Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. That honour belongs to RTD and the mighty and glorious BBC.

Authors Note: This is a little one-shot that's been worming it's way into my conciousness while I was wrestling with chapter 16 of Purpose. I did try to encorporate it into that story but it didn't seem to fit. It's Jack's thoughts during his time in the trance when Ianto is talking to him in the spectacularly good audio play The Dead Line written by Phil Ford. All the items in italics (Ianto's voice) are quotes from that play as is any dialog surrounded by quote marks. For full effect read Jack's comments as you listen to Gareth David-Lloyd give the performance of a lifetime.

The Life Line

I am aware. I can hear the clockwork ticks and whirrs – the insidious whispering – drowning out my own thoughts. They block my mind from doing anything but listening to the screams inside my head. Are they the screams of the other victims, or are they my own?

Beneath the screams I am aware of other sounds, monitors bleeping, female voices – one is Gwen's – their words indistinguishable over the cacophony. I try to fight the screams. Fix on a single sound from the world outside. But nothing seems real and they slip from my mind one by one.

Then as my mind descends into the darkness there is a pause. The screams muted by a pure note of silence. I force my mind to focus on it. Let it expand and envelop me until the screaming is no more than an echo in the distance.

And I know it's him. Beside me, holding my hand. There is no sensation, but I know my hand is in his, his thumb abstractedly rubbing the back of my hand in soft circles. Like he does when we're alone in his flat. Just sitting together, watching TV. His head resting on my chest, my arm draped over his shoulder, our hands clasped. And I know, with absolute certainty, that his hand will keep holding mine for as long as it takes. Anchoring me to him.

And when he speaks I can hear his voice, low and passionate, but filling my entire conciousness. I can hear the fear and I wish I could let him know that I'm here. Listening.

They say you're supposed to talk to people when they're in a coma, don't they?
I have absolutely no idea whether you can hear me Jack.
I never heard of anyone coming out of one and carrying on the conversation.
So I suspect it's probably something the doctors tell us to do – to make us feel better, rather than help you.
We don't feel quite so useless and helpless.
We get the feeling...there's still some sort of purpose in our lives.
Not just waiting. Waiting for the science to work...or the miracle to happen. Or the nightmare to end.

I can feel how much he is suffering. It's in his voice. He's close to breaking. I can hear the same desperation as when he lost Lisa. Do I mean that much to him?

I'm not much of a talker, Jack. You know that. But I'll talk to you now on the off chance it helps.
Just promise me that if you're hearing this. When you come round – and you're going to, Jack. You're going to come out of this. Just...promise me you'll never bring up anything I'll say to you now...How's that? We got a deal?

I love your silence. I love that you only speak when you have something to say. Not like me. I talk to fill the silence in my mind. Two thousand years of nothing but silence. I talk about anything. Everything. I think after this I might enjoy the silence a little bit more. Especially those silent moments with you, when we are just existing, without any need for words.

I can't promise I'll never speak of this. There is nothing to say I'll remember any of this when...if...I come round. But if I do I think you need to know, how I feel, what your presence means to me. How you are saving me...again.

This must be the longest I've ever looked at you and not seen you smile.
I've watched you in your sleep...did you know that? So many times. Just woken up beside you in the middle of the night and watched you.
Watched your eyes moving behind your eyelids as you dreamed. And tried to imagine what a man like you could possibly dream about. The things you've seen. The lives you've lived. The people you've loved.
I wondered if you were dreaming about me. I hoped you were dreaming about me.

Would you believe me if I told you the truth. That I dream about you almost every night. Dream about our bodies entwined, flesh against tender flesh, your eyes dark with passion as I run my hands over every glorious inch of you. Every moan, every gasped endearment committed to memory, treasured, precious. Would you believe that?

But let's be honest, Jack. I'm nothing more than a blip in time for you. Every day I grow a little older. But you're immortal. You've already lived a thousand lifetimes. How could you watch me grow old and die – how can I watch you live and never age a day.
I suppose we both know that will never be a problem. Not in this job. No one in Torchwood ever lives to draw their pension, do they?
Even if by some miracle I survive to see my hair turn grey or – or God forbid fall out – I don't kid myself that you'd still be around to see it.

I can almost hear your bitter laugh. I want to say you are so wrong and yet part of me knows you are right. I should have made my feelings clear. Told you I loved you. Convinced you of your part in my life. Convinced you that any time we have together will be the most important of my life. All my lives. But I know that time will be fleeting. I don't care. It's worth it. You're worth it.

One day you'll go again. Just like you did before. And this time you won't be back.

And now I do hear it. Your voice breaks at the thought I'm going to leave you. Not now but afterwards. And I need to tell you that as long as you are here I will stay with you.

For the longest time I tolerated this planet. I was waiting, for him. My Doctor. Eager to be gone. To be fixed. And then...then I met you...and loved you. And when he came back and I went away I realised almost as soon as the TARDIS had vanished that I wanted to come back to you. For a year, that year of pain and suffering, all I thought about was you. And when the Doctor brought me back and I kissed you in the Hub in front of everyone. I knew I was home. And for the first time I could imagine staying here with you for ever.

Maybe that's what you're dreaming about those nights I watch you sleeping. Maybe that's why, even when you sleep, I see you smile.

I won't lie to you. Sometimes I do dream about going back out there into the stars. But you're always by my side, Ianto Jones. I want to show you the wonders of the Universe, not just the flotsam and jetsam washed up here in the Rift, but the true miracle of the thousands of worlds out there. I want to see them again, this time through your eyes.

But you haven't gone yet, Jack. I know that. I know you're coming back to me.

I want to come back Ianto. I need to tell you how I feel. So you know. So we don't waste any more time circling around each other. Pretending this isn't what we both know it to be. The One.

And then the screaming stopped.

When I came round, the first thing I saw was Ianto's face. His eyes shadowed and fearful. I understood. The fear of losing me had been replaced by the fear that I had heard him. That I would mock him for his sentiments. I wanted to take his face in my hands and kiss those fears away but his expression was distant and wary, and the room was full of people talking. I craved the silence and I would wait.

Finally we were alone. I sat on the edge of the bed, pulling my braces back up over my shirt. My costume. My armour. I looked at him, watching me and smiled. Now was the time. I opened my mouth to speak but Ianto leapt in, trying to fill the silence.

"So...you don't remember anything about the trance?" His voice was cautious, clearly hoping my answer would be in the negative. I would oblige him, for now. But there was nothing to stop me teasing him just a little. Anything to remove the bleakness from his eyes.

"No. Did you talk to me while I was out of it. They say that's what you're supposed to do."

He flushed, shuffling from one foot to another, endearingly discomposed.

"I talked...a little. But I'm not really much of a talker"

I nodded. "I know." I had to tell him, show him how important he was and would always be to me.

"That's just me." Trying to convince himself his secret was safe. That I didn't know.

I picked up his hand and turned it over in mine, tracing slow circles on his palm with my thumb, watching as his eyes darkened in wanting, just as I'd imagined. At that moment I realised he didn't need to know it all, all those thoughts and feelings his words had invoked. There would be time, later, when I held him safe and sated in my arms. When we had proved to each other that we were still alive. For now all he needed to know was I had listened.

"Yeah," I said to him, holding his eyes with mine so he could see the truth in them "But you never will just be a blip in time Ianto Jones. Not for me."

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