Fanfic - Counting Stars 8/17 [Torchwood: Jack/Ianto]

[soera]

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven

As far as Torchwood was concerned, the Queen was the only person whose authority they would actually acknowledge. She provided a large part of Torchwood’s funding - it was one area in which she still had complete control, without being answerable to Parliament. She didn’t, however, try and exercise control over them, trusting that they knew what they were doing. All she asked for was an accounting each week, so as to keep up to date with what was happening on the alien front. In exchange - and since they owed their existence to the Crown - Torchwood always placed any special requests from her at the top of their to-do list.

Still, Ianto had never expected to be exchanging numbers with the Queen.

He took another glance at the number saved under the rather innocuous name of ‘Elizabeth,’ then sighed and replaced his phone in his pocket. It wasn’t as if she’d be calling him up every day asking about his life.

Putting the conversation he’d just had out of his head, he stretched and got up, heading up to the Hub main. He made a round of coffees for everyone (Owen got instant - he really should’ve known better than to snipe about Ianto’s attire), then took off his jacket and vest, pinned his tie securely to his shirt, rolled up his sleeves, and slipped on rubber gloves. He could never decide if he actually enjoyed this part of his job or not.

Janet was always the hardest to feed. A small dose of sedatives was timed to be released into her cell just before feeding time, to keep her mostly docile, but she still did have a tendency to become agitated whenever she saw any human. That meant that feeding her was a delicate dance. Ianto’d been bitten and clawed more than once, back in the early days, but by now he’d honed it to a fine art. He watched for the right moment, then slipped in the raw meat and locked the cell door again before she could get anywhere near him. The other two Weevils next to her were a mite trickier, since they hadn’t been as desensitised to human presence as Janet had been, but he pulled it off without getting injured.

The Hoix was the other tricky customer, more because it ate so much than for any other reason (they kept a low dose of sedatives circulating in its cell constantly, so it wasn’t a physical threat). Ianto spent at least fifteen minutes flinging in all the food it needed. The same amount of time took care of just about all the other aliens they had, which were thankfully easier to take care of. It was a good thing they didn’t keep too many creatures here - they tended only to keep non-sentient aliens here for as long as it took to figure out how to best take care of them.

Like the jellyfish. Ianto sighed as he came to the large tank they were swimming in. He’d initially split them into two tanks, one with fresh water and the other with salt, and kept a close eye on them for the next few hours. It didn’t take long before the ones in the fresh water displayed signs of sluggishness, and so he’d transferred the whole lot into the salt-water tank. They seemed happy, if their burbling and bubbling was anything to go by. That didn’t, however, solve the problem of what they ate.

Ianto glumly dropped a few shrimp into the tank, and watched as the nearest jellyfish bobbed over to the food. One slender tentacle prodded at the shrimp, and then the jellyfish slowly revolved in the water. It shouldn’t have been possible for an amorphous blob of translucent flesh to look disdainful, but somehow it managed.

The jellyfish ate the shrimp, but they certainly didn’t seem to be fond of the stuff. Ianto had experimented with a few other types of meat, but shrimp and crustaceans were the only things that the jellies had (reluctantly) eaten. Various vegetables hadn’t gone over well either, and Ianto was fast running out of ideas to try. To top things off, they kept firing bubbles at him, little streams of them that didn’t pop, lingering in the water in oddly structured lines for nearly ten minutes before slowly dissolving. He was more certain than ever that it was a means of communication, but he hadn’t made any headway with understanding them.

“We’re adding seaweed to the menu today,” he told them. “Along with some cockles and shrimp. On the off-chance you can understand me, I am sorry I can’t quite figure out what it is you’d prefer to eat.” With another sigh, he tipped the food into the tank.

There was one jellyfish in particular that was larger than the rest. Either older or more important than the rest in some way, Ianto suspected. He’d dubbed it Joe the Jelly, though not within hearing range of Owen. Or anyone else, for that matter. Joe bobbed to the side of the tank, pressing four tentacles to the glass side.

“It’s not ideal housing, I know,” Ianto said. “But until I figure out what you guys like to eat, we can’t send you to the Mumbles Sanctuary.”

Joe blew a stream of bubbles at him.

“Yeah, I’ll keep working on that,” Ianto said. He patted the glass lightly. “Keep talking, tell me I’m an idiot or something and I’ll try and figure out what it is you’re trying to say.”

With a wave, he set off for the last part of his feeding duties. He brought Myfanwy’s food up to him that day instead of making the pterodactyl come down from his nest. Myfanwy had grown considerably tamer since they’d first found him, and once he’d eaten his fill, he came up to Ianto to get his beak patted. And to nose around for some chocolate, presumably, though Ianto put a stop to that behaviour pretty quickly. Myfanwy’s beak was a little too sharp for him to want it anywhere near certain parts of his anatomy.

“Oh, Ianto!” Jack sang out from somewhere beneath him.

“You bellowed, sir?” he called back out. Myfanwy squawked and loped over to the edge of his nest area. Ianto watched his movements carefully, thinking that there were probably a lot of scientists in the world who’d kill to get the opportunity to study the pterodactyl. Two minutes with Myfanwy would prove quite a number of theories about the species.

“I did not bellow!” Jack replied. “I very melodiously called for you!”

“I am in raptures of enthusiasm at hearing your dulcet tones,” Ianto replied, getting to his feet and making his way down.

“Oh, I can tell,” Jack said. “Owen has, uh, volunteered to keep an eye on the Rift while you and I run out for a quick dinner.”

“Volunteered,” Ianto repeated, then decided he didn’t want to know. His feet hit solid ground and he promptly found himself in Jack’s arms.

“Volunteered,” Jack said solemnly. “It was the strangest thing. I’d just gotten off the phone with UNIT and he pops up out of nowhere and says he wants to go home early to catch the game, and I tell him I really wish I could go out for dinner at least, let alone go home early, and he must’ve felt sorry for me because he offered to stay here and watch the Rift while I went out.”

Ianto thought that over. “Volunteered,” he said once more, infusing the word with so much disbelief he didn’t need to say anything else. Jack grinned at him.

“So, dinner?” he asked hopefully.

“Sounds good,” Ianto said. “Let me just grab my jacket.”

They went out to one of the nearby restaurants, a casual place with good food and tables set far enough apart to ensure their privacy. Ianto complained about the total lack of headway he was making with the jellies; Jack was completely unhelpful. Jack complained about having to deal with bureaucratic asses in UNIT; Ianto told him he’d been living in Wales long enough to say ‘arse’ and not ‘ass’ and was otherwise completely unhelpful. Jack distracted them both by playing footsie under the table; Ianto retaliated with a very inappropriate caress, also under the table.

It was a very fun dinner.

“Morse code,” Ianto announced. Tosh and Jack looked at him blankly.

“It’s Morse code,” he elaborated. “The jellyfish are using the bubbles as Morse bloody code.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” Jack said. Ianto gave him a flat look, and Jack shrugged sheepishly.

“How on earth does Morse code work with bubbles?” Tosh demanded.

Ianto spread the photos he was holding on her table. “Look - see the pattern of bubbles? They’re all attached to each other in strings, like sentences. And there are three basic lengths, a short, round one, an elongated one, and one that’s thin but tall - I think those are representative of short gaps. There’s nothing for medium gaps, but it’s easy enough to guess where the word breaks are.”

“Dots and dashes,” Tosh said in disbelief.

“This is the one I keep getting when I ask what they like to eat,” Ianto said, pointing at one photograph. Jack came over to peer interestedly at the pictures. Once they knew what they were looking for, the pattern of bubbles started to make sense. “Can’t figure out what the first part is - probably some name that we don’t have - but look at this part. Dah-dit-dah-dit dah-dah-dah dit-dah-dit dit-dah dit-dah-dit-dit.”

“Which is?” Tosh asked.

“Coral, of all things. I dropped in a few pieces and they went absolutely insane.” Ianto smiled at Jack. “We’ve got some very contented jellies down there now.”

“How can you tell?” Jack asked, grinning.

“Other than the fact they keep going dah-dit-dah-dah dit-dah dah-dit-dah-dah at me?” Ianto asked, face straight.

Jack frowned momentarily as he translated that, then started laughing. “Okay, happy jellyfish,” he agreed, winking at a bewildered Tosh. “This is great, Yan! Want to make up a list of questions for them?”

“I have a few,” Ianto replied, extracting a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to Jack. “Feel free to add anything else.”

“Yeah, once I’m done with -” Jack began. Whatever else he said was drowned out by the sound of the Rift alarm going off.

“With that,” Ianto finished, sidling over to a free terminal to look at what was happening. It took him and Tosh only a minute to isolate the location of the Rift spike. Gwen and Jack went out to investigate, and Ianto surprised himself with a total lack of concern about their being alone together. With Tosh’s blessings (and Owen’s grumblings, but then he wasn’t listening to Owen anyway) Ianto headed home a little earlier than usual, already looking forward to a hot shower.

When his doorbell rang a couple of hours later, he was thoroughly unsurprised to open the door and find Jack standing there.

“Welcome home,” he murmured, greeting his lover with a soft kiss.

“Yep,” Jack said incongruently, squeezing Ianto’s hand briefly.

“The spike?” Ianto asked, shutting and securing the door behind Jack, then turning to take Jack’s greatcoat. The movements came fluidly to both of them, testimony to the number of times they’d performed this little dance together. Ianto didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it.

“Couple of other Weevils came through,” Jack said. “Gwen and I snagged one and brought it back to the Hub, but the other one got away and slipped into the sewers.”

“We have a naked Weevil running around Cardiff?” Ianto asked wryly.

“Look on the bright side. It’s more likely to be spotted quickly if it ever comes topside,” Jack replied. Ianto shook his head in resignation.

“Gwen also mentioned something else,” Jack said casually. Ianto raised an eyebrow. “About the last time you went Weevil hunting?”

“Ah,” Ianto said.

“Yeah. Is that where those scars are from?”

Ianto shrugged self-consciously, suddenly acutely aware of the scars on his shoulder and chest. “Yeah, not much to look at, I know, but -”

“You’re beautiful, Yan,” Jack broke in quietly. “But every scar I see is another reminder of - it tells me you’re not -”

“Going to be around forever,” Ianto finished. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

Jack bit his lip and stepped forward, taking Ianto’s hands in his. “I don’t want to think of a time I won’t have you with me,” he admitted in a whisper.

“And I don’t want to think of a time I’ll have to leave you,” Ianto replied. “Guess that makes us even.”

Jack sighed and wrapped his arms around Ianto’s shoulders, moving his hands awkwardly behind Ianto’s head. Ianto heard the familiar noise of Jack manipulating his wristband, and then the soft sounds of Billie Holiday started filtering through his flat.

“Dance with me, sweetheart?” Jack asked, sounding more vulnerable than he ever had before. In response, Ianto pulled Jack closer, arms around his waist, eyes closed as he started moving to the tune. The song was one that Jack had played during their warehouse date, and despite the lyrics, he felt a deep ache at knowing that there would be others after him, that he would never be it for Jack. It didn’t help matters any when Jack started singing along quietly - You’re the sweetest thing I have ever known, and to think that you are mine alone…

Ianto hid his face in Jack’s neck as the song played on. Jack led him around his living room in a slow, swaying dance, eventually dancing them into his bedroom. Ianto trailed a line of kisses up Jack’s neck and along the curve of his jaw, up to his ear and then sliding down over his cheek. Jack sighed in contentment and tilted his head slightly to catch Ianto’s lips with his own.

“Let me?” he asked, voice hushed, and Ianto nodded silently. Jack took the barest step back, remaining close enough for Ianto to feel the heat radiating off his body, and pulled the edge of Ianto’s oversized T-shirt up. Ianto raised his arms obligingly, letting Jack slide the T-shirt off him. Jack dropped the shirt on the floor, then knelt to pull off the loose cotton trousers Ianto was wearing, leaving Ianto completely naked.

Jack pressed a few kisses to Ianto’s shin, knee, thigh, navel, as he rose. He made quick work of his own clothes, leaving them in an untidy heap next to Ianto’s, dropping his wristband on the bedside table, and immediately moving back into Ianto’s arms, gently pushing him back onto the bed and claiming his mouth in a deep kiss.

Ianto’s eyes closed of their own accord as he focused on the sensation of Jack’s tongue twining around his own. The heat of Jack’s mouth was comforting in its familiarity, the single crooked tooth in the back of his jaw a reminder that he wasn’t perfect. Jack’s skin was warm and smooth under his hold, as they lay locked in a tight embrace. This kiss wasn’t sexual; it was about comfort.

He lost track of time as they lay there, kissing lazily, shifting every now and then to get better leverage, or get into a more comfortable position. They never moved from each other’s mouths, and Ianto found himself dimly remembering old tales about a person’s soul being in their breath. He wondered what it would be like, merging with Jack, feeling his mind and heart in his. It was turning him on, sure - you couldn’t possibly be lying with a naked Jack Harkness, being kissed like you were the most important thing on Earth, and not get turned on - but there was absolutely no hurry to what they were doing.

For all either of them knew, he would die tomorrow. But at least they’d have had this night.

It was Jack who finally pulled away from their languid kisses, nudging Ianto onto his back and kissing his way down Ianto’s neck, to his shoulder. He paused there, then brushed his lips against the scars so gently that Ianto barely felt the touch. Then came the wet warmth of Jack’s tongue, tracing the jagged lines that had been left by the Weevil’s teeth. Jack lingered there for what felt like forever, bathing the wound and pressing tiny kisses to it. Then he moved down, to Ianto’s chest and the scars left by the Weevil’s claws, and gave them the same attention. It was only when he felt something cold and wet trickle over his ear that Ianto realised he was crying.

Jack moved slowly down Ianto’s body, lavishing the same loving attention on every single scar and mark he found on it, regardless of where it had come from. Ianto tried to keep track - when I was attacked by a Weevil, when I fell off the swing when I was six, when Dafydd knocked me down, when that telekinetic alien slammed me into a wall, when I was playing rugby and took a bad fall, when those cannibals were working me over, when Torchwood London came crashing down, when I tried surfing and found it was definitely not for me, when Myfanwy bit me - on and on, a record of his mortal fragility.

Once Jack had reached the tiny straight slash across the big toe of his right foot where he’d stepped on broken glass once, Ianto turned over without being prompted. Jack worked his way back up slowly, carefully, never once rushing, inspecting every bit of Ianto’s skin for any scar tissue. Every little mark was paid homage to, and Ianto wondered what Jack was thinking as he kissed each one. A burn on his shoulder blade was the last one, and it was only after devoting himself to it that Jack finally spoke.

“You’re so beautiful, Yan,” he whispered. “You really have no idea, do you?”

I’m not, Ianto wanted to say, but remained quiet. His erection was burning against his stomach.

“You are,” Jack said, as if in reply. Ianto closed his eyes and sighed into his pillow as Jack kissed the back of his neck. A few nudges from Jack had Ianto rolling onto his back again. Jack brushed his hand over the tip of Ianto’s erection, eliciting a small gasp. Jack smiled and leaned down for another long kiss. This one was a lot more charged than any so far, and Ianto’s eyes were glazed by the time they pulled apart, his cock hard and aching.

“Let go,” Jack told him quietly, and Ianto tried to focus on what it was Jack wanted him to do. Let go? “All the way. Just let go, sweetheart. I’ll be here, I’ll always be here.”

Ianto took a deep, shuddering breath, then locked eyes with Jack and nodded. Letting go wasn’t something that came easily or naturally to him - but he’d try.

Jack never looked away as he slid down Ianto’s body, going straight for his cock. Ianto had very quickly come to learn that particular fact about Jack, that he loved giving blowjobs. He liked getting them too, but Ianto sometimes suspected that he liked giving them more. Which was perfectly fine by Ianto, because Jack was really good at it.

Jack licked a bold stripe up the underside of his cock, following the vein up, then down, constantly varying the pressure and location of his tongue so that Ianto could never quite get going. He mouthed Ianto’s balls, kissed the head of his cock, blew across the tip, and was in general a complete bastard in never quite giving Ianto what he so desperately wanted. And all the time, he kept his gaze fixed on Ianto, who found it completely impossible to look away from those darkened eyes, the blue barely visible as a thin rim around dilated pupils. Looking at those eyes, he couldn’t say anything, couldn’t even tell Jack to stop teasing him. He knew, theoretically, that he’d seen Jack like this before, but this felt - different.

Finally, finally, Jack stopped tormenting him and sucked the head of Ianto’s cock into his mouth. Jack held his gaze for a few seconds more, then let his eyes slide down to focus on what he was doing. Ianto closed his own eyes and fell back against his pillow with a muted groan.

Jack pressed his tongue up snug against the underside of Ianto’s cock, letting the slick heat of his mouth settle in. He wrapped a hand around the base of Ianto’s erection, taking a moment to enjoy the flushed colour before it disappeared under the unassuming bronzed beige of his hand. Without any ceremony, he took the rest of Ianto’s cock all the way into his mouth, lips sliding to meet the side of his hand, encasing the length of Ianto’s erection in warmth and firm pressure.

The taste of pre-cum filled his mouth and he swallowed instinctively - then again, deliberately, as he felt Ianto shudder beneath him. Fingers twined through his hair, but even through the haze of sensation, Ianto remained careful not to hurt him. Jack pulled back a little, then sank back down again, moving his hand away so as to take more of Ianto’s cock into his mouth. The head was nudging the back of his throat now, and he forcibly suppressed the gag reflex, then slid all the way down, breathing deeply through his nose.

Ianto’s fingers scrabbled desperately at his hair, slip-sliding down to cup his face, his neck, his hand, his head. Then he seemed to give up, his hands dropping to the sheets and fisting in them tightly enough that Jack was quite glad not to have them in his hair anymore. He swallowed again around his mouthful and was rewarded with an utterly sinful moan.

Jack set up a quick rhythm, sliding up and down Ianto’s cock, constantly keeping up the pressure with what Ianto decided was a very agile tongue. The tightening of Ianto’s balls warned Jack when his lover was nearing his edge, and so he slid back down all the way, taking all of Ianto into his mouth again, and then he hummed.

The vibrations tipped Ianto over so abruptly he barely realised it, and then he was coming into Jack’s mouth, down his throat, within that welcoming heat, spasming so hard he couldn’t see, could barely breathe.

When his eyes decided to work again, the first thing he saw was the utterly contented look on Jack’s face. The second thing he saw was that Jack evidently hadn’t managed to swallow all his cum - some had spilled past Jack’s lips and was lying pooled on Ianto’s stomach. The third thing was that Jack was bloody well licking it up.

“Oh, god,” he whimpered.

“Nah,” Jack replied. “Just me.”

“Oh, god,” Ianto repeated. “I really need to kiss you now, please.”

Jack obliged him immediately. The taste of his own cum in Jack’s mouth was peculiar. It was, Ianto thought, the first time they’d ever had oral sex without a condom. Or no, there had been that time in the warehouse, and a couple of times since, but he’d never actually come into Jack’s mouth like this before. But the taste wasn’t too bad, and the knowledge that it was him mixed in with that indefinable taste of Jack, was already making his cock twitch in interest again.

Jack made a low murmur of contentment as they finally pulled apart. “All right?” he asked, and Ianto nodded in response. “How do you want us?” he continued.

“Like this,” Ianto said, bending his knees and bracing his spread legs. “I want to be able to see you. And hold you.”

That got him another lingering kiss, before Jack moved away to grab the lube and condoms that always sat ready in the drawer of Ianto’s bedside table. Ianto kept his eyes on Jack’s face, absently registering the sounds of the condom packet being torn open, of the lube being uncapped. Then a slick finger was circling his entrance, and he pulled Jack down into a kiss, shifting down in the same movement. Jack sighed into the kiss as his finger slipped easily into Ianto’s entrance, his lover already somewhat relaxed after having come so hard.

He pushed in deeper, looking for that little nub of flesh that would drive Ianto wild, and finally brushed up against it. Crooking his finger a couple of times made Ianto buck up into him, tearing away from his lips to cry out in pleasure.

“Just like that, yeah,” Jack whispered, slipping another finger in and scissoring them. “Let go, sweetheart.”

A third finger quickly joined the first two, and Jack carefully stretched Ianto as much as he could. Ianto was shaking under him, his arms tight around Jack’s neck, quivering with the sensation he was allowing to flow over and through him. Jack hurriedly got the condom on himself, slicking his cock up thoroughly, then carefully pressed into Ianto.

The ring of muscles around Ianto’s entrance resisted for the barest moment, before yielding abruptly to the intrusion. Jack slid in all the way in one smooth movement, watching Ianto’s face for any sign of discomfort. There was absolutely none, his young lover having opened up easily for him, having surrendered completely to him. He dipped his head to kiss Ianto’s neck, licking away the beads of sweat gathering there.

Ianto whimpered and tried to pull Jack even closer to himself, hooking one leg around Jack’s waist for better leverage. Jack was mouthing his neck - no, was saying something silently against his skin - but he couldn’t spare the thoughts to wonder what the words might be. He’d never felt this much sensation before, had never let himself go this far. His shields were trembling, and while they hadn’t actually fallen, he could feel the warmth of Jack’s mind pressing against his. It would take so little to wrap himself in that comforting presence, to lose himself in that mental touch. With difficulty, he retreated slightly, allowing his mental shields to remain up. Instead, he opened up his empathy and immediately felt a flood of lovelustlonginglove wash through him.

“Oh,” he gasped as Jack rotated his hips, brushing against his prostate repeatedly. “Jack. Jack.”

“I’m here,” Jack whispered, and Ianto buried his face in Jack’s shoulder and clung on.

They moved together, setting up a slow rhythm. He wanted this to last forever, Jack thought as he pressed kisses to Ianto’s cheeks, nose, eyes, forehead, jaw, chin, lips. He slowed down every time he felt himself nearing the edge, allowing himself the chance to get under control. Eventually, though, the ache in his cock was too much to ignore, and so he sped up slightly.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, one hand sliding down between them to grip Ianto’s cock firmly. Ianto gasped and thrust into his fist, tears standing in the corners of his eyes. “Come on, come for me.”

His cock hit Ianto’s prostate repeatedly, and if Ianto’s channel felt impossibly delicious around him, that tight, warm pressure, then having Jack in him had to be at least as good for Ianto, if the way Ianto screamed and came was any indication. Jack felt the edge of Ianto’s orgasm shear through his mind, felt the trembling aching purity of his emotions, felt them touch his own and trigger his own orgasm.

Unlike Ianto, he came quietly - mostly because he managed to forget how to breathe. Mouth open against Ianto’s neck, eyes squeezed shut, he felt his orgasm shudder through his body, felt himself spurting into Ianto, felt, dimly, the sensation of someone climaxing into him. Even after he was spent, it was a very long moment before he could summon up the energy to move.

He pulled his softening cock out carefully, then grimaced at the mess he saw. Ianto smiled at him tiredly.

“Yeah, I’m feeling that,” he commented. Jack slipped off the broken condom and tossed it into the bin under Ianto’s bedside table, then pressed a kiss to Ianto’s thigh.

“Wait here,” he said, heaving himself off the bed.

“As if I can move,” Ianto mumbled, getting a chuckle from Jack. He closed his eyes, determined to enjoy the feeling of having been thoroughly shagged while he could.

Jack returned in a few minutes, just as the drying cum on Ianto was starting to itch. “Good timing,” he murmured, his eyes still closed.

“I try my best,” Jack replied, sounding uncannily like Ianto. Ianto cracked open one eye, tried to figure out whether he should glare or laugh, decided he didn’t have to energy to do either, and closed the eye again. Something warm and soft descended on Ianto’s stomach - one of his towels, he suspected, and Jack had been considerate enough to use warm water instead of cold to clean up his lover.

Ianto lay there quiescent, obediently moving only when Jack asked him to lift his hips a little. The sheets would have been slightly stained, there was no helping that, but he’d be able to get the stains out in the laundry. Tomorrow. There was no way he was moving now, especially not to wash the sheets.

Once Jack had finished cleaning Ianto up, Ianto rolled onto his side, patting the space behind him blindly. The clack of a bowl told him that Jack had set aside the water and towels, and then the bed dipped slightly and a warm body pulled up flush with his, spooning around him. It was only when Jack nuzzled his neck that Ianto remembered -

“What were you saying before?” he asked.

“When?” Jack asked.

Ianto shrugged his shoulders. “Into my neck. You were saying something, weren’t you?”

Jack was silent for a few moments, then sighed, the breath ghosting across the back of Ianto’s neck. “Yeah. Can’t you guess?”

Ianto thought about it for a while, thought about the raw emotions he’d felt from Jack at exactly that moment. “Mm. I think so,” he agreed, smiling. Jack’s arm tightened around him briefly.

“G’night, Yan,” he whispered.

“Good night, Jack,” Ianto replied solemnly, and drifted into untroubled sleep.

The next morning, he found:

On his bedside table - 6) Loving.

On his coffee table - 9) Looks good in casual clothes.

On his refrigerator - 5) Takes care of all of us.

On his mirror - 17) Appreciates the coat. Yes, dammit, that is important!

On his wardrobe door - 2) Makes me happy.

He was late to work that day. Thankfully, no one said anything about his red eyes.

He woke up feeling groggy. His mouth was dry and his skin itched like something was trying to get out from under it. He couldn’t quite repress the shiver that racked his body as he sat up painfully, his body having contorted into an uncomfortable position as he slept.

A quick look around informed him that for some reason, he and the others had fallen asleep around the conference room table. Groaning quietly, he stretched, shaking out the knots in his shoulders as he got to his feet.

Jack wasn’t there. They each had glasses of water in front of them. There were - spectacles? - on the table in front of Owen, ones that didn’t seem like anything Owen would be caught dead in. Tosh looked like she’d gone to sleep crying, with dried tear-marks clearly evident on her face. Gwen’s cheek was pressed against the table in a dead snooze, which was strange in and of itself, because she’d never been able to sleep comfortably at a table. And as for himself -

Coming here gave me meaning again. You… you give my life meaning, make me feel like I belong. Like I’m alive.

(Didn’t think I’d ever find this. A reason to live, some kind of meaning.)

I could murder a coffee.

No. This is not you. Something’s changed you. You’re not a murderer. I’m certain of it.

Remember?

The fragments of memory slipped away from him as quickly as he tried to grasp them, leaving him with nothing more than half-remembered flashes of words, quicksilver touches of emotions. This, he thought absently, was probably what it was like to forget something. He eyed the glass in front of him, then sighed. It had to be Retcon.

He left the others to come around, and headed over to Tosh’s workstation. A quick check of the systems proved that all the CCTV footage for the past two days had been wiped clean, and any electronic trail that might have existed had been completely eradicated. Two days, then. He concentrated, and decided that that sounded about right. He was missing just about two days’ worth of memories, and he was willing to bet that the others would be, too.

So where was Jack? If Jack had kept his memories, he might be able to tell them what had happened. They could hope, at any rate.

“Ianto?”

It was Gwen behind him, sounding as dazed and out of it as he’d felt when he came round. He hurried over to her, helping her to the sofa before she could fall on her face.

“What happened?” she asked, bewildered. “I can’t remember - anything from yesterday -”

“Or the day before,” Ianto said. “Right?”

She frowned, trying to think. “Right.” She turned wide eyes on him. “What’s going on?”

“I haven’t the faintest,” he said. “But let’s wait till the others come round before we do anything, eh?”

“Right,” she said slowly. Something was nagging at Ianto about being near her, something about women and the feel of their skin under his hands, the way they -

The feeling vanished abruptly and Ianto took a deep breath.

“I’ll go get us some water,” he muttered, hurrying away before Gwen could say anything else.

It wasn’t long before Owen and Tosh came to as well, and Tosh repeated the checks that Ianto had already conducted. Having two days inexplicably missing from their memories wasn’t sitting well with any of them - Owen had turned the sarcasm on full-blast, and the girls were well on their way into panic by the time Jack appeared. Ianto tried not to gasp at the feelings radiating from Jack - confusion overlying a deep sense of loss.

“Jack?” Gwen asked the moment she saw him. “How have we lost two days?”

“What d’you mean?” Jack asked.

“The last forty-eight hours,” Ianto explained. “None of us can remember a thing.”

“The system’s blank, the CCTV’s been wiped,” Tosh went on. “What’s going on? What’ve we been doing?”

Jack thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. Ianto bit his lip. So Jack’s memories had been wiped too - and if Jack had been the last to wake up, then he’d been the last to take the Retcon, and therefore had been the one to wipe all their memories. What on earth had been happening, these past two days?

By the time the others left, Ianto had come to the conclusion that he very desperately needed to meditate. He would go back out to Gower - he didn’t know what he might unearth during his meditation, and he didn’t want to be around anyone else… but he couldn’t find his bloody diary, and he certainly wasn’t planning on leaving it around for Owen to read. Besides, there might have been something from the past two days in it.

“Hey, Ianto!”

That particular tone of voice, Ianto decided as he headed for Jack’s office, never boded well.

“Did you, uh, call?” he asked cautiously.

“Found your diary,” Jack said, a smirk on his lips.

“Yep,” Ianto said, hurriedly stepping forward. “Been - looking for that.” He grabbed the book and turned to leave, trying not to run, hoping to escape before Jack said anything.

“And for the record,” Jack commented smugly, and Ianto froze. “Measuring tapes never lie.”

Ianto closed his eyes, mouthed a very vehement “Fuck,” and made his escape.

“Hey!”

Too soon, apparently. He popped back in, trying and failing to look unaffected. “Yep?”

“Who’s Adam?” Jack asked, holding up a plastic bag with the name scribbled across it. Ianto frowned in thought - and felt the memories slipping away from him, eel-like.

“Don’t know,” he said shortly, and fairly ran back out. The sooner he got to Gower, the better.

He unashamedly tapped into the Hub mainframe from his laptop in order to clear the route, then sped all the way to Gower. All the traffic lights obligingly remained green, and it was only once he’d reached his usual parking spot that he finally turned off the program on his laptop. He shut down the laptop and shoved it into his bag, then got out, locked the car and hurried to his usual cave.

Empty, thank goodness. He wasn’t in the mood to have to find somewhere else. Since he hadn’t gone home beforehand, he didn’t have his sleeping bag on hand. He was able, however, to improvise a gag out of a handkerchief, and some cushioning for his head out of his spare set of clothes.

Just in case.

Then he stopped abruptly, tamping down the near-panic just long enough to feel like an absolute fool. Tearing the gag from his mouth, he grabbed his diary and hurriedly turned to the latest page. Immediately, he spotted the jagged edges of paper when a couple of pages had been torn out. And Jack’s handwriting on the page - Ianto hurriedly closed the book and took a deep breath. Then he opened it again and turned to the last entry he’d written, reading it over while he tried to summon up the courage to move on to Jack’s message.

Jack stayed the night yesterday. As a matter of fact, he’s in the shower now, singing. I’d tell him to keep it down for fear of disturbing the neighbours, but I do love listening to him. I remember he once said that he sang at Broadway. I wonder, was that something he wanted to do? Or something he had to? Can’t help wondering what sort of interest Torchwood might’ve had in Broadway, of all things! Possessed singers? Aliens masquerading as actors? Possibly as ushers. Always thought there was something suspect about them.

In any case, Jack. Yesterday night - or should that be today morning? - was… special. I don’t know how to describe it. I don’t think I can. Funny, that, seeing as words are my trade. You’d think I’d at least have something clinical to describe it with. Something that wouldn’t do it justice. But I don’t even have that much.

I don’t know if I was imagining what I felt. I don’t think I was.

Jack’s singing ‘Your Song’ now. He’s got such a lovely voice. I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you’re in the world…

Because it really is. I’ve never felt like I belonged, before. It’s no surprise, really, that Torchwood took me in. The ones like me, we’re always the ones who go unnoticed. Who fly under the radar. Who won’t be missed, exactly the sort Torchwood likes. Rhiannon is probably the only one outside of the team who’d noticed if I vanished, and even then… probably not until some months had gone by.

Partly my fault, of course. I never tried to keep in contact. But in my defence, they never particularly made me feel wanted. Taid was the only one I ever felt close to, and he’s dead now. Tad and Dafydd… not so much. I remember people muttering at the funeral about how I hadn’t so much as shed a tear. I remember wondering why on earth I would. He pushed me too hard; always did. Love wasn’t something he was familiar with, and Dafydd’s a carbon copy of his dad. Mam and William… well, they tried, I suppose. But it’s like asking a duck to rear an eagle. Possibly the other way around. I don’t think ‘eagle’ is what anyone would associate with me.

So no. No one I’d have missed, no one who would’ve missed me. Lisa’s family was more of a family to me than my own. Lisa was one of the rare few in Torchwood, I think, who had supportive family, who didn’t have a dysfunctional life in some way. She was full of energy, so completely vivacious and capable of love. I’d never had anyone love me like that before. I’d never loved anyone so strongly before. I never felt so alive as when I was with her. I didn’t know a person could feel like that. Losing her was like losing everything. Like my world had ended. Maybe that’s why I was so desperate to believe she could be saved. Maybe that’s why, even when she went under and I had to keep her drugged - I refused to believe that it was too late. All I could remember was the way she pleaded with me not to let it take over her. The way I told her I wouldn’t let it. But I did. Jack was right… there’s no going back from a conversion, partial or otherwise.

I came so close to being converted myself. So very close. They were carrying me down the corridor when - whatever it was - happened, when they all started getting - blown away or something. I barely managed to get out of their hold. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened to me if I hadn’t managed to escape. If I would have died. If maybe Torchwood Three would be better off now. I still have nightmares, sometimes - not about Lisa, not even about the collapse of the building… just about those steel arms around me.

It helps when I sleep with Jack. It doesn’t keep the nightmares at bay - neither of us sleep particularly well - but it helps having him there when I wake up. It’s easier to fall asleep again. I watch him, sometimes, sleeping. And even in his sleep he smiles. I wonder what it is he dreams of… I wonder if, at least once, it was about me.

But speaking of Jack, I think he’s about done with his shower. I suppose I’ll end here for now. Should go see about breakfast.

To add on: apparently, the Rift just spiked. Pretty minor, Jack tells me, but he’s gone ahead to check it out anyway. In all probability, nothing came through, but I suppose we’ll see.

I wonder if I’ll ever be able to tell Jack outright how I feel about him. The sex is good, sure. Great, in fact. Actually, absolutely mind-blowing. Jack’s certainly got nothing to be shy about (I maintain that measuring tape was lying) and he’s as uninhibited in bed as it gets. And yet, even with the games and occasional kink and all, he still manages to make me feel… cherished, I suppose is the word.

I hope I do the same for him. It hurts to know he’ll have others after me, but

The entry ended there. Ianto remembered a phone call from a very annoyed Owen, who’d just spotted a couple of Weevils in Grangetown and wanted help in rounding them up. He hadn’t had time to go back to the diary after that.

Slightly terrified of what he might find, he summoned up every scrap of courage he could marshal, and went on to the letter Jack had written on the next page.

Sweetheart,

Sorry I’m abusing your diary like this. As you can tell, I ripped out a couple of pages. As you also probably know by now, we’re all missing the past two days. I can’t tell you why we did this - kind of defeats the purpose - but I can tell you we all agreed to it, and that it was completely necessary. Let’s just say it was an alien that depended on people’s memories for its survival. It wasn’t exactly good-natured. You were the first to realise something was wrong, and in order to preserve its secret, it did something to you that I will never forgive it for.

I’m writing this now because you told me to. Because of what that thing did to you, you don’t trust yourself, even to write a note to yourself. You just told me that you’ve got total recall, and that even if we Retcon you, you’re likely to have a few flashes of memories. And we both know that Retcon can be broken if you’ve got something to grab hold of. So this note is to tell you to please not try. That bastard did things to your mind, Ianto, to make you believe things that weren’t real. If you’re getting ‘flashes’ about things you’re sure you wouldn’t do - that’s because you didn’t. Don’t let them unsettle you. You’re a good man, Ianto Jones, don’t ever forget that. I refused once to let you doubt yourself. I’m telling you again now - don’t doubt yourself.

Now, instructions: if you know any kind of meditative technique, use it. See if you can filter out the ‘flashes’ from the past two days, so that you recognise them and aren’t bothered by them in the future. If you know how to, lock them away. If you don’t, come and ask me. I’m leaving this diary on my table, and I have no doubt that I’ll have a look through it when I find it (Sorry in advance. I am incurably curious about you, and have always been bad at resisting temptation.). I therefore suspect that I’ll also have read this letter, and will know what it says. If you need help, ask me. We’ll get through this, sweetheart.

The missing pages, as you might have been able to guess, were from when you wrote about what happened. I can’t risk anything inadvertently breaking the Retcon, so I’ve burned those pages. Again, sorry for mutilating your diary like this, but if it makes you feel better, you did agree that I could.

You’ve all taken the Retcon and are sleeping it off now. I’ve wiped all the records. All that’s left now is to Retcon myself. And to tell you two things before I leave - one, you told me before that I gave you meaning. I want you to know that you give my life meaning too. And two, you do make me feel cherished.

Always,
Jack

Ianto closed the diary and took a deep, unsteady breath. Holding the book tightly to his chest, he lay back on his makeshift pillow and closed his eyes. The meditative trance came easily to him, and he fell into his mindscape with more than a bit of apprehension. It was easy extrapolating from what Jack had written to realise that he’d had false memories implanted in him. Knowing that made it easier to grab every slippery flash of memory he could, and stuff them all away without once letting himself sink into them. Still, he couldn’t help the emotions that flooded him with each brief moment - bloodlustrageangerexcitement. He wondered what exactly he’d been made to believe, then decided he really didn’t want to know. Firmly, he shoved each of those memories into a metaphoric lockbox, then put a deadlock seal on the box for good measure.

He surfaced from the trance feeling deeply unsettled by the traces of emotions he’d felt. At least, he thought tiredly, he wasn’t being bothered by the brief memories at the same time. He gathered his things together and started the hike back to his car.

Somehow, it didn’t come as a surprise to find the Torchwood SUV parked next to it.

“Hi,” Jack said softly, holding out his arms. Ianto dropped his bag on the ground and stepped into the embrace, hiding his face in Jack’s neck.

“I know this is a stupid question,” Jack said. “But are you okay?”

“Not really,” Ianto mumbled.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” Jack sighed, nuzzling Ianto’s hair. “You okay to drive?”

“In a minute,” Ianto managed to choke out. He turned his head slightly, resting his cheek against Jack’s shoulder and sighing.

“I never knew you had total recall,” Jack mused out loud.

“It’s not always great,” Ianto replied quietly.

“How does it -” Jack hesitated. “I mean, what do you…”

“It’s not like I remember everything, all the time,” Ianto said with a faint smile. “I’m just better than most at recalling past events - like being able to call up a video on a computer. Might take me a few minutes, the further back in the past it is, but…”

“You always remember?” Jack asked, sounding impressed.

“Even the things I’d rather not,” Ianto sighed. Jack kissed the side of his forehead apologetically.

“I can see that,” he murmured. “Plenty of things in my past I’d like to forget. Then again…” His voice turned melancholic. “There are some things I’d like to never forget.” His arms tightened briefly around Ianto and he touched his lips to Ianto’s forehead again.

“I think I managed to lock away the memories,” Ianto murmured, obeying Jack’s unspoken plea to change the subject. “I’ll let you know if I start feeling them again.”

“Okay,” Jack replied. “Shall we?”

Ianto straightened slowly and reluctantly stepped out of Jack’s hold. “Did you track me all the way here?” he asked with a little chuckle as he stooped to pick up his bag. When he straightened, he found Jack’s eyes lingering in the region of his rear. “Hey, eyes up here,” he said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack’s face.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jack laughed, but obligingly met Ianto’s eyes. “And yeah. Was a little worried when I came out and found you’d already run off.”

“Well then.” Ianto thought about that as he moved to his car. Jack’s unsubtle grope as he walked by came as no surprise at all. “I’m sorry for worrying you.” He unlocked his car and tossed his bag in.

“Your place?” Jack asked hopefully. “I told the others not to bother coming in today…”

“My place,” Ianto decided, and gave Jack a broad, genuine smile before getting in his car and starting off.

Jack stood there for a good minute or so before finally snapping out of his daze and hurriedly driving after Ianto.

Part Nine