Ferals (6/6)
Title: Ferals (6/6)
Author: nancybrown
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Steven, Alice, Gwen, Martha, Mickey, OCs
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Martha/Mickey, past Jack/others, past Ianto/OMC
Rating: for adults only
Words: 31,800 (9000 this part)
Warnings: suicide, character death including child death, gore and violence
Spoilers: plot spoilers through CoE, (very) brief mention of characters and events from MD, some parts based on early spoilers from the current season of DW, but finished before the season premiere aired
Beta: Eldar and fide_et_spe both kicked this into shape, and have my deepest thanks.
Summary: Ianto and Steven have returned home, but as Ianto tries to solve an alien's murder, he learns home isn't ready to take them back.
A/N: Sequel to Strays and Rescues. eldarwannabe did a lot of heavy lifting in breaking this fic, and without her, it would not exist. If you like it, tell her thank you.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
***
Chapter Six
***
He nearly forgets it's Rhiannon's birthday, but is reminded by an e-card from Richard, generic and sterile with singing cats. During his time on the run, Ianto always gave Rhiannon's birth date as his own: it was easy to remember, and made him appear old enough to have a child Steven's age. Guiltily, he phones her now, and is harangued with love about never visiting. "You ought to come over on Sunday. We're doing a cake."
The too-familiar "Work is kind of busy" pops to his lips without effort, earning him a loud sigh from his sister, and a silent raised eyebrow from his boyfriend.
"You got another job, then? You never tell me. You could call more often, you know." She's teasing, and a little hurt. "You didn't come for the kids' birthdays, didn't come for Christmas. We're hardly far away."
Sour bile hits the back of his mouth. "I didn't get back until last month." It's as kind a reminder as he can manage.
"And you didn't have a phone whilst you were off finding yourself again?"
Cold nerves tingle all over him. He had tried calling, had tried standing right in front of her, and the filter had kept him as hidden as an open hole in the pavement. And now … "Rhi, remind me. Where did I say I went when I was gone?"
Her tone goes cold, and a bit nasty. "Why? Trying to keep your stories straight? I'm getting tired of this, Ianto."
"I'm serious. Where do you think I was? I died."
She pauses for a long time. "I love you. You know I love you. You've got to stop lying to me."
"I'm working on it," he says in a hoarse whisper. "I'll talk to you later, yeah?"
After she rings off, he lets Jack wrap him in a hug. "She forgot."
***
The call comes at eleven that night. Jack gets to the phone first, and by the fourth word, Ianto knows it's Martha. They know where the killer's headed, and they are tracking him.
"Don't go in," Jack cautions her, throwing on his clothes. Ianto is already halfway dressed. Jack scowls his way as he tells Martha, "He's murdered at least two humans, and God knows how many aliens. We'll be there soon enough."
Even past the speaker, Ianto hears her disbelief. "We'll lose him if we wait."
"Then we lose him. Don't risk it."
She says something else, something Ianto can't hear, and Jack closes the phone, swearing. "You're not coming."
"He knows me. I might be able to reason with him."
"Reason's not on the menu. Also, you can't see him." And it will be hours until they're in London, unless Jack's wrist strap has started to work in Ianto's absence.
"Let me try. If we get on the scene and you think it's too dangerous, I'll stay in the car. I swear."
Jack's face is in agony, but time is slipping away. He doesn't object when Ianto follows his hasty retreat to the car, nor when Ianto grabs the keys. Jack's a madman behind the wheel, but even this tired, Ianto's at least as good, and at this time of night, the roads are clear to scream down at a smooth 100 MPH. Jack readies the weapons and burns his nervous energy rousing the others from their sleep to apprise them. He tells them to stay sharp and that he'll call if he needs backup. He does not, Ianto notices, mention he's not alone.
It's a rush, it's like the old days, the good days. One AM is like a fresh ten in the morning, driven by their need to get to the site before anyone else dies. Jack's vibrating by the time they arrive, all nervous energy and eagerness for the chase. Ianto follows him out, but there's a hand at his chest. Reluctantly, he stays put while Jack finds Martha and Mickey.
Later, he'll be privy to how they tracked Nathan down, a combination of good luck and bloody-mindedness after picking up the unique energy signature of the heat weapon during the debacle at the school auditorium. Later, Mickey will wind out the story for Ianto's benefit, including his detour to fetch electronic aid from Ealing, and Martha's quick thinking to evacuate most of the alien-patronised diner out through the back. The call came as they headed here themselves. Later is time for explanations, now is the time to deal with the problem.
Nathan is still inside, and he has hostages. "Let me talk to him." Three heads turn his way, not one liking the plan.
"He's not talking," Mickey says, before Jack can order Ianto away.
"He might talk to me. We were friends." Sort of.
"So were we," Martha says, "and we nearly killed you. When you're looking at him, your brain kicks onto another track. You won't be able to focus."
"Car. You. Now." Jack's more direct. His hand is in his pocket, almost certainly holding his TARDIS key. If they can reach Nathan, they can bell him like a cat to overwrite the filter blocking him. Before Ianto can object, Jack's other hand grabs his arm, and walks him away from the scene.
"When I got Lois on the phone," Jack says quietly, "she says she found out more about his other victims. One was his cousin, the other was his aunt. He's killed people he knows. Now stay in the damn car."
Ianto rests his arms on the roof, folding them like a schoolboy. He's not inside, but it's close enough to appease Jack. The location also gives him the perfect vantage point to note the shapeless forms milling around just out of the range of lights. Martha and Mickey got most of the customers free, but the alien community has been alerted. They aren't running. They have also phoned their friends.
Jack goes in first. The practicality of Jack's condition has long been a Torchwood tactical mainstay, or so said the records Ianto researched over long nights after Jack left with the Doctor and Martha. She's two steps behind him, drawn in on a case she isn't supposed to be involved with, but fearless. Jack told him, eventually, about the year they spent that never occurred, about the hell she saw that she helped unmake. The world hasn't anything left to make Martha afraid. Her husband is more practical, and has the gear. There's a reason Ianto likes him. Someone has to make sure everyone arrives on time and gets home in one piece.
"Nathan Reynolds," Jack says in a voice that carries. "We know who you are, and we know why you're doing this. Come out and drop your weapon." Jack manages one short glance back to where Ianto waits. "We'll talk."
"No." The voice doesn't sound like the one Ianto remembers, but the face is wrong too. A sharp headache forms at Ianto's temple as he catches a glimpse of a gaunt, grey face, unmemorable in the worst way.
"Look, you really don't want this situation to go down this way. I'm the Director of Torchwood Cardiff. We're all that's left, but we know who you are and we know how to help you." His voice is soothing but firm, the dad come to collect the wayward child.
"No-one can help." Bleak sorrow cuts through the words. "No-one knows me. These monsters eat and breed, they take our spaces like they have some right to be here on our planet. But I can't make my family see my face, can't get a job, nothing. They took everything. How fucking dare they!"
There's the sound of the weapon firing, and an unearthly scream from someone trapped inside. The mobile in Ianto's pocket has the face of a little girl murdered by this man because Nathan's own life was ripped away by Cyberman and Daleks, and was brought back wrong. Alisha died, and someone inside has died, for a cosmic hiccup, an accident of space-time.
"Nathan?"
He's walked away from the car. Jack can kill him later.
"Nathan, do you recognise me?"
The face he doesn't know looks at him. Ianto wants to look away, wants to cure this pounding in his skull, but he forces himself to stay still. "We used to work together. And you died. Do you remember me?"
"Jones?" He squints. "Is that you?"
"Yeah." Ianto waits for the gun to load, to fire. He'll burn alive from the inside out. "I died, too. And I came back, and nobody could see me. I know what's happening to you. I know how you're feeling."
The grey face says, "This is a trick."
"They look through you, past you. If you say your own name, they scream at you and send you away. You can't go home, and all you can think about is the darkness. Because it was so dark. And you've got a call in your head to visit the woman who brought us back, and you're praying she can answer all your questions." She can't. They weren't meant to rise from the dead.
"She wasn't there." He's empty, lost. Nathan went to find Amy Pond and found instead a vacant house. No Mr. Copper Foundation. No second chance, no hope. Just family members who don't recognise him, and aliens living the life he should have, and a call in his head he can't ever respond to.
Of course he's gone mad.
"Stay back," Jack mouths, but Ianto takes another step. He's still behind Jack, behind Martha.
Ianto says, "Nathan, I need you to give us the gun. There's a man who can help you. He's called the Doctor. He helped bring me back. He can help you." Nathan twitches at the mention of Torchwood's Enemy Number One. Another alien, Ianto realises too late.
From inside, there are voices, some keening. He's killed tonight. Surrounding them are packs of aliens ready to move in. This won't end well unless it ends quickly.
"Please," Ianto says. "It's all right. You can come home now."
There's movement and a click as the heavy weapon is set on a hard floor. "Okay." It's the voice of a sleepy child inside a grown man. He takes three shambling steps out of the diner into the dull light of the streetlamps and the background light of the city around them. He watches Ianto's face, lonely and lost.
Three different weapons fire from various positions, and later, Ianto will know it's a fucking miracle he, Martha, and Mickey aren't dead. For now, he watches as two beams blast into the body of the scarecrow in front of him, and another smashes the front window of the diner in a cacophony of splintering glass.
Jack's turning with his hands up, ordering people who have no reason to listen to him to stand down. Martha's at a run to the fallen man, but doesn't even take a pulse before glancing at her husband and heading inside the diner to see who's been injured.
Ianto is frozen to his spot. Everything glitters and skews in the reflections from the shattered window, Jack's yelling at someone, Mickey's muttering under his breath to contain the scene. It's all gone bad, and it's all over but the clean-up and paperwork and accusations. Ianto's vision moves in slow motion to the back of the gathering crowd. There are three Forbani standing with their own weapons, one still raised. At this distance, he can barely tell species, much less individuals, but he feels for a moment that they are watching him, and giving him a professional nod of courtesy. Thanking him for drawing out the prey. Retiring back into the shadows before Jack can reach them for questions he already knows the answers to.
The headache is worse. There's a body on the ground, and Ianto is struggling to remember whose.
The night grows longer. There are so many questions, and jurisdiction is a nightmare. Mopolite arrives on the scene with his entourage and a cloud of anger. Jack would have let Nathan walk out alive, would have cured him and given him sanctuary, and everyone here knows that. Ianto is subject to plenty of annoyed looks, almost as many as Martha and Mickey are gathering whilst the three of them clean up the site together. The couple tend to leave the more peaceful aliens alone, and they even worked with Sharky on occasion, but they have few friends here tonight. Martha does mend some fences when she aids the injured aliens. The two dead are another issue. Ianto silently adds them to his own personal tally. They are in good company.
The body causes some difficulty.
"Human authorities will take custody." Jack goes round and round with Mopolite, and comes against a wall.
"We must show our people the monster is dead. They have been afraid. Now they no longer need to be afraid." And Mopolite will have unrivalled sway among them after carrying the head of their shared enemy. He wanted to kill Nathan himself to solidify his position. Now desecrating the corpse will have to suffice.
The argument is one Jack ultimately loses, perhaps on purpose. He's not making friends, either, and as Ianto tries to keep his own head down, he can hear muttering and quiet threats. It's an uneasy night, not made any better as two of Mopolite's thugs drag Nathan's body away from where Ianto has cleaned it and set the arms folded to rest.
Jack extracts from Mopolite a promise that the body will be burned in the same fashion as the locals do: no tears, no evidence.
Mopolite agrees to those terms, but parts with a threat. He speaks loud enough to ensure all the onlookers take note. "Torchwood is no longer relevant to our needs. We can mind our people without your input, Captain. Mind your own, or next time, we will be the ones taking an interest in your life."
***
Sofa beds are by definition lumpy, thin mattresses with bad springs. The best have a faint scent of mould, the worst of urine. Martha's sofa bed is neither comfortable nor fresh, but it's soft enough for sleep when the four of them crawl back to the flat in the earliest purple-pink morning hours, too exhausted to drive home. A two-hour nap makes better sense than Gwen's yawned offer to come fetch them. Even Jack's passed out beside him, vests and pants serving as flimsy chaperones between them. Ianto hears Martha and Mickey talking in low voices from the direction of their bedroom, hears someone running water, and hears nothing else.
His dreams tend towards the murkier in unfamiliar beds. He can't make out the revolting images he's running from, can barely fight the terror knowing if they catch him, he'll die burning up from inside. That heat settles back into consciousness: a spare duvet, stiflingly hot with Jack's personal furnace wrapped around Ianto's body. Kicking the covers free lets in welcome cool air, and Ianto sinks back under.
It's daylight out, and he can't see a clock. He listens to the sounds of the flat, the other tenants in the building, the hum of appliances. His ears pick up a rhythmic sound that he doesn't identify at first, and then he does. Jack's awake beside him now, with a grin belying the stress of the last few days: he's always pleased when people around him are having sex, even when he isn't invited to join in. Upon noticing Ianto is also awake, he dives in for a kiss, but Ianto's hands are faster and push his fingers away before it turns into more. There are rules about shagging on your mate's sofa.
The noises from the other room grow louder, then hush as though one has whispered a reminder to the other that they have guests. The merriment in Jack's eyes doesn't dim as he cocks his head to listen better. (For Mickey's peace of mind, Ianto rather hopes he doesn't catch on that Jack's presence is probably inspiring this morning's marital bliss, courtesy of 51st century body chemistry and its effects on 21st century humans.)
It's odd out here in the sitting room, listening to two people Jack hasn't slept with enjoy one another. Ianto hadn't known if he ought to be jealous of Martha when they first met, with Jack's casual "She's a friend" tossed off without explanation. But Jack's deepest friendships seem to revolve around women, whilst his heart orbits men more frequently, or so Ianto has observed time and again. Martha occupies a place in his affection very
close to family. Ianto places his right hand over the strong beat of Jack's heart now, heat radiating through thin white cotton, radiating too through the stretchy fabric of his y-fronts.
"Bet we could do it without making any noise," Jack breathes with shivers into his ear.
"You don't make a mess on your friend's sofa bed."
The tickle of Jack's lips against his cheek wilt his resolve, though, and his intentions crumble completely when Jack licks his earlobe. "It won't make a mess if I catch you in my mouth."
Ianto can see the future clearly, see the four of them at breakfast. He'll still have the thick, rich taste of Jack's come on his tongue as he sips his first coffee. Jack and Martha will share the questioning glance of old friends who want to confirm the other got properly laid. And they'll all know without saying a word about the matter, as they chat over burnt toast and juice.
Sex is a terrible coping mechanism for dealing with guilt over a mission gone wrong, but as he pushes Jack's shoulders against the lumpy mattress, Ianto can't think of a better one.
***
Jack's mobile rings on their way out of London. Jack is driving, and hands the phone to Ianto to answer. The number on the display is Alice's. "Hello, this is Jack's phone."
"Where are you?" The shrill demand hurts his ear, and Ianto pulls the speaker away from him instinctively.
"On the M4. We just passed the A404. Why?"
"Steven's gone." The low terror in Alice's voice sends ice splintering through his veins. "He went to school this morning, but they called to ask why he didn't attend. Tell me he's with you." Later, he will find out she's looked everywhere between their home and the school, that she's already called Joe.
"He's not."
Jack shoots him a look, not knowing what the conversation is yet. Ianto wants to protect him for just a minute longer, because everything is about to go very bad for everyone. He can hear the cracks in the last of Alice's self-control as she asks, "Did he call?"
"I left my phone," he says, tasting ashes. On their way out the door last night, he simply forgot in the rush. Now his own mobile is sitting in Cardiff, and if Steven called him for help, he doesn't know.
"What's going on?" Jack hates to be out of the loop in any situation, no matter how minor. His fingers play on the wheel.
"We'll be there soon," Ianto says, and he rings off. "Pull over and let me drive." His voice is as calm as he can manage with terror nibbling at him.
This is retribution, his mind gibbers quietly. Ianto fucked up the case, allowed Nathan to go free, and he burned out more lives before he was put down. The universe demands payback, taking perverse pleasure in balancing its debts on the same little boy over and over for the sins of people who love him.
Now Jack's frown is thunderstorming over his face. "Tell me."
"Steven's gone missing."
Ianto really wishes Jack had pulled over, more so when the car lurches forward and accelerates. Now isn't the time to berate Jack's broken safety record on his driving, not when the scenery is suddenly whizzing by as Jack scouts out the best route to Alice's house. Ianto calls Gwen, begging her to go by theirs to check if Steven's shown up on their step, and to stay in case he does. She has the spare key, and she wishes them luck, her own soft terror poking through. Jack's told him a little of what happened while Ianto was away, enough for him to guess what nightmare she's remembering.
Jack's thinking the same way. "Someone could have grabbed him. I have a lot of enemies." And we made more last night, he does not say. He also doesn't bring up the last time Steven was abducted from his home for the sake of keeping Jack in line. His face does that for him.
"We'll find him."
Jack glares at Ianto, risking the lives of dozens around their car. Ianto won't shrink back, because he thinks Jack is wrong. Steven hasn't been kidnapped by someone. He's run away from home.
It's sooner than Ianto thought possible when they are driving down the street, Jack slowing to crane his neck out the window in a vain hope of seeing Steven.
The police have already arrived, and they are asking questions. Jack dusts off his old flimsy excuse of being Alice's brother. He introduces Ianto as his "better half," holding his hand for emphasis. Alice hasn't yet volunteered Ianto's real concern for Steven, leaving him to fade into the background as the new round of questioning begins.
Joe arrives five minutes later, just in time to see a heated argument between Alice and Jack catch fire. Ianto barely listens, aware this is just the latest iteration of long-standing resentments. He asks and is granted permission to go up to Steven's bedroom, searching for a sign or a note. Runaways take their most treasured possessions with them into hiding, but Steven is used to dropping everything except the clothes on his back and whatever cash he has on hand. That's all Ianto's fault.
A small bank shaped like a multicoloured robot sits tipped on the shelf. The black rubber stopper that holds the bottom closed is out and the bank is empty. Ianto is guiltily pleased to be proven right, but even if Steven left by his own choice, he is still vulnerable wherever he's gone.
"I'm going to trace the walk we made to the train station," he says, coming back down the stairs.
Alice lays off haranguing her father. "You think he went there?"
"Did you check?"
"I drove by."
She looks at the constable handling most of the questions, who nods and says, "We've contacted the station. If he's been taken there, we'll know."
Joe says, "I don't think you should leave the scene." Ianto has never met him before today. He can see the resemblance between this man and his son, but more, he can see the faded charm and handsome face that isn't so dissimilar to Jack's. Alice must have been struck right in the subconscious when she met him. But the mirror is all astray, and the image fades when Joe asks, "Where were you last night and this morning?"
Jack says, "Like I said, we were in London. For work." That last bit is to Alice, who grumbles her way through explaining her brother is a dealer in antiques and oddities.
Joe doesn't look convinced. The head constable looks like she wants to ask more questions. Everything's a mess, and Steven isn't here. They're all stuck in a molasses mire of fear and recrimination, and Steven isn't here.
A sick taste grows in his mouth. He sees a matching emptiness on Alice's face, sees also her understanding. Even as Joe starts with, "He's the one who - " Alice cuts him off crisply.
"He's nobody. Just a friend." And she mouths, "Go look."
***
He remembers this walk only vaguely. Steven led their footsteps when they came before, but there are signs. One catches his eye, and on a whim, Ianto turns. There's a chance Steven is at the train station, and a chance he's already boarded a train for God alone knows where, maybe Cardiff, maybe London, maybe Leadworth. But the library is closer.
A worried smile and polite demeanour serve Ianto better than any kind of bluster ever could. He's shown the direction of the children's area. As he walks through the cool stacks, he pauses and removes a book whose title he knows well.
Steven sits with his back against the wall under a high window. His bag is beside him, and there's an open school book in his lap serving as camouflage. His eyes are closed, and his shoulders are trembling.
Ianto sits on the floor next to him, leaning against the chilly white wall. He places the book he found on the floor between their stretched-out legs. "I've heard this one is good."
Steven opens his eyes, staring sadly at Ianto, then looks at the copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. "It's okay."
"You've read it, then? Only I was thinking we could read it together, if you wanted."
Steven shakes his head. He's not crying now, but he's been, and he's going to start again any moment. Ianto reckons Alice can't be any angrier with him than she already is, and he wraps one arm around the child. Unexpectedly, Steven crawls into the embrace, leaving Ianto to bring his other arm awkwardly into the hug.
There aren't many other patrons in the library at this hour. The few nearby send them curious looks. "By the way," Ianto says into Steven's hair, "you ought to call me Dad whilst we're here, or I'm probably leaving in a police car."
Steven giggles, and he pulls away, tears and worse all over his face even as he laughs. Ianto digs for a handkerchief. "Thanks."
"This is the part where I'm supposed to tell you your mother is out of her mind with worry, and so's everyone else." At Steven's guilty expression, Ianto adds, "But I think you already know that, so let's assume I did and get on."
Steven lets out a sigh, and he rests his back against the wall again. "She doesn't remember I was gone sometimes. The kids at school don't remember I died. They think I went to live with my dad."
Ianto closes his eyes. "You remember."
"It was so cold." His voice is like steam, frighteningly thin, and Ianto turns to watch him in creeping horror. "It was dark, and cold, and there was nothing."
'Nothing' is such a delicate word, comfortable and meaningless. Ianto has made himself blur what 'nothing' really is, a frozen infinity where even memory was no solace, where darkness was an absolute more empty than the space between galaxies, and it went on forever in loneliness and unspeakable, impossible want for anything. 'Nothing' was consciousness stretched out into filament-thin madness, and terror of the Thing That Moved In the Darkness, just out of not-sight. He has not wanted to remember this, not at all.
They have never spoken of the place after death. Perhaps they should have.
"Did it hurt, for you?"
Steven nods, the tears starting again. "Like running so hard until you're sick, and all you can feel is the sick, and you want someone to hold you and make it better, and no-one's there, forever and ever."
"Yeah."
"That's what it feels like here, too." Steven digs into his bag, and he pulls out a bottle. Ianto doesn't recognise the label, but he takes it from Steven's slack grip. Sleeping pills, Alice's. Prescribed a year ago. Ianto's hand closes numbly around the bottle.
"Tell me you haven't opened this."
Steven shakes his head. "I keep thinking about it. I don't fit any more."
"Like we're back to our lives, but they grew without us," Ianto says, watching Steven's face crumple with the blow of the words. It's the same thing the others have been going through. Amy restored them, the Doctor made them visible, but without Amy Pond dreaming them into reality by her presence, Time herself is pressing back, refusing the shapes of these mistaken imprints upon her golden surface. The breaking point is inside their heads.
Steven says, "I don't belong here." He reaches out for the bottle, and Ianto pulls his arm away, stowing the pills safely in his pocket and ignoring the attraction growing in his mind for their simple surcease. So easy, he knows, so perfect. There are more than enough tablets. Go to sleep right here, hands enfolded and their two heads resting together against this wall. No more questions, no more guilt, no more trying to fit back into lives that don't have room, just the emptiness, and the nothing.
But 'nothing' is so cold.
"I don't belong in my life, either." Not in the black and chrome flat that isn't his, not in the job that belongs to someone else, and the friends who moved on. Only Jack seems to have made a shape for Ianto that fits, but Jack has been falling apart for as long as Ianto has been dead. The pair of them are accustomed to being broken together.
How badly will he crack if he's the one to find their cooling bodies, hearts stopped and skin gone bluish in death?
"Can we go somewhere?" Steven's voice is barely above a whisper, but he edges at hope. How many times did they flee together into yet another new life? At the time, Ianto considered each abandoned identity another mark of failure, but there's a tang of excitement in the prospect of just kicking the dirt from their shoes and walking away hand in hand. Time doesn't want them here, but there are other cities, other countries. Nathan went mad under the weight of his knowledge, of death and loss and never going home. Perhaps they should surrender the hope of home, assured that memory will go on with the process of writing their transition smoothly away from their loved ones.
"Give it a month," Ianto says, with the same false confidence he digs up every time Steven asks him questions he cannot answer. "One month from today, if things aren't better, you and I will leave. Anywhere you want to go. All right?"
"I can't."
"You can. Thirty-one days. And no more of this, you calling me when you're sad." Steven's look of despair is quickly appeased as Ianto says, "Because I will be calling you every day. No matter what your mum says. Because I'm sad, too. All the time." He doesn't like saying the words. He doesn't like the truth he hears in them.
"Mum said you'd forget about me. Because you were off with Uncle Jack now."
"Do you think there's a day goes by when Jack doesn't think about you?" Perhaps there used to be, back when Steven was alive and safe and out of sight and mind, Ianto admits, but such a time won't come again until Jack has forgotten the twenty-first century entirely, millions of years from now. "And I won't ever forget you, not even once. I promise."
"You didn't answer when I called."
"Well, that's a different problem. I can't promise not to forget my phone." He tries a smile, and gets one in return. "Jack and I were out catching aliens in London last night and this morning." Close to the truth, anyway. "You can call his mobile if you can't get me. He'll always know where I am."
"Mum says I'm not allowed to call Uncle Jack ever."
And what to say to that? Jack killed Steven. Alice isn't ever going to forgive him. Jack isn't ever going to forgive himself, either. "Maybe we can ask her to make an exception. Now and then."
"I don't want to go back." The despair has returned. "I wanted to go home, and I'm home, and it hurts."
"I know."
"I think about being dead all the time."
Ianto has pushed the thought all the way to the back of his mind, but it pops up again like a balloon boxer, weighted with sand and ready to punch back. "I know."
"Nobody understands."
"I do. And Jack does, too. He's been dead before. Loads of times."
Steven frowns in disbelief. No-one has ever told him properly about his grandfather. "But he's okay. Nobody forgot him."
"He's not okay. I think if you talk to him, if your mum says you can, you'll find he understands all about being brought back to life by accident courtesy of a pretty young woman."
It's not much, it's even less than the promise of calls, the promise of running away in a month's time, but Steven looks thoughtful now instead of sorrowful. His face is changing, losing more of the baby softness since Ianto last saw him. In another month, he will look that much closer to the man he'll someday be. Growing up is its own horror, but with enough help, Steven may yet live long enough to discover that himself.
"Are you up to walking home?"
Steven takes a long breath that shudders through him, and gets up, offering a hand to help Ianto, who's gone stiff in the uncomfortable seat on the carpet.
They stop on the way out to check out their book.
***
After the police leave and everything is back to an unsettled normal, Steven goes upstairs to rest in his room, and Ianto sits Alice down on her sofa with a mug of tea adulterated with brandy. It's long past time for them to talk. She's as damaged as her son, grateful to have him home, terrified of every word Ianto says. Joe's still here, and Jack wouldn't leave even if he was asked. Ianto tells them all together that Steven needs a new therapist, and he needs one today. He gives Alice the pill bottle back, and no, she hadn't yet gone through her cupboards to see it was missing. He's glad she has loved ones here around her, has Steven safely home, rather than finding out alone. The mask of her face now says enough.
"He's thinking about death every day. He doesn't feel as if he belongs back in his life, and there's a voice in the back of his head telling him how to remedy that." This part is hardest, and he takes the coward's way this time, choosing to look at Alice instead of Jack. "I understand, because I've got the same thoughts. It's happening to all of us who came back. There've been at least two suicides just among the people we knew, and last night I watched someone commit suicide by alien because he didn't fit in his own life."
"What's that, now?" Joe is a stranger to this life, the innocent in the room. Ianto has never asked what he was told about his son's death.
"This is news," Jack says, unhappy and accusing. "You should have said something."
"I'm not as bad off as the rest. I have you." He tries to pass the words off casually. This isn't about him. "The Doctor didn't bring us back, Amy did, but she never intended to. She remembered a world without alien threats, and we were a side effect. I think that without her, the timeline is trying to accommodate two separate realities, maybe more. Something has to give, and it's giving inside us. Self-correcting. We don't belong here. There isn't room."
"Of course there's room," says Alice. "This is Steven's home. He's in his own bedroom. He goes to his old school."
"But there isn't room inside people's heads for him. You're forgetting that he died. He can't."
"He could," Jack says, and it's the cold, calculating Jack whom Ianto remembers from long ago, and hated then.
"No." As tempting as the Retcon is, Steven is a walking anachronism. Even if he doesn't remember, reality won't be so kind, and he will burn himself up inside. They both will.
"I don't want to remember that he died," Alice says, her face contorted in a way Ianto can only imagine she's done at least once before.
"What are you talking about?" Joe sounds frightened now. He's looking between them. "Why do you keep saying he died? Steven's upstairs. He's fine."
Alice turns to her ex. Multiple emotions play over her face, and she looks back at Ianto, who shrugs. "You know what," she says, "you're right. He's fine. We had a bit of a scare, that's all. Tell Petra I said hello."
"That's it, then. The boy runs off, and the fellow who abducted him brings him back and now everything's fine?"
"Yes," Alice says, and it's the same flat tone her father uses when he's planning on shooting the next person to disagree. Apparently Joe knows that tone as well, because he storms off without another word to her, though he does go upstairs for a few minutes to say good-bye to Steven.
"Joe's rewritten everything," Jack says, when he's gone.
Alice replies, "I want to forget. I want Steven to forget."
Ianto folds his hands together. "If you don't remember, you can't make a space for who he is now. He needs you to remember. He needs to talk to people who remember. Alice, his own brain is telling him he doesn't exist, that he's an anomaly that should be corrected. Steven needs contact with me, because I won't forget, and he needs contact with Jack, because Jack can believe in him as strongly as Amy did." He looks at Jack. "I think you're the only person who can, who wasn't one of us." Jack's used to dealing with multiple timelines and realities; Ianto and Steven are just another paradox. There's never a question with him of what's real because it's all real.
Jack nods, accepting this. He sits down next to his daughter, though he doesn't dare take her hand. "Steven needs you to hold onto what happened even when you want to let your memories revise the story. I'll do whatever I can to help." He says something else, something not in English. Ianto's heard the alien sounds before, and by the mixed expressions on her face, so has Alice.
"Don't say that to me," she says, tired and sick from old wounds. "Not now. I still hate you. Of course I love you, but I really do still hate you."
"I'm going to call every day," Ianto says. "I promised Steven I would. But it won't be enough without you. Everyone else he sees every day won't remember. Someone needs to protect him, and have his back."
And that's the key, at last. Alice's chin goes up, set. This entire shitty situation has taken away too many of her choices, but she knows about protecting her son, and if memory is what will keep Steven safe, she'll make herself remember every detail for the rest of her life.
***
They need to get back to Cardiff, but Steven begs them to stay for a late lunch, and after that the goodbye hug he gives Ianto is trembling. Ianto asks for a minute alone, and they go back up to Steven's room.
"Don't go."
"All right. I'll leave Cardiff and move here. I'll live two streets away and come visit every day."
"You will?"
Ianto nods. "If you ask me to." He didn't intend to make the offer, yet now that he has, his mind races. Maybe this is what he needs: a new home away from his past, a new job not involving aliens, one person he loves close by. And if the mere thought of leaving Jack behind again breaks his heart, well, he's survived that pain before. "It's up to you."
Steven sits on the edge of his bed. His room is filled with toys, many of them too young for him. He's not the same child who used to live here, who used to play with the little die-cast cars and LEGOs.
"I don't know if I can be brave for a month."
"You don't have to be. Can you be brave for one day? I'll call tomorrow."
"Then what?"
"Then we'll both see if we can be brave for another day. All right?"
He looks around his room, looks at his toys, finally raises his eyes to Ianto, and he nods. "All right."
***
Ianto takes the wheel for the drive home, letting Jack sort things with Gwen and the others over the phone. The day is half gone and they still have paperwork to file when they get back, closing the case of the alien murders. The murderer is dead, but they didn't really save him. Steven's alive, but he's going to need much more intensive help to climb back to functional. When Ianto gets home, he needs to check his voicemail and he needs to move the picture of a dead little alien girl to a more permanent storage platform, perhaps even print it out side-by-side with a snap of Steven: remember the people he's trying to save, don't forget the ones he's failed.
It's not been a good day, not been a good series of days, and he can tell Jack thinks the same by the collapse of his shoulders against the seat when he finally ends the last call.
"Straight to the new Hub, then?" Ianto asks, switching lanes.
"Flat first. We'll drop you off, and I'll go in." Jack's eyes are closed.
"I need to file the report on Nathan."
"That case is closed. You don't have to worry about it. I'll handle the paperwork." His tone is clipped, angry.
Ianto rewinds their conversation prior to the detour to Steven's house and the library. "I am sorry for ruining the case. I am sorry for getting in the middle after you told me not to, and I am really, really sorry for everyone who got hurt because of that mistake. If you don't want me around the office because of that, I understand, but I think we both know I'll be of more use to you there than sitting around the flat."
Jack's face is solid. Maybe he's not angry. Maybe he's still freaking out over nearly losing Steven once again, and the knowledge that they aren't out of the woods yet.
"And speaking of the flat," he says, reckoning he's already in for it anyway, "I want to start looking for a new one."
"I'll send you to the estate agent Alice used." Now the tone is much clearer, and with it, his attitude. Bitterness is rolling off Jack in waves.
Bewildered, Ianto asks, "Why?"
"They're active in that area. They've got some great bargains." Every word drips with contempt.
"If you don't want to talk about it now, just say so."
"When are you going?" The anger has punctured into sorrow. Jack sounds lost.
"Going where?" Realisation strikes him. "You were eavesdropping."
"Not on purpose." This is a blatant lie, so much so that Ianto can ignore it. "I heard you tell Steven you're going to leave Cardiff and move close by, and I was done listening."
"Then you missed the part where I promised him a month from now, if he'd still rather kill himself than stay, that we'd pack our things and go somewhere new."
"You did what?"
Ianto finds a place to pull over, and puts on the hazard lights. He turns to Jack.
"He's dying. If the only way to keep him safe is to pack him up and take him to Mars, I'll find us a rocket and go. If it means I leave everything behind to move next door to him, I'll do that too. You said never to lie to you again, and this is the truth."
"You'd leave, just like that?"
A peculiar suspicion dawns on Ianto. He tests the threads of his new concept. "I would." He doesn't say, "And I'll lose the last of my dignity begging you to come with us when I know you can't, and it will hurt like hell when you say no," because he is too busy watching Jack's attempts to control the expressions on his own face. Jack is aiming for a schooled nonchalance, but he's been through too much, and the cracks in his demeanour are as wide as a crack on the wall, as a crack in the universe.
Realising this, he papers over the damage with bluster. "Give me the keys. I'm driving." Ianto grabs the keys a fraction of a second faster, and fights Jack's grip over his hand for them. Realising quickly that he can't win a battle of strengths, he plays dirty pool and shoves a finger under Jack's arm to tickle him, which only encourages Jack to drop his bid for the keys and get handsy himself. A short and vicious tickling bout commences, impeded by their seat belts and resulting in both gasping for air within a minute. Jack goes in for the kill and takes away the rest of Ianto's breath with a deep kiss. Ianto keeps his grip on the keys.
The drivers in the cars whizzing by must think them completely mad.
Ianto wins the keyring, and he sits back in his seat, wheezing. "Now will you tell me what's wrong?"
"You're leaving." Jack's out of breath, but he looks better for having had the contact. Plants need sunlight, animals need food, Captain Jack Harkness needs to touch other people. He's mental, Ianto thinks, but they're both mental. Complementary functional insanity.
"I'm not leaving today. I hope I'm not leaving at all. I want Steven to stay with his mother and grow up safe. Knowing he's got options might help him cope."
"Then why look for a flat now?" He's confused and sad, and empty like an old vase.
"I hate the flat, and you said you only chose it because it was the first one you found. I think we could find a better one closer to work. Unless you really want to stay there." The last sentence screws its way into half a question. He thought Jack didn't care. Perhaps he's been wrong.
At the word 'we,' Jack's lips twitch. "The lease is up in February. Can you live with it 'til then?"
Ianto nods, returning the faint smile as he starts the car and pulls them back into traffic.
They're silent for a while, watching the other cars and the road, each lost in his own thoughts. Ianto spends his on wondering what he could have done differently last night, or the night before, to have changed how the situation ended, and rewinding his conversation with Steven in case he said something terrible, wishing he'd found better words. It's a nasty circle of shark-thoughts swimming in his head. The next time he's alone, they're going to bite at his heels trying to tug him under.
Jack breaks into his reverie. "Back there, you said you have me."
Ianto doesn't recall, and then he does. "Back there, you said I was your better half. Does that mean you're no longer going to be an arse about the word 'couple'?"
"I can't promise that."
Ianto rolls his eyes, and Jack's smile grows into something more human. "You do, you know," Jack says. Have me, he means, and Ianto tilts his head. There are words Jack doesn't say, either, at least not in the vulgar language he's learned here on Earth. He's as much an alien as any Ianto's met, and if Ianto is tied here because of him, Jack has said he only came back because he couldn't outrun Ianto's ghost on any planet in the sky.
"I know."
***
Epilogue
***
This hasn't been the worst week of his life. Even living through the carnage of Canary Wharf ranks below watching helplessly as his colleagues shot the woman he loved, and those bad memories are matched with the week he lost two of his best friends in a day, and the week he died. Comparatively speaking, this week has been like a holiday somewhere sunny. Still, he's glad it's over.
Also, he's glad they really are on holiday.
Jack makes a noise from the bed. He sleeps more these days than he used to. Ianto should be asleep right now, content beside him, but instead he's wrapped up in a quilt, sitting in the room's lone stuffed armchair and looking out into the still night over the sea. For the first place they came to, this tiny hotel has a spectacular view. He suspects Jack booked a reservation and then played at finding this spot at random. It doesn't matter. He'd have done the same.
A half moon hovers overhead, sending dim highlights to pulse over the steady rocking of the waves: white lace cast on black water. He's not much of a poet, but half-lit nights are made for poetry. Someone better with words ought to capture the contrast of moonlight and waves, and the sleepy god in his bed, because Ianto's words are trapped with the swell in his throat before a single syllable springs forth. It's a beautiful place to be, it's a perfect night to die. He closes his eyes against the waves, but can hear them even through the window glass.
Everything is hard.
Jack let him come back to work, but there isn't room for him on the team. Lois has taken all his old duties, Albert all his new ones. He can make space for himself, did when he first carved out his own fifth position on a team of four, and he can adjust to accusing stares all over again. But every day is difficult, and he struggles to remind himself why he wants this life back. Even Gwen is forgetting he was gone; just yesterday, she casually mentioned events from "when you were off on your trip" and it took him a moment's calculation to realise she was referring to when he was dead. He couldn't form a reply, and Jack merely watched her, not correcting her.
Later, he told Ianto in a regretful voice, "She doesn't mean to. Time is rewriting for her."
"And for you?" He covered his fear with a world-weary tone he'd perfected back when he was seventeen, but Jack drew him into a very non-professional hug with his lips against Ianto's cheek.
"Not for me. Never for me."
Memory, and faith, and the warm light emitting from Jack's private sun, these are keeping Ianto alive and sane. Amy cannot dream anyone alive again. That's what he told Sally over the phone, what he made certain she understood and could tell the others: group together, be warm together, dream one another into being. Nareen's family believes in her. Hal and Karl believe in each other. Sally has enough faith in herself to power a small city, but she promised to pass along the message.
Were he able to muster the necessary poetry for the evening, Ianto would surmise this short holiday -- two days which are the most they will squeeze out from their normal lives -- is about faith, and Jack's need to prove he can be the sun as well as the moon and stars.
The sun, moon, and stars take this opportunity to let out a snore that's part hippopotamus, and then he's still again.
Ianto's mobile vibrates, whirring in the otherwise quiet room. He carries the phone outside to the small balcony, naked but for his tightly-wrapped quilt. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Another nightmare?"
"Yeah."
They talked earlier this afternoon, going over the details of Steven's day. He played with some new friends, children he didn't know before. Ianto hoped things were looking up, but a call this late indicates otherwise.
"Tell me about it."
"You were screaming at me that you never wanted to see me again."
The cool night air shivers down beneath the frayed patchwork. He's always assumed Steven's nightmares have been of death and of whatever terrors brought him to Amy's doorstep.
"Well, you're awake now. Do you know that's not true?"
There's a pause. "Yeah. It just scared me."
"I know. I get scared about not seeing you again, too."
"You do?"
"All the time." Ianto looks at the half-moon, and he thinks when this moon comes again, the month will have passed, and they will be surviving in the lives they have, or they will be casting out on an unknown sea together.
Steven says, "I think I'm going to be okay now," and he doesn't mean just from the bad dream. "Will you call tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"Okay. Good night."
"Good night."
He goes back in, and drops the quilt onto the chair. He's cold, but the bed is toasty warm. Even mostly asleep, Jack wraps him in his arms as soon as they are under the covers together.
"Steven?" he asks with half a yawn.
"Yeah."
"Is he okay?"
"Yeah."
Jack doesn't ask Ianto if he's okay. He pivots and wriggles until they are nose-to-nose and toes-to-toes, and everything in between. The kisses start out slow, but Jack's waking up, and as the sleepiness falls away, his attention turns solely to Ianto.
Even broken, always broken, Jack's so real he bends reality around him, forces illusions to be real. When Ianto and Steven were hiding in plain sight, he was the first to believe, and the first to break the spell even without the help of the TARDIS key. As long as Ianto is with him, no matter how thin he's stretched, no matter how much the voice of the Vortex in his head tells him he doesn't belong, the light shining inside Jack burns away all doubts.
Jack speaks to him tonight in his cradle tongue, adoring whispers between each kiss. There's no room here for the ghosts of the dead between them, no pause for sorrow, or the past. Just hands, with fingers pressed together like they are holding up the world against each other. Just mouths, familiar with the bite and press and suck and tender motions. Just the waves outside and the warmth of the sun in here. Just two hearts beating, learning to live again, one shared breath at a time.
***
The End
***
A/N: The fic following up on this is, perhaps obviously, Home, Take One. There's one more scene, a prequel bit that eldarwannabe wrote ETA: and it's POSTED!
Suspend is eldarwannabe's fic that follows on from "Rescues" and inspired this one. GO READ AND TELL HER IT'S AWESOME.
Author: nancybrown
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Steven, Alice, Gwen, Martha, Mickey, OCs
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Martha/Mickey, past Jack/others, past Ianto/OMC
Rating: for adults only
Words: 31,800 (9000 this part)
Warnings: suicide, character death including child death, gore and violence
Spoilers: plot spoilers through CoE, (very) brief mention of characters and events from MD, some parts based on early spoilers from the current season of DW, but finished before the season premiere aired
Beta: Eldar and fide_et_spe both kicked this into shape, and have my deepest thanks.
Summary: Ianto and Steven have returned home, but as Ianto tries to solve an alien's murder, he learns home isn't ready to take them back.
A/N: Sequel to Strays and Rescues. eldarwannabe did a lot of heavy lifting in breaking this fic, and without her, it would not exist. If you like it, tell her thank you.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
***
Chapter Six
***
He nearly forgets it's Rhiannon's birthday, but is reminded by an e-card from Richard, generic and sterile with singing cats. During his time on the run, Ianto always gave Rhiannon's birth date as his own: it was easy to remember, and made him appear old enough to have a child Steven's age. Guiltily, he phones her now, and is harangued with love about never visiting. "You ought to come over on Sunday. We're doing a cake."
The too-familiar "Work is kind of busy" pops to his lips without effort, earning him a loud sigh from his sister, and a silent raised eyebrow from his boyfriend.
"You got another job, then? You never tell me. You could call more often, you know." She's teasing, and a little hurt. "You didn't come for the kids' birthdays, didn't come for Christmas. We're hardly far away."
Sour bile hits the back of his mouth. "I didn't get back until last month." It's as kind a reminder as he can manage.
"And you didn't have a phone whilst you were off finding yourself again?"
Cold nerves tingle all over him. He had tried calling, had tried standing right in front of her, and the filter had kept him as hidden as an open hole in the pavement. And now … "Rhi, remind me. Where did I say I went when I was gone?"
Her tone goes cold, and a bit nasty. "Why? Trying to keep your stories straight? I'm getting tired of this, Ianto."
"I'm serious. Where do you think I was? I died."
She pauses for a long time. "I love you. You know I love you. You've got to stop lying to me."
"I'm working on it," he says in a hoarse whisper. "I'll talk to you later, yeah?"
After she rings off, he lets Jack wrap him in a hug. "She forgot."
***
The call comes at eleven that night. Jack gets to the phone first, and by the fourth word, Ianto knows it's Martha. They know where the killer's headed, and they are tracking him.
"Don't go in," Jack cautions her, throwing on his clothes. Ianto is already halfway dressed. Jack scowls his way as he tells Martha, "He's murdered at least two humans, and God knows how many aliens. We'll be there soon enough."
Even past the speaker, Ianto hears her disbelief. "We'll lose him if we wait."
"Then we lose him. Don't risk it."
She says something else, something Ianto can't hear, and Jack closes the phone, swearing. "You're not coming."
"He knows me. I might be able to reason with him."
"Reason's not on the menu. Also, you can't see him." And it will be hours until they're in London, unless Jack's wrist strap has started to work in Ianto's absence.
"Let me try. If we get on the scene and you think it's too dangerous, I'll stay in the car. I swear."
Jack's face is in agony, but time is slipping away. He doesn't object when Ianto follows his hasty retreat to the car, nor when Ianto grabs the keys. Jack's a madman behind the wheel, but even this tired, Ianto's at least as good, and at this time of night, the roads are clear to scream down at a smooth 100 MPH. Jack readies the weapons and burns his nervous energy rousing the others from their sleep to apprise them. He tells them to stay sharp and that he'll call if he needs backup. He does not, Ianto notices, mention he's not alone.
It's a rush, it's like the old days, the good days. One AM is like a fresh ten in the morning, driven by their need to get to the site before anyone else dies. Jack's vibrating by the time they arrive, all nervous energy and eagerness for the chase. Ianto follows him out, but there's a hand at his chest. Reluctantly, he stays put while Jack finds Martha and Mickey.
Later, he'll be privy to how they tracked Nathan down, a combination of good luck and bloody-mindedness after picking up the unique energy signature of the heat weapon during the debacle at the school auditorium. Later, Mickey will wind out the story for Ianto's benefit, including his detour to fetch electronic aid from Ealing, and Martha's quick thinking to evacuate most of the alien-patronised diner out through the back. The call came as they headed here themselves. Later is time for explanations, now is the time to deal with the problem.
Nathan is still inside, and he has hostages. "Let me talk to him." Three heads turn his way, not one liking the plan.
"He's not talking," Mickey says, before Jack can order Ianto away.
"He might talk to me. We were friends." Sort of.
"So were we," Martha says, "and we nearly killed you. When you're looking at him, your brain kicks onto another track. You won't be able to focus."
"Car. You. Now." Jack's more direct. His hand is in his pocket, almost certainly holding his TARDIS key. If they can reach Nathan, they can bell him like a cat to overwrite the filter blocking him. Before Ianto can object, Jack's other hand grabs his arm, and walks him away from the scene.
"When I got Lois on the phone," Jack says quietly, "she says she found out more about his other victims. One was his cousin, the other was his aunt. He's killed people he knows. Now stay in the damn car."
Ianto rests his arms on the roof, folding them like a schoolboy. He's not inside, but it's close enough to appease Jack. The location also gives him the perfect vantage point to note the shapeless forms milling around just out of the range of lights. Martha and Mickey got most of the customers free, but the alien community has been alerted. They aren't running. They have also phoned their friends.
Jack goes in first. The practicality of Jack's condition has long been a Torchwood tactical mainstay, or so said the records Ianto researched over long nights after Jack left with the Doctor and Martha. She's two steps behind him, drawn in on a case she isn't supposed to be involved with, but fearless. Jack told him, eventually, about the year they spent that never occurred, about the hell she saw that she helped unmake. The world hasn't anything left to make Martha afraid. Her husband is more practical, and has the gear. There's a reason Ianto likes him. Someone has to make sure everyone arrives on time and gets home in one piece.
"Nathan Reynolds," Jack says in a voice that carries. "We know who you are, and we know why you're doing this. Come out and drop your weapon." Jack manages one short glance back to where Ianto waits. "We'll talk."
"No." The voice doesn't sound like the one Ianto remembers, but the face is wrong too. A sharp headache forms at Ianto's temple as he catches a glimpse of a gaunt, grey face, unmemorable in the worst way.
"Look, you really don't want this situation to go down this way. I'm the Director of Torchwood Cardiff. We're all that's left, but we know who you are and we know how to help you." His voice is soothing but firm, the dad come to collect the wayward child.
"No-one can help." Bleak sorrow cuts through the words. "No-one knows me. These monsters eat and breed, they take our spaces like they have some right to be here on our planet. But I can't make my family see my face, can't get a job, nothing. They took everything. How fucking dare they!"
There's the sound of the weapon firing, and an unearthly scream from someone trapped inside. The mobile in Ianto's pocket has the face of a little girl murdered by this man because Nathan's own life was ripped away by Cyberman and Daleks, and was brought back wrong. Alisha died, and someone inside has died, for a cosmic hiccup, an accident of space-time.
"Nathan?"
He's walked away from the car. Jack can kill him later.
"Nathan, do you recognise me?"
The face he doesn't know looks at him. Ianto wants to look away, wants to cure this pounding in his skull, but he forces himself to stay still. "We used to work together. And you died. Do you remember me?"
"Jones?" He squints. "Is that you?"
"Yeah." Ianto waits for the gun to load, to fire. He'll burn alive from the inside out. "I died, too. And I came back, and nobody could see me. I know what's happening to you. I know how you're feeling."
The grey face says, "This is a trick."
"They look through you, past you. If you say your own name, they scream at you and send you away. You can't go home, and all you can think about is the darkness. Because it was so dark. And you've got a call in your head to visit the woman who brought us back, and you're praying she can answer all your questions." She can't. They weren't meant to rise from the dead.
"She wasn't there." He's empty, lost. Nathan went to find Amy Pond and found instead a vacant house. No Mr. Copper Foundation. No second chance, no hope. Just family members who don't recognise him, and aliens living the life he should have, and a call in his head he can't ever respond to.
Of course he's gone mad.
"Stay back," Jack mouths, but Ianto takes another step. He's still behind Jack, behind Martha.
Ianto says, "Nathan, I need you to give us the gun. There's a man who can help you. He's called the Doctor. He helped bring me back. He can help you." Nathan twitches at the mention of Torchwood's Enemy Number One. Another alien, Ianto realises too late.
From inside, there are voices, some keening. He's killed tonight. Surrounding them are packs of aliens ready to move in. This won't end well unless it ends quickly.
"Please," Ianto says. "It's all right. You can come home now."
There's movement and a click as the heavy weapon is set on a hard floor. "Okay." It's the voice of a sleepy child inside a grown man. He takes three shambling steps out of the diner into the dull light of the streetlamps and the background light of the city around them. He watches Ianto's face, lonely and lost.
Three different weapons fire from various positions, and later, Ianto will know it's a fucking miracle he, Martha, and Mickey aren't dead. For now, he watches as two beams blast into the body of the scarecrow in front of him, and another smashes the front window of the diner in a cacophony of splintering glass.
Jack's turning with his hands up, ordering people who have no reason to listen to him to stand down. Martha's at a run to the fallen man, but doesn't even take a pulse before glancing at her husband and heading inside the diner to see who's been injured.
Ianto is frozen to his spot. Everything glitters and skews in the reflections from the shattered window, Jack's yelling at someone, Mickey's muttering under his breath to contain the scene. It's all gone bad, and it's all over but the clean-up and paperwork and accusations. Ianto's vision moves in slow motion to the back of the gathering crowd. There are three Forbani standing with their own weapons, one still raised. At this distance, he can barely tell species, much less individuals, but he feels for a moment that they are watching him, and giving him a professional nod of courtesy. Thanking him for drawing out the prey. Retiring back into the shadows before Jack can reach them for questions he already knows the answers to.
The headache is worse. There's a body on the ground, and Ianto is struggling to remember whose.
The night grows longer. There are so many questions, and jurisdiction is a nightmare. Mopolite arrives on the scene with his entourage and a cloud of anger. Jack would have let Nathan walk out alive, would have cured him and given him sanctuary, and everyone here knows that. Ianto is subject to plenty of annoyed looks, almost as many as Martha and Mickey are gathering whilst the three of them clean up the site together. The couple tend to leave the more peaceful aliens alone, and they even worked with Sharky on occasion, but they have few friends here tonight. Martha does mend some fences when she aids the injured aliens. The two dead are another issue. Ianto silently adds them to his own personal tally. They are in good company.
The body causes some difficulty.
"Human authorities will take custody." Jack goes round and round with Mopolite, and comes against a wall.
"We must show our people the monster is dead. They have been afraid. Now they no longer need to be afraid." And Mopolite will have unrivalled sway among them after carrying the head of their shared enemy. He wanted to kill Nathan himself to solidify his position. Now desecrating the corpse will have to suffice.
The argument is one Jack ultimately loses, perhaps on purpose. He's not making friends, either, and as Ianto tries to keep his own head down, he can hear muttering and quiet threats. It's an uneasy night, not made any better as two of Mopolite's thugs drag Nathan's body away from where Ianto has cleaned it and set the arms folded to rest.
Jack extracts from Mopolite a promise that the body will be burned in the same fashion as the locals do: no tears, no evidence.
Mopolite agrees to those terms, but parts with a threat. He speaks loud enough to ensure all the onlookers take note. "Torchwood is no longer relevant to our needs. We can mind our people without your input, Captain. Mind your own, or next time, we will be the ones taking an interest in your life."
***
Sofa beds are by definition lumpy, thin mattresses with bad springs. The best have a faint scent of mould, the worst of urine. Martha's sofa bed is neither comfortable nor fresh, but it's soft enough for sleep when the four of them crawl back to the flat in the earliest purple-pink morning hours, too exhausted to drive home. A two-hour nap makes better sense than Gwen's yawned offer to come fetch them. Even Jack's passed out beside him, vests and pants serving as flimsy chaperones between them. Ianto hears Martha and Mickey talking in low voices from the direction of their bedroom, hears someone running water, and hears nothing else.
His dreams tend towards the murkier in unfamiliar beds. He can't make out the revolting images he's running from, can barely fight the terror knowing if they catch him, he'll die burning up from inside. That heat settles back into consciousness: a spare duvet, stiflingly hot with Jack's personal furnace wrapped around Ianto's body. Kicking the covers free lets in welcome cool air, and Ianto sinks back under.
It's daylight out, and he can't see a clock. He listens to the sounds of the flat, the other tenants in the building, the hum of appliances. His ears pick up a rhythmic sound that he doesn't identify at first, and then he does. Jack's awake beside him now, with a grin belying the stress of the last few days: he's always pleased when people around him are having sex, even when he isn't invited to join in. Upon noticing Ianto is also awake, he dives in for a kiss, but Ianto's hands are faster and push his fingers away before it turns into more. There are rules about shagging on your mate's sofa.
The noises from the other room grow louder, then hush as though one has whispered a reminder to the other that they have guests. The merriment in Jack's eyes doesn't dim as he cocks his head to listen better. (For Mickey's peace of mind, Ianto rather hopes he doesn't catch on that Jack's presence is probably inspiring this morning's marital bliss, courtesy of 51st century body chemistry and its effects on 21st century humans.)
It's odd out here in the sitting room, listening to two people Jack hasn't slept with enjoy one another. Ianto hadn't known if he ought to be jealous of Martha when they first met, with Jack's casual "She's a friend" tossed off without explanation. But Jack's deepest friendships seem to revolve around women, whilst his heart orbits men more frequently, or so Ianto has observed time and again. Martha occupies a place in his affection very
close to family. Ianto places his right hand over the strong beat of Jack's heart now, heat radiating through thin white cotton, radiating too through the stretchy fabric of his y-fronts.
"Bet we could do it without making any noise," Jack breathes with shivers into his ear.
"You don't make a mess on your friend's sofa bed."
The tickle of Jack's lips against his cheek wilt his resolve, though, and his intentions crumble completely when Jack licks his earlobe. "It won't make a mess if I catch you in my mouth."
Ianto can see the future clearly, see the four of them at breakfast. He'll still have the thick, rich taste of Jack's come on his tongue as he sips his first coffee. Jack and Martha will share the questioning glance of old friends who want to confirm the other got properly laid. And they'll all know without saying a word about the matter, as they chat over burnt toast and juice.
Sex is a terrible coping mechanism for dealing with guilt over a mission gone wrong, but as he pushes Jack's shoulders against the lumpy mattress, Ianto can't think of a better one.
***
Jack's mobile rings on their way out of London. Jack is driving, and hands the phone to Ianto to answer. The number on the display is Alice's. "Hello, this is Jack's phone."
"Where are you?" The shrill demand hurts his ear, and Ianto pulls the speaker away from him instinctively.
"On the M4. We just passed the A404. Why?"
"Steven's gone." The low terror in Alice's voice sends ice splintering through his veins. "He went to school this morning, but they called to ask why he didn't attend. Tell me he's with you." Later, he will find out she's looked everywhere between their home and the school, that she's already called Joe.
"He's not."
Jack shoots him a look, not knowing what the conversation is yet. Ianto wants to protect him for just a minute longer, because everything is about to go very bad for everyone. He can hear the cracks in the last of Alice's self-control as she asks, "Did he call?"
"I left my phone," he says, tasting ashes. On their way out the door last night, he simply forgot in the rush. Now his own mobile is sitting in Cardiff, and if Steven called him for help, he doesn't know.
"What's going on?" Jack hates to be out of the loop in any situation, no matter how minor. His fingers play on the wheel.
"We'll be there soon," Ianto says, and he rings off. "Pull over and let me drive." His voice is as calm as he can manage with terror nibbling at him.
This is retribution, his mind gibbers quietly. Ianto fucked up the case, allowed Nathan to go free, and he burned out more lives before he was put down. The universe demands payback, taking perverse pleasure in balancing its debts on the same little boy over and over for the sins of people who love him.
Now Jack's frown is thunderstorming over his face. "Tell me."
"Steven's gone missing."
Ianto really wishes Jack had pulled over, more so when the car lurches forward and accelerates. Now isn't the time to berate Jack's broken safety record on his driving, not when the scenery is suddenly whizzing by as Jack scouts out the best route to Alice's house. Ianto calls Gwen, begging her to go by theirs to check if Steven's shown up on their step, and to stay in case he does. She has the spare key, and she wishes them luck, her own soft terror poking through. Jack's told him a little of what happened while Ianto was away, enough for him to guess what nightmare she's remembering.
Jack's thinking the same way. "Someone could have grabbed him. I have a lot of enemies." And we made more last night, he does not say. He also doesn't bring up the last time Steven was abducted from his home for the sake of keeping Jack in line. His face does that for him.
"We'll find him."
Jack glares at Ianto, risking the lives of dozens around their car. Ianto won't shrink back, because he thinks Jack is wrong. Steven hasn't been kidnapped by someone. He's run away from home.
It's sooner than Ianto thought possible when they are driving down the street, Jack slowing to crane his neck out the window in a vain hope of seeing Steven.
The police have already arrived, and they are asking questions. Jack dusts off his old flimsy excuse of being Alice's brother. He introduces Ianto as his "better half," holding his hand for emphasis. Alice hasn't yet volunteered Ianto's real concern for Steven, leaving him to fade into the background as the new round of questioning begins.
Joe arrives five minutes later, just in time to see a heated argument between Alice and Jack catch fire. Ianto barely listens, aware this is just the latest iteration of long-standing resentments. He asks and is granted permission to go up to Steven's bedroom, searching for a sign or a note. Runaways take their most treasured possessions with them into hiding, but Steven is used to dropping everything except the clothes on his back and whatever cash he has on hand. That's all Ianto's fault.
A small bank shaped like a multicoloured robot sits tipped on the shelf. The black rubber stopper that holds the bottom closed is out and the bank is empty. Ianto is guiltily pleased to be proven right, but even if Steven left by his own choice, he is still vulnerable wherever he's gone.
"I'm going to trace the walk we made to the train station," he says, coming back down the stairs.
Alice lays off haranguing her father. "You think he went there?"
"Did you check?"
"I drove by."
She looks at the constable handling most of the questions, who nods and says, "We've contacted the station. If he's been taken there, we'll know."
Joe says, "I don't think you should leave the scene." Ianto has never met him before today. He can see the resemblance between this man and his son, but more, he can see the faded charm and handsome face that isn't so dissimilar to Jack's. Alice must have been struck right in the subconscious when she met him. But the mirror is all astray, and the image fades when Joe asks, "Where were you last night and this morning?"
Jack says, "Like I said, we were in London. For work." That last bit is to Alice, who grumbles her way through explaining her brother is a dealer in antiques and oddities.
Joe doesn't look convinced. The head constable looks like she wants to ask more questions. Everything's a mess, and Steven isn't here. They're all stuck in a molasses mire of fear and recrimination, and Steven isn't here.
A sick taste grows in his mouth. He sees a matching emptiness on Alice's face, sees also her understanding. Even as Joe starts with, "He's the one who - " Alice cuts him off crisply.
"He's nobody. Just a friend." And she mouths, "Go look."
***
He remembers this walk only vaguely. Steven led their footsteps when they came before, but there are signs. One catches his eye, and on a whim, Ianto turns. There's a chance Steven is at the train station, and a chance he's already boarded a train for God alone knows where, maybe Cardiff, maybe London, maybe Leadworth. But the library is closer.
A worried smile and polite demeanour serve Ianto better than any kind of bluster ever could. He's shown the direction of the children's area. As he walks through the cool stacks, he pauses and removes a book whose title he knows well.
Steven sits with his back against the wall under a high window. His bag is beside him, and there's an open school book in his lap serving as camouflage. His eyes are closed, and his shoulders are trembling.
Ianto sits on the floor next to him, leaning against the chilly white wall. He places the book he found on the floor between their stretched-out legs. "I've heard this one is good."
Steven opens his eyes, staring sadly at Ianto, then looks at the copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. "It's okay."
"You've read it, then? Only I was thinking we could read it together, if you wanted."
Steven shakes his head. He's not crying now, but he's been, and he's going to start again any moment. Ianto reckons Alice can't be any angrier with him than she already is, and he wraps one arm around the child. Unexpectedly, Steven crawls into the embrace, leaving Ianto to bring his other arm awkwardly into the hug.
There aren't many other patrons in the library at this hour. The few nearby send them curious looks. "By the way," Ianto says into Steven's hair, "you ought to call me Dad whilst we're here, or I'm probably leaving in a police car."
Steven giggles, and he pulls away, tears and worse all over his face even as he laughs. Ianto digs for a handkerchief. "Thanks."
"This is the part where I'm supposed to tell you your mother is out of her mind with worry, and so's everyone else." At Steven's guilty expression, Ianto adds, "But I think you already know that, so let's assume I did and get on."
Steven lets out a sigh, and he rests his back against the wall again. "She doesn't remember I was gone sometimes. The kids at school don't remember I died. They think I went to live with my dad."
Ianto closes his eyes. "You remember."
"It was so cold." His voice is like steam, frighteningly thin, and Ianto turns to watch him in creeping horror. "It was dark, and cold, and there was nothing."
'Nothing' is such a delicate word, comfortable and meaningless. Ianto has made himself blur what 'nothing' really is, a frozen infinity where even memory was no solace, where darkness was an absolute more empty than the space between galaxies, and it went on forever in loneliness and unspeakable, impossible want for anything. 'Nothing' was consciousness stretched out into filament-thin madness, and terror of the Thing That Moved In the Darkness, just out of not-sight. He has not wanted to remember this, not at all.
They have never spoken of the place after death. Perhaps they should have.
"Did it hurt, for you?"
Steven nods, the tears starting again. "Like running so hard until you're sick, and all you can feel is the sick, and you want someone to hold you and make it better, and no-one's there, forever and ever."
"Yeah."
"That's what it feels like here, too." Steven digs into his bag, and he pulls out a bottle. Ianto doesn't recognise the label, but he takes it from Steven's slack grip. Sleeping pills, Alice's. Prescribed a year ago. Ianto's hand closes numbly around the bottle.
"Tell me you haven't opened this."
Steven shakes his head. "I keep thinking about it. I don't fit any more."
"Like we're back to our lives, but they grew without us," Ianto says, watching Steven's face crumple with the blow of the words. It's the same thing the others have been going through. Amy restored them, the Doctor made them visible, but without Amy Pond dreaming them into reality by her presence, Time herself is pressing back, refusing the shapes of these mistaken imprints upon her golden surface. The breaking point is inside their heads.
Steven says, "I don't belong here." He reaches out for the bottle, and Ianto pulls his arm away, stowing the pills safely in his pocket and ignoring the attraction growing in his mind for their simple surcease. So easy, he knows, so perfect. There are more than enough tablets. Go to sleep right here, hands enfolded and their two heads resting together against this wall. No more questions, no more guilt, no more trying to fit back into lives that don't have room, just the emptiness, and the nothing.
But 'nothing' is so cold.
"I don't belong in my life, either." Not in the black and chrome flat that isn't his, not in the job that belongs to someone else, and the friends who moved on. Only Jack seems to have made a shape for Ianto that fits, but Jack has been falling apart for as long as Ianto has been dead. The pair of them are accustomed to being broken together.
How badly will he crack if he's the one to find their cooling bodies, hearts stopped and skin gone bluish in death?
"Can we go somewhere?" Steven's voice is barely above a whisper, but he edges at hope. How many times did they flee together into yet another new life? At the time, Ianto considered each abandoned identity another mark of failure, but there's a tang of excitement in the prospect of just kicking the dirt from their shoes and walking away hand in hand. Time doesn't want them here, but there are other cities, other countries. Nathan went mad under the weight of his knowledge, of death and loss and never going home. Perhaps they should surrender the hope of home, assured that memory will go on with the process of writing their transition smoothly away from their loved ones.
"Give it a month," Ianto says, with the same false confidence he digs up every time Steven asks him questions he cannot answer. "One month from today, if things aren't better, you and I will leave. Anywhere you want to go. All right?"
"I can't."
"You can. Thirty-one days. And no more of this, you calling me when you're sad." Steven's look of despair is quickly appeased as Ianto says, "Because I will be calling you every day. No matter what your mum says. Because I'm sad, too. All the time." He doesn't like saying the words. He doesn't like the truth he hears in them.
"Mum said you'd forget about me. Because you were off with Uncle Jack now."
"Do you think there's a day goes by when Jack doesn't think about you?" Perhaps there used to be, back when Steven was alive and safe and out of sight and mind, Ianto admits, but such a time won't come again until Jack has forgotten the twenty-first century entirely, millions of years from now. "And I won't ever forget you, not even once. I promise."
"You didn't answer when I called."
"Well, that's a different problem. I can't promise not to forget my phone." He tries a smile, and gets one in return. "Jack and I were out catching aliens in London last night and this morning." Close to the truth, anyway. "You can call his mobile if you can't get me. He'll always know where I am."
"Mum says I'm not allowed to call Uncle Jack ever."
And what to say to that? Jack killed Steven. Alice isn't ever going to forgive him. Jack isn't ever going to forgive himself, either. "Maybe we can ask her to make an exception. Now and then."
"I don't want to go back." The despair has returned. "I wanted to go home, and I'm home, and it hurts."
"I know."
"I think about being dead all the time."
Ianto has pushed the thought all the way to the back of his mind, but it pops up again like a balloon boxer, weighted with sand and ready to punch back. "I know."
"Nobody understands."
"I do. And Jack does, too. He's been dead before. Loads of times."
Steven frowns in disbelief. No-one has ever told him properly about his grandfather. "But he's okay. Nobody forgot him."
"He's not okay. I think if you talk to him, if your mum says you can, you'll find he understands all about being brought back to life by accident courtesy of a pretty young woman."
It's not much, it's even less than the promise of calls, the promise of running away in a month's time, but Steven looks thoughtful now instead of sorrowful. His face is changing, losing more of the baby softness since Ianto last saw him. In another month, he will look that much closer to the man he'll someday be. Growing up is its own horror, but with enough help, Steven may yet live long enough to discover that himself.
"Are you up to walking home?"
Steven takes a long breath that shudders through him, and gets up, offering a hand to help Ianto, who's gone stiff in the uncomfortable seat on the carpet.
They stop on the way out to check out their book.
***
After the police leave and everything is back to an unsettled normal, Steven goes upstairs to rest in his room, and Ianto sits Alice down on her sofa with a mug of tea adulterated with brandy. It's long past time for them to talk. She's as damaged as her son, grateful to have him home, terrified of every word Ianto says. Joe's still here, and Jack wouldn't leave even if he was asked. Ianto tells them all together that Steven needs a new therapist, and he needs one today. He gives Alice the pill bottle back, and no, she hadn't yet gone through her cupboards to see it was missing. He's glad she has loved ones here around her, has Steven safely home, rather than finding out alone. The mask of her face now says enough.
"He's thinking about death every day. He doesn't feel as if he belongs back in his life, and there's a voice in the back of his head telling him how to remedy that." This part is hardest, and he takes the coward's way this time, choosing to look at Alice instead of Jack. "I understand, because I've got the same thoughts. It's happening to all of us who came back. There've been at least two suicides just among the people we knew, and last night I watched someone commit suicide by alien because he didn't fit in his own life."
"What's that, now?" Joe is a stranger to this life, the innocent in the room. Ianto has never asked what he was told about his son's death.
"This is news," Jack says, unhappy and accusing. "You should have said something."
"I'm not as bad off as the rest. I have you." He tries to pass the words off casually. This isn't about him. "The Doctor didn't bring us back, Amy did, but she never intended to. She remembered a world without alien threats, and we were a side effect. I think that without her, the timeline is trying to accommodate two separate realities, maybe more. Something has to give, and it's giving inside us. Self-correcting. We don't belong here. There isn't room."
"Of course there's room," says Alice. "This is Steven's home. He's in his own bedroom. He goes to his old school."
"But there isn't room inside people's heads for him. You're forgetting that he died. He can't."
"He could," Jack says, and it's the cold, calculating Jack whom Ianto remembers from long ago, and hated then.
"No." As tempting as the Retcon is, Steven is a walking anachronism. Even if he doesn't remember, reality won't be so kind, and he will burn himself up inside. They both will.
"I don't want to remember that he died," Alice says, her face contorted in a way Ianto can only imagine she's done at least once before.
"What are you talking about?" Joe sounds frightened now. He's looking between them. "Why do you keep saying he died? Steven's upstairs. He's fine."
Alice turns to her ex. Multiple emotions play over her face, and she looks back at Ianto, who shrugs. "You know what," she says, "you're right. He's fine. We had a bit of a scare, that's all. Tell Petra I said hello."
"That's it, then. The boy runs off, and the fellow who abducted him brings him back and now everything's fine?"
"Yes," Alice says, and it's the same flat tone her father uses when he's planning on shooting the next person to disagree. Apparently Joe knows that tone as well, because he storms off without another word to her, though he does go upstairs for a few minutes to say good-bye to Steven.
"Joe's rewritten everything," Jack says, when he's gone.
Alice replies, "I want to forget. I want Steven to forget."
Ianto folds his hands together. "If you don't remember, you can't make a space for who he is now. He needs you to remember. He needs to talk to people who remember. Alice, his own brain is telling him he doesn't exist, that he's an anomaly that should be corrected. Steven needs contact with me, because I won't forget, and he needs contact with Jack, because Jack can believe in him as strongly as Amy did." He looks at Jack. "I think you're the only person who can, who wasn't one of us." Jack's used to dealing with multiple timelines and realities; Ianto and Steven are just another paradox. There's never a question with him of what's real because it's all real.
Jack nods, accepting this. He sits down next to his daughter, though he doesn't dare take her hand. "Steven needs you to hold onto what happened even when you want to let your memories revise the story. I'll do whatever I can to help." He says something else, something not in English. Ianto's heard the alien sounds before, and by the mixed expressions on her face, so has Alice.
"Don't say that to me," she says, tired and sick from old wounds. "Not now. I still hate you. Of course I love you, but I really do still hate you."
"I'm going to call every day," Ianto says. "I promised Steven I would. But it won't be enough without you. Everyone else he sees every day won't remember. Someone needs to protect him, and have his back."
And that's the key, at last. Alice's chin goes up, set. This entire shitty situation has taken away too many of her choices, but she knows about protecting her son, and if memory is what will keep Steven safe, she'll make herself remember every detail for the rest of her life.
***
They need to get back to Cardiff, but Steven begs them to stay for a late lunch, and after that the goodbye hug he gives Ianto is trembling. Ianto asks for a minute alone, and they go back up to Steven's room.
"Don't go."
"All right. I'll leave Cardiff and move here. I'll live two streets away and come visit every day."
"You will?"
Ianto nods. "If you ask me to." He didn't intend to make the offer, yet now that he has, his mind races. Maybe this is what he needs: a new home away from his past, a new job not involving aliens, one person he loves close by. And if the mere thought of leaving Jack behind again breaks his heart, well, he's survived that pain before. "It's up to you."
Steven sits on the edge of his bed. His room is filled with toys, many of them too young for him. He's not the same child who used to live here, who used to play with the little die-cast cars and LEGOs.
"I don't know if I can be brave for a month."
"You don't have to be. Can you be brave for one day? I'll call tomorrow."
"Then what?"
"Then we'll both see if we can be brave for another day. All right?"
He looks around his room, looks at his toys, finally raises his eyes to Ianto, and he nods. "All right."
***
Ianto takes the wheel for the drive home, letting Jack sort things with Gwen and the others over the phone. The day is half gone and they still have paperwork to file when they get back, closing the case of the alien murders. The murderer is dead, but they didn't really save him. Steven's alive, but he's going to need much more intensive help to climb back to functional. When Ianto gets home, he needs to check his voicemail and he needs to move the picture of a dead little alien girl to a more permanent storage platform, perhaps even print it out side-by-side with a snap of Steven: remember the people he's trying to save, don't forget the ones he's failed.
It's not been a good day, not been a good series of days, and he can tell Jack thinks the same by the collapse of his shoulders against the seat when he finally ends the last call.
"Straight to the new Hub, then?" Ianto asks, switching lanes.
"Flat first. We'll drop you off, and I'll go in." Jack's eyes are closed.
"I need to file the report on Nathan."
"That case is closed. You don't have to worry about it. I'll handle the paperwork." His tone is clipped, angry.
Ianto rewinds their conversation prior to the detour to Steven's house and the library. "I am sorry for ruining the case. I am sorry for getting in the middle after you told me not to, and I am really, really sorry for everyone who got hurt because of that mistake. If you don't want me around the office because of that, I understand, but I think we both know I'll be of more use to you there than sitting around the flat."
Jack's face is solid. Maybe he's not angry. Maybe he's still freaking out over nearly losing Steven once again, and the knowledge that they aren't out of the woods yet.
"And speaking of the flat," he says, reckoning he's already in for it anyway, "I want to start looking for a new one."
"I'll send you to the estate agent Alice used." Now the tone is much clearer, and with it, his attitude. Bitterness is rolling off Jack in waves.
Bewildered, Ianto asks, "Why?"
"They're active in that area. They've got some great bargains." Every word drips with contempt.
"If you don't want to talk about it now, just say so."
"When are you going?" The anger has punctured into sorrow. Jack sounds lost.
"Going where?" Realisation strikes him. "You were eavesdropping."
"Not on purpose." This is a blatant lie, so much so that Ianto can ignore it. "I heard you tell Steven you're going to leave Cardiff and move close by, and I was done listening."
"Then you missed the part where I promised him a month from now, if he'd still rather kill himself than stay, that we'd pack our things and go somewhere new."
"You did what?"
Ianto finds a place to pull over, and puts on the hazard lights. He turns to Jack.
"He's dying. If the only way to keep him safe is to pack him up and take him to Mars, I'll find us a rocket and go. If it means I leave everything behind to move next door to him, I'll do that too. You said never to lie to you again, and this is the truth."
"You'd leave, just like that?"
A peculiar suspicion dawns on Ianto. He tests the threads of his new concept. "I would." He doesn't say, "And I'll lose the last of my dignity begging you to come with us when I know you can't, and it will hurt like hell when you say no," because he is too busy watching Jack's attempts to control the expressions on his own face. Jack is aiming for a schooled nonchalance, but he's been through too much, and the cracks in his demeanour are as wide as a crack on the wall, as a crack in the universe.
Realising this, he papers over the damage with bluster. "Give me the keys. I'm driving." Ianto grabs the keys a fraction of a second faster, and fights Jack's grip over his hand for them. Realising quickly that he can't win a battle of strengths, he plays dirty pool and shoves a finger under Jack's arm to tickle him, which only encourages Jack to drop his bid for the keys and get handsy himself. A short and vicious tickling bout commences, impeded by their seat belts and resulting in both gasping for air within a minute. Jack goes in for the kill and takes away the rest of Ianto's breath with a deep kiss. Ianto keeps his grip on the keys.
The drivers in the cars whizzing by must think them completely mad.
Ianto wins the keyring, and he sits back in his seat, wheezing. "Now will you tell me what's wrong?"
"You're leaving." Jack's out of breath, but he looks better for having had the contact. Plants need sunlight, animals need food, Captain Jack Harkness needs to touch other people. He's mental, Ianto thinks, but they're both mental. Complementary functional insanity.
"I'm not leaving today. I hope I'm not leaving at all. I want Steven to stay with his mother and grow up safe. Knowing he's got options might help him cope."
"Then why look for a flat now?" He's confused and sad, and empty like an old vase.
"I hate the flat, and you said you only chose it because it was the first one you found. I think we could find a better one closer to work. Unless you really want to stay there." The last sentence screws its way into half a question. He thought Jack didn't care. Perhaps he's been wrong.
At the word 'we,' Jack's lips twitch. "The lease is up in February. Can you live with it 'til then?"
Ianto nods, returning the faint smile as he starts the car and pulls them back into traffic.
They're silent for a while, watching the other cars and the road, each lost in his own thoughts. Ianto spends his on wondering what he could have done differently last night, or the night before, to have changed how the situation ended, and rewinding his conversation with Steven in case he said something terrible, wishing he'd found better words. It's a nasty circle of shark-thoughts swimming in his head. The next time he's alone, they're going to bite at his heels trying to tug him under.
Jack breaks into his reverie. "Back there, you said you have me."
Ianto doesn't recall, and then he does. "Back there, you said I was your better half. Does that mean you're no longer going to be an arse about the word 'couple'?"
"I can't promise that."
Ianto rolls his eyes, and Jack's smile grows into something more human. "You do, you know," Jack says. Have me, he means, and Ianto tilts his head. There are words Jack doesn't say, either, at least not in the vulgar language he's learned here on Earth. He's as much an alien as any Ianto's met, and if Ianto is tied here because of him, Jack has said he only came back because he couldn't outrun Ianto's ghost on any planet in the sky.
"I know."
***
Epilogue
***
This hasn't been the worst week of his life. Even living through the carnage of Canary Wharf ranks below watching helplessly as his colleagues shot the woman he loved, and those bad memories are matched with the week he lost two of his best friends in a day, and the week he died. Comparatively speaking, this week has been like a holiday somewhere sunny. Still, he's glad it's over.
Also, he's glad they really are on holiday.
Jack makes a noise from the bed. He sleeps more these days than he used to. Ianto should be asleep right now, content beside him, but instead he's wrapped up in a quilt, sitting in the room's lone stuffed armchair and looking out into the still night over the sea. For the first place they came to, this tiny hotel has a spectacular view. He suspects Jack booked a reservation and then played at finding this spot at random. It doesn't matter. He'd have done the same.
A half moon hovers overhead, sending dim highlights to pulse over the steady rocking of the waves: white lace cast on black water. He's not much of a poet, but half-lit nights are made for poetry. Someone better with words ought to capture the contrast of moonlight and waves, and the sleepy god in his bed, because Ianto's words are trapped with the swell in his throat before a single syllable springs forth. It's a beautiful place to be, it's a perfect night to die. He closes his eyes against the waves, but can hear them even through the window glass.
Everything is hard.
Jack let him come back to work, but there isn't room for him on the team. Lois has taken all his old duties, Albert all his new ones. He can make space for himself, did when he first carved out his own fifth position on a team of four, and he can adjust to accusing stares all over again. But every day is difficult, and he struggles to remind himself why he wants this life back. Even Gwen is forgetting he was gone; just yesterday, she casually mentioned events from "when you were off on your trip" and it took him a moment's calculation to realise she was referring to when he was dead. He couldn't form a reply, and Jack merely watched her, not correcting her.
Later, he told Ianto in a regretful voice, "She doesn't mean to. Time is rewriting for her."
"And for you?" He covered his fear with a world-weary tone he'd perfected back when he was seventeen, but Jack drew him into a very non-professional hug with his lips against Ianto's cheek.
"Not for me. Never for me."
Memory, and faith, and the warm light emitting from Jack's private sun, these are keeping Ianto alive and sane. Amy cannot dream anyone alive again. That's what he told Sally over the phone, what he made certain she understood and could tell the others: group together, be warm together, dream one another into being. Nareen's family believes in her. Hal and Karl believe in each other. Sally has enough faith in herself to power a small city, but she promised to pass along the message.
Were he able to muster the necessary poetry for the evening, Ianto would surmise this short holiday -- two days which are the most they will squeeze out from their normal lives -- is about faith, and Jack's need to prove he can be the sun as well as the moon and stars.
The sun, moon, and stars take this opportunity to let out a snore that's part hippopotamus, and then he's still again.
Ianto's mobile vibrates, whirring in the otherwise quiet room. He carries the phone outside to the small balcony, naked but for his tightly-wrapped quilt. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Another nightmare?"
"Yeah."
They talked earlier this afternoon, going over the details of Steven's day. He played with some new friends, children he didn't know before. Ianto hoped things were looking up, but a call this late indicates otherwise.
"Tell me about it."
"You were screaming at me that you never wanted to see me again."
The cool night air shivers down beneath the frayed patchwork. He's always assumed Steven's nightmares have been of death and of whatever terrors brought him to Amy's doorstep.
"Well, you're awake now. Do you know that's not true?"
There's a pause. "Yeah. It just scared me."
"I know. I get scared about not seeing you again, too."
"You do?"
"All the time." Ianto looks at the half-moon, and he thinks when this moon comes again, the month will have passed, and they will be surviving in the lives they have, or they will be casting out on an unknown sea together.
Steven says, "I think I'm going to be okay now," and he doesn't mean just from the bad dream. "Will you call tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"Okay. Good night."
"Good night."
He goes back in, and drops the quilt onto the chair. He's cold, but the bed is toasty warm. Even mostly asleep, Jack wraps him in his arms as soon as they are under the covers together.
"Steven?" he asks with half a yawn.
"Yeah."
"Is he okay?"
"Yeah."
Jack doesn't ask Ianto if he's okay. He pivots and wriggles until they are nose-to-nose and toes-to-toes, and everything in between. The kisses start out slow, but Jack's waking up, and as the sleepiness falls away, his attention turns solely to Ianto.
Even broken, always broken, Jack's so real he bends reality around him, forces illusions to be real. When Ianto and Steven were hiding in plain sight, he was the first to believe, and the first to break the spell even without the help of the TARDIS key. As long as Ianto is with him, no matter how thin he's stretched, no matter how much the voice of the Vortex in his head tells him he doesn't belong, the light shining inside Jack burns away all doubts.
Jack speaks to him tonight in his cradle tongue, adoring whispers between each kiss. There's no room here for the ghosts of the dead between them, no pause for sorrow, or the past. Just hands, with fingers pressed together like they are holding up the world against each other. Just mouths, familiar with the bite and press and suck and tender motions. Just the waves outside and the warmth of the sun in here. Just two hearts beating, learning to live again, one shared breath at a time.
***
The End
***
A/N: The fic following up on this is, perhaps obviously, Home, Take One. There's one more scene, a prequel bit that eldarwannabe wrote ETA: and it's POSTED!
Suspend is eldarwannabe's fic that follows on from "Rescues" and inspired this one. GO READ AND TELL HER IT'S AWESOME.