Fanfic - The Spirit of Torchwood 1/4 [Torchwood: Jack/Ianto]

[soera]

Title: The Spirit of Torchwood
Rating(s): Light R
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Ianto-centric, team-fic; Jack/Ianto with minor Toshiko/Owen and Gwen/Rhys
Summary: The one in which Ianto can see ghosts.
Author's Notes: Alternate canon (see summary). Only follows S1 and S2. I don’t think there’s anything to really warn for (other than ghosts?), but let me know if I’m mistaken. FYI, there are OCs in this fic, but they’re mostly, uh, dead.

With rather amused gratitude to my beta for the title:

The Spirit of Torchwood

Carys Jones attended her own funeral the way she did everything else - with an air of detached, wry amusement.

“Oh, hush up,” she snapped at her sobbing niece. They hadn’t even been close, and histrionics were one thing (amongst many) that Carys didn’t have time for. “I can’t hear the eulogy!”

It was a very flattering one, all told. Her son told an amusing story about her, from his childhood days. She laughed long and loud at the recollection; it wasn’t as though anyone would chastise her for inappropriateness. It was a pity that bright little boy had become this mean, stingy man.

This being dead thing wasn’t all that bad, she mused. She’d been expecting something more in the way of heavenly choirs - or at least purgatory, she didn’t think she’d done anything to warrant fire and brimstone - but thus far, it was a whole lot of hanging around spying on people.

Strictly speaking, the spying wasn’t part of the package, but Carys had never been one to let an opportunity slip her by. And a good thing too, or she might have missed something very important.

Namely, that her grandson could see her.

This hadn’t been all that awe-inspiring while she’d been alive. Now that she was see-through and had taking to walking through things, though, it was a bit peculiar.

To say the least.

“Why can’t I tell them I can see you?” he asked, sulking all the while.

“Good question,” Carys replied agreeably. “Because I said so.”

He moped a whole week after that, but his family took it for him missing her. All the better for him. Carys was no fool; much as she hated to admit it, she’d raised a money-grubbing little bastard.

There was no way she’d let little Ianto be turned into a telly spectacle.

Most people didn’t have a ghost as their closest friend and advisor. Ianto felt rather special, in that regard.

Of course, he’d long since learned to keep his ability a secret. His father’s reaction the few times he’d forgotten and spoken to Nain in front of him, had taught him to. He read a lot about the paranormal and discovered that most people would think him insane if he spoke of what he saw. He also discovered that most of the people who wouldn’t think him insane were people he thought was insane.

All told, it was simply easier not to tell anyone.

Nain stayed with him all the way till he was sixteen, when his father died. Then she’d told him it was time for her to be off, shimmered like she was glowing from within, and vanished. He’d seen his father for maybe five minutes after his death, and then he’d pulled the same light show and disappeared too.

Sometimes, he liked to imagine Nain dragging his Tad off by the ear and scolding him roundly for how he’d treated Ianto.

Nain wasn’t the only one, of course. Jennifer, one of his classmates from primary school, had died when she was eleven. Once she’d realised he could see her, she’d hung around him constantly. He hadn’t known her well until after she’d died. Occasionally, he thought that was a little sad. Mostly, it just seemed normal.

Jennifer had left when he was fifteen. Short of his Nain, she’d stayed the longest. And there were always others, those who stayed hours or days or weeks or months. Ianto talked to them because no one else would, because even they couldn’t see each other. Only he could see them all.

He liked to think he helped, if only a little.

His mother had been hysterical when she had found out about his ability. Thankfully, that realisation had only come to her when she herself had died.

Ianto took off to London the next month.

He worked two full-time jobs to secure a small flat. Furnishing was an afterthought, and eclectic at best. He shared living space with three ghosts: two male teenagers who were constantly bickering with him, sometimes at the same time, and a little girl who couldn’t have been more than five. Work kept him out at all hours, but the time he did manage to spend at home was always… interesting.

When he found the little sentient blob of orange jelly in his takeaway carton, pleading with him not to eat it, he couldn’t even find it in himself to be surprised.

Torchwood had recruited him shortly thereafter, supposedly because of how calm he’d been when dealing with the alien. And yet, for all the additional research he did in their vast archives of information, he found nothing on the paranormal.

Aliens were one thing, it seemed; ghosts were another.

The years went on. The two teenagers left. The little girl, Addie, stayed. It appeared to Ianto that her attachment was to his flat, though she did occasionally venture out to the shops with him. She showed no signs of wanting to leave, however many times Ianto tried to feel her out on what she thought of the idea. Sometimes, Ianto thought that she didn’t comprehend what had happened to her. That, for her, she was just going on with her life, albeit with a different person than the one she’d been used to.

The fact that she’d so easily accepted Ianto’s presence made him wonder all sorts of things about what her life had been like, but there wasn’t anything more he could do for her.

“These ghost shifts,” Lisa asked him. “Do you think it’s real?”

“No,” he said immediately, before he could censor himself.

“Well, why not?” she asked, frowning. “Look, we know aliens exist, right? And that some of them are capable of travelling through planes of existence we can’t even comprehend. What’s to say the dead don’t move to another plane?”

“I don’t know where the dead go when they move on,” Ianto said carefully. Addie clung to his legs, looking up at him with wide eyes. “But I don’t believe that we’re tapping that place, wherever it is.”

She shook her head, laughing a little. “Always the sceptic,” she said. “Even with all we do and see.”

His scepticism had nothing to do with a refusal to believe in ghosts. He’d always been able to interact with the dead, to cuddle Addie to sleep. And he’d come to realise that there was a kind of lingering static feel to the dead, one he didn’t sense at all with the apparitions Torchwood One was summoning.

Plus, the dead were, one and all, uniformly terrified every time the “ghost shifts” occurred. Ianto didn’t think it was a good sign.

“You believe it, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’d like to think they really are our loved ones we’re seeing, just - in a different plane from us.”

A week later, they learned the hard way that the supposed ghosts were, in fact, from another dimension, though not the one they’d hoped for.

Ianto could have done without the knowledge.

This was what Ianto knew:

1. When someone died, their ghost would appear next to their body.
   
2. The ghost would linger for a time.
   
3. The duration they lingered depended on whether they felt ready to move on, or not.
   
4. Children were rarely ever ready to move on quickly.
   
5. The elderly often moved on quickly.
   
6. People who died violent deaths almost never moved on quickly.
   
7. Torchwood One was filled with the clamour of baffled, angry, frightened ghosts.

Save for the dead, all else had fallen silent. Ianto hurried down to the lower levels quietly, searching for Lisa.

Lisa’s ghost was nowhere to be found. That fact offered some hope.

He managed to get her out and into his car, miraculously untouched as was the rest of the private car park Torchwood One had once offered its employees. Then he went back for the rest of her conversion unit, because just half an hour after being unhooked from it, she was already having trouble breathing.

He had to take it apart to get it to fit in his car. Lisa’s breathing was getting worse.

He drove like a madman, arriving at a warehouse as dusk was beginning to settle over the city. Trailing ghosts, he carried Lisa into the warehouse. Torchwood One had once used it to store alien artefacts, but the revamped archives in the main tower had rendered it defunct. It was still empty though, and still supplied with electricity, and so it would be the perfect place to hide out until he got Lisa healed.

“What do you think?” he asked Brittany, as he connected Lisa back to the life-support systems. He hated the fact that she had to remain in the same conversion unit that had nearly taken her life, but there was no way around it. “Reckon I can get her back?”

Brittany shrugged. “Never know till you try,” she said. “How can you see me?”

“I can see all of you,” Ianto corrected her. “Always been able to.”

“All of us?” she asked.

“There’s a lot of you here,” Ianto said. He struggled with a cable, wondering where on earth he was meant to plug it in. “But I’ve never found that you can see each other.”

“Oh,” Brittany said, and fell silent.

“Connect this one here,” Damien said quietly. Ianto gratefully followed the directions of the once-Head of Engineering, finally finishing up nearly an hour later. Lisa’s breathing had eased the moment the life-support had been connected, and now she looked like she was merely sleeping.

Covered in organic metal.

“She wasn’t fully changed like me,” Josh said.

“I could feel it, it took time for the change to be finished,” Patty said.

“Maybe you can get her back,” Shelly said.

“If the change hasn’t gone too far, there’s a chance,” Walter said.

“You’ll have to monitor the percentages,” Jake said.

“They’re dangerous, so if it starts winning, if the upgrade continues,” Lina said.

“She wouldn’t want to hurt you,” Gregory said.

“Stop her before she hurts anyone,” Regina said.

“If it takes over, she’s lost to you forever,” Mallory said.

Ianto covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. “Please,” he whispered. “Not all at once.” He had to get cleaned up. He had to find supplies for himself. He had to try and get painkillers for Lisa. He had to find out what was happening at the Tower. He knew he had to do a lot of things, but right at that moment, he didn’t feel capable of moving from Lisa’s side.

Everyone fell silent. After a moment, ghostly hands touched him in reassurance. Ianto didn’t respond.

“Who attacks a Weevil with a stick?” Mallory demanded. Others were speaking at the same time too, but since it was all variations on the same incredulity, Ianto ignored them in favour of the loudest.

“I wasn’t expecting to be Weevil-wrangling, all right?” Ianto said. “I think I’m to be commended for thinking to beat it with a stick.”

“Archivists,” Damien snorted. “If you’re planning on sneaking into Harkness’ domain, you’d best get used to a little more action.”

“How so?” Ianto asked, then hastily added, “Damien,” as multiple people began speaking at once.

“He’s got a small team,” Damien explained. “Ran into him a few times, when we had to go for full board meetings, all the Heads. He never outright said anything, but I think his entire team is field-trained. No purely research-oriented roles.”

“Oh,” Ianto said in dismay.

“You did well enough for someone who’s never physically handled a Weevil before,” Damien said. “But you should be prepared for more, just in case. Who else is here? Anyone who was a good field agent? Talk to them.”

“Did anyone here work in the field?” Ianto asked the room at large. “Damien says I might have to do fieldwork, so I’d like to know what to expect. Don’t want to give Harkness a reason to look too closely at my work.”

Instantly, a good half of the dead volunteered their services. Fifteen minutes of finagling later, Ianto had settled on getting lessons from Andy, Corinne and Millie, who between them had over twenty years of experience. It was a significant amount of time, especially given that most field agents didn’t last all that long in Torchwood.

All the same, the second time he met Captain Jack Harkness was pure coincidence. He’d only hoped to scout out the place where Margaret said Torchwood Three’s base was located. He hadn’t actually expected to run into the Captain there.

Hadn’t expected to let the frustration boil over, either, but it was that much harder to keep your temper reined in when you had angry ghosts yelling at Harkness.

In a way, it was like they were giving life to Ianto’s inner voices.

None of which helped him, however, and so he continued plotting with his co-conspirators. Lisa still hadn’t come around at all, though on the bright side, her ghost hadn’t appeared either. He couldn’t afford to hide out here much longer, constantly travelling between London and Cardiff. Ianto was very aware of their time running out.

In the end, it was one of the seemingly useless bits of technology he’d scavenged from Torchwood One that provided him with his opportunity.

“No one is coming with me,” Ianto said firmly.

“Don’t want to mess up in front of us?” Millie asked, smirking.

“Not going to mess up,” he replied, glaring at her. “Look, last time the lot of you weren’t exactly helping me keep my temper. So, not this time. I’ll be able to focus better if I’m alone, and I’ll need to focus if I expect to trick him.”

There were annoyed grumbles, but they finally acquiesced. Ianto took the handheld Rift-activity locator with him, and went in search of Captain Harkness, for hopefully the last time.

Once back in Cardiff, he located the source of the Rift activity. It was, of all things, a pterodactyl.

“Oh, god,” he whispered. He’d barely been prepared for Weevil-wrangling. He didn’t want to do battle with a bloody pterodactyl!

Which was currently eyeing him in a disturbing fashion. He swallowed hard, trying to think of anything he had in the way of a weapon. Nothing came to mind, save a few paperclips, his Rift-activity locator, and two bars of chocolate. Maybe he could throw the locator at the pterodactyl and make a run for it.

Or -

Ianto slowly reached into his pocket, took out a bar of chocolate, and tossed it near the pterodactyl.

It was kind enough to take the bait. It was also kind enough to thoroughly enjoy the chocolate, making screeching noises as it ripped through the snack, wrapper and all. Ianto took the opportunity to open the second bar, breaking off half of it. By the time the pterodactyl was done with its snack, he was ready.

The moment it turned back to him, the half-bar went sailing by, landing through the open door of the warehouse nearby. Thankfully, the pterodactyl went straight for it.

Ianto followed after, trying to swallow his heart back down where it belonged. There weren’t any other open doors, from what he could see. Good. The pterodactyl seemed to be enjoying the dark chocolate bar even more than it had the first milk bar. Ianto tossed the second half past its head, further into the warehouse, then ran for the door and shut it firmly behind him.

What was it with him and warehouses, anyway?

Well, that was the pterodactyl contained. Now to find Harkness.

Though he would possibly buy a bit more chocolate first. It was a surprisingly effective secret weapon.

Ianto was quiet when he returned from his expedition. He told his dead companions that he’d succeeding in getting the job, and would be starting the next day.

Then he ignored them all and sat with Lisa until the sun came up.

Some of the dead had vanished, as if by helping Ianto get this far, they’d felt able to let go. Ianto’s permanent return to Cardiff was still marked by a sizeable entourage, though. He was probably lucky no one else could see them.

Adrian, Stephanie and Joe - all former Torchwood One field agents - stayed behind with Lisa at his request, to watch over her until he could devise a way to sneak her into Torchwood Three’s headquarters. It was something he’d learned long ago; once a ghost was aware of his ability, they could appear beside him at will, as if he was a homing beacon they were attuned to. It worked even across fair distances, and London to Cardiff was well within their capabilities.

Ghostly bodyguards. Or babysitters. Either way, it was a bit peculiar.

It only took Ianto a week (and some help from his companions) to figure out the maze of tunnels that made up the lower levels of the Hub. He smuggled Lisa to an old shed near one of the hidden entrances that looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. Bridgette had been watching it for four days, and no one had so much as gone near it.

Then it was just a matter of waiting until the team was called out on a mission. Ianto immediately ran for Lisa, bringing her in and getting her situated in an out-of-the-way room. Again, his companions had been watching it to ensure that no one came that way, and they’d keep the watch up as long as she was there.

It was so much easier than he’d expected.

The team came back from the mission tired but enthusiastic about the new technology they’d found. Jack clapped an arm around Ianto’s shoulders, steering him forward to have a look, excitedly babbling away about how they’d be able to use their find.

“When you feel up to coming out on the field,” Jack said happily, “you’ll be able to take credit for things like this. There’s nothing quite like that feeling when you realise you’ve found something important, you know? Can’t wait till you feel it for yourself.” He beamed at Ianto.

For what seemed like the millionth time, Ianto felt like the lowest sort of scum on earth.

Murderous seconds, obstinate bobbies, sex gas and devices that showed you the past.

Torchwood Three led interesting lives.

Damien would have been a good father.

Ianto came to this conclusion while lying wrapped in Damien’s arms. He’d just spent the past hour bawling like a baby, and sheer embarrassment had just begun to set in. Then Damien had gone and kissed the top of his head and rubbed his back and damned if that hadn’t nearly set him off again.

Damien felt like safety, which either said a lot about his character or meant that Ianto’s life was completely pathetic.

“Better?” Damien asked quietly.

“Dunno,” Ianto said, slurring the syllables abominably. He sniffed, cleared his throat, considered trying again, and turned his face against Damien’s chest instead.

He probably looked very odd to anyone who was looking at him at the moment, considering he was being propped up by thin air.

The mental picture made him finally pull away, scrubbing furiously at his eyes. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely, suddenly too embarrassed to look Damien in the eye. “I just -”

“I know,” Damien said. “Is she there?”

Ianto forced himself to look at Lisa’s still body. Then, at her standing beside it. The sight made tears well up in his eyes again, and he angrily dashed them away.

“Thank you, hon,” she said gently. “For everything you tried. It was all I could have hoped for.”

“It wasn’t enough,” he replied.

“I don’t think anything could have stood against them,” she said. “I felt it in my head, Ianto. I knew I wouldn’t last. It means everything to me that you tried so long.”

Ianto looked down at his hands.

“She wanted it,” Damien said softly.

Ianto could still remember the clicking of the buttons as he’d turned off the life-support. As the shell of Lisa’s body had struggled for breath, as the thing inside her had raged at being halted just when it had taken over. He still remembered the look in her eyes as she died. The seconds of numbness before she’d appeared beside him, looking so sad and worried that he’d not been able to stay near her.

“I know,” he said.

Lisa smiled. “Guess I shouldn’t have called you a sceptic, huh,” she laughed. “You should’ve told me, hon. I’d have believed you.”

He latched on to the change in subject gratefully. “I think it’s just habit now,” he said. “I’ve been keeping the secret since I was a kid.” He gave her a half-smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “But I think I’ll go on now, Ianto.”

He wanted to ask her to stay a little longer, but that would’ve been the height of selfishness. Instead, he nodded, getting up and brushing himself off.

One last kiss for the road, and Lisa shimmered and disappeared. Ianto had long since learned to recognise the particular light a ghost emitted when moving on; when they were simply going elsewhere on Earth, they faded from sight rather than glowing. Lisa had well and truly gone on, and she wasn’t ever coming back.

“I hate to ask this now,” Damien said after a time. “But what now?”

Ianto straightened his jacket instinctively. “Now?” he said, shrugging. “Now I confess.”

“You don’t have to,” Damien said in alarm. “You don’t know what he’d do.”

Ianto turned and smiled at Damien. “Thank you,” he said. “But I’ve hated lying to him all this while - using him while he trusted me.”

“He’s been using you too,” Damien said. “He and his precious team barely notice you. You slave away doing all your work and half theirs and none of them say so much as a thank you.”

“I know,” Ianto said. “Largely because I wanted it that way. It was easier to look after Lisa if I was just - part of the background. But Jack’s never outright ignored me. He’s given me space and time. He keeps talking about me going out in the field when I’m ready, he thinks I don’t want to do it now because I’m still shook up from the Battle. He knows I like being alone, so he lets me be. He gave me a chance and I’ve been throwing it in his face all this time. I owe it to him to tell him the truth now.”

“I can’t talk you out of this, can I,” Damien said, narrowing his eyes.

Ianto shook his head mutely. Damien sighed.

“Fine.”

His dead friends were forbidden from being there when Ianto told Jack the truth. If Jack did exercise his right to either execute or Retcon Ianto, he didn’t want them to see it.

“Ianto!” Jack called. “We’re going out for drinks. Mind the Hub for a bit, will you?”

“Actually,” Ianto said. “I was hoping I could have a word with you, sir.”

“What is it?” Jack asked, half-turning. The others stopped, waiting for him.

“In private, if possible,” Ianto said.

Jack frowned momentarily, but when he turned to the others, a beam was plastered firmly across his face. “Okay, you lot go ahead first then,” he said. “I’ll catch up later if there’s time.”

“All right,” Owen said, impatiently hustling the girls along. The cog door blared as they left. Ianto swallowed hard as Jack came bounding up, leaning on the railing and smiling at him charmingly.

“What now, Mr Jones?” Jack asked, running a finger lightly down Ianto’s arm. “Trying to get me all alone, are you?”

Ianto knew he was meant to be making some sort of comment about harassment just then, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You’re not shooting me down,” Jack observed, straightening. “Pretty serious then, huh?”

“I -” Ianto started, then swallowed again nervously. “I have a confession to make.”

Jack nodded, staying silent.

“I wasn’t entirely honest with you when I sought the job,” Ianto said in a rush.

Jack’s brow furrowed. “I thought you had some ulterior motive,” he said. “But Toshiko didn’t find anything. Best bet would have been revenge for your friends at Canary Wharf, but - you’re not the type to do that, are you? Not something that doesn’t make sense like that.”

“Not revenge,” Ianto said. “But something related to Canary Wharf. I think -” he hesitated. “I think I’ll have to show you, sir. Just… please let me explain everything first, before you decide whether to kill or retcon me. I won’t argue the decision.”

Jack’s face was completely blank now. “Lead the way.”

His heart was pounding disturbingly fast as Ianto brought Jack down to the archives and then lower, into the room where he’d hidden Lisa. He saw the moment realisation dawned on Jack’s face, the creeping horror and anger.

“She’s dead,” Ianto said. “I just - two hours ago, I pulled the life support.”

“Talk,” Jack said.

“Her name’s Lisa,” Ianto said. “My girlfriend.”

“You said she was dead,” Jack said, stepping forward, one hand on his gun. “Back then.”

“I didn’t want you looking further,” Ianto said. “She was at Torchwood One too, an analyst. Her office was on the second floor, one of the last few to be stormed. The Cybermen got to her and brought her away for conversion, but they were defeated before the process was completed. I found her trying to escape the conversion unit. There was still enough of her to realise that she’d be destroyed if she stayed in it any longer. I managed to get her out, but her lungs and heart started failing almost immediately. The programming hadn’t taken root, but the metal had already started replacing organic tissue. So I separated the unit, turned off the conversion aspects, left just the life support systems to keep her going.”

Jack turned towards the side of the conversion unit. Ianto knew what he’d find there; the mechanisms needed to power the conversion process had been thoroughly destroyed, thanks to Damien’s instructions. There was no way the unit could have been used to convert anyone else, but that wouldn’t have halted the insidious disease already present in Lisa. And despite the efforts of some of Torchwood One’s best medical personnel, he hadn’t been able to stop it.

“I needed access to Torchwood technology and contacts if I was to try and save her,” Ianto continued. “So I followed you around and begged until you gave me a job. I brought her in when you were all out on a call. I’ve been trying to find a way to reverse the effects, but the programming took over quicker than I expected. Lisa didn’t have too many moments of lucidity, but when she did she was able to tell me what the programming was doing, stripping away her memories, her emotions. At the end, she didn’t recognise me.”

“That was when you realised something was wrong?” Jack asked, voice neutral.

“Not exactly,” Ianto said. “It scared me, so I hooked up that monitor there.” He indicated the device that had been connected directly to Lisa’s body, a needle plunging into a section of skin unmarred by metal. Sally had talked him through the process, and explained how to work it. “It’s old tech I found in the archives. Told me how much of her was metal and programs. Once it hit fifty percent - which was two days after she forgot me - I pulled the plug. That was two hours ago.”

“And then you came to tell me,” Jack said, circling the conversion unit once again.

“Yes,” Ianto said.

“And what did you hope to accomplish by that?” Jack asked, stopping in front of Ianto.

“I wanted to make sure you got every bit of Cyberman tech I brought in here,” Ianto admitted honestly. “I know it’ll have to be destroyed, and I didn’t want to chance you missing something.”

“And?” Jack pressed.

Ianto shook his head, dropping his gaze to the ground. “You don’t have to believe me,” he murmured. “But I hated lying to you. After this - I needed to tell you. I couldn’t just go on like I hadn’t betrayed you.”

“You couldn’t have gone on like your girlfriend hadn’t just died,” Jack corrected. “Oh, Ianto, you beautiful fool.”

Ianto blinked in amazement as a warm hand cupped his cheek, tilting his head up. Blue eyes met blue and Ianto found himself in a tight hug. “Sir?” he asked, voice muffled in Jack’s greatcoat.

“I’m not happy,” Jack said warningly, but then his voice softened. “But you realised when she was gone and you stopped the Cyberman programming before it could get strong enough to be a threat. That was amazingly strong of you. And it’s punishment enough, I think.”

“You’re supposed to execute me,” Ianto mumbled. “Or retcon me at best.”

Jack laughed softly. “Who’d make the coffee then?” he asked, running a soothing hand up and down Ianto’s back. Ianto let out a mortifying sob, and Jack pulled him even closer, a sigh ghosting over Ianto’s neck.

They stood there in silence for a time before Jack finally pulled away. There was something like regret in his eyes when Ianto glanced up at him nervously.

“She’ll have to be cremated,” Jack said. “As soon as possible. Do you want to be there?”

Ianto thought about it. “No,” he said, shuddering.

“I’ll treat her with respect,” Jack promised. “Do you think you can get started gathering all the tech?”

“Yes,” Ianto said. Jack turned to survey the room and Ianto wiped his damp eyes hastily.

Of all the reactions he’d expected Jack to have, kindness hadn’t been one of them.

Ianto took three weeks off. He spent most of the first two days huddled in a miserable ball under the covers, steadfastly ignoring his dead companions as they tried to coax a little life out of him.

It took Jack’s sudden appearance at his house on the third day to finally get him to move. Ignoring ghosts was one thing, but he couldn’t bear to snub a living guest. Especially not Jack.

“You’ve looked better,” Jack greeted him.

“Thank you,” Ianto said politely. “Coffee, sir?”

Jack rolled his eyes, reached out and smacked Ianto in the back of the head. Ianto yelped and turned an utterly bewildered look on him.

“Don’t give me the puppy eyes,” Jack warned, stepping inside and shucking his greatcoat. Ianto reached out for it instinctively, then found himself side-stepping another swat.

“But I like the coat,” he protested, kicking the door shut.

Jack eyed him speculatively, then made a show of handing over the greatcoat. Ianto hung it up, dusted imaginary lint from it, and nodded in satisfaction.

Jack was grinning when Ianto turned back. Ianto smiled back shyly, half-surprised that he even remembered how to do so.

“I brought pizza and movies,” Jack announced, holding up his prizes. “Come on, we’re having a guy’s night out. In. Something.”

Ianto considered that for a moment, then shrugged. When it came to Jack, it was usually easier to just go along with him.

“Good!” Jack said, beaming. “Have anything to drink?”

Gwen was over-solicitous, Toshiko was bringing him coffee, and Owen… well, Owen was calling him Ianto instead of “tea-boy.”

It was all very disconcerting.

“What did you say?” he asked, the tiniest hint of wildness in his eyes as he entered Jack’s office.

“Not much,” Jack said, smiling at him. “Is that coffee? You’re a saint, Ianto.”

“Owen said thank you to me!” Ianto exclaimed. “Either he’s possessed or you’ve been telling tales! Or it’s a sign of the apocalypse!”

Jack chortled into his coffee. “Good one,” he said approvingly. “I told them you were taking some time off to deal with some of the fallout from the Battle,” he said. “I might have implied that things had caught up to you. I might have also reminded them that we’ve been taking you for granted all this while. That’s all.”

“That would have done it,” Corinne observed with a grin.

“Oh, god,” Ianto muttered, then turned on his heel and strode out.

Jack’s laughter followed him.

So maybe Jack had decided he’d paid enough. It didn’t feel like enough, though.

Ianto took to doing all manner of little things for Jack. Filling out the paperwork that didn’t require Jack’s authorisation, summarising UNIT reports, making the best-quality coffee for him, providing him with what he needed almost before he’d finished asking for it, quietly supporting him through the team’s fury when Jack let the faeries take Jasmine.

And his solicitude didn’t go unnoticed.

“Seriously, Ianto,” Jack said, catching his arm as Ianto turned to leave the office. “You need to stop spoiling me like this.”

“Haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, sir,” Ianto replied.

Jack’s response was to get up and come around the side of the table, never once letting go of Ianto’s arm. “You,” Jack said, “have been doing far too much for me. And you’re not letting your own work suffer either, which is truly impressive. But you don’t have to do all this for me.” He nodded towards the stack of finished reports Ianto had just dropped off.

“It’s my job, sir,” Ianto protested, ignoring the way Millie was cheering Jack on.

“No, it’s mine,” Jack replied. He tugged Ianto a little closer, curling his free arm around Ianto’s waist. “You’ve done your penance, Ianto.”

Ianto swallowed. “Have I?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Jack, Millie, Damien, Gregory, Walter and Regina all said simultaneously.

Ianto very nearly laughed.

“Should’ve been a milk run,” Jack said apologetically. Ianto looked up at him blearily from his perch on the stairs. Jack crouched in front of him, putting his hands on either side of Ianto’s body. “You’ll be all right,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself.

“You know,” Corinne said, watching Jack. “I think he fancies you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ianto assured Jack, shifting as if he was making himself comfortable, and accidentally elbowing Corinne in the process.

“This was supposed to get you more comfortable with field trips,” Jack said in disgust. “Didn’t actually think we’d find anything dangerous here.”

“You didn’t know,” Ianto said.

“He’s just as bad as you when it comes to the guilt,” Damien observed.

“Stop feeling guilty,” Ianto added. Damien had a point, though he’d never admit it out loud. “You keep telling me to stop, so take your own advice.”

Jack gave him a half-smile. “You’re good to me, you know that?” he asked, pushing himself up. He glanced over at where Gwen was still getting treatment for her gunshot wound. It didn’t look like she’d be done any time soon. All that running around hadn’t helped her any. Owen was with Toshiko; he’d take care of her. Jack sat down next to Ianto and put an arm around his shoulders, careful to avoid any bruises.

“They really did a number on you,” Jack said, wiping a bit of dirt from Ianto’s cheek. “You poor darling.”

“M’not a darling,” Ianto protested half-heartedly. Beside him, Corinne laughed. Ianto had a feeling he wouldn’t hear the end of that comment for a long time to come.

“You are,” Jack insisted, pulling Ianto just close enough to place a discreet kiss on his jaw.

“Sir?” Ianto asked uncertainly.

“I’m not hitting on you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Jack said, amused. “I wouldn’t do that to you so soon.”

“That implies later is fine,” Ianto observed.

“Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” Jack retorted.

“I don’t particularly want to, at the moment,” Ianto said.

“Maybe not right this second,” Jack conceded. “But in general.”

“You said you weren’t expecting anything dangerous,” Ianto said, changing the subject completely unsubtly. Corinne was nearly in paroxysms of laughter, and even Damien was looking amused, the traitor. “What were you expecting then?”

Jack grinned but let the subject change slide. “Sometimes the Rift takes people,” he said. “From here to elsewhere, just like it takes things and people from elsewhere to here. Some unexplained disappearances are because of the Rift, and there’s nothing we can do about that.”

“You thought that was what was happening?” Ianto asked.

“Possibly,” Jack said. “A number of disappearances concentrated in the same area and general time period could’ve been due to a prolonged Rift flare. The other Rift-related possibility was that something had come through the Rift and was kidnapping these people. That didn’t seem likely since there was no alien activity detected around here.”

“Pity we don’t have a cannibal detector,” Ianto said, sagging slightly against Jack’s side. Jack’s grip tightened.

“Could’ve been a lot worse,” he mused. “If you hadn’t realised what was going on so quickly. Tosh told me you caused enough of a commotion for her to get away and find us. God knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t acted.” A pause. “How did you figure it out, anyway?”

Ianto shrugged. The ghosts of former victims had been there, explaining the truth, frantic, desperate for these fresh victims to escape. They hadn’t realised that Ianto could see and hear them at first. They’d just wanted to stop their murderers from gaining fresh victims.

And there were so many of them.

“Little things,” Ianto said. “The way in which they spoke. The way they acted like there was no threat out there. Just made me wonder if maybe they weren’t the cause of everything themselves. And then they were acting like it was more important they stop us from getting away, rather than protecting us, and then I remembered what was in the fridge and what bothered me about it because there was skinned meat in there, prepared the way people prepare beef or chicken, meat separated in bags, and what aliens put meat in plastic bags, or even if they were killing people for some alien that was threatening them, why prepare it like that, like it’s packaged for family-meal-sized portions, and I was so surprised I said it out loud, that they were cannibals, and they tried to grab us but I hit the one guy and Tosh made a run for it but the other two jumped me and I tried to get away but -”

“All right,” Jack said soothingly, rubbing tiny circles into Ianto’s shoulder. “That’s enough, that’s more than enough. You did so well, darling.”

Ianto shook his head, drawing his knees up and hiding his face. “I couldn’t do anything really,” he mumbled.

“You did plenty,” Jack said. “You distracted them so Tosh could get away. If she hadn’t found us, we might not have realised what was going on until it was too late.”

Ianto shrugged. That hadn’t been what he’d meant, but he could hardly explain that to Jack. Someone touched his arm lightly, a familiar static tingle running through his skin.

“You did fine,” the girl told him. “Better than fine.” A laugh. “Better than me. Here I thought I was prepared for any bastards might try an’ jump me. Had a baseball bat and all.”

“Ianto?” Jack asked.

“M’fine,” Ianto said, sighing and sitting up a little. “You’d best go check on Gwen.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. He snuck a kiss on Ianto’s ear before getting up. “Sit tight, don’t go anywhere.”

“Hardly,” Ianto said.

“Well, there’s no one else here now,” Damien observed tightly. “How many of them are there?”

“Too many,” Ianto replied. He looked at the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Ellie Johnson,” she said. “Can’t believe you can actually see me. It’s so weird.”

“I don’t remember not being able to,” he said. “My grandmother told me it was safer to hide it. That was after she died, mind.”

Ellie smiled. “Must’ve been a shock for her.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ianto confessed. “I don’t think anything ever surprised her.”

“This might’ve,” Damien muttered.

“Maybe,” Ianto allowed.

“Maybe what?” Ellie asked.

“Sorry, that was to Damien,” Ianto said, gesturing to his left. “You’re not the only one here, but for some reason, you lot can’t see each other. For the record, if I ask you to be quiet, it’s usually because there’s a whole lot of you talking at the same time, and I can’t hear a thing.”

“A’right,” she said.

“Although, you can move on if you feel like it,” Ianto said. “I don’t know what it’s like, of course, but most of them seem happy just before they go.”

“Think so?” she asked with a half-smile. “Might not get past the pearly gates.”

“I think you will,” Ianto said honestly. “And we’ve got the guys now. We won’t let them hurt anyone ever again.”

She bit her lip, then nodded. “Then - I’m off now,” she said. “If - if you get the chance - they took my necklace. My name’s on the pendant. My dad gave it to me, and I want him to get it back -”

“I’ll find it,” Ianto promised.

She gave him a relieved smile, then shimmered and vanished. Ianto let his hand brush against Damien’s, drawing support from that familiar static prickle. Then he turned to his right.

“And what’s your name?” he asked the next ghost.

“Nicely done, Ianto Jones,” Jack said, checking over what they’d found. The police - the real police, who’d been summoned some hours ago - were looking a tad sickened at the number of trinkets and clothing in the room.

“Keepsakes,” Ianto said, looking around. “I wonder if they wore them, or just kept them here?”

“Sick bastards,” one of the officers whispered.

“How did you know this was here?” Jack asked.

Ianto held up his wrist. “They took my bracelet,” he said. “And that room Tosh and I woke up in, there were shoes and clothes all stacked away there. It just occurred to me that they might have been taking mementoes of a sort, so I had a look around for any more places like that one.”

“Good thing you did,” Jack said. “Think we can reunite these with the next of kin?”

“We can try,” Ianto said absently, rubbing his wrist.

“This one here’s my jacket,” Tara announced, waving her hand through a beautiful faux-fur creation. “Just bought it the day before, saved up months for it.” She looked at him. “You mind me daughter gets it.”

He gave her the barest of nods. She got a pleased look on her face, then disappeared.

“Take a lot of doing,” Jack observed.

“Let me do this,” Ianto said quietly. He stepped over to the table in the room.

Jack looked up. “Ianto?” he asked.

“I want to do this,” Ianto said.

Jack glanced at the officers in the room, who shrugged. They might have to take photos of the items for evidence, but everything else they had - including confessions - was already damning enough. They wouldn’t need the items for long, and once they were done with them, the families did deserve them back.

“Can you handle it?” Jack asked.

Ianto made a sound of acquiescence, locating his bracelet. The woven leather braid settled snugly on his wrist. A young girl latched on to his leg, tip-toeing and pointing at a glittery pink tiara on the table. It clearly belonged to a young child. “That’s mine,” the girl announced. “Mam bought it for me ‘cause it makes me look like a princess.”

Ianto picked it up. “How old do you think she was?” he asked Jack, cradling the tiara gently as he displayed it. Jack stared for a moment, then turned away with a muttered oath. A couple of the officers weren’t as quiet.

“I’ll do it,” Ianto repeated. “I need to.”

Once he had the list of names, it was easy enough to match some of the jewellery, even some of the clothes. Others he could match to their once-owners because said once-owners laid claim to them before moving on. He sat in front of his workstation, pouring over donated photos and old security footage which had captured the victims, trying to figure out which items belonged to which victims.

The most recent victims were the easiest. Harder were the ones from a decade ago, and a decade before that, and a decade before that. Apparently, that was when the practice had started. Who knew why?

It made him feel powerless.

Camilla, the aspiring princess, sat curled in his lap, looking up at him trustingly.

“Ianto,” Jack said.

Ianto looked up tiredly. Camilla’s fingers tightened in the fabric of his trousers. “Sir?” he asked.

“Take a break,” Jack said. “You look exhausted.”

“A little,” Ianto admitted. He stood up, Camilla obediently letting go of his trousers and trotting after him as he walked towards Jack. “I think I’ve done about all that’s possible, though. Some of these, there’s just no telling.”

Jack nodded, placing a hand on Ianto’s shoulder and steering him along. “It’s more than I thought possible,” he admitted. “Some of them were very thankful.”

“Were they?” Ianto asked. He’d begged off actually giving the items back to the families of the victims.

“Yep,” Jack said.

Ianto didn’t ask how the others had taken it.

When they found out that Toshiko had been spying on their minds, the first thing Ianto had worried about was whether she’d learned his secret. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have. She seemed inordinately concerned about his health and mental state, though, so she’d probably heard something about the pain he was feeling. Nearly three weeks after the cannibals, he still hadn’t completely recovered from their tender mercies. He wasn’t entirely certain his mind was back to normal, either.

Some days, everything just - hurt.

It was generally those days that Damien told him to “stop acting like a damn fool and get on with it.” A fond smile touched Ianto’s lips unconsciously.

“What’re you thinking of?” Jack asked curiously.

“Oh,” Ianto said, looking up. “Didn’t hear you come in, sir.”

“I can tell,” Jack said. “So? Penny, thoughts?”

Ianto shrugged. “Damien. Old friend of mine.”

Jack’s eyes dimmed. “Ah. Good friend?”

“The best,” Ianto said.

“I do declare you’re making me blush,” Damien said in his best southern belle accent, complete with fluttering lashes.

“Guess so,” Jack said, nodding. “You look happy when you’re talking about him.”

“Do I?” Ianto asked. He supposed it made sense. Damien was a father, brother and friend all rolled in one. Besides, he appeared to have taken over his Nain’s role as Ianto’s chief advisor. He didn’t show any signs of wanting to move on, and Ianto was just selfish enough to be glad he was staying.

“Yep,” Jack said. “So. Just got a call from a Detective Sergeant. Seems to think we’d be interested in a crime scene they’ve got. Coming?”

Ianto considered it. “I’d like to,” he said. “But my ribs are acting up a bit today.”

“The bruising hasn’t gone down?” Jack asked in concern.

“Quite a bit,” Ianto said. “But it’s still fairly bruised around here.” He pointed to the right of his chest, where the majority of the pain was.

“Okay,” Jack said. “I’m taking the other three with me, though, don’t know what we’re going into. Look, if that doesn’t get any better in a couple of days, get Owen to take a look at it. It shouldn’t be taking this long to heal.”

“I move a bit in my sleep,” Ianto admitted. “Probably doesn’t help.” Also, Regina, who’d once been a senior doctor at Torchwood One, suspected he’d cracked a rib. She didn’t think it was bad enough to warrant being taped up, so he hadn’t asked Owen to check him over. She’d assured him that it would heal up on its own within the next couple of months.

Jack nodded. “Still. Two days.”

“Yes, sir,” Ianto said obediently. Oh well, at least he might get some painkillers out of it.

Jack flashed him a bright smile and left. Ianto promptly pulled up the available information on the crime the team had been called out to. It was a murder, apparently. The victims were called Mark and Sara Briscoe. There didn’t seem to be anything peculiar about the case, but Ianto supposed that was what the others were going out for.

Probably just a Sergeant over-reacting, Ianto thought, and returned to his work.

By the end of the day, he was sorely regretting ever thinking that.

“Thanks for doing this,” Jack said quietly.

“Part of my job,” Ianto said.

Jack gave him a ghost of a grin. “I seem to recall this exact conversation taking place not too long ago,” he said. “Still stands. I should be doing this.”

Ianto nodded, and went right on filling out the death certificate.

“Thank you,” Jack said.

“You’re repeating yourself, sir,” Ianto said blandly. “They say that’s the first sign of old age.”

Jack laughed, something dark hiding beneath the sound. “Suppose so,” he said, leaning against the drawers. “You ever think - some day, we’re gonna run out of space?”

“Occasionally,” Ianto said. “And then I recall that if that happens, Torchwood mandates the destruction of older, non-essential bodies.”

“Oh, gross,” Corinne said.

“Barrel of laughs today, aren’t you?” Jack said.

“I do try,” Ianto replied, then sighed minutely. “I’m sorry.”

“Gwen said,” Jack started, then paused to collect his thoughts. “She said, I never asked Suzie about her dying father, and then I gave her the Glove, so of course she got obsessed. My fault.”

Ianto waited patiently. If all his experiences with listening to the dead had taught him anything, it was the silent sound of someone struggling for words.

“But now that we know Suzie wanted to kill him, not save him,” Jack said slowly. “What does that make me?”

Ianto glanced at Suzie’s face. He’d cleaned the blood off her body and tidied her up before moving her back to the Morgue. She looked terribly peaceful.

“And then you know what Suzie said?” Jack asked, barking out a short laugh. He leaned his head against the drawer, looking up at nothing in particular. “That it was my fault, because I recruited her. And that there’s something moving in the darkness, and it’s coming for me.”

“Don’t you dare believe her,” Ianto said in a clipped voice.

Jack glanced at him, but remained silent.

“She chose this, Jack,” Ianto said. “The only person who’s to blame is Suzie. When she died the first time, you wanted to see the good in her, so you blamed the Glove. And this time, Gwen wanted to see the good in her, so she blamed you. It’s no one’s fault but Suzie’s. Maybe you didn’t see how she felt, but none of us did. It’s easy to pretend to be normal.” He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “I should know.”

Jack’s lips twitched. “Me too,” he said.

“An applicable description for the majority of Torchwood,” Damien observed. “Especially this lot of you.”

Ianto stared at the “Cause of Death” section in the form, shrugged, and scribbled in “Delusions of grandeur and attempt to cheat death, resulting in death 2x over.” Then he signed off on the form and tucked the clipboard under his arm before closing up the drawer.

“You’re not really suffering under the delusion that you’re normal, are you?” Ianto asked lightly, heading back towards the Hub main. Jack followed him.

“Done already?” Jack asked.

“Just about,” Ianto said. “I’ll need to check the official story, make sure they’ve got enough details to put Suzie’s victims to rest without compromising our operations.”

“Thank you,” Jack said.

“What have I told you about repetitions, sir?” Ianto asked, then let out a surprised squeak as Jack grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

“Less cheek outta you, young ‘un,” Jack said in a creaky voice, then laughed softly and buried his face in Ianto’s shoulder. Ianto shuffled the clipboard around and pulled Jack into a one-armed hug.

“Definitely fancies you,” Corinne decided.

Ianto glared ineffectively at her over Jack’s shoulder. She grinned at him cheekily.

“Jack, have you - oh, sorry!”

Ianto transformed the look of horror on his face to the usual placid blandness just as Jack lifted his head. “Need something, Gwen?” he asked, reluctantly letting go of Ianto.

“Just - to ask if everything’s done,” she said uncomfortably. “Owen said he’d give me a lift home if that’s the case.”

Jack glanced at Ianto, who nodded. “Yeah, we’re done,” Jack told her. “Go on home then. Take tomorrow off if you need it.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “I’ll see how I feel,” she said. “Bye, then.” She gave Ianto a last, uncertain look, then left.

“She thinks you’re shagging,” Damien commented.

“She totally thinks you’re shagging,” Corinne said almost at the same time. “So you should go ahead and make it a reality!”

“I’ll just go have a look at the police records,” Ianto murmured, and fled.

Part Two