It was only weeks after Brecon Beacons, after the cannibals, and Ianto was back doing his job, no longer walking stiffly, only wincing every once in a while when a movement accidentally jostled his still-healing ribs. Jack would watch his team from the windows of his office.

Now, everyone took gentle notice of Ianto. They no longer glared at him like he was a danger, nor did they ignore him like he was a piece of furniture. Both Tosh and Gwen would thank him for the coffee, Gwen with a little smile, Tosh with a smile and conversation and sometimes a condensed explanation of what she was working on (which somehow Ianto seemed to understand). Even Owen would incline his head in thanks, and surreptitiously running a critical doctor's eye over the young man as he walked away, gauging whether he was healthy or not.

But still Jack could see something odd, now that the smoke of anger and betrayal and suspicious was no longer clouding his eyes. Ianto would flinch at every touch, as if expecting pain, or turn away from hands coming toward him.

He realized with a start that no one, not one person, had touched Ianto kindly, with good intentions, since he'd joined. Yes, he had come on to Ianto, they'd fooled around, but Jack's only intention was to sleep with the gorgeous Welshman, not to comfort him. And when he'd visited Ianto during his suspension, they'd stayed on opposite sides of the couch, wary of each other. Then the cannibals had happened, and Ianto had been hobbling about the Hub, bruises mottling his face, a lump on his forehead, breaths shallow from bruised and cracked ribs, limping from an ankle sprain. Owen's touch had been gentle, but medical and impersonal.

The young man seemed to be afraid of human touch now, of only receiving pain. He tensed up, fight or flight instinct bright in his eyes, when people moved toward him. He was like a frightened animal. Trauma. Jack knew it well.

That night, when everyone else had gone home, he went to Ianto in the archives. Made sure he was heard by the young man before he put comforting hands on his shoulders and began to gently knead the knots from tense muscles. By the end of the massage, Ianto's head hung limply down and his breathing was slow. Jack led him down to his bunker, soft whispers in his ear, and gave him new touches of kindness and comfort to bring him back to life.