Archive of Our Own

~*~ Shattered in Aspect ~*~

*

Day 2

~*~

~ No time for heartache ~

*

It was a long time since Methos had ridden - or been - the Nightmare, even in his dreams. When he woke in the darkness of his London flat with his heart pounding and his mouth dry his first reaction was to check that his sword was within reach and that there were no unexpected... visitors. The vague sense of foreboding and horror that accompanied his awakening was soon quashed by the realities that ensured his continued survival; 5000 years was a long time to have been alive, and Methos had no intention of dying - especially not when he had two bloody good reasons for his continued good health living in Cardiff. Satisfied that he wasn't likely to lose his head if he went to sleep, Methos crawled back into bed, silently commiserating with himself about how cold and unwelcoming it seemed without the warmth of Jack or Ianto – but preferably Jack *and* Ianto – to chase away the loneliness. As he drifted back into sleep he considered – not for the first time – packing in his lucrative job at the museum and moving lock, stock and barrel to Cardiff. So far his head had won that battle over his heart, but Methos was becoming more convinced every day that his heart had the right idea. He sleepily resolved to begin looking into it the next day.

Still somewhat bleary eyed in the morning, Methos didn't bother switching on his television when he was making his morning coffee and decided to forego the annoying cheeriness of the breakfast radio show in his car in favour of waking himself up by giving his ear drums a good blast of Muse. At work, everyone else seemed to be running late so he hooked up his ipod and decided to grab a 10 minute cat nap. Consequently, it was almost 9am by the time someone switched on the TV in the break room of the museum.

By five past nine Methos was back in his car, breaking every speed limit possible and more than a few other traffic laws besides. He didn't care. There was no rational thought involved; just the sheer, overwhelming need to be *there* and not where he happened to be at that moment.

*

Ianto's heart was pounding as he made his way as close to the Plass as he dared. He needed to see - needed to *know* - if Jack had survived at least semi-intact. It was all very well for Jack to say he could survive anything, but Ianto was fairly certain he'd never had a high-yield explosive device implanted in his body before. What he saw chilled him to the bone and made him very glad he had nothing left in his stomach; the body bag they were carrying from the wreckage was less than a third full and looked more like it contained butchers off-cuts than human body parts – if Jack could still be classed as human. Ianto forced himself to watch; there was nothing he could do now – there were too many people, too many guards – but if he could just get his hands on a laptop, he might have a chance. The registration number of the private ambulance was a place to start as even if it wasn't in the official database he had ways and means of discovering its history. While he wasn't quite in the same league as Tosh had been, his knowledge of software design and security systems was more than adequate to get the job done, thanks to his time with the Watchers. There was just the issue of obtaining a computer and much as he hated to involve them further, right here and right now he only had one place to turn...

There was a pay phone round the corner from the newsagent that surprisingly never seemed to get excessively vandalised. Outsiders didn't understand how or why, considering the condition of the rest of the estate at times, but Ianto knew it was because it was still a lifeline for so many people - after all what did you do when the credit ran out on your mobile 3 days before your next money came in or your land line was cut off because you'd decided to feed the kids instead of paying the bills? Fairly much everything else was fair game, but this phone - this one phone on the whole estate - *always* worked, protected by the very gangs that caused so much trouble elsewhere.

Ianto was glad to see that the phone appeared to have been ignored by the surveillance team – they were more interested in watching Rhiannon's house – so while he waited for the paper boy to show up he would be able to make the phone call he'd been desperately wanting to since the bomb that destroyed the Hub – and Jack with it – had exploded. His fingers trembled as he dug loose change from his pocket; by now Methos would have seen the news, and know that someone had tried to annihilate Torchwood. The thought of how Methos might react skirted the edge of terrifying, while at the same time the possibilities stirred darkly satisfying thoughts of vengeance deep within Ianto. He tapped in the number, and cursed furiously under his breath in frustration when the call wasn't picked up. He considered not leaving a message, but decided that Methos needed to know that he, at least, was alive.

"It's Ianto. I'll call you back."

*

"At fucking *last*!" Trying to escape the gridlock that was central London had been seven kinds of hell for Methos so his resulting shout when he finally reached the open road and could put his foot down was compounded of equal parts of frustration and relief, heavily leavened by his all consuming and ever present need.

The part of Methos that could still think was surprised that he hadn't been pulled up by a member of the traffic police with nothing better to do than harass distressed citizens. Most of him didn't care. The Jaguar was a car that was made for speed and he took every advantage of that, eating up the miles as fast as he could. It wasn't fast enough. It would never be fast enough.

His phone chose that moment to ring, but the voice that met his ears when he answered wasn't either of the ones he so desperately wanted to hear; Irish, not Welsh or American, and certainly not male. Even so, Siannon O'Niall was a good friend, and probably almost as worried as he was.

"Did you see the news this morning?" She asked

"I saw the news."

There was a pause, and a whispered 'shit' that he presumed he wasn't meant for him, then a deep breath.

"Tell me you're not on your way to Cardiff," she demanded.

"I am not on my way to Cardiff."

"Methos! You're driving; I can hear the road noise. Where the fuck *are* you?"

She sounded increasingly desperate, which twisted the knife in his guts just that little bit more, so he glanced at the sat nav which he had been studiously ignoring as it only told him how slowly he was going.

"On the M4. Near Reading."

"Then get *off* the fucking motorway and book yourself into a hotel or something."

"Give me one good reason why I should! Someone blew up the Hub last night. Jack *lives* in the bloody place and Ianto... Ianto was probably there too!"

"The news said there were survivors." He could hear the hope in her voice both offering and asking for reassurance. He had none to give.

"Two! I have to know..." He was prevented from saying more by her yelling at him.

"Methos! Think!"

There was the sound of another deep breath from the other end of the line. Methos thought she was probably trying to calm herself down. He silently wished her luck.

"Listen to me," she continued. "If someone wanted Torchwood out of the way enough to blow the Hub sky high then they're going to be watching the bloody place like hawks. The best thing we can do for them is keep away. You go to Cardiff now and you'll only be putting yourself – and them – at risk."

"I'm immortal."

"Yeah, and so's Jack. But Ianto isn't, and neither is Gwen. Will you use your head before you lose it, for fuck's sake?!"

Methos had to agree that Siannon actually had a point no matter how much it killed him inside to admit it. Time for his head to try and regain some control over his heart, he supposed. He drew a shaky breath, perilously close to breaking down.

"I'm taking the next turn off. I'll call you back when I'm set up somewhere."

"Make sure you do. Just... Be careful, old man."

Methos ended the call without answering her, probably cruel of him he knew, but the hitch in Siannon's voice had rendered him almost incapable of speech as it echoed the way he felt. He was lucky to find somewhere to pull over almost immediately after leaving the motorway and switched the engine off as he relaxed into the seat, trembling with reaction. Two survivors, only two... Shit. Shit. Shit.

The insistent warbling of his phone broke into his reverie and he was about to yell at Siannon for ringing him back unnecessarily when he noticed that the number was one he didn't recognise... with a Cardiff code. He grabbed the phone like it was a lifeline.

"Yes?" He answered cautiously, with heart in his mouth. Hoping... hoping.

"Methos." Ianto sounded battered and weary and Methos had never been so glad to hear it. He was alive, and that was the important thing.

"Ianto..." Methos couldn't manage to coerce his lips into forming another word, not even the other name he wanted to murmur like a verbal caress into the silence between them. Then he wondered if Ianto had heard anyway as a faint almost-whimper reached his ears.

Ianto regained his voice before Methos did.

"Tell me you aren't in Cardiff. Please," he begged. Methos was more than happy to tell the truth without evasion for a change.

"I'm near Reading."

"Oh thank god." There was muffled metallic sounding slither followed by a soft thump and a quiet yelp from Ianto.

"Ianto!"

"I'm OK. I'm OK – just some cuts and bruises."

Methos breathed a sigh of relief and finally found the voice to ask the question he'd been afraid to, not knowing what sort of answer he would receive.

"Jack?" He asked, realising that if he found it so difficult to ask, Ianto would find it more so to answer. Could he? If Ianto was brave enough to tell him, then he would damn well be brave enough to listen. His quickening shivered within him.

There was an unintelligible crackle from the phone, and a sigh from Ianto.

"Ground zero. They put the bomb inside him – he was... blown apart. I saw... I saw them pull him out. He wasn't... whole."

"Shit."

Methos had died in myriad ways in his 5000 years, but he had never been literally blown apart. He didn't think he could *survive* being blown apart. A sword wasn't the only way to remove someone's head from their shoulders; it was merely the most efficient.

Ianto ploughed on, his voice full of anxious optimism.

"Jack'll make it though, he's not like you. He said he could survive anything."

"I only hope he's right." And Methos did; he hoped with such fervency that it made his throat ache and his eyes burn. But there was another person in all this, and for all he might pretend not to care, he had to know about her, too. "Gwen?"

"She got out, but we were separated." There was another muffled sound that Methos couldn't make out, and Ianto's next words sounded almost breathless. "Look, I've got to go. Stay away, Methos. Promise me."

Ianto had never asked him for anything that he couldn't give, but the demand for that particular promise came very close, and Methos found himself wavering.

"I..."

"Methos. *Please*."

In the end it was that simple and there was no avoiding it.

"I promise," Methos whispered. "Now get out of there."

"I intend to." Methos couldn't help but smile at the hint of Ianto's understated stubbornness. "And...and I'll find Jack. For us both."

"Ianto..." The phone went dead – the call disconnected before Methos could say anything else – and he threw it away from him in disgust and despair, clinging onto the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He hadn't meant to fall quite so far or so fast – he never did – but he had, and now he was living with the consequences. Methos let his head sink down between his hands until it was resting on the central part of the steering wheel and took deep shuddering breaths that were only half a step away from sobbing.

*

As the Vectra swung around the last corner into the base of the quarry Ianto thought he'd never seen anything as beautiful as the sight of a very much alive and kicking Jack Harkness, even clad as he was in nothing except concrete dust and chains. It made all the lies, all the deceit and all the *heartache* of the day pale into insignificance and Ianto knew he'd do the same and more all over again if he had to. It was Jack, and there was no way Ianto would *ever* give up on him, not while there was breath in his body. The helpless fury that had raged through Ianto as he'd watched Jack encased in his concrete prison had now abated into a quieter but no less powerful joy and he didn't even try to hide the smile on his face as he clambered out of the car. Jack was alive and whole; truly a sight for sore eyes. Ianto breathed a sigh of relief and whispered a silent and heartfelt thank-you to the god he wasn't sure he believed in any more.

He'd been half afraid to hope, despite Jack saying he could survive anything, but what Jack had laughingly called - on more than one occasion - his good old Welsh stubbornness had paid off. With dividends. Ianto had never been so glad of his stubborn streak in his life; this time the relief that he'd succeeded felt pure and honest, unsullied by the acrid taste of betrayal.

Jack for his part, seemed determined to at least try to maintain the semblance of professionalism despite his current lack of attire; there were no words of thanks, just concern about the situation. Ianto said nothing and allowed Jack the physical distance, but the look he received as Jack limped past him, Rhys' jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder, was heavy with a plethora of unexpressed emotion. Ianto closed his eyes briefly as his next breath shuddered through him in response, then silently made his own way to the car and the next step in their perilous dance for survival.

*

The evening sunlight was pouring through the windows of the hotel bar, making the dust motes sparkle, when Methos felt the long expected whisper of immortal presence along his nerves. The door banged open and the sound of urgent footsteps echoed weirdly in the still air, coming to a halt next to him. He didn't look up, or acknowledge Siannon's presence in any way, until she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. So much was conveyed in that simple gesture that to continue ignoring her would have been rude to say the least as well as needlessly cruel, and he didn't want to be that person, not any more. The hand that wasn't wrapped around his drink found its way to lie over hers, and return the clasp. She kissed his temple, and he briefly rested his cheek against their joined hands. He let his hand fall, and the comforting weight of hers lifted from his shoulder; the important things all said in those fleeting touches. Silently, she reached over the bar to grab an empty glass and settled herself onto the seat beside him. Methos poured a generous slug of whisky from the bottle in front of him into both their glasses. There wasn't much left in the bottle even though it had been full when he'd started drinking, and he still felt distressingly almost-sober. He knocked back another mouthful; maybe now he had company he would be able to find some oblivion in the alcohol even if it hadn't yet worked for him. He rolled the glass between his hands, watching the movement of the amber liquid as it slopped against the side with each turn. He could feel her gaze boring into him, but he didn't raise his head, just concentrated on the glass in his hands. In return she said nothing, but the quality of her silence weighed on him, asking him to speak without ever uttering a single word. In the end, he complied; it seemed appropriate.

"Time was I could live quite happily without thinking about what passes for life in the so-called real world. It didn't affect me, it wasn't *my* life and I had no interest in it beyond the academic. Sometimes I wonder when that changed, *why* it changed and the answer is always the same; people. Wonderful, stubborn, beautiful, foolish, terrifying people. My major weakness."

"And your greatest strength," Siannon murmured.

At that, he did raise his head, and gave her a twisted smile as he met her eyes.

"You would say that."

She put her glass down with a thump, hard enough for the whisky to slosh over the side. Methos winced; if she was being that careless about what was actually a pretty decent whisky she was more distraught – and possibly angrier - than he'd initially thought. He hoped if it *was* anger, that it wasn't directed at him; he didn't have the strength or the inclination to deal with it.

"Because it's true, Methos," she hissed. "It's what makes you human - it's what makes us *all* human."

Methos sighed. It wasn't just anger colouring her voice, it was frustration, futility and pain. He knew the bitter taste of that.

"Maybe I don't want to be human any longer," he whispered, as he turned away from her once more. The weight of her hand on his face and in his hair was unexpected, her touch soothing. He closed his eyes as some of the tension left his body with the gentle brush of her fingers.

"I don't believe that for a minute," she said, her voice as gentle as her touch, but still insistent. "If it was true you wouldn't be trying to bury yourself at the bottom of a bottle in an effort to avoid feeling powerless."

"You see too much."

Her hand drifted down across his neck, a hint of her quickening tingling against his skin, before she withdrew. It was a reminder of who – and what – they were.

"I know you, Methos, and I know that feeling well... Far too well – especially now."

This time he reached for her, their fingers tangling where they rested on the bar, trying to ensure she knew that he understood everything neither of them could say.

"Bloody Torchwood," Methos snarled under his breath.

"Yeah. Bloody Torchwood." Siannon raised her glass and clinked it against his. It was an odd sort of toast, but it covered everything Methos felt – the helplessness, the hope and the fear. He wasn't bothered about the political manoeuvring he knew would be going on behind closed doors as the rise and fall of governments was just background noise in his life, but he *was* bothered by how it was affecting those he cared about. The fact that there were people he cared about – who he *loved* if he was honest with himself – and who cared about him, stuck in the middle of the whole crazy situation made it personal, and so much more difficult to bear. Methos hadn't done 'personal' like this for a long time - he'd forgotten how much it *hurt*.

*

Twilight was drawing in with a vengeance when Gwen pulled the Vectra in to a service station. It was fairly busy and Ianto hoped that would give them relative anonymity as they made the brief but essential stop on their way to what he hoped would be safety. Even the fear that their destination might *not* be the haven they needed could not put the dampers on the joy that he felt to have Jack next to him in the car alive and well, or as well as he could be in Rhys' spare clothes and a pair of stolen shoes. He was also glad that Jack had seemed content to let him cling to his hand during their journey without making a comment about it, though Ianto suspected he was just glad of the human contact – Jack had been hanging onto him almost as tightly. They'd sat in near silence, communicating only with the odd glance and the gentle brush of a thumb over their clasped hands when speaking hadn't been necessary. Ianto hadn't pushed for more, he hadn't felt he could *find* the words to express how he felt, never mind say them with Rhys and Gwen listening

Jack and Gwen stayed in the car as Rhys jumped out to refuel it. They all kept their heads down, trying to avoid the inevitable CCTV. Ianto had his own target as he made his way across the forecourt – the phone box at the side of the shop. Sensible or not, he *had* to let Methos know they were out of harm's way for the time being. Jack hadn't argued against the suggestion when Ianto had broached the subject, the look in his eyes giving Ianto all the encouragement he needed. Ianto wished he dared to ask for Methos' help, but he couldn't afford that risk; he and Jack both needed to know that the immortal was safe. Methos was their lifeline and he – unlike Jack – wasn't completely indestructible. Despite that need, Ianto shuddered to think about what must be going through Methos' head and hoped that he wasn't alone as the waiting would otherwise be intolerable. The phone box lured him with its siren song of promised anonymity and Ianto found his steps quickening; he was desperate to hear Methos' voice and to know that he at least was safe amidst all the chaos and destruction.

*

The phone rested on the table between Methos and Siannon, an unwelcome and silent witness to the fact that neither of them had any idea what was truly going on and whether Ianto and the others were still alive. The radio and TV were rife with speculation, but had nothing concrete to say on the matter. Both had been switched off to save them being destroyed by either blade or gun and the hotel staff were sensibly staying away except when called upon. The original whisky bottle stood forlorn and empty and they'd made inroads on a second, though at present their glasses stood empty.

"We should try to get some sleep," Siannon said. Her eyes were burning with fatigue and Methos didn't look any better than she felt.

"Do you really think you could? If you do you're more of an optimist than I am."

Siannon had to admit he had a point. Despite the fact that she needed sleep, *wanted* sleep, she knew it would likely prove elusive. The demons of 'what if' would be unwilling to let her rest and her imagination would provide the rest. She shuddered to think how much worse it would be for Methos; Ianto was only her friend – albeit almost as close as family – and Jack was... Jack, he didn't fit into definitions easily. To Methos they were more than that, so much more. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment against the pain she felt for her oldest friend. She would stay, and keep vigil with him; it was the least she could do. He'd done the same for her before, as she had for him, and they no doubt would again in the future but this time the waiting was all the more painful because of the thread of hope that Jack's very existence offered.

The phone shrilled, almost vibrating off the table before Methos grabbed it, meeting Siannon's eyes with ill concealed hope. She gave him a tight smile and raised her crossed fingers, offering a silent prayer to any deity that might be watching.

The first words Methos said, after his near-barked 'yes?' gave her the answer.

"Ianto... *Ianto*..."

*

Ianto cradled the receiver for a moment, as if he was literally holding Methos in his arms, and then carefully replaced it. He glanced around; Rhys was crossing the forecourt to pay for the petrol which meant it was time for Ianto to get back to the car. He wished he'd been able to spend more time on the phone, to give Methos more than the terse reassurance that they were alive, and safe for now. The best thing to come out of the brief conversation was the knowledge that Methos wasn't alone. Maybe now Jack would be able to rest, maybe they both would. Somehow Ianto doubted it, even with Gwen and Rhys determinedly sharing the driving with each other. He slid into the back seat next to Jack once more, and met his eyes. There was no way he could avoid answering the unspoken question, not when he so desperately needed to share the news anyway.

"He's OK. Siannon's with him." Jack reached out and took Ianto's hand in trembling fingers, and gently kissed his knuckles.

"Thank you," he whispered. Jack didn't let go of Ianto's hand, though Ianto noticed that the trembling had eased somewhat. With a sigh of relief Ianto settled back into the cocoon of silence that enfolded them with a lighter heart. Jack was at his side, Methos was safe, and Ianto felt that almost anything was possible, no matter that the odds were stacked against them.

*

Methos clutched his phone in both hands, his breath coming in stuttering gasps. He had no idea what the next day would bring but he had all he could hope for at present – Jack and Ianto both alive and relatively safe. A warm pair of hands wrapped around his, prying the phone from his fingers and pressing a glass into them instead.

"Good news or not, you look like you could do with a drink. And I know I could do with one," Siannon commented.

"Thanks," he replied, taking a grateful sip of the whisky, concentrating on the warmth it spread through his body.

"So what do we do now?"

"What you suggested earlier – get some sleep. I think we should be able to now." He raised his head and met her eyes over the whisky glass, she nodded faintly in agreement. "Then tomorrow I'm going back into London. If there is anything I can do it will be easier to do it from there." He took a deep breath, and then added almost offhandedly, "You can come with me if you want."

"I want. I'll follow in my own car, though."

"Probably for the best," Methos agreed. He was glad Siannon knew him well enough to take what he offered and yet still give him the breathing space he needed without being prompted; it was balm to his frayed nerves. There were some people – immortal and otherwise – who he would not have been able to deal with in his present state of mind. As if she'd read his thoughts, Siannon stood up, one hand resting on his shoulder for a moment.

"I'm away to my bed, then. Remember, if you hear anything, you get me. Don't even *think* of leaving without me," she said. Methos twisted in his seat to smile up at her.

"I won't." He was surprised to realise that he actually meant it. He didn't *want* to leave without her; obviously the presence of a friend who understood was more of a comfort than he'd thought it would be.

"Oíche mhaith, Methos." She leant down to brush a chaste kiss across his forehead and swept out. He finished his drink, but grabbed the half-full bottle of whisky to take up with him – he suspected he'd need it before he could sleep.

*

Day 3

~*~

~ No time to run and hide ~

*

Ianto was pleased that the old Torchwood One warehouse in Battersea was more or less intact and secure after its long years of neglect. Like so many other things it had been forgotten in the aftermath of Canary Wharf; he was just glad it was a place that didn't have any associations with Lisa as even now he wouldn't have been able to tolerate staying if it did – his post Canary Wharf memories weren't good ones and he'd tried to forget that time as much as he possibly could without retcon. He wasn't pleased that Jack seemed to be turning in on himself, withdrawing from the contact they'd established in the journey to London but he wasn't sure enough of himself to push too hard. Every time he considered it he couldn't get past the memory of Jack in pieces and if *he* felt like that, how much worse must it have been for Jack growing back painfully cell by cell? Ianto shuddered, and let Jack have his space, even though it hurt to have him sit as far away as possible as the size of the ratty old settee allowed; he knew it was time for Jack to be the Captain, and not the man. Knowing it and feeling it were entirely different things however, and he felt downright unappreciated for all the work that he'd put in to get them this far and it came to something when *Rhys* was the only one who seemed prepared to make a go of it. He berated himself silently for having such feelings, the oh so familiar guilt about not being good enough coursing through him in an unwelcome tide.

Ianto gave Jack a sidelong glance; he could swear the man was *trying* to create more friction between them all with every word out of his mouth, something that was confirmed by the little smirk on Jack's face after he very carefully made sure that Rhys was aware that they'd known of Gwen's pregnancy first. Great. Bloody Great. Just when Ianto thought he was beginning to make some inroads into understanding the complexity that was Jack, there was another twist, another turn and he was reminded that he barely knew the man at all, no matter how he felt about him. He sighed; it was just his luck to be involved with possibly the two most enigmatic people on the planet, but then he'd never made things easy for himself. At least he had a handle on what made Methos tick, even if he didn't always understand the guy, but Jack seemed so *alien* at times that he doubted he'd ever manage it, even if he lived to a ripe old age. With a last glance at Jack, Ianto scrambled upright, he had to move, had to do *something* or else he'd go mad and that wouldn't help anyone, least of all himself.

Later, as Ianto perched on the stairs watching everyone carefully avoid each other, he chanced a brief call to Mac who lived over the road from Rhiannon. He couldn't ring her, he knew the line would be bugged, but if he kept the call short he hoped that whoever was searching for them wouldn't notice his phone being used. It was a risk, but one that Ianto deemed was worth it; he had to let Rhi know he was alive as she, Johnny and the kids were all the family he had left - apart from Torchwood.

*

Methos woke with a mouth that tasted of sawdust but no other ill effects from his alcoholic over indulgence the night before. He'd slept better than he'd expected but his body sometimes helpfully looked after itself like that when his mind was distracted; it was one of the things that had given him the edge in surviving when others didn't. He didn't *feel* any better, but at least he knew he was physically ready for the day ahead. He padded into the shower to wake himself up the rest of the way and avoided switching on the television – he had no desire to listen to the lies the politicians were making up about the current situation, he'd probably heard them all before at some time or another. All he wanted was for it all to be over so he could get on with living, preferably as a continuing thorn in the side of Jack and Ianto. He squashed any other thoughts of his two lovers brutally, he didn't have the time to indulge himself and he didn't want his body getting ideas to the contrary.

He was more than prepared to leave immediately, but Siannon mother-henned him into having a cup of coffee and some breakfast first. He capitulated just to shut her up; he wasn't in the mood for her nagging and he knew from experience just how much she could go on if she was so inclined. Going by the smile she tried to hide behind her teacup, she was more than aware of the fact. Methos hid a smile of his own; despite everything, it was good to have her company.

Before much more time had passed, he was back in his car and heading towards London again. This time he at least made the effort to try and obey the speed limit even if he didn't always succeed, Siannon's Renault an ever present image in his rear view mirror to remind him.

*

Though initially somewhat nonplussed by Gwen's comment about being criminals, Ianto had to stop his almost semi-automatic eyeroll as she elaborated further and he saw the grin spread over Jack's face. Jack may not be a conman any more but Ianto was sure he'd got himself away free and clear when he was from a lot worse than the Cardiff constabulary but if Gwen didn't know, Ianto wasn't going to take it upon himself to enlighten her. As for Jack, he obviously still enjoyed the thrill of being one step ahead of the law. Ianto also had no idea if Gwen had read his file but even if she had that lone shoplifting conviction wasn't really an accurate reflection of how he'd spent a chunk of his life when he was younger. What it had been was the kick up the backside he'd needed in order to start turning his life around but Gwen of course was blissfully unaware of this. Rhys seemed to be unopposed to the idea of walking on the other side of the fence – another good mark on his side as far as Ianto was concerned – so Ianto began to make a mental list of what they needed and what *he* thought might be useful. Partway through his lists he realised he would probably end up spending longer than the others away from their temporary home. Chasing quickly on the tail of that thought came another... Ianto glanced at Jack again – he was still wearing his 'Captain' face – and came to a decision that would at least be beneficial to him and at best also would benefit Jack, and therefore all of them. First he would need a new phone, there was no way he was going to risk using his current one to make *this* call.

Ianto drew a strange sort of enjoyment out of their 'criminal' efforts, even more so when he got to swing a few friendly punches at Rhys but at the end of the day it had gained them some useful items and that was the important thing.

After Gwen and Rhys had left him to take the laptops back to the warehouse and Jack had disappeared goodness only knows where, Ianto took the cracked credit card and bought himself a pay as you go phone that conveniently used the same battery as his own. He ensconced himself in the relative privacy of a shadowed doorway to make the call, hoping that Methos had returned to his flat and wasn't still in Reading; if he was, the plan would come to nothing.

It was no surprise when Methos picked the phone up in his usual terse manner, but that changed when Ianto announced himself and the relief he heard in the immortal's voice was almost palpable. Ianto allowed himself the luxury of immersing himself in the pleasure of just hearing Methos speak before he got down to business.

"Are you back home, now?" Ianto eventually asked.

"At the moment, yes." Methos' tone implied that he'd change that at a moments notice with no problem, something that Ianto had been hoping for, but had not wanted to assume.

"I need you to do me a favour," he said.

"Name it."

Ianto hadn't expected blind agreement; he doubted that Methos had done that in more years than Jack had been alive, but he was pleased with the response. He began to elaborate,

"We need supplies. I can deal with the mundane things, plus clothes for the rest of us, but I want to replace Jack's coat at least if I can and I don't know of any army surplus places around here..."

"Leave it with me," Methos interjected. "I know someone on Portobello Road who will probably have what's needed."

Ianto sagged against the brickwork as the tension ran out of him; he'd been fairly certain that Methos would be able to help but he hadn't realised just how much he'd counted on it.

"Thank you. I know Jack will appreciate it. He's... not quite back to being himself yet."

"And you want to do what you can. I understand. Whereabouts are you?"

Ianto reeled off the name of a road not too far from his current position and where he'd spotted a couple of potential places for a meeting away from the possible eyes on the street.

"I know it. I'll be there soon."

As Methos cut the call, Ianto breathed a sigh of relief. Although his ulterior motive had been to try and find something more suitable for Jack than his current attire – he'd had a point, tracksuit bottoms weren't a good look on him – what Ianto had so desperately craved was to see Methos. Maybe it was selfish of him not to involve Jack, but he needed to see Methos alone and he'd been taught by the old guy himself that a little selfishness wasn't necessarily a bad thing, not in a relationship with two immortals anyway. With that thought in mind, Ianto stepped out of the doorway and made his way to the agreed street; the places he needed to drop into on the way already mapped out in his head. By the time Methos arrived his acquisitions would be complete.

*

Siannon watched the door close behind Methos and threw herself down on the sofa with a woosh of expelled breath. Much as she wanted to go with him to reassure herself that Ianto really was OK, she'd kept her mouth tight shut on the request. She'd recognised the look in Methos' eyes, even if he had not acknowledged the thought; he was going to say goodbye to Ianto. There was no way on earth she would let her presence interfere with that; there was no doubt that if Methos had wanted her company he would have asked for it. She hoped with all her heart that it would only be a temporary goodbye and that they would all be able to look back on these days with a sense of amused disbelief, much as they did with the other things Torchwood had thrown at them. Siannon wrapped her arms around herself as a finger of cold foreboding ran down her spine; more than anything she wanted to be optimistic but the situation appeared to be increasingly grim and though she hoped that Ianto - and Gwen and Rhys - survived unharmed she couldn't quiet the insidious whisper that implied it was a futile hope.

*

Methos chuckled as he spotted the place where Ianto had suggested they meet. It was a small, good quality, non-chain coffee shop – the sort that Ianto always seemed to able to find without trying, jokingly referring to the ability as having a coffee radar. He stepped through the door and into the reassuring dimness beyond, scanning the area for his objective. Ianto was on a sofa in the corner that looked like it offered a decent view of the whole shop although it was also the furthest from the door, a selection of bags stacked neatly beside him. Methos approved of his caution, though it didn't surprise him; Ianto looked wary and on edge. Not for the first time, Methos silently cursed Torchwood for what it did to people. As he moved closer the wary look lifted from Ianto's eyes and a smile lit his face. Methos couldn't help but smile in return, and was still smiling as he bent down to press a heartfelt kiss to Ianto's lips before he slithered into the seat next to him, biting back the grin that threatened to escape as he took in Ianto's slightly startled but appreciative expression; he obviously hadn't expected such an enthusiastic greeting, not in such a public place at least. Methos decided he'd best give Ianto some sort of explanation and felt that the unvarnished truth was the only thing that would do.

"I've missed you, and I'm glad you're alive," he said simply. Ianto reached for his hand while giving him the shy and sweet smile that never failed to kick Methos in the guts, and should probably be counted as an offensive weapon. It was probably just as well that Ianto only ever seemed to use it on him and Jack, with often devastating effect. Ianto broke eye contact first, though he didn't relinquish his hold on Methos' hand about which Methos was inordinately pleased – he didn't want to lose the contact. Ianto glanced down at their joined hands with a quirk of his lips, then back up at Methos, still smiling even though it had become a little twisted around the edges

"Funnily enough, I'm glad I'm alive too," he said and though he didn't return the 'I've missed you' Methos heard it nonetheless. Considering that everything seemed to be falling apart with great rapidity, Ianto was taking a chance in meeting with him, and Methos was selfishly glad of that fact. He leaned forward to pick up the coffee that was waiting on his side of the table and took a sip; it was actually pretty good, though he still preferred Ianto's, something of which Ianto was only too well aware judging by the faint smile hovering on his lips. Methos settled back into the cushions of the sofa, coffee in one hand, Ianto's fingers clasped in the other – he wasn't letting Ianto go until he had to.

"Any idea who ordered the Hub destroyed? Or why?" Methos tried to make his tone as light and conversational as possible – he didn't want to give anyone with over curious ears any cues that there was something potentially earth-shattering being discussed between the two guys on the sofa at the back of the coffee shop, though he doubted anyone would understand the actual words; Welsh was not exactly widely spoken in London after all. "Considering what you do for Cardiff I wouldn't have expected you to be declared anathema to the extent where they wanted you 'neutralised' even if you are considered dangerous." Methos almost snorted as he said that – they were considered dangerous for the very good reason that they *were* dangerous, just not in the way that most people expected.

Ianto sighed, and took a sip of his own drink. Methos reflected that it was a sound so full of world-weariness and acceptance it should be way too old to be coming from someone of Ianto's age – but that was Torchwood for you; you were old before your time, in some cases literally.

"The 'who' is the government, or more accurately another branch of the civil service," Ianto said.

"The Hub was blown up by civil servants?" Methos couldn't help the irreverent image of men in bad suits wearing glasses and waving big guns that surfaced in his head, and shook it to clear it; bad humour was unlikely to help in this situation, even if under normal circumstances Ianto would appreciate it.

"Hey, Torchwood is nominally part of the civil service…" Ianto protested, then added, somewhat sheepishly, "but, yes, it seems that way."

"And you're sure UNIT wasn't involved?" Methos asked; he knew that Torchwood and UNIT were sometimes at odds with each other, but couldn't imagine the military organisation willingly being involved in something as underhanded as the attempted destruction of Torchwood Cardiff and all its personnel.

"Not as far as we can tell. Our contact on the inside of UNIT was out of the country when everything went to hell and we daren't attempt to reach her now – she'll be under surveillance at the least. Same probably goes for the other people who might be able to help. We can't put them at risk if they aren't already; we're on our own." Methos squeezed Ianto's hand a little, just to remind him that they weren't *quite* on their own, even if he wasn't exactly an army. Ianto returned the gesture, and gave Methos a small but thankful smile in acknowledgement.

"I presume the why is something to do with the children?"

"We think so, but right now we aren't exactly in position to confirm that. We're working on that, though." Ianto patted the laptop on the seat beside him. Methos didn't miss the pleased near-smirk that flitted across Ianto's face. He grinned in response.

"You've been making acquisitions, then?" He asked. Methos was fairly certain he knew more about Ianto's somewhat chequered background than most people apart from Jack, but then Ianto knew more about him so there was a kind of symmetry to it all.

"Just a few. Which reminds me…" Ianto didn't need to ask the question for Methos to hear it, but he did need to hear the answer.

"It's in the car," Methos said. He'd been lucky that his friend on Portobello had been able to supply everything, including the right sort of boots, and wrap it into one tidy package.

"Thank you," Ianto murmured.

"I wish there was more I could do to help." For all his apparent ducking of responsibilities at times and his determination to survive, Methos meant every word. What he really wanted was to disappear off somewhere with Ianto and Jack and surface when someone else had sorted the problem out, but he knew that wasn't an option, not with those two. And if he couldn't disappear then it seemed stupid not to use certain of his abilities.

"I know, but…"

Methos cut Ianto off with a gesture.

"Ianto, I'm immortal and I've been around for a long time..." Methos found himself being interrupted in turn.

"But you're not indestructible. Jack needs – hell, *I* need – to know you're not part of this mess," Ianto said, his voice almost trembling with barely restrained vehemence.

Methos sighed, he'd encountered Ianto's steadfast determination before and there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do to dissuade him from a path once he'd decided to take it but he had nothing to lose by trying, and a hell of a lot to gain.

"There's only the three of you up against people who obviously have no scruples," Methos said blandly.

"Four. There's Rhys."

"Four then." Methos fought the urge to roll his eyes in a way that Ianto would find way too familiar. "But Rhys isn't Torchwood and even if he was, the power of Torchwood wasn't enough to prevent you all nearly being killed. Do you really think you can make a difference when you've got none of that power behind you?"

Silence stretched between them - dark, heavy, emotion laden silence. They stared at each other, fingers still firmly tangled together. Methos swallowed, mentally kicking himself for pushing too hard. He hadn't meant to, but where Ianto was concerned he'd found himself doing a lot of things he hadn't meant to so what was one more to worry about? He suspected Ianto's answer would be painful to say the least.

"We've got to try. If we don't, who will?" Ianto said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Shit. To him it probably was, and all Methos could do was bite his lip to hold back the retort he wanted to give and let Ianto carry on. "Jack changed the way Torchwood worked in Cardiff so we were there to protect people as much as anything else and we can't stop doing that now even if we're trying to protect them from their own. If anything it's more important now than it ever was. And Torchwood was never just the Hub; it's the people as well. Jack *is* Torchwood, and we've got make sure he stays that way." Ianto's impassioned tumble of words ceased and Methos sighed, closing his eyes to get away from the accusing blue glare of Ianto's. He still didn't let go of Ianto's hand, though.

"Where the hell did I go wrong?" He whispered, almost to himself. "I can't seem to escape from twice-damned bloody heroes!"

"We're not heroes; we're just doing our job." Ianto sounded so genuinely puzzled that Methos couldn't help the disbelieving snort that escaped. He decided to elaborate.

"Ianto, people walk away from 'jobs'. You don't walk away from Torchwood, not intact anyway. Even *I* know that."

"And you think I don't? None of us are whole, Methos, not even Jack – especially not Jack – but Torchwood gives us something *more* to live for; it's like family."

"I'm quite aware of that – I even understand – but it doesn't mean I have to like it! Torchwood was there before Jack and the rest of you and it will be there after – *you* won't be."

And there it was, out in the open – Methos' entire motivation for his behaviour – he doubted it would make a difference but at least he couldn't be accused of holding things back this time.

"That doesn't change anything," Ianto said gently.

"I didn't think it would, but it had to be said. I just wish… Oh never mind. You always were Torchwood's first and foremost, you always will be." Methos took a deep breath and let it out noisily. Another. Damn bloody intransigent mortals getting under his skin until he cared too much.

"Would you want me to be any different?" Ianto asked quietly, carefully avoiding Methos' searching glance. Methos decided he might as well continue being honest, it seemed to be the day for it.

"If you were different you wouldn't be you, so no." 'No matter how much it hurts,' he added silently to himself. Ianto probably already knew that.

"Part of my charm, then?" Ianto asked with a raised eyebrow as he took his turn to lighten the mood between them, which made Methos smile.

"You've been around Jack too much."

"Then when this is over you should remedy that. Spend some time with us."

Such simple, gentle, heartfelt words and yet Methos found himself almost fighting back tears. If they all still lived when this was over he wouldn't just spend time with them, they wouldn't be able to get rid of him. Ever. Maybe he would join Torchwood just to keep an eye on the two of them and to enjoy every moment possible with them both. Somehow he didn't think he'd get the chance. No matter what he thought might happen, it didn't change how truly he wanted, and meant, the answer he gave Ianto.

"Nothing would give me more pleasure, Ianto Emrys Jones."

"I'll hold you to that."

Methos raised Ianto's hand to his lips, and kissed his fingers gently.

"See that you do."

*

Ianto watched the Jaguar XK8 disappear into the distance, Methos' last kiss still tingling on his lips from the touch of Quickening that had been put into it, then he hefted the parcels and bags and started walking the rest of the way to Torchwood Cardiff's temporary London home. He knew Methos would have been more than happy to take him to the door, but Ianto had preferred that he didn't know exactly where they were staying – what he didn't know couldn't be forced out of him. He was somewhat surprised by the rather swanky Boxter S parked next to Johnny's Vectra, decided it must have been Jack who picked that up – it was the sort of thing he would do - and was still trying to hide his smile at that thought as he entered the warehouse. They'd obviously managed to get the electricity up and running while he was gone and though the light didn't make the place exactly welcoming, it was certainly less inhospitable. He was also faintly amused that it was Jack who chewed him out for being gone longer than expected; he had thought it would most likely be Gwen going by how Jack had been before they set out. They all changed their tune when they found out just what his 'essentials' included, especially the clothes, but the reaction he really wanted to see was Jack's to the bulky, paper-wrapped parcel that Methos had given him. He walked toward Jack, parcel in hand, unable to keep the smile from his eyes, though he thought he'd mostly succeeded in keeping it off his face.

"And for you, sir… Army surplus Special."

And unless Jack asked, Ianto wouldn't tell him just how special it was either. Whether he did or not, Jack's reaction was everything he'd hoped for – the flicker of hope and anticipation in his eyes as Ianto moved closer, coalescing into a pleased and almost shocked grin as Ianto handed the package over.

"Oh, you're kidding me?!" Jack exclaimed. Ianto knew his answering smile was more than part smirk, but at that point he didn't really care. He raised his hands as if to say 'all part of the service' and took a step back, not missing the glint of something else in Jack's eyes as he did so. Jack knew, or at least suspected, where – or rather with whom - Ianto had been but wasn't going to question it and for that, Ianto would be eternally grateful.

Ianto knew he'd made the right decision to involve Methos when Jack rejoined them by the fire looking very much himself again. Part of it was illusion, Ianto was well aware of that, but if having the familiar armour of a half-decent suit on his back affected him, then how much would the familiar trappings of coat and braces and boots – not to mention the rest of the clothes – mean to Jack. The coat was *him* in a way that transcended the fact that it was merely a garment, an item to keep you warm. On Jack the coat was not just a coat, it was a badge of honour.

Despite the fact that they all seemed to feel ready to face whatever the government and the unknown aliens might throw at them, Ianto had to suppress a smile that it needed a less than subtle reminder from Rhys to get them moving. If he also felt a stab of envy for Rhys' wish for the return of a normal life he paid it no mind; Ianto had given up on normal so many times it was beyond count, right back to when he first saw the lightning of an immortal Quickening in a place he was not supposed to know about, never mind actually being there.

The three of them settled into work mode easily with Rhys an unobtrusive presence in the background which amused Ianto no end. However, he wasn't amused by the fact that his mind wouldn't move as fast as he wanted it to, seeming to be determined to linger on thoughts of Methos and Jack and wondering what it must have been like for Jack to resurrect slowly, only to be killed again possibly just as slowly – it was a hell of a time for his morbid curiosity to decide to surface. It was a welcome distraction when Gwen had her idea about using the contacts and actually asked him a concrete question. It was something he *could* answer and it diverted him from the unpleasant spiral his in which mind had inexplicably got caught. It also meant he felt like they were actually *doing* something instead of floundering around in the dark.

Later, with Gwen despatched to intercept Lois Habiba with the Torchwood contacts – the logical choice seeing as Lois had only met her and Rhys – the warehouse seemed a lot emptier. It was easy for Ianto to almost forget that Rhys was still there, puttering away behind them. Jack was concentrating on the Whitehall files, musing aloud as he read.

"Frobisher's the key to this. He's just a civil servant, he's nothing. What makes him start authorising executions?"

Ianto knew he should be listening, offering an opinion but he found he couldn't, found he didn't actually *care* at that point. Jack was so much *there* - alive, filling his senses, driving him to distraction by merely breathing - to the extent that Ianto couldn't concentrate. It wasn't helped by the endless and macabre game of chase the thoughts of death, resurrection and Jack were playing in his head. He knew that if he didn't bite the bullet now, no matter how inappropriate it was, he never would.

"What did it feel like? I mean, getting blown up," Ianto asked.

"It wasn't the best of days."

Jack's answer was too flip for Ianto's current state of mind – he realised that Jack probably didn't want to dwell on it, but he *had* to know more, with a need that was verging on irrational and surprised him with its intensity.

"No, but... did you feel it?" Ianto's breath almost caught in his chest as Jack turned to face him, the look in his eyes acknowledged that while he didn't understand *why* the hell Ianto needed to know this – not now – he was prepared to answer. Ianto continued, "Or did everything just go black?"

"I felt it."

"Shit." Ianto turned away with a shudder, he honestly hadn't expected that. He couldn't begin to imagine how horrible it must have been.

"Yeah," Jack agreed.

Ianto knew he really should leave it there, but if Jack really was prepared to give an answer to things he would usually brush off there was no way Ianto *could* leave it, not when he had so many questions, not when there was so much he didn't understand about Jack.

"Do you ever think that, one day, your luck'll run out? That you won't come back."

Jack turned to face him, but didn't quite meet Ianto's eyes.

"I'm a fixed point in time and space," he said. "That's what the Doctor says." He paused; Ianto hardly dared to breathe in case he shattered the moment, and waited for Jack to continue, their eyes finally catching and holding each other. The expression on Jack's face was almost too much for Ianto to bear. "I think that means it's forever."

"So... one day, you'll see me die…" Ianto decided he was going to be optimistic and added a bit of wishful thinking, "….of old age... And just keep going." He nodded slightly; that was the way he'd like it to go as right now the thought of growing old with Jack was one of the most comforting thoughts he'd had all day. Jack going on without him was something he'd known would happen for a long time, though he didn't usually think about it.

Jack gave him a twisted little smile.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"We better make the most of it, then," Ianto commented matter-of-factly, a brief smile flickering across his face.

"Suppose." Jack's own smile became wider, and a lot less twisted before he turned away.

Ianto continued to gaze at him, wondering if he could really get away with saying what he wanted, before deciding that he had nothing to lose. Carpe Diem was such a good expression…

"Like right now?"

"Ianto, the world could be ending." Jack looked like he didn't know whether to be pleased or surprised – or more likely it was a mixture of both. For a moment Ianto was reminded of Owen and his views on what to do if the world was ending.

"World's always ending," Ianto murmured. "And I have missed that coat."

Jack turned away with a splutter of half-realised laughter, then seemed to decide that maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all and turned in his chair to face Rhys.

"Rhys, do you want to take the car and go to those shops, down by the Wharf? We need some disks for these things. Should take about... 20 minutes?"

Twenty minutes? Yeah, right. If they *could* get rid of Rhys, Ianto wanted longer than that, not much longer though or he'd be worrying.

"30 minutes," he corrected.

"30," Jack added.

"I'll go later, the beans are almost done!" Rhys said, sounding as if he thought that was the best thing in the entire world. Ianto rolled his eyes. Of course they were almost done, right when he didn't want them to be.

"The beans are almost done," Jack said blandly.

"Bloody beans," Ianto growled. He'd give Rhys beans – preferably all over his head with a whack from the pan for good measure – it might knock some sensitivity into his thick skull. He was all set to turn back around and tell Rhys to get the hell out or he wouldn't be responsible for the consequences when Jack stepped over to stand behind him, his hand warm and vibrant on Ianto's shoulder, even through the layers of the suit. Ianto swivelled to look up at him, question and challenge vying for puzzled supremacy in his mind and no doubt showing in his eyes. Jack gave him a lop-sided and kind of discomforted shrug.

"I've probably had too many deaths for le petit mort anyway. Leave it."

"But I…" There were too many things to say, too many reasons why Ianto didn't need exactly *that* from Jack, but did need time with him and somehow he couldn't articulate any of it. He clenched his hands in frustration, fingernails digging into his palms. Jack's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"I know," Jack whispered. "I'll make it up to you when this is over." There was no spoken promise, but Ianto felt the kiss that followed Jack's words was promise enough. He threw himself into it heart and soul, trying to say everything he couldn't say aloud with his lips, teeth and tongue – if a kiss was all he could get then he was going to make the bloody most of it. He pulled away when he could no longer ignore the need to breathe and gave Jack a smile that was as full of promises as the kiss had been. Jack's fingers lingered on his face for a moment before he moved back to his chair, and Ianto could almost see him wrapping the 'Captain' round himself once more. Their eyes met, and Ianto gave him a business-like nod, indicating his understanding. As was sometimes the case, satisfying their needs – or *his* needs at least, Ianto mused somewhat glumly – was secondary to what Torchwood demanded; she was a harsh mistress. Ianto smothered his sigh of disappointment – he really *had* missed the coat – and resolutely focused on the screen in front of him. If Jack needed his archivist and researcher more than his lover, then that was what he would get; Ianto was perfectly capable of being professional, no matter *what* he really wanted. He sighed quietly as he brought up the next piece of software.

In virtually no time at all, Ianto was immersed in his work. He'd always gained a sense of Tosh's presence whenever he used any of the more complex programmes on the Torchwood server although he would have drawn an odd sort of pleasure from using any piece of such finely crafted software. Tosh had always seemed to glow whenever he complimented her work and he was convinced she'd taken extra care with anything he was likely to be using - a personal touch for her partner in computer geekdom. It felt good to know she was still with them in some way, even to saving their lives as she had done with the dalek and the time lock. He missed her and he always would, especially when he used something she'd written with him in mind.

He'd just discovered that Clement MacDonald had been arrested and was actually in London himself when Gwen rang. Luckily it didn't take much to convince her to spring him out of custody. A quick glance in Jack's direction as the call ended showed he was engrossed in the photo of Clement MacDonald on the laptop he was using. Ianto turned back to his own screen.

"So Ianto, what's his story?" Jack asked

Ianto flicked through the files, refreshing his memory as he told Jack the salient points so the sudden movement as Jack rose out of his chair and moved closer caught him by surprise.

"Show me those people." It wasn't a request, but Ianto hadn't followed Jack's train of thought and needed clarification.

"What people?" He queried.

"Andrew Staines, Ellen Hunt, Michael Sanders. The ones that were killed the same day as me."

Something was bothering Jack and Ianto had no idea what. He tried to gain a bit more information.

"Why, do you think there's a connection?"

"Show me!" Jack demanded brusquely. Ianto complied, still none the wiser as to what was going on in Jack's head, but becoming increasingly anxious as to the cause especially as he felt like he was being completely left in the dark. The images he called up onto the screen showed three people on the wrong side of 60 years old.

"No, no, give me their history, show me them 40 years ago."

"What for?" Ianto glanced at Jack - he still didn't understand, and he always preferred to know *why* he was doing something. Jack glared at him.

"Just do it!"

A few keystrokes later and Tosh's software obliged with images of the 3 of them as they must have appeared in the 1960s. Jack stared at the screen as if he'd just discovered something shocking.

"Who are they, Jack? Did you know them?" Ianto asked carefully – he was getting steadily more worried.

"I never knew their names."

"Who were they?" He was still getting no answer so Ianto decided to push a little more. "Jack, tell me. Did you know them?"

Jack's only response was to grab his coat and head for the door.
"Jack!" Ianto called after the retreating figure, trying to demand an explanation. Jack didn't acknowledge him, and didn't look back. Ianto tried to not let it hurt, and failed. He sighed. Secrets, always more bloody secrets. Ianto doubted that he would discover even a tenth of them if he lived a full life and while some might say it added to Jack's mystique he found it was becoming downright tiresome to be reminded at every turn just how little he knew about the enigma that was Jack Harkness – and he was privy to things that Gwen wasn't. Still, Jack or no Jack, he had a job to do. He turned back to the computer.

*

Ianto and Rhys watched the news feeds with shared concern; Gwen still hadn't returned and with Jack gone they both felt the need to stick together. Rhys had gone up another notch in Ianto's estimation when he cottoned on that the kids were pointing at Britain and when Ianto realised *precisely* where they were pointing to he took off for the roof with Rhys only a couple of steps behind him. Ianto was filled with gut-churning horror as he watched the pillar of alien fire descend on Thames House and judging by the death-grip Rhys had on him, he was feeling fairly terrified too. Now, more than ever, they needed Lois to use those contacts and he couldn't bring himself to share Gwen and Rhys' optimism that she would come through for them. He felt so useless having to rely on other people to do things when all he could do was watch. It was kind of ironic really, considering that Watching was what he'd intended to do with his life before Torchwood had got hooks into him, especially now when watching was no longer enough.

It was almost full dark by the time Gwen returned, and there still had been no news from Jack. Rhys seemed determined to make the best of things as he gently teased Clem and made sure they all had something hot to keep body and soul together. Ianto felt like a cat on hot bricks and couldn't understand how Rhys could be so calm, which was probably why he overreacted to Clem's 'queer' remark. He didn't miss the expression on Rhys' face after he tried to back-pedal with a comment about it not being 1965 any more either, and he came to the conclusion that Rhys and Gwen actually were perfect for each other, warts and all, even with the added complication of Torchwood and aliens. Ianto doubted he'd ever have perfect, but he at least wanted to have the chance to *try*, no matter how difficult it seemed at times and Jack's continued absence rankled on so many levels. He was able to put it out of his mind to a degree when the I5 software went live and he joined Rhys and Gwen in a huddle round the laptop, watching with bated breath as they finally saw what was on floor 13 of Thames House through Lois Habiba's eyes. The glimpses they had of the thing in the tank were disturbing enough for him, and Ianto shuddered to think what it must be like for her; yet she retained the presence of mind to capture the words of the 456 using shorthand. That was a development that made Ianto feel less useless, even if he was just as frustrated. Trust Jack to still be swanning off just when he was needed. Still, they'd coped without him before and they'd do their best now in just the same way.

Clem's uneasiness about 'The Man' unsettled them all, distracting them from what was being transmitted from Thames House, but Ianto hadn't expected his abject terror when Jack walked through the door, or the revelation that terror forced Jack to make. He felt for Clem, he really did, but concern for him became secondary to the swirling morass of emotion he'd become - disgust and disbelief and despair were all churning around inside him. He knew Jack's past was less than clean, he'd been around too long for that, but to find out something so important from another, as if it - or Ianto - hadn't been important enough to admit to, *hurt*. Then Clem's fright turned to fury and Ianto found himself hurting *for* Jack as he stumbled through a useless apology, voice thick with remorse. He was already moving when Clem went for Gwen's gun, but he was too late and Jack died - again - with blood blooming across his chest from the gunshot. Ianto ignored the commotion around Clem - if Gwen and Rhys couldn't deal with him then they were all screwed anyway - and concentrated on Jack, falling to his knees beside him so he could heave the body into his arms. Jack might be going to live forever, but Ianto felt the same every time he died, he couldn't help it; couldn't help the fear that maybe *this* time he might not come back, he might leave them all - leave him - despite everything he'd said to the contrary. He cradled Jack tenderly, even though he couldn't feel it, and watched with wary eyes as Gwen finally talked the gun out of Clem's hand. The first frantic gasp of life returning still took him by surprise, but Ianto held on tight as Jack clutched at him, eyes still clouded by pain. Ianto hated this; hated seeing Jack so vulnerable and hated the way the way it made him feel but it was one of the few times Jack truly needed him so they clung to each other desperately as Clem disappeared into the dark, both seeking and giving what reassurance they could. Too soon, Jack pulled away and Ianto reluctantly let him go - Jack didn't seem to like dwelling on his vulnerability. Ianto scrambled off the floor and took a seat by one of the computers. He didn't even pretend to be working; he had too much to think about, all wrapped up in two words: Jack Harkness. Jack asked – demanded – that they trust him, knew so much about them – even things that Ianto hadn't admitted to another living person in years, Watchers included – and it was sobering when Ianto was reminded how little they really knew *him* - they didn't even know his name.

Ianto stared unseeingly at the screen, trying not to dwell on it and failing miserably when Jack came to sit on the desk beside him. Ianto kept his eyes fixed to the screen and the familiar restful patterns of the Torchwood screensaver; he daren't look at Jack, not just yet, he was too choked up.

"I can't believe you didn't mention this before," he said.

"They didn't speak through kids back then. I didn't recognise the signs at first."

Trust Jack to take him literally. Bloody typical. Ianto turned to face Jack, knowing that his eyes would reveal far too much of what he thought and felt and found himself hard-pressed to remember why that was a bad idea; it no longer seemed to be important.

"That's not what I meant." Going by the expression in Jack's eyes as they finally met his, Ianto was hopeful that he might actually get an explanation. The moment was broken by Rhys approaching, which made Ianto want to grind his teeth in frustration.

"They're coming back," Rhys announced with a jerk of his thumb toward Gwen and Clem. Ianto turned in his seat to face them as Jack slid off the table and moved away from him. Clem still looked terrified and about ready to bolt as he faced Jack. Ianto could relate to that, even if he still didn't forgive him for shooting Jack.

"The man who sent me and my friends to die, can't die himself," Clem said, in horrified sounding wonder. Ianto didn't miss the quick flick of Jack's eyes toward him, and then Rhys, but he didn't know what Jack was looking for, never mind whether he'd actually found it.

Jack was given the Third Degree by Gwen, even as he finished changing out of his bloodstained shirt. Ianto remained silent, but he watched carefully from a distance as Jack tried to justify his actions with an unlikely ally in the form of Rhys. Ianto only joined them at the computer again when Lois went back into the room with the 456, for this much at least, they needed him. He forced himself to keep watching as the cameraman went into the tank, even when Jack broke away and sat apart from them all, desolation apparent in every line of his body as his past came back to haunt him in a way he must never have anticipated. Ianto knew that if Jack had had any inkling of what lay ahead of those children, he wouldn't have parted with a single one and he only hoped that they could find a way to keep them safe this time or Jack's burden of guilt would be so much the heavier, even if it meant saving the rest of the planet. He glanced at Jack where he sat with his head hanging in defeat and made a decision; they would find a way – God only knew how – but they would; they had to.

*

Day 4

*

After a short and restless night that had seen none of them sleep properly, it seemed that Jack was still keeping his distance so Ianto decided enough was enough and went to find him. He presumed that Jack was still in the warehouse facility somewhere as both cars were still outside, but he was nowhere on the ground floor. Eventually he found Jack on the upper floor, sitting in a stray beam of sunlight that had somehow managed to pierce the years of grime on the glass, as if the touch of the light could help balance the darkness within. Ianto stood there for a moment, watching, not wanting to disturb Jack and feeling the absence of Methos keenly, but not just on his own behalf. He gave himself a mental shake; Methos wasn't here so he, Ianto Jones - mortal Welshman that he was - would have to do. He scuffed his feet on the floor as he approached, giving Jack warning that company was on its way. Jack in turn scrambled upright and stood, apparently waiting for Ianto to draw closer but not looking in his direction.

"This must have been eating away at you." Ianto could hear the roughness in his voice from unspoken feelings, was certain Jack must be able to as well and yet Jack continued to firmly stare straight ahead, not even flicking a glance at Ianto as he moved to stand next to Jack. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've helped." He would have certainly *tried* to help; sometimes that was enough.

"No, you couldn't." Jack shook his head, still not meeting Ianto's eyes.

And sometimes trying to help would never be enough. Even so, it was all Ianto had and he *wasn't* going to give up. He'd bared his heart and soul to this man, told him things he'd barely even *thought* about for years, partly in an effort to encourage him to do the same. It had obviously worked less well than he'd hoped.

"I tell you everything," Ianto said. It was true; since Lisa he had held nothing back from Jack. Well, nothing apart from admitting how he felt about him, but that wasn't important. Not now.

Finally, Jack turned his head and met Ianto's eyes. Jack's seemed suspiciously bright.

"Yeah. So tell me, what should I have done?" He asked

"Stood up to them?" Ianto replied, his voice sounding like gravel in his ears. Jack turned away again. Ianto swallowed, took a deep breath and continued, his voice a little firmer. "The Jack I know would've stood up to them." But then, how well did he actually *know* Jack? "I've only just scraped the surface, haven't I?"

Jack turned to face him again.

"Ianto, that's all there is," he said.

"No." Jack was not going to win this one; Ianto *knew* there was more to Jack than he let them see, knew the sparkling surface hid dark and uncomfortable depths. He could live with that. He *did* live with that, and not just because of Jack. It was time to let Jack know, if he could. "You pretend that's all there is."

"I've lived a long time. I have done a lot of things," Jack said. Ianto held his gaze, willing him to see that it didn't matter; whatever was in the past, was past - as long as he admitted it and lived with it. Methos wasn't proud that he'd been Death, but he'd come to terms with it and lived with it every day. Why couldn't Jack *see* that?

Jack stepped away from Ianto, "I've got to go. I won't be long," he announced.

Brilliant. Back him into a corner and Jack bloody Harkness would *still* try to dodge the issue.

"You're doing it again! Speak to me, Jack!" Ianto hated talking to Jack's back, but if that's what it took to get an answer, then that's what he'd do. "Where are you going?" He added more softly. He *was* worried, even if he didn't want to say anything as such. Jack turned back to face him. Ianto counted that as a small victory.

"To call Frobisher. I can't make the call from here, 'cause they'll be able to trace it. Is that OK?" Ianto could tell that Jack felt he was pushing too hard, and backed off. He nodded.

"You're the boss," he said.

"And just so you know, I have a daughter called Alice and a grandson called Stephen and Frobisher took them hostage yesterday."

Ianto had nothing to say in reply to *that* bombshell and allowed Jack to leave without another word. He couldn't say he was surprised as such, not really. As Jack had pointed out, he had lived a long time and as far as Ianto was aware Jack's form of immortality did not affect the biological function of certain aspects of his body, unlike those who were born with the potential to be Methos' kind of immortal. He resolutely tried to ignore the insidious voice that gleefully informed him that Jack's daughter would already be older than himself by focusing on the fact that in an age gap that was effectively millennia, a decade or so really didn't make much difference. It didn't work, not completely. He began to pace, his footsteps loud in the emptiness. It was all too much to think about.

Desperate for some air, some unenclosed space, Ianto told the others he had to go out. Surprisingly, they didn't try to either stop him or accompany him and he wondered what must have been showing on his face. He didn't really care.

A few minutes down the road, Ianto remembered his extra phone, the one that wouldn't show up on a trace – or so he hoped. The area around him was busy enough that he could easily lose himself if needs be, and far enough away that the location of the warehouse wouldn't be immediately obvious. He needed to speak to Methos – to reassure him that they were still in one piece, tell him about Jack, and to warn him to stay away again – but more than that, he *really* wanted to hear his voice. Perhaps a bit of 5000 year old wisdom was all he needed or maybe Siannon would almost cheerfully tell him 'so bloody what?' when he told her of Jack's family; he missed her down-to-earth practicality; it kind of reminded him of Rhiannon. Decision made, Ianto found a not-too-obvious spot to make his call.

The Porsche, and therefore Jack, was still missing when Ianto returned to the warehouse. He felt more at peace with himself and Jack, if not exactly lighter in heart. Gwen seemed to sense this and gave him a gentle smile.

"Better?" She asked.

"A bit." Ianto gave her one armed hug as he passed by her seat. "Thanks." He perched on the desk, almost the same position Jack had been in earlier and stared at his hands. "I.. er… need to tell you something about Jack, about why he seems so distracted." Ianto was pleased that his voice steadied pretty quickly from the uncertain wobble with which it had started out. Rhys drew closer and Ianto raised his head so he could meet both Rhys' and Gwen's eyes. "I think it's important that you should know…" Carefully choosing his words, Ianto explained as much as he could about Alice and Stephen and what Frobisher had done. Gwen looked heartbroken, but determined, and he knew he'd made the right decision; she might not be a mother yet, but she already had that ferocious protective instinct. If Jack wasn't happy with him for telling her and Rhys, then Ianto would just live with it, like he did with so much else.

*

Gwen envied the peace Ianto seemed to have found, she could have done with some herself. At least she had Rhys, who'd remained his steadfast and mostly unflappable self throughout the whole of this complete and utter shambles; he was the only thing that made it all bearable and she hated to think of what might have happened if she'd not succeeded in getting to him first on the night that everything changed. She felt for Ianto; he didn't really seem to have that same support in Jack as she did in Rhys – it was *Ianto* who was Jack's support – and yet he appeared to be content with that. She didn't always understand how, especially when Jack had to think of the larger picture, though she suspected that Adam Pierson's increasingly frequent visits to Cardiff probably had a fair amount to do with it. She hid a smile from Rhys – she didn't want to have to explain *why* she was grinning like a loon in such a tense situation – Ianto gave the impression of being so straight laced sometimes and it had been a bit of an eye-opener to realise he was happily involved with *two* men. Tosh had always thought it was cute. Gwen sobered; she missed Tosh and Owen so much, and they could really have done with their help during all this. Resolutely, she pushed that thought, and the familiar pain, aside as dwelling on what they *didn't* have would not help them at all.

Jack chose that moment to return, and she twisted in her chair to watch him making his way across the damp floor. He didn't say anything, just went to sit on the stairs behind her, though she didn't miss the look that flashed between him and Ianto. She saw Ianto nod; message received and understood, obviously, but she wished she knew *what* message even if it wasn't strictly her business.

When the gold command meeting began they all, Jack included, gathered round the laptop and watched the screen with mounting disbelief as millions of people – children – were treated by those they'd elected to look after the country as nothing more than a way to save their own skins. Gwen felt sick, and unconsciously rubbed her stomach as if to reassure the tiny life inside her that she would never let anything like this happen to it – or not as long as she lived at least.

The only good thing about it all was that the footage had at last galvanised them into making some sort of plan and while Gwen wasn't exactly happy with something that seemed over simplistic, she hadn't been able to come up with anything better, not with the resources they currently had available. She'd expected Ianto to raise some objection, but judging by his silence he couldn't think of anything to improve it either. Maybe they were all too tired, too worried, too worn down to think straight and they were all of them far too aware that the clock was ticking against them. Something had to be done.

She watched affectionately as Jack and Ianto both readied their guns, saying so much without speaking. Gwen found herself more than half tempted to find a way to lock the two of them up somewhere until they actually managed to *talk* to each other, but as with so many other things it would have to wait until this was over.

"Let's go stand up to them," Jack said. There was more to the phrase than what was said aloud, Gwen could *see* that, but she though she didn't know exactly what, she bet that Ianto did.

"Yes, sir!" Ianto replied. Oh yes, he definitely knew. She mentally wished them luck, both in this and everything else, as she watched them leave.

*

There was a part of Ianto that felt invincible as he sat next to Jack in the Porsche during their trip into central London and he concentrated on that rather than give credence to the sneaking suspicion that what they were doing would just turn into an unmitigated disaster. He couldn't afford to think like that, not when Jack needed his faith and trust and certainly when he couldn't actually think of anything better to offer. When they hit the gridlock Ianto used his own phone to contact Rhiannon; it would be traced, but that was half the idea. The other half of the idea was to warn her and the people listening of what their government was going to attempt to do and if he took the opportunity to say something he'd not said to her often enough since he was out of his teens – if at all – then that was all to the good. He didn't care who heard it, and it might just make them think.

Call over, he remained at Jack's side as they made their way to Thames House and their objective, barely pausing to inform Gwen that they'd arrived. She and Rhys would do their part well, he was certain, and it was up to him to ensure that he did too. He could not afford to doubt Jack, or they would fail. This was his life, his way to make a difference – through little more than Welsh determination and faith. It was time; the door of Thames House loomed before them, daring them to pit themselves against its might, and that of the unknown within.

*

Gwen had not long chased Rhys out, laptop clutched like gold – or a bomb – in his arms, when Ianto rang to say he and Jack were in position. Clem huddled next to her as she typed furiously, trying to put all their faith in Lois, all their need into every keystroke. She could only hope that Lois picked up on that, and agreed to put her life on the line, otherwise they were lost and millions of children would die undefended. Gwen held her breath, conscious that with every minute that passed the woman she had met when rescuing Jack would be drawing closer. Then Lois was speaking, and she didn't have to be a genius to figure out what she'd said from the reaction of everyone else in that room.

"I think she's doing it. Good girl!" Beside her, Clem looked nervously hopeful, until they heard the sound of running, booted feet and then he just looked terrified. Gwen swivelled the chair round to meet the eyes of the woman holding the gun trained on her head.

"We've been expecting you," she said conversationally. The gun didn't waver from where it was aimed, and the threats didn't stop either. Gwen refused to comply with the demands - instead she suggested that they should look at the screen and she breathed a sigh of relief when she realised they were taking her up on the offer.

To her credit, the woman – Johnson, her men had called her – seemed shocked by what was going on in the Cabinet room and when the direct feed from the Thames House cameras finally began to be broadcast to them she was watching the screen as avidly as Gwen. She almost seemed ashamed that she'd been sent to destroy the very people that were now trying to save them though Gwen wasn't sure she'd ever forgive her for that destruction, even if Johnson was acting under orders.

Gwen's heart started to pound an irregular staccato as the klaxons sounded in Thames House. She desperately turned to Johnson, who looked just as horrified as she did.

"Can they override it?" Gwen asked frantically.

"I don't know." Johnson replied. They watched helplessly as Jack ran out of the room, leaving Ianto alone with the monster in the tank. Gwen felt her eyes filling up; even presented with impossible odds Ianto would not stand down and she felt proud of him while at the same time she just wanted to scream at him to get out, to look after himself and forget about the rest, even though he could not hear her. It wouldn't have made any difference if he could as Ianto would not escape at other people's cost; he was Torchwood, as was Jack.

They stood together and she watched them uselessly face down the 456 with nothing but their handguns. Gwen's eyes were burning and her throat felt like there was a scream stuck *right* there, begging for release but unable to find it. There *had* to be something else Jack could do – it was Jack – he wouldn't just let the monster get the best of them, wouldn't… the shriek through the speakers disrupted her train of thought, then she caught sight of Clem, his face contorted in agony, hands over his ears.

"Turn it off! Turn it off!" Gwen yelled at Johnson, dashing over to Clem to try to hold him as he writhed in pain. She had no idea what was happening, and Clem was suffering in front of her eyes - she had to do *something*. She held him tight, murmuring softly in case it got through to him and watched in horror as blood poured from his ears and trickled through his fingers – and then from his nose, and his mouth. He was dying in her arms and there was *nothing* she could do to stop it, *nothing* she could do to ease his pain. She was helpless. Worse than helpless. Useless. And it was *her* fault – she'd brought him back here, encouraged him to trust them. If it wasn't for her... Clem stilled in her arms, his body limp and heavy, his face slack. Dead. If it wasn't for her, he might be alive. She gently laid him down on the pallets where they'd ended up sitting and turned to face Johnson, who was watching with wide eyed concern.

"He's dead," Gwen announced. There was one thing more she had to know. "What about Thames House?" She asked Johnson, her throat thick with tears. Johnson glanced quickly at the laptop.

"They can't get out," she said. Gwen laid her head in her hands, and sobbed. Nothing, it had all come to nothing. They'd tried so hard to do the right thing, and where had it got them? Clem dead in a damp warehouse and Ianto - Gwen looked up with teary eyes, and could barely focus on the screen of the laptop through them - Ianto dying in Jack's arms. For all the good they tried to do, Torchwood's touch was death - no more, no less; they all bore the consequences of that.

It felt like a lifetime later before Gwen could bring herself to look at the computer screen again, but then it *was* a lifetime later in a way - for Ianto. She stared almost unseeingly at it, part of her waiting for Jack and Ianto to wake up, hoping desperately – against all appearances to the contrary – that there had been some sort of mistake. Not even Jack revived while she watched and they remained unmoving in the remnants of their last embrace for everyone to see. She was half aware of Johnson issuing soft-voiced orders behind her, of people moving to and fro but the squeak of wheels and metal managed to sink in to her consciousness in a way that the people hadn't. She turned to see them carefully picking up Clem and lying him on the wheeled stretcher, treating him with a respect he'd probably rarely seen in his life.

"Where are you taking him?" Gwen asked. Johnson moved into her line of sight.

"Ashton Down, for now," Johnson replied. "We can release the body to his remaining family, if there is any, unless you…"

"No… no, that's fine. But let me know if you can't find anyone, yeah?" Johnson nodded, and turned away. Gwen flicked her eyes toward the computer once more. There was no change. "What happens with Thames House?"

"They'll have to follow decontamination protocol. I doubt my team will be involved." Gwen heard the slight hitch in Johnson's voice, even though she couldn't see her face. She stared at Johnson's back, willing her to continue, and slowly Johnson turned towards her. Even though her expression was wary and professionally blank, Gwen was sure she could see the carefully shuttered pain in the grey eyes. "They won't allow anyone to be moved anyone from there, not yet at least. But when they do, no-one will attempt to keep Torchwood from claiming her own. Not now. Not after this."

"And you?"

"I'll be taking my team back to Ashton Down when we're given the all clear. Alice and Stephen Carter will be released; holding them is not going to accomplish anything now."

"Thank you," Gwen said, closing her eyes briefly to prevent more tears from joining the ones already drying on her face. When she opened them again, Johnson was still there. Gwen was glad of that; she had one more thing to ask. "How long before…" Both of them turned in unison to the computer screen and the two figures sprawled lifeless on the floor, while the monster in the tank remained quiescent; its point made.

"I don't know; I'm sorry. When I find out you *will* be the first to know." With that, Gwen had to be content as Johnson gave her a curt nod and turned on her heel. Gwen bit her lip, and reached out her fingers to touch the screen.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. I promise," she whispered brokenly. "Even if I have to walk."

As it turned out, she didn't have to walk; Johnson insisted on taking her to Thames House herself, something Gwen both appreciated and found abhorrent in equal measure. The journey across London in the military Land Rover had to count as one of the worst, but also one of the most forgettable, trips of her life. Gwen was numb, and barely remembered the trip because of that, but it wasn't the numbness of not-feeling, it was the numbness of feeling too *much*, of being terrified of what might happen when the floodgates opened and she no longer had any control over herself. So she sat there, silent, determinedly *not* thinking of what was waiting for her. Jack had always called her the 'heart' of Torchwood but that heart had always had an element of steel in its make up and she called on that, as much as she ever had done in her life.

Gwen almost lost that resolve as she followed the soldiers into the gym that was doing duty as a morgue. There were so many people; so much death. She swallowed, and straightened her spine; she was here for the only other member of Torchwood who could walk out with her. There was nothing she could do for Ianto now, but she could mourn and share her grief with someone else who'd loved him. Slowly, she walked toward them, kneeling in the space between them before she gently moved the red sheet away from the face of whoever was on her left. Jack. It wouldn't be long now before he came gasping back into life, she could tell. The next step was so much harder to take and she had to draw several deep breaths before she continued, but continue she did; she had to, no matter how much the pain burned and the unshed tears threatened to choke her.

Ianto was…Ianto. Precise as ever, the bloody scar on his cheek from days ago the only mark on him, but too still, too cold, too pale and too damn young for this to be happening. She leaned down to straighten his already perfectly knotted tie and rested her hand briefly over his heart – the heart that had felt so much, so strongly, and would never now feel again. Unbidden, her tears began to fall, Jack forgotten for a moment as her sorrow overwhelmed her.

*

For the first time since he'd become immortal, Jack didn't fight his way back into life; he felt like he had nothing to fight *for* so what was the point? Of course it didn't matter *what* he wanted, life would return anyway, and it did; gently and without fanfare. He lay blinking for a few seconds, the floor cold and hard beneath him, until he became aware of someone nearby. Gwen. If she was there, that meant only one thing; his last, desperate kiss, the only time he'd tried to *use* the power of his life for anything since Abbadon, had failed. He'd been too late, or it hadn't been enough. Ianto was gone, had left him behind where he couldn't follow. He sat up with another gasp, his lungs burning as air and blood and life flowed through them once more. Never had it been more unwelcome. Like it or not, he was alive and there was one person right here and right now who needed him. If he was honest, he needed her just as much. He scrambled to kneel beside Gwen, one arm round her shoulder to pull her close. He reached out to touch Ianto's cold, lifeless skin and found his hand captured by one of hers; it seemed tiny and fragile as she wrapped it around his. They clung to each other as he let her shed the tears he couldn't.

"There's nothing we can do," she whispered, hammering another nail into the coffin of his heart. There should have been – he was Jack Harkness, he was Torchwood Cardiff – there was always supposed to be *something* he could do, but it seemed he'd found the lie that underpinned that hope, the rot at the centre, and he felt dead inside despite the life he held in abundance. There was nothing left.

*

Day 5

~*~

~ No time for breaking down ~

*

Jack sat quietly next to Gwen in what had been a cafeteria area, and was now just a place with seating near more of the ever present bodies that littered Thames House. He said nothing as Frobisher and his assistant joined them; couldn't bring himself to care overmuch about them. Gwen still cared; Gwen cared too much and Jack couldn't bear it. He steeled himself to meet her eyes as he told her to stand down, and call Rhys back. As she went to make the call, Jack felt obliged to ask Frobisher about Lois who'd risked so much to help them, but wasn't surprised at the answer when he heard she was in custody.

"Then what about my daughter and her son?" Jack asked. There were few things left now that he could bring himself to care about, and fewer still over which he had any influence. Alice and Stephen were the foremost of those.

"They're free to go," Frobisher replied.

Jack ducked his head and breathed a faint sigh of relief; he hadn't dare hope for that. Maybe something good would come out of this after all. Then he remembered *why* he was sitting there, and raised his eyes again, ready to ask Frobisher the last thing on his mind.

"Ianto Jones, he's got family back in South Wales, a sister, has she been told?"

"We're not releasing any of the names, not yet."

"Then let Gwen tell her. You said yourself the world is going to hell any second. Before it does, give us a moment of grace. Just take Gwen home, please." Jack glanced over to Gwen where she sat on the floor, crying quietly into her drawn-up knees. His stomach flipped unpleasantly. "I can't look at her any more," he added in almost a whisper. To his surprise, Frobisher agreed, but of course there was a condition. Jack consented to being put into custody without a second thought; he could do nothing now, even if he wanted to.

The blades of the helicopter caused his coat to whip around him as he gave Gwen one last hug before she left. It wasn't the only thing he had for Gwen though. His lips were pressed to her ear, her hair a tangled mass around his face that hid what he was saying from view.

"They've got kids. Ianto's niece and nephew," he murmured, then he squeezed her tighter for emphasis "Save them." For Ianto, they had to try; it was all they could do. As the helicopter rose above London, his hope went with it, and he didn't protest when he felt the snick of high-security cuffs around his wrists. There was no reason to fight.

The cell door clanged shut behind Jack, a forbidding sound that ran counterpoint to Lois' frantic demands to know what was going on. She had every right *to* know seeing as she'd laid her job and possibly her chance at a normal life on the line for the sake of Torchwood while barely knowing who or what they were, but Jack couldn't bring himself to care, not any more. Her life probably had gone to hell but everything he touched seemed to turn to ashes sooner or later so he couldn't really say it was a complete surprise. Once, he'd allowed himself to hope, to dream – not for a normal life, that was impossible – but for something *better*, something that could touch his heart and soul in a way that had so rarely happened in his life. He'd had it – and now he didn't. His fault, *his* fault. All of it. The children. Ianto. Lois. The nameless, faceless others who had died with Ianto in Thames House who, like Ianto, shouldn't have died. And more – back – further back. Tosh. Owen. Susie. Estelle. Lucia. Alex. Michael. More – so many more. Every name a reminder that try as he might, he ultimately failed. It was easy to ignore the small voice inside him – sounding suspiciously like Ianto – that whispered 'what about Methos?' as he'd been doing his utmost to ignore it for the last few days. He couldn't accept that there was someone in his life who would understand, who felt the same pain, who *dealt* with that pain, and had even been the cause of similar pain himself, yet who lived and loved despite it, who loved *him* no matter that it had never been mentioned, just like Ianto never had... until Jack killed him. To know that he had lost so much due to a lack of forethought, because of his need to be seen to be doing something, was a demon he barely dared face. He hurt so much, his heart hollow and bleeding within him, but all that the pain did was remind him that he wasn't worthy of people's trust and love because when he did receive it, he broke them; irrevocably. Even though he was immortal, Methos was not indestructible; Jack knew that and he did not want to break Methos too, but most of all he didn't think he would be able to face him – not after this. Jack was alone, as fate – or the Bad Wolf – had decreed.

The Doctor's instinct about him had been correct; he was wrong.

Jack had no idea how long he'd been in the cell; he'd not bothered to check his watch to keep track on the passage of time, there seemed little point. He was half aware of people coming and going – he could have sworn he heard Bridget Spears voice at one point – of the security hatch being opened and closed at irregular intervals, but none of it truly registered. All his attention was taken up by the endless swirl in his head of things he could have done – should have done – differently, never mind what he should have *said* and would never have the chance to say now. Suddenly, an unexpected commotion broke out somewhere beyond the cell door and he still retained enough presence of mind that it instantly put him on alert as he leapt up to peer through the small observation port in the door. Even so, he did not expect that the black-uniformed soldiers would barge into *his* cell and drag him out of the place. He wondered what they wanted with him, but somehow didn't think they'd be amenable to answering questions. He was cuffed again as soon as they could safely stop to do so and bundled into a waiting Land Rover.

"Agent Johnson will explain," one of the soldiers said as they drove across London. The meeting wasn't a pleasant prospect – he presumed Agent Johnson was the one who had destroyed the Hub and sealed him in concrete so he could think of no good reason for why she wanted him back in her custody, not when he was already broken by his own hand. He realised that the last of their journey would be by air when he was manhandled out of the Land Rover and into the service entrance of a building he never had the chance to see properly, apart from realising it was tall. The suspicion was confirmed while they waited by the helipad on the roof which meant that wherever they were going, it wasn't that close. For better or worse, he would find out what was wanted of him when they arrived at their destination.

Agent Johnson was just as militarily precise and direct as Jack remembered from the little he'd seen of her previously, which he realised had probably been in this very place. The memory made his eyes sting and his heart ache; he had no Ianto to break him out of here this time and his continued freedom was solely under her control. The sight of Alice and Stephen – unrestrained and not under guard – as he was 'escorted' down the corridor of the old MOD base was the only light Jack'd had in a day full of darkness; it seemed Frobisher had kept his promise. He hoped that Gwen would be able to keep Ianto's family safe, but doubted that he would be able – or allowed – to find out.

Jack followed as the soldiers pushed Decker into what appeared to be an old hangar; no-one touched him until it was indicated he should stand so they could remove his cuffs.

"This should be everything you need," Johnson said. "And if it's not, we'll find it." She sounded very determined about something, but didn't say anything else.

"For what?" Jack asked as he rubbed some feeling back into his wrists.

"Wavelengths. The 456 are named after a wavelength, and that's got to be the key to fighting back." That explained the presence of Decker, though judging by the expression on his face, Decker was less than impressed.

"You're wasting your time," Decker said. "There's nothing you can do. I've analysed those transmissions for 40 years and never broke 'em." He sounded very sure of himself and that annoyed Jack for some reason. It must also have annoyed Johnson as she casually pulled out her gun, turned on Decker and shot him in the leg. She turned back to face Jack with the hint of a rather feral smile on her face.

"What do you think, Captain?" Johnson asked, indicating Alice with a jerk of her head. "She told me you were good. Was she right?" Jack could barely believe his ears. Alice? He was here because of Alice? After everything that had passed between them over the years, sometimes acrimoniously, for her to still have faith that he could do something, that he was the *only* person who could do something was almost startling. It gave him a glimmer of hope, a hint of fragile belief that maybe she was right and he could be that person, despite everything that had happened. He gave Alice a smile – a little twisted maybe, but it was a smile.

"Let's get to work," Jack said. He shrugged out of his coat and headed toward the bank of computers and other electronic paraphernalia. He attacked the computers with a renewed sense of purpose, trying to put out of his mind everything that could interfere; it wasn't easy but as long as concentrated on what he was doing, what he was trying to achieve, he could almost ignore the empty place at his side and in his heart. He didn't let Decker's negativity get to him either as he knew something that Decker most certainly didn't; no-one had managed to hack into Torchwood Three for the last five years or so, or not without Tosh knowing about it at least and letting them see only what she wanted them to see. There was no way Jack was going to let Decker *or* Johnson know that.

Despite the extra resources, Jack still couldn't find a solution and he began to think that Alice's faith in him had been misplaced; he already felt like he hadn't deserved it and his lack of progress made it worse. Then Alice called him over and showed him what was going on outside – busloads of unhappy children, many of them terrified and screaming, being ferried to an unknown fate. It wasn't an unknown fate to Jack; he knew, as did everyone else in the hangar. The image of one girl, probably around the same age as Ianto's niece, was brought into close up; tear stained face pressed close to the window of the bus as she banged her small hand ineffectually on the glass, obviously crying out for her mother. No person, especially not a parent, could look at that girl and fail to be moved to anger. Fury surged through Jack; blinding, white-hot fury that coalesced to an icy knot of rage deep within him. Ianto had been killed trying to help him stop this; he could not let it happen now. It was up to him to save the children, save the world. He would find a way. He had to. Somehow.

*

There'd been no news from Jack, Ianto or Gwen since Ianto's call the day after the whatever-it-was had descended on Thames House in a pillar of fire, and the few reports that had made it through had only made the waiting worse. They knew *something* had happened, but not exactly what and only the phone call from Ianto had stopped Methos from walking the 5 miles or so into the centre of London to try to get answers, with his sword if needs be. Not that Siannon blamed Methos; she would have been walking right beside him. Then she'd watched today in horror as hundreds – thousands – of terrified children were rounded up by the military with apparently no thought for them or their distraught parents. Her only consolation was knowing that the kids she taught were safe, and that she'd done all she could to protect the younger ones by getting on the phone at the first mention of inoculations by the government to demand of her superiors that they keep the schools closed. There had been no protest; in an area like Cumbria where many of the kids came from remote villages and the weather was unpredictable to say the least, school closures were a facet of everyday life and no-one would turn a hair if they stayed closed.

Siannon sipped her tea as she watched Methos prowl around the room with barely controlled fury, just as she'd watched him rage and curse and scream before he'd manage to haul himself into check. He'd stopped short of doing any major physical damage beyond throwing the odd item at the TV but she had no idea how he was going to continue at the emotional fever-pitch that was currently driving him without doing something or someone – including himself – harm. Throughout it all she'd strived to remain impassive, not to inflame him further by her own anguish, to be the calm centre he needed, his anchor, the voice of reason; it had been one of the most difficult things she'd done in years considering all she'd wanted to do was join him. Finally, it seemed to be getting through to him, and he stopped mid prowl in the centre of the room, head bent, breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to see that," he said. She shrugged in reply after breathing a quiet sigh of relief at his apparent return to his 'normal' self.

"Happens to us all, sometimes. You just don't let go very easily - or very often."

"I can't afford to."

She put her tea down on the floor, scrambled out of her chair and picked her way through the scattered mess until she was close enough to fling her arms around him in the hug she'd wanted to give him since he fell apart in front of her.

"Sometimes you have to for the sake of sanity – other people's if not your own. If it's any consolation, seeing you so angry is almost therapeutic."

There was a slightly hysterical sounding but rather muffled snort of disbelief from the vicinity of her shoulder.

"I did say 'almost'," Siannon added as she stroked the back of Methos' head. "Mostly, it just hurts because I can't do anything about the cause. I wish I could."

"You and me both," he mumbled, before he stepped out of the circle of her arms. "I know the old adage is 'no news is good news' but..."

"That's not the way you feel. I know what you mean - it's like waiting for a blade to fall..." she shuddered and reached out to grab his hand again, needing the contact and the mutual comfort. Judging by how tightly he held on, Methos did too.

*

Dekker continued to be dismissive of Jack's efforts, in effect telling him there was nothing he was doing that hadn't already been done, and done better, by people the world over. That got Jack to thinking; what did *they* have that was different? There must be a piece of the puzzle he was missing. Then he had it – the remnant that had been disconnected.

"Why did Clem die?" Jack asked, as much thinking aloud as truly expecting an answer.

"It was the 456 that killed him," Johnson replied.

"But how did they do it? Why did they do it?" He didn't look at her, still trying to chase the idea that was forming in his head.

"We've got the recording here." Johnson moved to one of the other stations. Jack paid her little heed, intent on following the path his thoughts were taking.

"His mind must have synced to the 456 back when he was a child. But they didn't need to kill him. He wasn't any threat." But maybe Clem *had* been a threat, or at least an irritant. "Unless maybe that connection hurt them," Jack mused.

"This is the 456 at the moment of his death," said Johnson as she made her way back to Jack's side, She tapped in a few commands and stood back. "We've lifted the sound from the Thames House link."

The eerie noise filled the silence between them.

"That sound, Mr Dekker, what's that sound?" Jack demanded.

"I don't know. It's new," Dekker said. The uncertainty in his voice was plain to hear and a contrast to his earlier attitude. That alone would have convinced Jack he was on the right path, even if his own thoughts hadn't been leading him in the same direction.

"Exactly. It's new," Jack said. "We don't have to analyse the wavelength, just copy it. Turn it into a constructive wave... But we've got no way of transmitting."

"Of course you have." Dekker sounded entirely too smug to Jack's ears – he looked it too. Then something in Jack's mind clicked as he realised where the path he'd been following ended and he flinched in horrified disbelief at the prospect.

"Shut up," he told Dekker.

"Same way as them," Dekker continued.

"I'll find something else." He couldn't do it. Wouldn't. Not if he could help it.

"What does he mean?" Johnson asked.

"Don't listen to him," Jack ground out.

"Dekker, tell me," she demanded,

"The 456 used children… to establish the resonance." Jack's eyes flicked toward Dekker, who sounded for all the world like he was discussing a hypothetical problem; it probably was one to him.

"Meaning what?" Johnson asked for clarification.

"We need a child," Dekker said. Jack felt Alice draw closer, but he would not look at her. He hoped she wouldn't ask the question, but she was his daughter and too curious for her own well being. She was also a mother, with all the protective instincts that brought.

"What do you mean?" Alice asked. Jack's heart sank; he wanted to wring Dekker's neck and wipe that smug expression off his face once and for all, but he daren't. There was too much at stake.

"Centre of the resonance. Oh, that child's going to fry." Dekker's voice was entirely too gleeful for pronouncing what was basically a death sentence. Jack clenched his jaw and stared resolutely at the keyboard. Any second now…

"No, Dad. No, tell them no."

"One child or millions."

Alice and Johnson made him feel like he was being ripped apart.

"Dad, tell them no!"

"We're running out of time."

Ripped apart and trampled underfoot.

Both of them making his heart bleed. Pleading. Begging him for such different reasons, for the same thing.

Life.

"Dad, no! No, Dad!" Alice was almost screaming at him.

"Captain?!" Jack could see the tears in Johnson's eyes but the distress caused by the thought of what she was asking him to do didn't stop her doing her duty; she was asking anyway.

Duty. Was that all he had left? Did he *have* another way to stop the 456? Could he live with himself if he didn't stop them? He heard the voices of Torchwood's past echoing in his head... the Needs of the Many Outweigh the Needs of the Few. He'd lived by that tenet himself for so many years, was it so different now? Could he really give up millions of children to that fate because he wasn't prepared to give up one, even if that child was his own flesh and blood?

The answer was no.

He was Torchwood; the man who didn't care, the one who made the decisions other people couldn't bear to make. It was what he did.

Jack nodded tightly, and the hangar erupted into action; Johnson's men hurried out of the door with Alice tearing after them, as she screamed for Stephen at the top of her voice.

The hangar was locked as Stephen was brought in and placed onto the grill that would be their resonance source; he would be both amplifier and transmitter. Jack glanced at him, the innocent blue eyes were wide with apprehension and yet still trusting.

"What are we doing, Uncle Jack?" Jack turned away. He wouldn't answer. How could he? Even so, Stephen didn't move, despite his mother hammering on the safety glass of the door. "What's happening? What do you want me to do?"

Jack hesitated; he would have done this with barely a second thought if it had been another child, he had before, but this was Stephen; his own grandson, the kid whose face lit up every time he saw Jack no matter how infrequently it was. Family. Blood was thicker than water...

Blood.

Blood on Ianto's face as he lay dying in Jack's arms, dying because he'd loved him and trusted him to do what was needed. Jack reached out with shaking hands and hit the keys that would save the planet, and kill Stephen.

Then all he could do was stand vigil, consumed by pain and disgust, while Stephen gave his life for them all.

He remained motionless when Johnson gave the order to let Alice back in, staring at his daughter with tear-filled eyes. Jack had thought he couldn't sink any deeper into despair, but as he watched Alice weeping over Stephen's body he realised he'd been the worst kind of fool to assume that. He might have saved millions of children a fate worse than death but the hatred and accusation in his daughter's eyes made it all seem irrelevant – he hadn't tried to save his own flesh and blood. The tears ran unhindered down his face as another part of him died; never had he felt more unworthy to bear the name of Jack Harkness.

~*~

~ No Time for Tears ~

*

Gwen almost dropped the phone from nerveless fingers after Johnson rang off. She stood there shaking, unable to completely process the enormity of what she'd been told.

"Jesus Christ!" The words were choked by shock and her never ending supply of tears. "Jesus Holy Fucking Christ!"

"What? Gwen, Love. What is it now? What happened?" Rhys' arms were a comforting presence around her. She turned, and buried her face in his shoulder.

"It was him. He did it. He stopped them. He... I can't believe it. I can't."

"Who?" Rhys mumbled into her hair.

"Jack. He stopped the 456."

"That's good - isn't it?"

She shook her head where it rested against Rhys, then raised teary eyes to gaze at him.

"He sacrificed his grandson to do it," she said baldly, not trying to soften the blow at all.

"Fuck."

"Ianto would have stopped him. He would have found another way, I'm sure. He was like that." Rhys' arms tightened around her - she was so glad she had him; someone who loved her, someone to comfort her, someone who tried to *understand* even if he walked a different path – and something clicked in her head. She pulled away from Rhys' embrace. "Ianto. My God, *Ianto* he..."

She started tearing around the flat, searching.

--

After they'd lost Tosh and Owen, Ianto had taken her aside and given her a Torchwood business card. She'd been puzzled until she turned it over and noticed the mobile number, then she'd put two and two together – and surprisingly got four.

"Adam's?" She'd asked.

"His private number." Ianto confirmed. "If.. if... anything should happen to me I need you to tell him; for me - for Jack. Please."

"I will," she'd promised.

--

She looked in all the normal places, and couldn't find it. Cursing, tears pouring down her face she decided to try the unlikely ones and ran into the bedroom. She found it inside the wedding card she'd got from Owen and Tosh, the one she kept in her bedside cabinet.

"Thank bloody God!" She yelled, and dashed back out into the living room with the card in her hand, making straight for the phone.

"Gwen, love. I don't..."

"Jack and Ianto had a..a...friend. Adam. He needs to know about Ianto. Hell, he needs to know about *Jack*."

"Are you sure that's really a good idea?" Rhys didn't sound convinced in the least, but then he hadn't met Adam and certainly didn't know how significant he was – had been – in Ianto's life. Gwen clutched the card like a talisman and took a deep breath.

"Trust me on this, Rhys," she said. "He's the only person who could understand, I know I bloody can't. And for Ianto? I'd do more if I could."

She reached for the phone and dialled, heart in her mouth and didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified when it was picked up quickly, with a terse 'yes'.

"Adam? Adam Pierson? It's Gwen – from Torchwood."

There was a pause, as if he were trying to remember or trying to get himself under enough control to answer. The latter, she decided when she heard his deep sigh.

"It's Ianto, isn't it?"

She nodded, and then remembered he couldn't see her. She took a deep breath and bit her lip before replying.

"I'm sorry. He... Jack..." her voice was filling with tears and she couldn't go on for a moment.

"Tell me, Gwen. I need to know. All of it."

She reached out her free hand to Rhys, needing the contact, the reassurance and his support more than she'd ever done in her life. Slowly, tearfully, she began to recount the horror of the last day – and of Ianto's last hours – to the only person left on the planet that might understand Jack Harkness.

*

Jack stood blinking in the sunshine as the doors swung shut behind him, the sound echoing through him with an eerie finality. The sunlight seemed to mock his heavy heart with its bright cheerfulness – he almost felt as if the sky should be weeping now that he had no tears left to shed.

The end is where we start from

How he had to laugh at himself for that now he realised there was no way forward for someone like him. But still... he took one step, then another and another and soon he was almost running – it was all he could do. He came to a slithering stop against a car that suddenly pulled over in front of him, staring with wide eyes as he recognised it, his hands shaking.

The passenger door opened, beckoning to him, and he stumbled toward it, almost falling into the embrace of the familiar seat. He pulled the door closed and leaned back, head bowed.

"Ianto's gone," he whispered.

"I know," was the gentle reply. There were no platitudes, no expressions of sorrow but Jack wasn't really surprised at that, even though he was kind of surprised to have Methos there in the first place; he'd expected to be left alone, to be shunned by everyone after what he'd done. The car began to move away, smooth and quiet as always and totally at odds with how Jack felt.

"I killed my grandson, alienated my daughter forever and I can't bear to even *look* at Gwen. I've reached the end of the road, Methos, I can't *do* this any more," he said wearily.

"I know."

Jack sighed. "I guess you do..." There was silence then, and the merest brush of fingers against his, reassuring in its brevity. Eventually Jack felt the need to break the silence. "Where are we going?"

"Wherever we have to so you can find the next road to travel."

"We?"

"We. For now."

*

Beyond Day 5

*

It was close to sunset when Rhiannon made her way back to the graveyard. The funeral had given some closure to the rest of the family, but she needed to say her final goodbye to her brother alone, just the two of them together as it had so often been when they were younger, united in their desire to have more than their life had seemed determined to give them. In the end Rhiannon had found her peace far closer to home than she'd thought she would, and Ianto – well, Ianto had carried on searching. When he'd sat at her table on the day the world had started falling apart, she'd wondered if he'd finally discovered what he'd been looking for. Now she would never know for certain, and all that was left was goodbye.

As she made her way to the corner of the cemetery where they'd buried him – an odd, out of the way spot, between 2 other graves - she realised there was someone else there, kneeling in the freshly turned earth over Ianto's final resting place. At first she didn't recognise him, and wondered *why* there was a strange man kneeling in the dirt, then he raised his head and she caught sight of his face. She choked back a sob – there was so much sorrow engraved in every line of his features – and fought the desire to just run over and fling her arms around him, as if a hug would make things better like it did for a child. She'd noticed him at the funeral, half-hidden in the shadows with the man they called Jack Harkness, keeping their distance from the other mourners, and she'd wondered who he was. Harkness had disappeared without a word of course, and she didn't expect she'd see him again, but there was something about this man... she took a step closer, unable to help herself even though part of her hated to intrude on his grief. She must have made some sort of noise as he turned to face her, nodded, and then turned back to the silent grave.

"Rhiannon Davies; I should have realised you'd be back."

She had no idea what he meant by that, and he also had her at a disadvantage as she also had no idea who he was, though from his eyes - his face - his whole demeanour – he had obviously loved her brother. And Ianto, close mouthed as always, had never even breathed a word about him. She settled into the dirt beside him.

"You loved Ianto," she said. It wasn't a question; the answer was already right there in front of her eyes.

"I did. More than I ever expected to – he... he got right under my skin when I wasn't looking."

"That sounds like our Ianto, alright. Did he know?" She glanced across at the man beside her; he didn't acknowledge the look – Rhiannon wasn't sure he even saw it.

"I hope so. He never seemed to believe me when I told him he was special, and I...I..." His eyes closed, shuttering his face. Rhiannon sighed.

"You never said those 3 little words, did you? Typical bloody man. Still, wherever he is now, I hope he knows for certain. He deserves that."

"Yes, he does."

"You know, I have absolutely no idea where you fit into the picture. He never told anyone about you." She tried to sound down to earth, despite the fact that her heart felt like it was breaking all over again. Sometimes it was brought home to her that even with their shared upbringing she hadn't really known Ianto as well as she would have liked.

The man finally opened his eyes, and looked at her. He had beautiful eyes, for all they were so full of tears, and she wondered what Ianto had seen behind them.

"I'm not surprised he said nothing." He sighed; it was a very thoughtful sound. Rhiannon waited for him to continue "Ianto valued my privacy above all else, and I always appreciated that. He... understood... a lot about me and it made no difference to him. That was one of the things I loved about him, and he never could see it... To him we *were* and that was all there was to it."

Rhiannon had no trouble imagining that, Ianto had always stubbornly refused to be influenced by other people's opinions and once he had made his mind up about something he was steadfast in his belief. Sometimes that way of looking at the world had done him no favours – she remembered having to clean him up after too many fights – but it had still never shaken him from taking that path. She wasn't like that, though, she needed to be reassured that what she was doing was right, like she needed to be reassured now by the strange and compelling man who was so obviously mourning her brother.

"I still don't understand though. Ianto worked with Jack Harkness – he *died* with him for God's sake – and from what I've gathered, he loved him."

"Oh he did, never doubt that for a moment. What we had... I don't think any of us truly anticipated. Not me, not Jack, and certainly not Ianto. And now... it's gone. He's gone. And we're alone, even when we're together."

"With a Ianto shaped hole in your lives."

"Yes. And too few memories to fill it; we didn't have long enough – we never do...."

He bent his head, to hide his tears Rhiannon thought until he looked up again with them still plain on his face and in his eyes. Unconsciously she fumbled in her bag and passed him a tissue; she'd had need enough of them the last few days with all the crying she'd done. He took the tissue from her and smiled through his tears.

"Just like a Jones..." he whispered, before wiping his face. "Thank you." He sat back on his heels, and Rhiannon could tell he was preparing to leave. She reached out a hand and laid it on his arm.

"At least tell me your name, so I can remember that there was someone who loved my brother like he deserved."

"And how was that?"

"Without holding back," she said honestly, simply, meaning every word.

"Without holding back?" He gave her a twisted smile, and the sheer anguish of it caught at her heart. "You wouldn't say that if you knew me." He sounded like he hated himself, and Rhiannon was all too familiar with that feeling, just not on the same scale she suspected this man felt. She took refuge in her ability to say what she saw and damn the consequences without even thinking about it.

"Well I don't know you, and I'm never going to either. All I know is that when I find a man I've never heard of sobbing his heart out on my brother's grave, it doesn't look like he's holding much back to me. You're here. I'm here. Jack Harkness isn't." There was a thread of bitterness at the last – she resented that Harkness hadn't made the effort to speak to her, or the rest of the family. To her mind he should have, no matter what he was feeling.

Fingers tightened round hers where they still lay on the unknown man's arm. There was earth trapped under his fingernails.

"Don't judge Jack too harshly, he..." the man trailed off with a slight shake of his head, and took a deep breath. "It's not my place to explain, I'm sorry. In a way I'm grieving for us both - he loved Ianto too."

"He was easy to love, my little brother. I'm going to miss him. Even though we didn't see each other so much any more at least I still knew he was there. It used to be me and him against the world, when we were kids and I can't believe I'll never see him again." Unbidden, the tears started to flow. Rhiannon bit her lip and sniffed, she should be all out of tears by now. Before she could scrabble in her bag for another tissue, an earth-stained hand snaked around her, and pulled her into a hug. How long she sat like that, face buried into the stranger's shoulder, she could not say but the sun had disappeared completely by the time she raised her head. "I should go," she whispered. The man nodded, his profile catching the remaining light.

"Me too." He turned to face her, clasping her hand gently. "I'm glad I finally met you, Rhiannon Davies. I just wish it could have been under better circumstances." He scrambled upright and held out a hand. She took it, glad of his support as she struggled to her feet. "I'm Adam Pierson, by the way," he said. She accepted that piece of information with a nod and then stepped away from him.

"Goodbye Adam." She turned on her heel and walked away, back towards the rest of her life. She turned around once to see Adam still there by Ianto's grave, lonely now in his grief. She ignored the temptation to head back; she had her family to think about. Also, some mourning just had to be done alone. She wrapped her arms around herself and carried on walking.

~*~

~ No time to be afraid of fear ~

*

The moonlight cast a cold and harsh glow over Jack's features as he stood by the window of their room. Methos didn't bother asking him to come back to bed, he'd learned over the last few months that it was a futile exercise and only ended in unpleasantness for them both. He wished it could have been different but despite all of his good intentions about letting Jack find his own path, his grief had stood in the way of objectivity on more than one occasion. He eased out of the bed and padded over to the window, noticing the open laptop on the desk. He stopped, his attention grabbed by the swirling star charts and incomprehensible text on the screen. It seemed that Jack had decided where his road was going to take him. With one last glance at the computer, Methos made his way over to Jack and snaked his arms around him, chin resting on one broad shoulder. Jack didn't acknowledge him, didn't make any response at all, just stood there cold and unmoving, a silver fleshed statue. Methos hated it when Jack was like this but he was getting too weary to fight for him any more.

"I take it you've found the next road to travel?" Methos asked gently, breath puffing softly past Jack's ear. Jack shivered, and a hand came up to rest on one of Methos' where it lay against his ribs.

"I think so," Jack whispered. "I can't stay here any longer. This planet - these people - even you... Everything reminds me of what I did, of what I'm capable of doing, of what I lost. The whole world's a graveyard, Methos, and I'm sick of death. It follows me everywhere I go here so I've got to get away before I lose the little sanity I've got left. Seems a hell of a way to repay you for making sure I've got that much *to* lose, though."

Methos tightened his arms around Jack for a second, and kissed his shoulder gently.

"Payment isn't required, and never will be... though there is one thing I think you should do before you leave." Methos felt Jack become even more tense within the circle of his arms, which he hadn't thought would be possible.

"Which is?" Jack asked warily.

"Say goodbye to Gwen, she deserves that much."

Jack almost sagged into Methos' arms, the tension suddenly gone from his body.

"I'm not sure I can."

"And I think you need to. Are we going to argue about it?" There'd been too many arguments between them; probably inevitable with the amount of grief and pain they were both carrying, not to mention Jack's guilt. Arguing was not healthy for either of them and Methos would rather walk out - and had done - than have another.

"No. No argument." Jack sighed, a defeated sound if ever there was one in Methos' opinion, and it hurt. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am, I know all about trying to avoid goodbyes." Methos thought it was probably a good job that Jack didn't see the smile he had to hide in his shoulder, he might take it the wrong way and explaining to Jack about his past always ended up being so long winded for some reason. Then the pain hit him again, like a knife in his guts; God, he missed Ianto.

"And what about us?" Jack whispered.

"I won't be saying goodbye. You will see me again - it might not be soon, and it might be when you least expect it, but you won't be able to avoid me forever."

"I don't think I'd want to; forever is a long time."

"Good." With a last brush of his lips across Jack's skin, Methos let go and headed back to bed. He was just getting comfortable when the bed dipped on the other side and he turned over to find Jack watching him with the strangest expression on his face.

"It hurts to look at you, Methos. And yet..." Jack leaned down to kiss him deeply and Methos was helpless to do anything apart from respond, even while his mind was shrieking agreement with what Jack said. Eventually, they drifted towards sleep, clinging to each other like they hadn't done in what seemed to be ages and Methos knew that Jack had made the right decision - for them both.

~*~

~ No time to cry ~

*

As Gwen made her way back to the car she leaned into the comfort of Rhys' arm around her. No matter what else fell apart in her life, she had Rhys – her anchor, her rock – and he meant more to her now than he'd ever done. When they reached the bottom of the hill Gwen realised she could make out a figure in a long coat standing in the shadows, only just visible because of the lights from the city; her heart leapt inside her for a moment - until she noticed that the coat was wrapped around a leaner frame than Jack's - then it plummeted once more. It was Adam Pierson. The baby kicked as if it was protesting about her see-sawing emotions, and she felt a dull rage settle into her belly. Gwen broke away from Rhys and strode towards the shadowy figure, now making no effort to hide from her. She stopped short of physically shoving the man, though it was a close-run thing.

"You! I should have known you'd be here! You should have stopped him. If you wanted to, you could have made him stay!"

"Could I?" The tone of his voice brought her up short; she'd never heard him sound so defeated, so *desolate*, and his sigh was one of utter weariness. It made her remember that although she'd in effect lost her 2 best friends, he had lost so much more than that – and would have to live with the memory for far, far longer than she ever would.

"Adam, I..." She trailed off when she became aware that he was gazing up at the sky in the direction Jack had been teleported away and was not paying any attention to her whatsoever.

"Sometimes the only thing you can do is run," he said softly, then let out a bark of mirthless laughter and turned his attention back to her. "Running away is a time honoured method of dealing with immortality, didn't you know that Gwen?"

"Then why aren't you out there with him?" Her hands were on his chest, almost clinging to him and she wondered how that had happened. He raised his own hands, and covered hers briefly, giving them a faint squeeze before he removed them from his chest and gently pushed her away. She let her hands fall to her sides, searching his face for the answer she so desperately wanted. Then he drew a deep breath, and she knew it wasn't the answer she was going to get.

"Because there are times when you just have to run alone." She stared, wide eyed, as he turned and walked away from her, fading into the enveloping darkness.

"Adam!" She yelled at his retreating back. "Adam! You don't have to go too..."

There was no answer, save for Rhys wrapping his arms around her again.

"Maybe he does, Gwen love," he whispered into her hair. "Maybe he does." Rhys kissed her tear-stained cheek, and then led her back to the car. He was right, it was time to go; there was nothing for her up here any longer and she had a new life to build down there in the city that needed her.

*

Methos watched them drive past from his hiding place in the trees. It was time for him to leave too. With Jack gone, there was nothing in Cardiff for him now and he had a lot to work through before he got on with the everyday business of living - a new name, a new life; survival. How empty it all seemed. Even so, he would carry on; it was what he did best. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders against the impending rain and walked away.

As the road descended into better lit areas, the unmistakable presence of another immortal danced along his nerves. His heart gave a treacherous leap as he briefly considered losing his head to the unknown, but his pragmatism stamped on the thought too quickly for him to really heed it. He pulled out his sword; a fight and a quickening could be just what he needed. He took a couple of steps, sword in hand, trying to make out the other immortal, with his still whirling emotions clouding his perception of their quickening.

"Put the damn sword away, I'm not here to fight you!" His quickening recognised her just a heartbeat before she spoke and he was already complying with the command before she stepped into the light.

"Siannon," he acknowledged. She didn't stop walking toward him until she was close enough to touch, then she reached out and gathered him into her arms. He relaxed into the familiarity of it, finally letting his guard down. Her arms tightened around him as his tears fell once more.

"You are nine types of idiot if you thought I would leave you to walk alone in the darkness after this," she said gently.

"I've always walked alone at the end of things."

"But sometimes you don't have to. I loved him too, remember. Now let's get in, out of the rain." Her car wasn't far and he found himself unceremoniously bundled into the passenger seat with a towel thrust into his hands before she slammed the door on him. He began to dry his face and hair, her ruthless and affectionate practicality warming the cold places of his heart. She didn't start the car immediately after she clambered in next to him and he raised his head to find her staring at him thoughtfully.

"What?" He demanded. She didn't answer straight away, just gave him a sad smile and reached out to brush her knuckles over his cheek.

"I'm taking you home," she said. Methos was still too raw to make complete sense of the statement. Unlike some immortals, Siannon had laid down deep roots and actually had more than one place that she would always call home. He had no idea which one she meant.

"Home?" Methos queried. "Cumbria or Ireland?" He was familiar with both places.

"Neither. I'm taking *you* home. To Seacouver."

"But you don't..."

"This isn't about me. It's about you, and what you've been denying yourself for the last six months while you tried to hold Jack together. You know you need to be around people who know you and someplace where every waking moment won't remind you of what you've lost. Joe is almost *family* so I can't think of anywhere better to lay some of your ghosts to rest, never mind who else will be there. And when you want to talk about Ianto and Jack and Torchwood..." she shrugged. "I'll be there. Whenever and wherever you need me."

"And in the meantime?"

"I'll be here, in Cardiff. I made a promise and I'm going to do my damnedest to keep it. I have to."

Methos nodded, he understood only too well about the keeping of promises – he'd spent the last six months doing just that. He couldn't deny that Siannon had the right of it; Joe's would be the perfect place for his wounded heart to find some ease. He was tired, oh so tired, and he needed some time to hurt and mourn and heal, to simply *be* rather than trying to *do* anything. She was right about that too - he *had* denied himself what he needed because he couldn't bear to see Jack so broken and had tried to add to that burden as little as possible. Well, he had time for himself now - he had nothing but time.

"Seacouver it is then," he agreed and settled deeper into the seat. Siannon gave him one last glance before she started the car, but said nothing else.

*

Methos began to emerge from the numb fog that had enveloped him after that night in Cardiff as they crossed the tarmac at Seacouver airport. It was the difference in the quality of air that roused him, it smelt - and felt - of home, and that surprised him. In the last year or so he'd grown used to associating home with people, and it was good to know that his psyche still had a sense of place. He stopped briefly, and took a deep breath - underlying the smell of aviation fuel were the familiar scents of the city and the sea.

"Methos?" There was a hint of worry in Siannon's voice.

"I'm OK. And you were right." He didn't tell her what she had been right about, she'd know. She gave him a brief smile and a nod and turned away. "Siannon?" She glanced over her shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow. "Thank you," Methos said simply. He would never mention the way she'd looked out for him, and after him, over the course of their journey again, but at least she knew he had been aware of her care. Now he had to take the next step, even if he didn't feel ready for it but at least he wouldn't be taking it alone - that was something he hadn't planned, and it made all the difference. He sighed, moving forward wasn't going to be easy but if he didn't, he'd be dead and he was in no way ready to leave his life behind.

~*~

It's time to let go
Time to spend some time alone
Reconsider what could be done

We have outlived ourselves
By many a ruined year
The future ripped from a tattered page

~*~

Jack hadn't had too much trouble finding the bar in Seacouver. It seemed that everyone in the area had heard of Joe's even if they didn't frequent the place, and everything they'd heard was good. Now he was standing outside, staring at the cheerful neon sign with trepidation, wondering if he had the right to step inside, and back into Methos' life after the months – though it was years for him – he'd been away. There was only one way to find out; he crossed the street, walked up the steps and opened the door. Once the door swung shut behind him it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside but the impressions he received through his other senses gave him a glimpse of why a 5000 year old man might think of the place as home.

"I'm afraid we're closed, buddy. Come back in 3 hours."

Jack turned to face the speaker who was behind the bar sorting glasses, the other inhabitants of the place ignored him. The bearded face, grizzled hair and air of authority that surrounded the man clued Jack into who this must be.

"Joe Dawson?" Jack asked.

"I was last time I looked," Joe said amiably but Jack could see the wariness in his eyes which increased as he drew closer. Jack made a point of not switching on the charm – he didn't think it would get him anywhere with this tough old soldier.

"A friend said you might be able to help me. I'm looking for someone."

"Try missing persons, we don't run a lost and found service. I'm afraid I can't help."

"Even if I told you I was looking for Adam Pierson?"

"Yeah. Who's asking anyway? I don't think we've met. And what 'friend' sent you here?"

"The friend? Oh that was Siannon O'Niall, I believe you know her."

"I *did*."

Jack realised at that point that Joe might think he'd taken her head - he had no immortal radar system to tell him that Jack wasn't the type of immortal he was used to.

"You still do – she's very much in one piece. Call her if you want." To Jack's relief, Joe visibly relaxed.

"No, I don't think I'll need to do that."

"And Adam?" Jack pressed. He knew that Joe Dawson was aware that Adam Pierson was Methos, but there was no way he was going to use *that* name within earshot of people about whom he knew less than nothing.

"I still don't know *you*," Joe said, but not in an unfriendly way and Jack approved of his caution. As far as he knew, Joe Dawson had only ever been to Cardiff once and that had been while Jack was with the Doctor at the end of the universe and beyond.

"I guess you wouldn't. I was… away when you visited Cardiff. I'm Jack Harkness." The sudden grin that lit Joe Dawson's face knocked years off him and surprised Jack into tentatively smiling back.

"In that case get your ass behind my bar and into the office. Now. And if the two of you aren't leaving in five minutes then I'm throwing you out. Together." Jack then gave Joe a grin of his own, and stepped around the bar in the indicated direction. "You've lost the coat," Joe said, commenting on Jack's jeans, shirt and casual jacket.

"Not lost – just giving it a rest," Jack replied. Wearing the coat just hadn't seemed right for a while. Maybe now he would bring it out of the closet - depending on what happened in the next 5 minutes.

Jack hesitated in the doorway of the office. Methos was at the desk, surrounded by ledgers and papers, intent on the computer screen in front of him, and all Jack could do was gaze helplessly at the back of the bent head as a wave of longing swept through him and threatened to shatter him into pieces. Again. He knew *why* he'd run away from this, but now as he drank in every detail of the figure in front of him he could hardly understand *how* he'd thought leaving was such a good idea.

"Don't hover," Methos said irritably. "Either come in or go away. I'm busy, and you're distracting me."

"I wasn't sure how welcome I'd be," Jack said quietly as he took a step forward. Methos didn't turn round, but his back straightened and he raised his head.

"Jack?..." It was barely a whisper. Jack moved closer.

"In the flesh," he replied.

In the blur of movement that followed, Jack would never be entirely sure if Methos had exploded out of the chair and pounced or whether he had hauled Methos out of the chair and hung on desperately. He suspected it was both, though it didn't really matter as the result was the same – they ended up wrapped around each other inside and out, body and soul.

Oh how he'd missed this - the meeting of mind and soul and heart, the desperate shared need for understanding, the pain and the joy - missed it and not realised he was missing it until a certain time travelling, dimensionally transcendent, blue-skinned lady had given him a well needed but metaphorical kick. It was thanks to her that his hands and mind and senses felt like they were overflowing with light and while his heart still ached within him from losing Ianto - as he was sure Methos' did too - he'd discovered there was only so long a person could mourn. Jack had finally healed enough to reach that point and he could only hope that Methos had also had enough time - it hadn't been his decision as to which *when* to come back to earth after all - but he trusted her instinct more than he trusted himself. He smiled into the kiss that was so much *more* than a kiss; judging by the reaction so far her instinct had been true.

They were broken apart by an unapologetic sounding cough.

"Your five minutes is up. Get out of here." Joe was trying to sound stern, Jack could tell, but he could also hear the smile in the guy's voice which destroyed the effect somewhat.

Methos gathered enough breath to try a half-formed protest

"Joe..."

"Out. You have a perfectly good apartment, now go use it."

"You heard the man," said Methos with a smile as he grabbed his coat in one hand and Jack in the other. Jack needed no further urging and willingly followed Methos out of the bar.

Later, when they were tangled in a breathless, sweaty and sated heap in the wreck of Methos' bed, Jack reflected that he was luckier than he deserved. He pressed a kiss into Methos' hair - whose head was a comforting weight over Jack's heart - and tightened his hold. He didn't want to let go of this man for a long time, not now he wasn't half mad and blind with grief and pain and guilt, but what Methos wanted beyond this moment wasn't obvious at all.

"Penny for them?" Methos mumbled into Jack's skin.

"Hmm?"

"I can hear you think from down here. What is it?"

Jack sighed, he'd hoped to avoid the conversation for a while longer and simply enjoy having Methos in his arms again, but if Methos was ready to ask, then Jack had to make an effort to explain. He took a deep breath, and let the reluctant words out.

"I woke up one day on a planet with a red sun and a purple sky, all the wonders of a strange new world spread out before me and I finally understood why the Doctor rarely travels on his own... even the wonders of the universe begin to pale if you don't share them with someone. He is never alone, not truly, not as long as the TARDIS is with him and I realised I was envious of that. I wanted it for myself - and then TARDIS reminded me I'd already had it, and turned my back on it because I couldn't stand the pain." Methos lay quiescent in Jack's arms for a moment longer, and then hitched himself up onto one elbow to look down at him quizzically.

"Did you just offer me a trip in the TARDIS?"

"Yeah. There are so many things I want to show you, so many things I wanted to show Ianto and won't ever have the chance to now. I want to see them, with you, while we both remember him. That way, he'll be there too."

"I'd love to..." The slow and sparkling smile that lit Methos' face was a confirmation in itself, then he frowned slightly as if he'd remembered something unpleasant. "But first I need to know something..."

"Go on." Jack should have realised there'd be *something*, he had appeared out of the wide blue yonder with no notice after all. Methos chewed his lip, and then met Jack's eyes with the sort of directness he'd missed.

"Isn't this a big change of heart for you in only a few months?" Methos asked. From his point of view it would be true, Jack thought. If he'd only been away for the time that seemed to have passed for Methos, he'd still be mired in his cycle of grief and guilt and in no way capable of making the decisions Methos was. Obviously experience helped when dealing with grief, even if it didn't make the hurt any less.

"It hasn't been months for me," Jack said. He shied away from revealing more right then, it could be done another time - and would be - that much he promised himself.

"Ah. Then why come *back* to now?"

Jack supposed it wouldn't make a lot of sense to Methos - it hadn't to him initially - but he'd been... persuaded... rather vehemently that this was the *right* when for them both.

"TARDIS thought it was a good idea," he explained. "There was no way I was going to argue with such a determined lady." Judging by the twitch of Methos' lips he had no trouble imagining just *how* determined she could be.

"And the Doctor?"

"He wasn't given the opportunity to disagree," Jack said blandly. He could tell the story about that another time too, preferably when the Doctor was going to be off the TARDIS for an hour or two.

"I bet he didn't take kindly to that."

"Not really."

"So is he going to be speaking to me or not?" Methos didn't sound overly concerned one way or another to Jack.

"By the time we arrive, he will be. TARDIS will make sure of it."

"Remind me to thank her when we get there."

"I will," Jack agreed and he'd make sure he did - TARDIS had been at her quirky and manipulative forte in the last couple of days. However, Methos' nearness - the touch of his skin, his scent, the barely discernable tingle of his quickening - was casting its spell on Jack and that meant that getting back to the TARDIS and the Doctor wasn't exactly priority one. "But first... I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to..." Methos was chuckling as Jack pulled him down for a kiss, but by the time Jack flipped them over he wasn't laughing any more - his mouth was too busy with other things.

*

The sun was beginning to set when they finally rounded the corner to see where the TARDIS had landed. Methos thought she looked beautiful in the dappled evening light, if a little incongruous in comparison with her surroundings, especially considering the way that any passer-by just walked right on around her without registering she was there. For some reason the perception filter had never worked on him which made it more amusing. The door opened and an unfamiliar figure with a slightly manic smile on his face stepped out and waved at them. Methos found he missed the leather coat, not to mention the more familiar planes and angles of the face he'd last seen this man wear, more than he thought he would - this would after all be the fifth incarnation of the Doctor he'd met.

"Not your Doctor, hmm?" Jack whispered conspiratorially. Methos nodded, that was a pretty damn good way of describing it and he knew Jack felt the same even now, though he'd never really been able to put his relationship with the Time Lord - whatever face he wore - into words.

"Make good use of your time?" The Doctor asked pointedly as Methos and Jack approached; they nodded and Methos made a point of not looking in Jack's direction. "Well come on then, some of us are getting older while you dilly-dally around with each other." He bounced back inside the TARDIS with an irrepressible grin. Jack chuckled.

"Is he always like that?" Methos asked Jack. He didn't know this Doctor and had no idea what to expect, though if the previous incarnations he'd met were anything to go by, quirky would be the least of it.

"Not always. Sometimes he's worse," Jack replied. Methos muttered under his breath, glaring at Jack who then started laughing outright. He didn't manage to keep the glare going for very long as Jack's laughter was infectious and it was *good* to hear it again, even with the empty place in their hearts. Eventually Jack sobered and he offered his hand to Methos. "Shall we? The whole of space and time is waiting."

Methos cast a glance around him, taking in the familiar sights of Seacouver before turning his back on them. Jack squeezed his fingers as they stepped through the door of the TARDIS together and Methos looked back again, just once. He'd return, he knew that, but for now he was going to tread a new path, one paved with a lot more healing and hope than he'd envisaged on that damp night in Cardiff all those months ago, and he wouldn't be walking it alone. It would be difficult at times - he and Jack were too similar in some ways for an easy life - but nothing worth having was ever easy. And later - who knew what might happen? After all, they had the whole of space and time.

~ E ~