister, enough so for her to be angry with Gwen's actions. "But, but Torchwood has always taken—"

"I could give a bloody fuck about Torchwood! He died because your lot, and I want him buried next to his father!"

"I'm… Rhiannon, that's just not possible I'm sorr—"

"I'm not making a request. You have him taken to Morris Mortuary in two days, or so help me God woman, I will hunt you down." Click.

Gwen sat down slowly, holding onto the phone with both hands to quell her shaking. After a while, that may have been two minutes or two hours, she release the death grip on her phone and dialed another number.

"Rhys, I have a problem."

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Gwen sat at home, curled up on a comfy couch she hadn't rested on properly in a couple weeks. A cup of warm, fragrant tea rested in the hand that wasn't covered with the warm throw resting on her shoulders. She was leaning against Rhys, his hand on her stomach, and earnest eyes staring at her.

"You have to do it, Gwen."

She shook her head in denial, dark locks brushing her cheeks. "I can't."

"But you have to. It's his family, they have the right."

"But…" she whispered in denial. "Torchwood has always…"

"This hasn't got a thing to do with Torchwood. Cardiff doesn't have a Torchwood now, and probably won't for a long time."

"Don't say that!" She snapped out. "I've just got to get us back on our feet. Lois is coming to the Hub in a few days, I know I'll be able to convince her once she sees it."

Rhys raised an eyebrow. "And that is going to be Torchwood Three? A pregnant woman and a girl who has less experience in dealing with aliens than I do?"

"She does have experience! And I'm just barely pregnant."

"There is no 'barely pregnant,' Gwen. There is up the duff, and not up the duff. You are up the duff." He sighed when he saw that stubborn glint in her eyes, and knew that was a fight to be continued later. "And what has this got to do with Ianto?"

"I…" her mouth moved silently for a moment.

"You what?" He prompted.

"I can't do it Rhys. I can't give him to them… it's against protocol."

"And weren't you the woman who was shouting to the heavens 'damn protocol' not so long ago, then?"

She was silent for a long while, before her eyes stared up at him, glimmering with tears. "It's just, Ianto deserves to be in the Hub, not rotting in some… some filthy grave with dirt and worms and maggots and what if I find a way to bring him back and I can't because he's all rotted and I can't let him go… I just can't." She finally choked out, sobbing.

Rhys held on to Gwen tightly, feeling her shaking in his arms and wishing that there was something he could do. There was nothing.

"His family has the right, Gwen," He repeated softly after some time. "You can't keep waiting for a miracle to happen, it's not right."

Eventually, she stopped crying and nodded slowly, disentangling herself from the covers and him before booting up the computer.

"What are you doing?

"Looking up Morris Mortuary."

The day Ianto was buried, it didn't rain.

It wasn't cloudy, or dreary, or even the least bit overcast.

It was unapologetically sunny, and Gwen thought that it was the worst irony of all. There hadn't been such a beautiful day in nearly four weeks. And yet, perhaps this was fitting, as Ianto had always shone so brightly at Torchwood, even when tragedy threatened to tear him apart, even when no one was looking to see just how bright he was.

She hated Jack for not being here.

She loved Rhys for knowing that she had to come alone.

The priest was speaking, offering words of condolences and praying to a God she wasn't sure she believed in any longer and she could see the figure of Rhiannon, sobbing against her husband. They were near the front, and Gwen stood a far ways back, surprised that she hadn't be ran out of the service with harsh words and more than a few fists. Instead, Rhiannon had merely turned around and given her a slightly nod of greeting, her teary eyes watching carefully as little Mica ran to give Gwen a hug. Now the small girl was much more subdued, held in father's arms, tears sliding down a face too small and innocent to truly understand with death meant.

The casket was closed. They had wrongfully assumed that the state of the body was quite unpleasant and Gwen hadn't bothered to correct them. Call her selfish if you want, but she couldn't bear to see his face again.

Now they were lowering the casket down, and she couldn't look as the family whispered goodbye. Gwen left before it even hit the ground.

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Two weeks later, Ianto Jones awoke with a start, seven feet below the earth.

TBC