Fic: Black (S1: Chap 6, SoI 13), Jack/Ianto

[sarcasticbabble]

Chapter Title: Black (S1: Chap 6, SoI 13)
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Spoilers: TW S1
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien, fivealive
Summary: From Avalon to now ...
A/N: This immediately follows events of S1: Chap 5, SoI 12. My apologies for posting this late - life blah blah and then turned out to be a bigger beast than I had thought! (My, what big chapters you have!) Will resume normal programming this Sunday with Chapter 7 :)

If you missd it, lilithilien wrote a fabulous "educational" moment with Ianto and Jean-Luc when they were teens. It's absolutely wonderful. Course, they're teens, so be forewarned (very mild). Boys Will Be Boys.

And btw? HP7 was pretty good, but the Epilogue must be burned.

For Shades of Ianto series information, please see Prologue, Chapter 1

Previous Chapters:
Prologue: Chapters 1-7 (Complete)
S1: Chap 1
S1: Chap 2
S1: Chap 3
S1: Chap 4
S1: Chap 5



The unfamiliar black SUV was accosted the moment it pulled up to the home of Broderick Jones. It had been a long journey, over four hours including Ianto's thorough inspection of the vehicle for tracking devices (there were none), stops to check the injured, and multiple evasive maneuvers in case someone did in fact follow them from London.

His father's home was not on any map, nor did it appear in any directory or satellite image -- one of the rewards of the position and resources Ms. White had.

Had.

God, he wasn't going to think about that.

There were no neighbors -- none close, at any rate. Occasionally travelers chanced upon the house and, if Ianto's father was not at the store in the nearby village, he'd offer them tea and engage in old romantic tales of far-off worlds or in their own backyards. He had a passion for the legends, a love for the forgotten, and a knack for storytelling and elaboration. Although he entertained those who happened to drive up the nearly overgrown drive, when tea was over, they left, marshaled out with directions on how to get to Swansea. He valued his quiet home, and though it now had gained another adult and two mischievous boys, it was still his private sanctuary, his own castle on the hill.

Ianto hated disrupting the quiet, but he knew of no better place to stash his friends until they were well. His personnel records didn't contain the information, nor did Ms. White's -- not that she'd lived there in over twenty years. In fact, Ms. White's real name was not in any record that Ianto knew of. It was unconnected and untraceable.

And his father and sister knew of Avalon; Elaine already knew Jean-Luc and Stephen.

They would be safe.

"Uncle Ianto!"

The moment he stepped out of the vehicle, his legs were attacked by twin waist-high demon spawn who, this time, might very well inadvertently bring down their uncle. Jean-Luc had fallen asleep again, and Stephen not long after, thanks to the pain relievers Ianto had slipped into the cola they had picked up at a petrol station. It had been quiet in the SUV and Ianto was left alone with his thoughts.

Ms. White was dead.

Avalon was destroyed.

The children were gone.

His headache had returned with a fury, the tablets he had taken from Owen left in his car back at the hospital in London. Too much thinking, too much time, too much quiet. He'd nearly called Jack -- he had his mobile out of his pocket, ready to return one of his many calls, but after staring at Jack's repeated name his phone's history (a stare broken to swerve back onto the road), he canceled it and slipped it back into his pocket.

And thought.

A gasp distracted him from his struggle to remain standing after the onslaught of his nephews, nearly making him tumble to the ground with them.

"Boys! Back inside. Go find the new pictures you painted to show Ianto."

Elaine. She was staring at his arm, but that would hardly be the biggest shock, Ianto imagined. While refueling he had taken a moment to clean it up -- it really wasn't much of an injury -- but the shirt was still stained. She was going to worry.

God, he'd killed a man. He wasn't going to think about that either.

His father had followed Elaine out, but Ianto couldn't look at him...couldn't look at him and not think about the red-stained white blouse. Not thinking. Ianto gathered himself; he had friends to take care of, a focus like that grounded him. He straightened with the weight of the world pressing on his skull and walked around the vehicle, motioning for his father and Elaine to follow. "Help me get them inside."

Carefully, they got Stephen out, who after his "nap" was a sight more able-bodied. At least able-bodied enough to wobble on his crutches and glare at Ianto before allowing Elaine to assist him into the house. Jean-Luc took a bit more effort, but barely woke as he was carefully supported by Broderick and Ianto into the house and onto the couch ("M'not sleeping an'more. Don't put me to bed...") across from the fire place, blazing warm as the night chill sank around them. It was a compromise; Ianto knew there was no way Jean-Luc was not going to fall asleep again, but he didn't have the will to argue with him anymore on such a ridiculous point.

Ianto settled him in, drawing a blanket (his favorite from his childhood, battered and worn but so soft and warm) over Jean-Luc's shoulders. He gently checking the gauze on the back of Jean-Luc's head -- no worse for wear after the hasty travel, it appeared. Brushing a lock from Jean-Luc's face, remembering the fear he had refused to feel at the thought of Jean-Luc dying in the fight for the kids, Ianto smiled at the pale-blue eyes staring back. "Sleep. You're safe here."

"Ianto? What happened?"

Ianto pulled away as Jean-Luc started to speak, effectively silencing him. He wasn't running away, Ianto knew he wasn't, but he wasn't sure how to respond and he couldn't deal with how the other man would react. So maybe he was afraid. But he couldn't face Jean-Luc's pain -- Ianto couldn't look him in the eyes and tell him of the dead and lost; Ianto couldn't share that he was happy Jean-Luc had survived where the others hadn't. Stephen was sitting in his father's chair, leg propped up on the ottoman. He looked comfortable; Ianto supposed that was all that could be asked for at the moment. At least no one was going to attempt to kill him.

"Gareth, Bryce." Ianto squatted down so that he was on eye-level with his nephews who had returned with pieces of artwork in hand. "You know how when your tummy hurts and you don't want to play?"

His nephews dutifully nodded, clutching their tummies, and Ianto really hoped there wouldn't be sympathetic vomiting; there had been enough in the SUV on the way there. "My friends, they have hurts and don't feel like playing. So we need to be quiet and let them sleep."

"Can we play mommy?"

"We can be quiet. Just like mices."

They raced off to their room to do what Ianto figured could range from gathering blocks and blankets to build a fort or preparing tools for the apocalypse. With his nephews, it could be anything. He just hoped it was quiet.

Elaine and his father stood in the doorway, waiting for him. His sister looked cross, or worried, or both. And his father...Ianto knew he had to tell them. Was it only yesterday? It felt like years since he had watched Avalon burn, since he'd choked on smoke in Ms. White's office and looked at the ruin. It seemed as improbable as staring at the robotic shells of former coworkers march past, improbable and incomprehensible. Images sharp, over-processed, slowed in time...and every moment captured with frightening accuracy to be replayed in crystal clear recall every time he closed his eyes.

Ianto felt in his trousers pocket, fingering for the memento he'd carried with him since Avalon as he searched for anything to say. His sister and father were staring at him but god, he couldn't talk. He didn't even like the woman. But oddly, he found himself staring at the floor, her ring clutched in his hand.

"Mum's dead." Was that even his voice? Surely it wasn't; he didn't call her that. And he had more composure; his voice wasn't that hoarse and broken. That wasn't him, just like it wasn't him who had shot the man in the hospital between the eyes and it wasn't a beaten body underneath the massive oak table in Ms. White's office.

Fuck, but it was.

The silence was shattered by the sharp crash of one of Stephen's crutches, Ianto caught the movement in the corner of his eye, but whether it was accidental or Stephen had heard he wasn't sure. He didn't care.

"Oh god..."

Elaine's muffled whimper ran like fingernails over a chalkboard, setting him on edge as Ianto raised his hand, offering the ring to his father. He wasn't sure why his sister cried; the woman hadn't even been able to remember her birthday. Even when Ianto had circled it in her calendar. She was nothing to the family, never had been. Waste of a summer.

So why couldn't he look his father in the eye?

"So it comes to this."

The steady voice of his father as he took the ring from Ianto's open (shaking) hand finally was enough to pull Ianto's attention from the floor. "I'm sorry-"

"Avalon?"

Broderick's question threw Ianto and drowned out Elaine. Not that Ianto doubted his father's knowledge of Avalon. But it was the last question he expected. No question of how. Of why. No protesting. No denial. No blaming Ianto for being too late, for not saving her as he had Stephen and Jean-Luc.

No surprise.

"Destroyed."

"The children?"

"Gone." Ianto answered his father's rapid questions, feeling as unbalanced as when Jean-Luc had shouted, only in a slightly different capacity but with the same headache clouding his ability to reason through it. It felt off and Ianto knew he wasn't prepared or able to deal with why.

"You know what you have to do then."

"What?" His mind instantly rebelled, Ianto literally stumbling back a step, away from his father and what had just been spoken. Elaine's eyes were as wide as Ianto's felt, tears streaking down her face in grief for Ms. White. Ianto felt nothing but scorn for the grief of the one who never was. He deliberately ignored the cries she tried to muffle behind her hand as she remembered, just as well as he, what they had been told when they were children. "No, the office is gone. There's nothing left."

"It's not gone. You have been trained. You must-"

"No." Ianto remained emphatic, struggling to remain calm despite it slipping through his fingers like fine silk. His control was gone; any hold he had on the fraying ends since that first moment of fear for Jean-Luc back at the Hub were lost. He felt it, too, the unraveling of everything, of the constants, of the life he'd struggled to build at Torchwood One, then the rebuild at Torchwood Three. Ianto was liking that life, his life at Cardiff. It wasn't perfect -- he still disliked Owen, and Gwen's "humanity" was going to one day choke him when he least expected it, but it was his life, his steady, dysfunctional, dangerous and chaotic life making coffee.

Jack had let him choose it. Oh god, choice. Ianto could scarcely breathe and he could feel his blood pressure rise, an almost tangible sensation filling his head with cotton and rage, drawing on the ache until all he could see were rose petals and his father's eyes. "No. My duty is to Torchwood Three."

"Ianto Llacheu Jones."

Broderick's voice was both reproachful and sympathetic, a combination of reluctance and firm anger, neither of which helped Ianto's temper which was bubbling just beneath the surface, so ready and so tired of the lack of say in the decisions in his life. She had mentioned it, long ago, but long ago was distant history; at the time, he had brushed it aside, favoring the belief that she had wanted him around. Ianto did not believe in fate. He believed he created his own destiny, and yet nearly every aspect of his life had manipulated him into this point, this choice. Every moment he'd spent with Ms. White, every aspect of summer holidays in London...it hadn't been a gambit at a relationship. It had been teaching, training, educating him in both Avalon and Torchwood. It had been...preparation. She hadn't wanted to be a mother. She had wanted simply to pave his way to hell.

"Your mother-"

"She is not my mother!" Ianto couldn't stop himself once he started, voice rising and strengthening until he was shouting. Shouting at his father, shouting against fate, shouting against the façade of choice and disillusioned childhood. He understood and it hurt -- hurt worse than his arm, hurt worse than his head, hurt worse than the aches and pains he'd be feeling the next day It was vibrant and it eclipsed what small measure of restraint he had. His voice filled the hall, filled the room, stretched out until it shook the foundations of the family house, rattling free any taint of Ms. White's ghost from the walls, any moment she'd spent passing over the steps, over the floors. He gestured wildly with his hands into the room, at Jean-Luc and Stephen, as though to banish the spirits of the dead. If he could banish her permanently from his mind, he would. "She is their mother, not mine!"

Silence filtered through the house, tasting sour to Ianto...repulsive, milk left out too long in the sun. His heart stuttered in his throat, strangling, making it even harder to breathe as his chest heaved like he'd just run from London to his father's home. He felt sick, sick in his stomach, sick to his soul, sick for what he had just said and to whom he had just said it to. His father's eyes were cast down, staring at the ring clutched in his fingers. What Ianto had thought he'd suffered, what he'd thought he'd lost...it was small compared to what his father must feel, what he must have lost so many years ago when she chose to follow her own mother's path and became Ms. White, Secretary of Research and Resource Allocation. It was unusual, it was antiquated, but the office governed such secrets that they had passed down his mother's genealogy until her death. No one in that family lived a long life; his father knew that as well as Ianto. Broderick had known it when he'd fallen in love with her, and now he cried for her and for the unforgivable words spoken by his son.

"Quiet, Uncle Ianto!"

"Your friends need sleeping."

The twin's tag-team comments startled Ianto, making him jump, the distraction dragging him from his father into the room where Stephen had awkwardly stood. He stared at Ianto, clutching a stuffed red dragon under one arm; Jean-Luc's full attention (green stuffed dragon resting beside him) was also directed at Ianto, who only felt guilt and shame. To have said it to his father and sister...to have said it in front of the ones she had died to protect...and now his nephews, tiny warriors in their own right held their blankets between the two injured and reminded him of what he'd earlier requested.

Guilt and shame.

Ianto did the only thing he could think of -- the only course available under such scrutiny and remorse.

He fled, running out of the house, away from his father and sister, away from any reminder of Ms. White. Ianto had nowhere to go, not really, but he turned to his childhood escape: a collection of rocks, some large, some small, some rounded smooth and others jagged. It was his place, his fortress, looking out over the fields he'd imagined great tales where he was the warrior, the handsome prince, and hero who'd save all of Wales from evil, the one who would protect his family and destroy the ones threatening his home.

He was a coward.

And on those rocks of dreams, Ianto wept.

***

His sister ventured out a few hours later and draped his favorite blanket over his shoulders, stolen from Jean-Luc. Ianto hoped he'd put up a protest -- it was a good blanket, Jean-Luc should have hated parting with it. Of course, his sister knew him well and the small comfort was appreciated.

She didn't say anything about what he'd said earlier or about their father, for which Ianto was grateful. She just sat beside him on his rock and watched the moon play Houdini with the clouds. When it became apparent she wasn't leaving, Ianto offered a corner of the blanket to her, wrapping an arm around her as she pulled it tight over her shoulders.

"Do you hate her?"

Ianto considered his answer, sighing as he knew he couldn't lie nor evade no matter how much he wished to avoid the conversation with his sister. "Sometimes."

"She's responsible for Gavin's death."

"I know."

"And Lisa's."

Elaine wasn't entirely accurate, but Ianto felt it unnecessary to correct her. He still wasn't ready to relinquish all guilt for her death, even if his Lisa had died that day in London . But Elaine didn't need to know the lengths he'd gone to save Lisa. He couldn't deal with her condemnation or disappointment for such a foolish, precarious venture. She had lost Gavin; the knowledge that Ianto might have unleashed a second round of terror upon their family might have been enough to lose her forever. And he couldn't risk that; he didn't have the courage. Not now. "I know."

"So why do we cry?"

Ianto didn't answer -- couldn't, not for the time it took the clouds to cloak the moon again, then flee, running from its light. How brave, the moon, standing alone against the night. The simplest answer was the most honest, and Ianto eventually came around to responding, his voice rough from the tears she somehow knew had been shared and exhaustion. "Cause she was our mother."

She acknowledged by tightening her arms around him. Ianto wouldn't call it clinging but it was the closest description he could name. Ms. White had been their mother, in all things but action. He supposed that in death, one could forget her absence in favor of fond memory, or at least gratitude for giving life. That was something.

***

He heard the crick-thump approaching from the house, but didn't turn. Stephen. Ianto supposed he should feel guilty for hiding outside, away from the family and away from his father, forcing the invalid to venture off the chair and into the outdoors darkened by night, but he didn't. He couldn't.

Stephen thumped his way to a stone across from Ianto, propping up his injured leg on a tree stump after setting his crutches on the ground beside him. Ianto should feel bad for maneuvering the conversation to one where Stephen would feel uncomfortable, but his mentor had sought Ianto, Ianto hadn't sought him. Ianto's stone beneath the tree was his comfort and his retreat, a place where the world dimmed and he was alone with his thoughts.

"It makes sense, now."

Ianto turned his head, ever so slowly to stare at Stephen, but didn't say anything. Nothing made sense; it hadn't since the kids had started disappearing. To have Stephen say that just seemed simple-minded.

"Ms. White. Every year, late spring, she'd make sure Avalon shined more brilliantly than any other time, that the children were on their best behavior and the teachers taught with more enthusiasm. Security increased; so did cook staff and janitorial. And her temper grew -- not one dropped tissue or crooked tie. I couldn't understand it -- all this work for two kids who she said were 'important'?" Stephen chuckled, a low, warm sound that Ianto couldn't ever remember hearing before. But then, things had changed and Ianto was no longer a boy. "You weren't 'gifted', per say. The teachers didn't know what to make of it, and the kids hated you for it. We had a pool, actually, but no one bet you were Ms. White's children.   Highest bid was on a ploy by Ms. White to get the kids interacting with the non-gifted to nip any elitism."

"Viviene," Ianto interrupted, needing a break from the storytelling. He wasn't sure what Stephen's purpose was, but stories of his mother preparing for their visit wasn't warming his heart towards her any more than her actions at home.

"Sorry?"

"My mother's name." With a grim smile at why he no longer felt compelled to keep it secret but at the same time inordinately happy that she was no longer Ms. White but the mother he was supposed to have had, Ianto rested his elbows on his knees as he watched Stephen. "Her name was Viviene Rhodes. You didn't hobble over here to tell me about my mother's cleaning habits, I assume."

"Viviene? Yes, that was smart to protect her family..."

As Stephen trailed off in thought (or because of the pain medication, or both), Ianto bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from saying anything more he'd regret that night while waiting for the other man to continue. He received a look for his bluntness, but Ianto was sore and exhausted and really in no mood to hear stories glorifying his mother or excusing her behavior.

"She said you were important. No one understood why, then Jean-Luc took interest."

Ianto couldn't help it; he blushed. It was too dark for Stephen to notice, but he laughed anyway. He'd probably intended for the remark to strike a nerve.

"You misunderstand me, Ianto. Everyone was waiting for the explanation. Thirty seconds with Jean-Luc and we'd all know. But, there was no answer; Jean-Luc failed and you remained buried within your secrets. Oh sure, your public mind took a while to train. But you intrigued Jean-Luc -- you naturally blocked him on some level, and you know there are few with secrets from him. You became important to him. And with him, so too the tide of Avalon."

Wary of where Stephen was leading the conversation, Ianto hesitated. "What are you saying?"

"Avalon stands behind you, Ianto, if you choose to follow that path."

"I'm needed at Torchwood Three." Ianto didn't bother mentioning that Avalon was gone. There was nothing left for the office to even lead except for two tiny Torchwoods. He drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders, wrapping himself in comfort. "You would be far more suited."

"Me? I'm a Guardian, not a leader. Besides, I know nothing of Torchwood."

"I can't leave Cardiff." Ianto turned away from Stephen's gaze, the weight of it suffocating. The children were still out there, as were Lana and everyone else they'd taken from Avalon. He didn't know how much Stephen and Jean-Luc knew, but the children were depending on them for salvation. Were depending on Ms. White. It made him sick to even consider what might be done to the kids. His experience with Torchwood and aliens gave him too many colorful insights into the world of science and greed. But he couldn't leave his team, and he couldn't think to lead both Torchwood and Avalon, although the notion of being Owen's ultimate boss did strike a tone of amusement. The power would be nice, but it was never anything he'd wanted to have. He'd believed Ms. White invulnerable, as any child believed their parents when she'd told him of his duty, and it hurt to consider just how wrong he had been. And now, duty presented itself within a circle of fire, beckoning and taunting the peace Ianto had sought upon the rock of his youth.

They were depending on him.

"Perhaps you won't have to."

Ianto looked up at Stephen in surprise, but his friend's attention was focused on his struggle to stand, manipulating his crutches until they fit comfortably beneath his arms. He hopped to Ianto's side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"All you have to do is ask me, Ianto. But becoming the next Ms. White, that's in your blood."

With a squeeze, Stephen left, leaving Ianto staring after in the dark. He didn't move, not for a long while, not until the cold crept in and he drew his limbs closer to the warmth of his core. Confusion slowly faded away, drifting on the wind with a single rose petal, falling softly to his knee as determination and planning warred with fatigue and concern.

Your choice is ours, Ianto. And our choice is yours.

***

Ianto wasn't sure of the time, he'd lost track amidst answers and reasoning, but the sun had slipped above the hills an hour ago, muffled in cloud until she showed her face again. It was early. His family was awake, however; he could hear them in the kitchen preparing breakfast. He took the stairs to his room, showered and shaved and threw on the best clothes he had that were clean: dark denims and a black long sleeved tee. Not ideal, but it would have to work; he didn't keep suits at his father's anymore.

Sneakers completed the look.

He took the steps two at a time down, nearly twisting an ankle on one of his nephews' toys. Ianto didn't look at anyone in the kitchen, just grabbed his father's car keys from the hook and set his mobile and the SUV keys on the counter. Message clear: he was not to be contacted.

He paused only to check in on Jean-Luc, his friend's eyes blurry with sleep as he requested the time. Laughing softly as he ruffled his hair, Ianto told him to go back to sleep.

Ianto left the house, taking his father's car.

He had made his choice.

***

Hours later, nearly half a day, Ianto walked slowly up the drive, empty coffee cup in hand. He'd stopped by his father's store (closed, but Ianto wasn't all that surprised; besides, he had a key) and brewed a quick pot, needing the caffeine and to calm his nerves. He didn't know when it'd started, that dependency on coffee to calm him, but it worked. Seemed to work for the team as well. He left his father's car at the store, needing more time to think about his decision (and to wake up), the short conversation he'd had, and the plan revolving around one man and his offer. It had been Stephen who'd inspired it. Actually, it was probably what Stephen had considered when he'd told Ianto that he would do anything.

Anything.

Ianto was about to ask him for a great deal more.

Broderick was waiting in the drive, he must have watched Ianto's approach, arms crossed and looking as stern as Ianto had ever seen him. For a brief moment, Ianto considered it was in regards to the car, but he quickly shook himself of that notion. His father knew why Ianto had left.

As Ianto approached his father, his steps slowed, regret for his earlier actions sinking his heels into the packed earth and browned grass. Inappropriate and hurtful, but hardly inexcusable. Raising his chin to meet his father's eyes, Ianto nodded once, knowing his father would understand.

He'd made his choice. He had no idea what the rest of the faeries' words had meant, but he had made his choice. Your choice is ours, Ianto.

To say Ianto was stunned by the sudden relieved smile or the massive hug he found himself wrapped in would have been an understatement. Affection, while common in their house, had not been expected now -- not after what had happened, not after what had been said. But some of Ianto's apprehension drifted away as he dropped the coffee cup and returned the hug in equal force, both attempting to squeeze away all the hurt and pain and loss.

His father forgave him. That meant more than the Queen's soft condolence for his mother.

"There's nothing to forgive." Ianto jerked back in surprise, but his father just smiled, patting him on the cheek.

"Come now. You just spent all night in the cold. Give me credit for knowing my son." Broderick paused for a moment, then asked as if just noticing, "Where's my car?"

"Back at the store." Gesturing over his shoulder, Ianto indicated the way he'd just came, unnecessary as his father knew full-well where the store was, but the movement felt good. He was exhausted and in need of some pain meds for his head and the lingering stiffness, but he didn't have time to contemplate sleep. The motions roused him even if they felt slightly uncontrolled. He needed time to process; he needed time to plan and talk with Stephen. There was a list of questions in his mind, everything he needed to know, some of them questions raised by the Queen in regards to the state of Avalon and Torchwood. Ianto had waited, consciously not pulling at his attire (he'd nearly been turned away before he'd mentioned Ms. White and R&RA), while she informed the Prime Minister of Ms. White's death. There wasn't much the Queen had direct control of anymore, but the office of Research and Resource Allocation remained under her authority. Had since Queen Victoria had founded Torchwood. Outside the government, well under Her Majesty's thumb.

She then informed the Prime Minister of the new Secretary, Mr. Black.

"I needed-"

Ianto froze as a familiar figure crossed over the front porch, breath lodging in his throat as he noticed the additional SUV parked next to the one gifted in their escape from London. This wasn't right. He was desperate for small comfort, grasping for normalcy and his own mind was playing tricks on him. "Jack?" It was too much to ask for, too much to hope for. The vision walking hesitantly towards him couldn't be real, the hands weren't really stuffed in the pockets of the trousers, and that most certainly was not the concerned face of Jack looking back at him while hands pulled him forward by his shoulders into an embrace.

It smelled like Jack.

"Ianto."

God, it sounded like Jack.

Fingertips touched his jaw, lightly climbing a path until they brushed his ears, scratching over his sideburns. Lips pressed softly against his, tender but real. Chaste, as kisses went, until Ianto's startled hands turned needy, clutching the strong back until he was certain the nail marks would still be there in the morning, despite the layers of clothing. It tasted like Jack. His tongue told him so, sweeping over and through and around, Jack's playing just as fiercely in return. It was real. It had to be real.

"Look! Uncle Ianto's kissing!"

"Is he our new uncle?"

"Are they married?"

"Can I be flower boy?"

Jack laughed quietly against Ianto's lips, pulling back just far enough to give Ianto a look over, better and closer than any scan Owen might have performed. Ianto felt raw and exposed, traits he typically hated, but for the moment he couldn't be bothered with it. He simply rested against Jack's hands. He'd just met the Queen in a t-shirt and sneakers; he refused to be embarrassed by his nephews.

"Cute kids."

"Just wait till you wake up with your shoes fed to the goats and your trousers used to dry their finger paints."

More laughter, louder this time. "Where's their father?"

Ianto shook his head, keeping his voice low as he stared at a button on Jack's shirt peeking out from the navy waistcoat. "Dead. Torchwood One."

He glanced up when the fingers running over his jaw stilled, surprise and perhaps a deeper comprehension crossing Jack's features. Ianto had never noticed it before, or maybe had never put a finger on it. He doubted the rest of the team did either. Jack was remarkably poor at maintaining an even face. Unless facing death, of course, and then it was the straight-faced Jack where only anger and indignation showed through. Ianto rather liked that, those glimpses of humanity before time and experience tried to banish it. As much as Jack claimed Gwen was around for the human connection, the touch that Torchwood lacked, Ianto knew it was as much a defense as any gun in his hand. Jack felt and understood; a far more painful punishment than ignorance.

"Why are you here, Jack?" Ianto knew how, or at least he assumed how. He had left his mobile when he'd set out for London earlier that morning. Jack must have traced it just as he'd tracked Ianto to Lana's that night long ago. But that didn't explain why Jack hadn't waited. Ianto had said he'd come back, and no matter how he wished Jack had been there, he could take care of himself. He had taken care, of himself and Stephen and Jean-Luc. Ianto might feel offended if he wasn't enjoying Jack's calming presence. It almost made the headache go away.

Jack had the grace to look sheepish. "You didn't answer your mobile for days and you weren't at home. So I tracked your car to London and your phone to here. Knew I had the right place when your sister pulled a gun on me."

"She...what?" Ianto remembered who the family was guarding, and changed his mind from defending Jack from his sister's actions. "She should have shot you."

"Glad she didn't." The smile dissolved from Jack's face, leaving compassion and that concern Ianto had first seen behind. "They told me about your mother, Ianto."

Ianto wasn't actually sure what his father or sister had told Jack. They most certainly wouldn't have told of his trip to London. They'd kept secrets for far too long to spill to anyone off the street. Ianto had never told them about Jack; he wasn't even sure if there had been anything to tell. So he played it safe, assuming they had implied he'd gone for a drive to clear his mind. Get away. Seek some alone time. He couldn't spot anyone still on the porch; he'd have to quietly ask his father or Elaine what they'd said at a later time. "We should go in. They're probably waiting for us."

Jack nodded, dropping his hands to shove them back in his pockets, hearing the request for distance despite Ianto's failure to voice it. As he turned to walk back into the house, Ianto couldn't stop himself from calling out to him. It was hardly fair of him; Jack had searched for him just because he was what, worried? He didn't think Jack did worried, but maybe that was jealousy. "Jack?"

Predictably, Jack turned, offering Ianto a shallow smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm glad you're here."

This time, Jack's smile was real.

***

Ianto's father tapped his pipe after dinner. The boys were playing with the swords Ianto had gifted them over a year ago and the others were seated in the living room on every available surface. Ianto poured glasses of cognac, passing them to his father and Jack; Stephen passed and Jean-Luc wasn't offered any, to his dismay. Ianto grinned but didn't fall for Jean-Luc's pout. He was still recovering from the blow to his head and Ianto would be damned if he mixed medicine and alcohol -- who knew what that would do to Jean-Luc's gift. Stephen refused to allow Jean-Luc to test it, not until he was recovered from the physical injury. Jean-Luc fought him, but didn't disobey; Ianto believed him as scared as the rest of them. Not that Jean-Luc would ever admit it, but Ianto knew his friend.

They hadn't talked about Ianto's trip to London that day; Jack knew nothing. He did know about Avalon, however, and Ms. White. Truth be told, Ianto kind of thought Jack believed himself primed to take over for Ms. White. Wouldn't he be disappointed to find out that a Mr. Black already existed.

He sat down beside Jack on the couch, feeling a bit brazen after Jack had kissed him in front of his family, cradling his own glass of cognac while Elaine joined the conversation as well, eyes red and looking as grainy as Ianto's felt. Bryce and Gareth chased each other around, Jack doing nothing but encouraging them, until they ran off to their room to defend the castle from dragons, their swords buzzing, chiming and squawking as they went.

"I want one of those swords."

Ianto smirked at Jack's whine, typical Jack. He could picture Jack getting angry with Owen and pulling out a plastic sword, bopping him with it until Owen cried.

He nearly laughed at the thought.

"Ianto ever tell you he fences? Quite skilled. Best I've seen in all my years of training."

Glaring at Stephen and whatever he was attempting to do (had Jean-Luc told him about the tea-boy thing?), Ianto said nothing, just sipped his drink. He didn't need Stephen singing praises, he didn't need Jean-Luc shooting dirty looks at Jack (still didn't trust him, it would appear), and he didn't need his father studying Jack over his pipe. Elaine had already pulled a gun on him (though she hated all things Torchwood, so Ianto supposed she might have cause). How much more threatening an environment could Jack have walked in on?

"Jack knows a thing or two about blades as well, don't you Jack?" Ianto's father gestured with his pipe at Jack, then settled back into his chair to puff on it before speaking again. "See you found your immortality."

Pins dropping in Cardiff could have been heard for all the silence that stretched in the Jones household, save for Jack coughing after a wrong sip of cognac burned fire down his trachea. Painful, Ianto had to assume. Jack flinched away from Ianto's touch so Ianto just let him cough. It didn't make sense until he figured out Jack must assume Ianto had told his father about Jack's ... situation. But Ianto hadn't. He hadn't told any in his family about Jack. Perhaps his mother had commented on him to Broderick?

"Don't quite know what you've heard, but I think you must be mistaken, Mr. Jones," Jack wheezed out. It was good cognac; a waste to not swallow it properly.

"No, I don't believe I am. I know you by another name, but I recognize your face. You brought down a kingdom with your questing and your debauchery and now you've set your eyes on my son."

"Dad!?" Stunned, Ianto glanced at Elaine who appeared as confused as he felt. He'd be certain it was another story, another fanciful tale of his father's imagination but his hand had slipped to Jack's thigh when he'd started at what his father had said and he could feel the muscles tensed and ready to fight. Or flee. Had his father spoken the truth? Broderick just smiled behind his pipe as though he had not just implied he had known Jack before. Before when? A kingdom? Ianto knew Jack had a sordid past, his tales often times were so filled with ... debauchery ... that they were hard to believe.

But a kingdom?

"That was a long time ago." Jack didn't look at anyone, just stared at his glass, his voice as remorseful as Ianto had ever heard it. Not even after the faery and Estelle.

Ianto stared at his father, knowing Stephen and Jean-Luc were flipping back and forth between the parties like a tennis match, but Ianto was focused on his father. Jack managed to bring down a kingdom? And his father knew about it? Ianto could barely draw breath, and from Elaine's ashen appearance she wasn't faring much better. The smell of pipe smoke, usually so calming, was strangling, heavy and thick. It sickened Ianto.

"For some."

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

"Oh, no, we never met."

Bizarre as the situation was, Ianto noted that neither revealed any actual information, which he found far more frustrating than the revelations. Fighting back the urge to laugh, inappropriate and slightly hysteric, Ianto tried to rationally filter through the information. He failed, each time. His father was not who he said he was. Ianto was not who he thought he was. Jack was never who Ianto thought he was, but then Ianto hadn't ever believed him to be anything other than unknown. Had his mother known? Is that why she chose to stay in London?

Catching Elaine's eye, Ianto saw that she seemed to have the same thought he did, perhaps even a moment quicker without having to consider Jack's thigh trembling with tension beneath her hand. "I'm going to check on the boys," she said as she excused herself from the room.

That figured. She would leave him to deal with the complete upheaval of their lives, just like she abandoned him to Torchwood and Avalon. What was it? Did he fall through the Rift? Flit around through time with the Doctor? (Now wouldn't that be ironic, given the initial purpose of Torchwood?) God, was Broderick even human? Were he and Elaine? What would one call themself if they were half alien, half human? Would he have to turn himself over to Torchwood and spend the remainder of his days running Avalon and Torchwood from a cell?

Ianto stood and grabbed the decanter from the locked chest where the alcohol was stored, safe away from the inquisitive twins, and brought it back to the couch. In silence he refilled Jack's glass and his own. Stephen hadn't said anything, nor had Jean-Luc, but then, what was there to say? And Jack and Ianto were sitting on Jean-Luc's bed. Ianto sat back down; if his leg was pressing against Jack's a little firmer than before, well, that could have been an accident, not an attempt to calm or ground himself against the chaos of the past few minutes, the day, the week.

Jack pressing back could have been an accident as well.

"You named it Avalon."

Ianto's father nodded at Jack. "It is fitting, don't you think?"

Maybe the questions of reality Ianto had earlier pondered were true. Maybe he was tired, hallucinating, maybe all this wasn't real.

But his mother was dead. Ianto knew that without a doubt. He had seen it. And Avalon had been destroyed. His father knew that. In fact, his father was acting like he had always known that.

Jack drew a breath beside him -- the long, calming breath Ianto had heard him use when Owen was being a particularly nasty prat and swallowed the contents of the glass in one drink. "What happened before, that is not my intent with your son, Mr. Jones. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need some fresh air."

Ianto watched as Jack stepped out the back door, headed for the rocks and trees Ianto usually sought for solace. He'd be amused, if the situation hadn't left him dry-mouthed, confused and angry to the point of screaming. He didn't scream though, he was too tired to scream. Instead, Ianto faced his father wearily, "I don't suppose you'll give me any answers."

His father just smiled, shaking his head. "What would be the point of providing the ending when your journey has just begun?"

He didn't understand his father any better than he did the faeries. With an apologetic look at Jean-Luc and Stephen (who subtly waved him on in understanding), Ianto left the room to find his sister. They had to talk. And then he'd have to find Jack. But Elaine first. Maybe she remembered something, anything, from their childhood. Or maybe their mother had been more open to her than Ianto. What had been said could not be undone, and Ianto needed answers.

***

His conversation with Elaine hadn't lasted long. She knew nothing of what their father had said, nor did she know the purpose outside of the obvious "don't hurt my kid" speech that Ianto was far too old for. She asked what it meant, Ianto didn't have any idea.

He picked up two blankets as he walked out the patio door; his father and Stephen were talking about something, but Ianto didn't stay to listen. Jack was standing near Ianto's rock, staring out over Wales as night began to fall.

"Not your usual vantage point." Ianto held out the blankets, smiling as Jack reached for Ianto's favorite. Seemed on some level Jack knew him better than he thought. Or it was a lucky guess and it just looked the most comfortable. Ianto wrapped the other blanket around his shoulders, curling into its trapped warmth. He didn't dare touch Jack; he didn't know if it was allowed or even wanted. So they stood side by side, staring at the cloud-covered sky where the stars' light were muted and dimmed. "I'm sorry for what happened in there. I--"

"No. Don't apologize for your father. I haven't ..." Jack seemed to lose the momentum he had going, faltering until he restarted. "I haven't...there's been moments in my life I'm not proud of, moments when I wasn't a good man. I just never expected to meet someone now who knew me then, least of all your father."

"When was--"

"Don't, Ianto. Don't ask me when."

"I deserve--"

"You do," Jack interrupted, finally turning to look at Ianto, "but not from me."

Ianto had to bite his tongue to keep from arguing, but he knew he'd never get an answer from Jack. Not that he believed he'd ever get an answer from his father, but Ianto supposed Jack had a point despite his curiosity and his need to understand himself, his history, hell, his family. His father had never lied, though, at least not to his knowledge. That was one of the few things Ianto was clinging to. Broderick had said that his parents were long deceased as were the rest of his family, which was why they had no cousins, no aunts and uncles on his side. It made sense, in a small way. If he were from another time, then they probably would be dead.

He stood beside Jack, shoulders just touching, staring at the expanse of rolling hills and shadowed valleys. Jack had admitted he hadn't always been a good person. What he had done Ianto wasn't sure, but Ianto didn't believe him to be a bad man now. A bad man wouldn't make the decisions Jack made, he wouldn't make the sacrifices. He might have motive (the 21st century is when it all changes) but the motive never endangers, never threatens. The bigger picture. A bad man wouldn't make good of the bigger picture.

On the other hand, Ianto had been far from good. He took a breath, then plunged on, proving either to himself or Jack that he really was as great a monster as he'd claimed Jack to be. "Ms. White ordered me to spy on you, on Torchwood Three; I agreed because it got me what I wanted. I was given your complete Torchwood file. I knew who you were that first day in the Information Center. I filed weekly reports with Ms. White, everything from personnel to inventory. I answered all of her follow-up questions."

Jack didn't yell or scream or shoot. He just stood there, motionless, solid as the trees next to them. It grated on Ianto's nerves, the silence, screeching like fingernails down a chalkboard, the seconds ticking past and flowing into minutes, reaching for morning with all its strength. He considered leaving, considered allowing Jack to stand in the silence he wanted. Or did he want more? Ianto's resignation? Did he wish to blackmail? Force him to do nothing more than make the coffee and muck the weevil cells?

"She never asked me about the ghost machine," Jack mused.

"There is a reason it's locked up in your safe."

"And the glove?"

"The same."

Jack turned so fast on Ianto he nearly stumbled backwards, as it was his shaky balance made him teeter a moment before Jack's hands on his shoulders steadied him. "Owen was never let go. You requested I hire Tosh, she wasn't on Ms. White's list. And every time I've died? She never asked me about those. You've seen, you know. And yet she never asked."

"Jack, I-"

Ianto was cut off, not by the blow he was expecting and actually flinched from, but by Jack's lips crashing down on his, so hard their teeth clicked in a lack of grace so clumsy yet so wanton it shot like wildfire through Ianto's veins. Jack's grip tightened, fingers digging into his shoulders, then slid the bruises down Ianto's arms, dragging with it the heat melting Ianto from the inside. A sharp pain forced Ianto to pull away, grimacing as he rubbed his arm and killing whatever slim chance he had that night at arousal -- he needed to sleep and his body knew it, no matter how much he wanted Jack. "Sorry, nicked while we were running."

Hands slid over his arms, searching and finding the gauze and tape covering the injury. Elaine had looked at it earlier that morning and declared it healing, though perhaps now not as much. It didn't bother Ianto, but it apparently bothered Jack who kept gently touching, kept looking. "Jack?"

Jack glanced away finally from Ianto's arm and instantly stilled, eyes locked not on Ianto but over his shoulder, into the tree rising from the ground behind. The gnarled old growth had been there for as long as records recalled. His face was twisted, not in fear, but an acceptance of doom and the determination to conquer it.

"Jack?" Ianto turned to look and saw what had stunned Jack: a tiny, flitting creature hovered just over his shoulder on filigree wings, brilliant white as a star twinkling in the night. "It won't hurt us. It's just ... watching."

Ianto was treated to a hard stare and stony silence, all trace of the earlier lust gone, replaced by blank disconnect. "Watching?"

Glaring at the faery, Ianto watched, heart still and breath stopped, as it zipped between his face and Jack's. It flitted back and forth so quickly he could barely keep his eyes on it before it disappeared, a rose petal falling softly on the wind. Jack's attention drifted with the petal, fluttering and floating until it reached the ground between their feet.

"They've watched you before. At the Hub. You know what they can do and you never told me?"

He pulled away from Jack's hands which were shaking with anger and adrenaline, directed at whom Ianto wasn't sure but by the low-pitched growl, Ianto sought less volatile ground. Put that way, Ianto probably should have told Jack, given that it had happened in the Hub and that was really his boss' domain. Ianto had never claimed to be good, or wise. But what would Jack have done against the Fae? "They said I would face a choice."

Jack's face was inscrutable, just a deep set scowl and eyes black in the night. Ianto didn't blame his anger. The faeries had killed Estelle, a woman he had loved. Any reminder would be painful, which Ianto used to excuse not telling Jack. Excuses were better than nothing -- were better than any guilt or twinge of conscience for not telling Jack. Excuses were better than knowing he was hiding.

"And have you made it?"

Had he? Ianto wasn't sure. By best guess, he had. How his decision in the early hours of morning would impact the faeries, he didn't know. But Ianto assumed all would make itself clear at some point.

Or they might one day kill him in his sleep, suffocating him and stealing his soul. Always an option as well.

"They weren't exactly forthcoming in the details," Ianto replied drolly, hugging his arms about his body to draw the blanket tight, "but I believe I have."

Jack stepped closer, invading Ianto's personal space to tap him on the temple. "What other secrets are you hiding?"

It wasn't really a question, more a statement of observation. A correct observation, though Ianto might have been more inclined to answer had the question not sounded so contemplative, like Jack was trying to read Ianto's every secret in his eyes. Not likely, unless Jack had developed a talent Ianto couldn't block. "We all have secrets, Jack."

"Two years of my life are missing. I can't die and I don't know how or why. I'm not from this time."  Jack ran a hand through his hair, a move Ianto rarely saw.  Frustration?  Anger?  Jack should be furious and instead he appeared ... frustrated.  "There once was a time when I really was not a nice person. You? You worked Intelligence for Torchwood One. Your mother was Ms. White. Your father knows me, and not from this time." Ianto wanted to point out that while he appreciated Jack's blunt honesty (for once), his father had kept that little fact a secret from him as well, but Jack was plowing on without thought of stopping. "You snuck a cyberwoman into my basement. You have faery talking with you, watching you. You have friends who kill with their mind and while you may not be able to do it quite like they do, I do not doubt you could kill with your intellect just as easily. My secrets...they're unexplained or unimportant. Your secrets eclipse in scope and it's what I don't know that quite honestly scares me."

Jack...was scared of him? That was absurd. And Ianto was the one short on sleep and still suffering from a throbbing headache. Attempting for levity while dissembling, Ianto mentioned an additional secret, hiding and burying all the others he kept. "You left out blackmailing Ms. White."

The look on Jack's face, if they never spoke again after that night, would remain a highlight in Ianto's memory for years to come. "You blackmailed your own mother?"

Ianto shrugged. "She ordered me to leave Cardiff and return to London."

"You're something else, Ianto Jones."

"I'm just a tea-boy."

Silence stretched, and for a moment Ianto believed he had said something to offend. But Jack was just studying him, looking at Ianto like he'd never really seen him. Ianto knew he had, he'd been there when Jack studied every bit of skin with eyes and lips. Jack knew him, nothing should come as a surprise. Except for maybe the faeries. And his father. And the whole Mr. Black issue.

"You are more than that, Ianto."

He was prepared for Jack's onslaught this time, braced for the full contact and sweeping motion that nearly knocked him off his feet. Last time their kiss had been an explosion of everything bottled and contained; this one was far more desperate as lips sought knowledge and absolution. Jack was cautious this time of Ianto's arm, but eventually exhaustion won, dwindling Ianto's fire until just a faint, buzzing glow surrounded him.

Of course, that could be Jack, who was perceptive as ever (though it could have been the lack of interest in a bed partner which clued him in as well).

"When was the last time you slept?"

Fingers traced what Ianto knew had to be glorious dark circles under his eyes if Jack could see them in the faint moonlit night. He closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth of Jack's body, but that turned out to be a mistake as Ianto found himself swaying slightly to find his balance in a world without light, where up had no meaning and everywhere touched nothing. "I slept when I could."

"Meaning very little and I imagine you still have a headache from back at the Hub." Ianto didn't argue against him; such efforts would be wasted. He did open his eyes though as Jack pulled him towards the house, stumbling after the man who had far too much energy for the hour. "Come on, show me where little Ianto slept and wanked to Kylie Minogue."

That and the wink drew Ianto up short. "Jack, we are not having sex in my childhood bed."

Jack laughed with his usual bluster before quieting and tugging Ianto inside the house. Stephen and Jean-Luc were asleep in the living room and Jack tiptoed past, whispering with a broad grin while Ianto directed to his bedroom, "considered it, but you'd fall asleep and hurt my ego."

Ianto snorted as he shut the door behind them, ineloquent but as close to a laugh as he'd broach, throwing the blanket from his shoulders on top of Jack's on the floor. His protests fell on deaf ears while Jack stripped off Ianto's black tee, allowing him to remove his own jeans, shoes, and socks while Jack shucked his clothing down to his briefs as well. "Jack--"

"As much as I'd like to take complete advantage, no. You're sleeping."

"But you rarely sleep."

"Bed."

He opened his mouth to argue but Jack turned his back and ignored him, pulling the blankets down and fluffing the pillows. There was no playfulness anymore, no boyish grin, just Jack holding out his hand for Ianto to follow into bed. Which he did, reluctantly, not thinking about the fact that his...that Jack was laying down with him. In his bed. In his father's house. A father he thought he knew.

A surge of rebellion made Ianto arch back into Jack as he settled in behind Ianto, an arm crossing Ianto's to clutch his hand over Ianto's chest. Warmth and caring pulled at him, dragging him down and tempting him with sleep but still Ianto found no dreams, only visions of the not-so-past and imagined horrors of what might lay ahead.

God, he was responsible now for the kids. And Torchwood.

Technically, he was Jack's superior. Not that he'd ever know, not if Ianto's plan worked and Stephen agreed.

Jack's arm tightened around him as his leg hooked over Ianto's; it took a moment for Ianto to realize he was fidgeting. Distracted. Too caught up in thoughts to sleep and too afraid to shut his eyes to allow the thoughts to cease.

"Talk to me. Tell me about your mother."

Ianto fought the idea for a moment, felt his body tense and heard Jack's nonsensical "shh'ing." He could ignore Jack; he had every right to not answer, to close his eyes and try to sleep without saying one word. But thinking about not talking was nearly as painful as talking. Rather than contemplate the hundred ways he could avoid Jack's question, Ianto answered. "She really wasn't much of one. Avalon and Torchwood were her life. I didn't know her but for two months a year."

"She came here?"

"No, I visited London. For a while with Elaine, then just by myself. We joined them in their classes, studied their texts...basically I was in school year-round learning everything from biology to the difference between clairvoyance and fortune-telling."

"Learned how to fence."

Ianto smiled at that, remembering all the long hours with Stephen in the gym...and of Jean-Luc after. "Among other things." He could feel the kisses being pressed against his hair, light and relaxing. He wouldn't have guessed it of Jack, these gentle touches not motivated by desire. Not that it surprised him, not really. It was just...confusing.

"Were you a troublemaker?"

"At Avalon? Terrible." And he had Jean-Luc to blame. Not that Ianto hadn't had a fair hand in the trouble they got into, but he was such a well-behaved boy. Until Jean-Luc. Though Ianto wouldn't trade that time for anything. "I can't count the times she called me to her office. She sat behind her desk like she was supreme power in Europe, yelling at me about my behavior and my representation of the family. I used to sit there and pretend to listen, all the while skimming the bookshelves for the next title I'd read. Sometimes I think she enjoyed those moments and made up excuses to bring me to her office to hound me for some incident, really the only time we spent together. She'd--"

His voice cracked embarrassingly so Ianto stopped with the storytelling, not able to stop the shudder that traveled down his spine to his toes and back up again to ring his ears. He was not going to fall apart, he might admit it to his sister but he was not going to in front of Jack. His mother didn't deserve it, and Ianto didn't deserve the shame. He'd made it through every single memorial for the Torchwood fallen. He wasn't going to allow Ms. White to break him now.

Jack didn't seem to care about Ianto's embarrassment, however, and used his greater strength to turn Ianto over, gasping and thrashing against the change in position. It didn't last long; Ianto didn't have much fight left in him. Besides, it was much easier to just bury his face against Jack's neck, pressing his nose against the soft skin, than to struggle to avert his face. There wasn't a spot on his body not pressed tight against Jack, or Jack against him. Far more intimate than his back pressed to Jack's chest, far more warmth. It took a moment to find his voice, but once he did, Ianto couldn't stop himself from talking. "Her office was destroyed, I found...she was buried under her desk. God, Jack, it was personal. They knew her and hated her and beat her for it, then broke...her neck was broken. Three gunshots after the fact, desecration, mockery of the dead...they knew her. Everything else was detached, with purpose. Not her."

He could feel every time Jack breathed. Slowly Ianto's breath slipped into the calm cadence of Jack's. In, and out. In. Out. Steady and sure, chests expanding and shrinking in time to the circles drawn on his back. In. Out.

"Are you safe?"

Ianto felt the tilt of Jack's head; if he looked up, Jack would be looking back. He didn't, though, he kept speaking into Jack's neck, concentrating on breathing and ignoring the overwhelming urge to curl up into a ball and ignore Jack, ignore Torchwood and Avalon and everything else. "Jean-Luc and Stephen will be fine until they're healed."

"Are you safe?" Each word enunciated; each word clear.

"She was never my mother, Jack. I'm safe wherever I go."

"Ms. White wasn't your mother. But the woman who died was."

For a moment, Ianto couldn't breathe, his voice slipping away as what Jack said sank in. It was no different, really, than what he'd told Elaine, but that was his sister and Ianto definitely didn't believe everything he said. But Jack had cut across the careful divide that Ianto had firmly in place separating work from home. Jack was right though. Viviene was. Ianto supposed it was okay to hate one and mourn the other -- it almost made sense in his sleep-hungry mind. It might appear differently in the morning, but for now, it was okay.

Ianto finally relaxed against the other man with a sigh, shifting a bit until he was comfortable engulfed by Jack. Jack, whose hands still drew circles around his back, mesmerizing, though at times Ianto sensed pattern, maybe words. Maybe code to some distant galaxy where the history of Jack's life was explained. Ianto would like to hear that one day. Jack's Life: A Story so Long Your Grandkids Will Love the Ending. But that would be stepping into personal, and outside of his earlier confessions, Jack didn't do personal.

Personal.

"Jack, what happened to Torchwood Four?"

The hands at his back stilled; perhaps Jack had thought he'd fallen asleep. Not yet, despite the fatigue, Ianto still found himself thinking. It had been personal.

"You'd know better than I. It disappeared, that's all I was told."

Disappeared overnight. The first blemish on Ms. White's peppered history.

Jack's arm moved from Ianto's back, a loss inviting cool air against his skin. It didn't last long though. Ianto felt himself warmed as his chin was lifted from the pillow for a soft kiss, almost chaste, just a mere brush of Jack's lips over his. It was kind, caring. Just for a moment, Ianto forgot, and that was worth all the secrets and lies leading 'til then and into the future.

"Get some sleep. Think in the morning."

And, surprising himself, Ianto listened.

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