Torchwood Fic: Time Enough, 9/13

[veronicaluv]

Chapter Eight

"Sorry I'm late." Ianto passed out everyone's Styrofoam dinner containers with an apologetic smile. He set a plate of shortbread in the middle of the table, then handed Owen the latest edition of the Echo. "The weather is making traffic miserable and I had an appointment across town."

"I can see that," Jack growled. "Very nice."

Ianto glanced at Jack as he sat down beside him at the table, raising his eyebrows at the frank admiration in Jack's expression. Before he could say anything, Owen snapped open the paper with an annoyed grunt.

"Oh, great. Ianto gets his hair trimmed and now we have to watch Jack make cow eyes at him for the rest of the night. It's enough to make me want to toss up the contents of my stomach, if my digestive tract still functioned properly."

"Ew, Owen!" Gwen through a plastic fork in his direction, taking care to miss him, but barely. "You don't have to remind us at every opportunity about your lack of bodily functions."

Owen retrieved the fork from the floor and threw it back at her. "Yes, I do, because while I can't take pleasure in food, alcohol or a rattlin' good shag, I can still enjoy trying to gross you out."

"Good luck with that," Tosh chimed in. She speared a tomato off her salad and meticulously dipped it in dressing, eyeing it closely to make sure she had the correct vegetable to dressing ratio. "You're saying that to a group of people who step in alien entrails on a weekly basis."

"Huh." Owen jerked a thumb in Jack's direction. "Still not as nauseating as those two these days."

Jack grinned at him around a mouthful of sandwich and Ianto smothered a laugh behind a cough. He really didn't care what Owen thought, especially since he knew Owen was being annoying out of habit, not any real malice, an unexpected benefit of his admittedly tragic situation.

Dinner progressed normally, conversation flowing around the table in desultory waves. Ianto found himself intercepting Jack's wandering fingers on several occasions; it seemed the newly revealed skin on the back of his neck was too tempting for Jack to leave alone. Huffing in disappointment after having his hand slapped away again, Jack pushed away the remains of his dinner and leaned back in his chair.

"In the interest of complete disclosure," he announced, "I wanted to let you all know that Ianto and I are now officially living together."

"Living together?" Gwen asked, frowning. "Since when?"

"Since about two weeks ago."

"Here?"

"No," Ianto said, "At the house I've been renting since last year."

Gwen turned confused eyes to Jack. "I'm not sure I understand. Living together meaning-"

"Shacked up," Jack beamed.

"Co-habitating," Ianto supplied helpfully.

"Sharing the sheets," Jack leered. He reached again for Ianto's neck and pouted when his wrist was pinched.

"Living in sin, there's another," Ianto added.

Jack pointed a finger at him. "Oh, I like that one!"

"So, Jack," Gwen brought their attention back to her. "You've actually moved in, you're not living in your quarters below any more."

Jack shrugged. "More or less. With the hours we keep it's not like it will make that much of a difference, but since I've been sleeping at Ianto's most nights anyway--"

"Excuse me." Owen dropped the newspaper and briefly clapped his hands over his ears. "Contrary to popular belief, we don't want to hear the details."

"I do," Tosh spoke up. At Owen's glare, she continued, "sorry, I just can't imagine Jack taking out the rubbish or washing the dishes. That's all part of it, isn't it?"

As Jack hotly protested that he damn well knew how to rinse a coffee cup, Ianto tugged the paper napkin from his collar and folded it into a neat square. "Jack has an alternative skill set."

"I'll bet he does," Gwen muttered.

"Meaning," Ianto continued with a bland smile, "that his share of the household duties have more to do with repair. The house is old and even though I've been working at it for months, I can't keep up with everything that needs to be done."

He didn't bother to add that Jack had taken to his new responsibilities with such innocent enthusiasm that Ianto wondered how long Jack had yearned for a home of his own without realising it. Everything about the house fascinated Jack, from the tricky toilet handle (now fixed) to the sagging back porch (to be levelled as soon as the weather turned fair). He teased Ianto with hideous paint colour suggestions and had quickly gained an ally in Marcy, who said Jack could do whatever he bloody well pleased as long as the rent was on time and he stopped by to chat now and then.

Jack would never be domesticated and Ianto never wanted him to feel trapped. He still roamed the slick streets and shadowy rooftops in the dark hours of early morning, sometimes not returning until Ianto had completed the downward thrust on the French press for their first morning coffee. Some nights he didn't come home at all, meeting Ianto at the Hub later, where they'd share a quick kiss and a quiet moment before beginning the day. Jack's attempts to hide the discomfort he felt at being away from what had been the centre of his existence for so long sometimes overwhelmed Ianto with the desire to protect him, to offer him a sanctuary where he could be something other than Captain Jack Harkness and all that entailed.

But for Ianto, he was content. He had most of Jack's clothes stuffed alongside his in their tiny wardrobe, he'd taught Jack how to use the French press (which was strictly to Ianto's advantage), and they were currently conducting an ongoing war over whose responsibility it was to make the bed. Jack wanted to, Ianto wouldn't allow him, and so far the argument had yielded no losers, since tug-of-war with the comforter often ended in the bed having to be re-made anyway.

"Right, so now that my domestic situation is out of the way," Jack folded hands over his heart. "Toshiko, you beautiful, clever thing, I need you desperately."

Tosh looked up in surprise from the piece of shortbread she was nibbling. "Yes?"

"Special project, my office, five minutes." He rose to his feet and wandered behind Ianto, hands clasped behind his back.

"What special project?"

Ianto stood up in time to duck away from Jack's latest attempt to touch the newly revealed skin of his nape. Ignoring Jack's grunt of frustration, he turned to Tosh. "Jack had the idea to install a remote Rift monitor at the house."

Toshiko's eyes lit up. "Really? Well, imagine I could come up with something." She frowned and broke off a small piece of shortbread, popping it in her mouth. "It's going to need more power than a normal household is wired to handle, especially if it's in an older home. And any kind of massive power drain is going to show up on the grid immediately."

Jack grinned down at her like a proud father. "Which, of course, brings me to special project number two. Diverting the power drain. You up for it?"

"Sounds like fun." Tosh dusted her hands and pushed back her chair. "Just the kind of little diversion I need on a night like this. Anything is better than going out in that downpour."

She brushed past Jack, who stared after her as she left the room, muttering to herself. "A little diversion?" he echoed.

Toshiko's voice drifted back to them. "Jack? I'll need blueprints!"

"Coming!" Jack gave the rest of them a two-fingered salute and turned to follow, taking an exaggerated step around Ianto with his hands in his pockets. Their gazes met and Ianto inclined his head, one eyebrow slightly aloft, and Jack's eyes darkened in understanding. Then Jack was on the move, bellowing Tosh's name as he snagged one of the shortbreads from the plate on the table.

Owen shoved aside the newspaper and slouched into the curve of his chair. "Well, glad someone has something to do tonight. I'd die of boredom if I weren't already--"

"Dead," Gwen sighed, "yes, we know. Although I have to agree, it is slow enough to make me wish for something to happen. I'd go home but Rhys is out with friends, there's nothing on the telly and nothing to do but empty the dishwasher."

Ianto reached for the discarded newspaper, intent on throwing it away with the rest of the rubbish. Owen had left it unfolded and out of order and Ianto picked it up, his gaze idly drifting over the headlines.

"So, Ianto," Gwen leaned her elbows on the conference table, dark hair swinging over her cheeks. "What's it really like, living with Jack?"

"Hmm?" Ianto looked up from the paper and frowned at her. "Sorry?"

Ignoring Owen's groan, she gave Ianto a conspiratorial grin. "Living with Jack, what's it like? Does he leave his towels on the bathroom floor, squeeze the toothpaste from the middle? Come on, you can tell us."

Ianto considered answering her impertinent questions (no, and of course not), but it had been only two weeks since Jack had shown up in his bed in the middle of the night, and the newness of their situation was something he wanted to keep to himself, not share with curious co-workers.

Instead he placed the newspaper on the table and shook his head. "He's Jack," he said with a shrug. Gwen pouted in disappointment as Ianto reached behind her to remove his coat jacket from his chair. "Listen, I'm going to go out for a while."

Owen straightened in his chair. "Where you off to?"

"The cinema."

"The cinema? On a night like this, by yourself? That's a bit pathetic, even for you."

Ianto slipped on his jacket, shaking out the collar and straightening his cuffs. "It's not just any cinema, it's an old theatre across town and tonight they're showing some recently found archival footage. We've had reports of sporadic Rift activity from it over the years, but according to Tosh, nothing has ever manifested." He glanced at his watch. "If I leave now, I'll just make it in time. I should only be gone an hour or-"

"I want to go." Ianto looked at Gwen in surprise, vaguely annoyed that she was inviting herself. "Nothing else to do," she added defensively.

"Yeah, me too." Owen stood up. "I'm in. Even a grotty old cinema is better than hanging around here."

Ianto began to warm to the idea-going alone was fine but he found that he liked the idea of company. The team rarely had the opportunity or inclination to spend their down time together and since the Electro held such meaning for him, he was surprisingly eager to share the experience. It was also a chance to relax, to get away and do something not Torchwood, and relive some rare, happy memories.

"Right, then. Let's go."

~~

He needed to get out, to get away before they all came crashing down, the barriers between hard-won control and the grief that clawed at the back of his eyes and seared the breath in his throat. He had to find a place to ride it out, some place where Jack and the others wouldn't have to witness the pain and anger that was demanding to be poured out after the unfathomable tragedies that the Night Travellers had left behind.

Talking to Jack in his office had been agonizing as he'd struggled to remain professional. He'd filled out the artefact form blindly, scarcely knowing what he'd written down before turning the flask over to Jack. That had been the worst of it, trying to put up a front that discerning blue eyes couldn't penetrate, because the last thing he wanted was to be yet another worry for Jack to shoulder. When he finally couldn't stand it any more, he pivoted and left Jack to lock up the flask, his only goal to go to ground and let the encroaching wave of sorrow take its toll.

But he couldn't let go, not yet. He had to make it past the others without notice, or at least without them witnessing how close he was to losing the precarious hold on his emotions. He'd almost made it to the cog door when he heard Gwen call out to him.

"Ianto!"

He paused and turned slowly, smoothing every emotion out of his expression.

"Gwen."

She walked toward him, a file in her hand. "That young boy, the one who survived?"

"Yes?"

"He does have more relatives, quite a few of them, in fact." Gwen handed over the file with a sad shake of her head. "There's the aunt from Bristol that's already at the hospital and grandparents coming down from London. Cousins, uncles, even an older half-brother. He'll be fine."

Ianto took the folder and opened it to see photos of normal looking people whose lives had just been randomly destroyed by something no one would ever be able to explain. He closed the folder and handed it back to Gwen with a small, non-committal smile that she returned uncertainly. Her gaze fell on the crumpled lapel of his suit coat and she frowned as she reached out a hand to smooth it down.

"Not like you to be wrinkled," she said with a sigh of mock irritation. When Ianto stepped back, out of the reach of her fingers, her expression turned to one of confusion. "Ianto, you all right?"

Her innocent, well-meant question fell like a hammer against old plaster, causing hairline cracks in his hard-won composure. He tightened his lips and nodded, trying to assuage her curiosity with a swift, comforting touch to her wrist as he turned back toward the exit.

"I'll be upstairs," he said unnecessarily, almost hopefully, as if the attempt return to normal operations would hasten his own healing, yet knowing that it wouldn't. He reached the tourist office level and out of habit checked to see that everything was where he'd left it, then slipped out into the chill of a February night.

He made it all the way up to the Plass before realising he had no destination in mind. There were only two places in his life, the Hub and his house, and now that he and Jack lived together, he had no refuge where he could be alone. And he wanted to be alone, to fight off the heartache churning up inside him before he was consumed by it. This was what he'd trained himself to do, how he'd always chosen to deal with sorrow and grief and pain-by himself, separate, unwilling to share those feelings for fear that he'd be judged weak or unworthy. He wouldn't risk everything he had-he wouldn't risk Jack's love-by showing himself unable to bear the burdens of Torchwood.

Looking around forlornly, hunched against the cold, his eyes swept over and then back toward the familiar path he used to take to Lisa's marker, and before he could make a concious decision, his feet were already moving.

The walk to Lisa's gnarled tree was conducted almost in a daze, as if Ianto could sense the refuge it offered and knew if he made it that far without breaking down, he'd have accomplished one small, important task. The streets were deserted on this quiet, breezy evening, and as he skidded down the patch of bracken that led to the tree, he felt a perfect silence gather around him, exactly what he wanted.

Reaching the base of the tree, he placed one palm against the rough, damp bark and paused, squinting through the darkness toward the small impression that had once hidden the canister holding the remnants of his love for Lisa. It was barely discernible, a black, mud-sticky dent in the dirt that would be overgrown with grass come spring, obliterating the last trace of the memorial.

For Jonathan Penn's parents, there would be a small funeral, attended by nosy, black-clad mourners who'd nod their heads wisely and commiserate over the sad state of a world that let loose toxic clouds from chemical plants, killing innocent people. Jonathan himself would have imperfect memories of the tragedy, supplemented by carefully constructed Torchwood lies that would guide his thoughts down the correct pathways to keep him safely ignorant.

But all the retcon in the world, and all of the team's work to conceal the true nature of the deaths, wouldn't alter the fact that Jonathan had lost his family, that a beloved only child was now an orphan, and a young man who'd once contemplated a secure future now had only uncertainty, mourning and loneliness to keep him company.

Ianto closed his eyes and balanced his shoulders against the tree, trembling hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, weariness dragging at his bones. He'd gone to Jonathan's workshop and removed all the canisters of film, tossing them in the back of the SUV for incineration later. Then he'd returned to the now abandoned Electro to ensure that there weren't any more of the canisters stored there. It was as he'd come down the stairs from the projection room that he'd heard a muffled noise coming from the theatre, and setting a suspect reel of film aside, he'd entered the theatre from the back, one hand on the weapon nestled in his hip holster.

The lights in the theatre were on but lowered to a dull glow, yet Ianto had no problem making out Jonathan Penn's bowed head in one of the aisle seats only a few rows from the back. The heartbreaking sounds of sobbing came to his ears and he lowered his head, unwilling to intrude on such naked grief but unwilling to leave Jonathan hurting on his own. Memories of the loss of his own parents and the consequences of being cut adrift from his only source of love and security at a vulnerable age urged him forward, reluctantly but steadily, hoping he'd find something for Jonathan to hold on to.

Jonathan had looked up as Ianto had drawn level with his seat. Red-rimmed, tear-washed eyes blinked at him in the gloom, the earpieces of his glasses twisted between his fingers. Beside him on the floor was a small satchel, the open zip revealing several books and an indistinguishable article of clothing.

"Jonathan?" Ianto spoke quietly. "Do you remember me?"

"Yeah, sure." Jonathan lowered his gaze to the glasses in his hand. "You're from that government agency, the one investigating the chemical leak."

Ianto went down on one knee beside him. "Right. I was just stopping by to take some readings. You really shouldn't be here, you know."

Jonathan nodded. "I know. I just wanted to get some of my dad's-my dad's things-" His voice broke and the glasses tumbled to the carpet as he buried his face his hands, sobs rocking his shoulders. Ianto knelt on both knees beside him, sliding one arm across the young man's back and drawing him close, murmuring quiet, nonsensical words of comfort. Jonathan turned his head into Ianto's shoulder and began to weep out his grief, one hand clutching the lapel of Ianto's suit jacket.

They remained like that until Jonathan's sobs faded off into hoarse, wet hiccups, his fingers still twisted in Ianto's lapel. When he finally raised his head, his cheeks now stained with embarrassment as well as tears, Ianto released him and rocked back onto his heels, offering him an encouraging smile.

"Better?"

"Yeah, little bit." He took the glasses that Ianto held out to him and slipped them on, taking a deep, calming breath. "Sorry about that," he added sheepishly.

Feeling far older than his own twenty-four years, Ianto patted his arm. "No worries, you're entitled. Now, you've got family to be with you, yes?"

His stomach clenched as Jonathan shook his head. "Nah, it was just the three of us. This place was their dream, the reason I put off going to university this year. Now, with everything that's happened, we'll probably lose this place and all the money my parents put into it." He sniffed hard against another wave of tears. "Reckon I'll have to sell it off just to pay the debts."

"And university?" Ianto asked softly.

Jonathan shook his head. "That's out of the question now, I guess. Don't know what I'll do next."

He fell silent and Ianto bit his lip, searching for something to offer Jonathan, something that no one had thought to give him under similar circumstances. Torchwood policy was very strict regarding the interference of its personnel in the lives of victims they encountered in the course of their work: guide them toward normal sources of relief and basic services and then walk away. But as Jonathan surreptitiously wiped his nose along the inner sleeve of his cotton jacket, Ianto knew this would be one of the few times he felt compelled to bend the rules.

Ianto rose to his feet, hiding a wince as his sore knees protested. "Have you eaten?"

Jonathan shook his head. Gathering the straps of the bag, he stood up and looked around. "Not hungry," he said absently. "Too much to do. I've got to see about getting the cameras returned to the museum and talk to someone about removing-"

Guiding Jonathan toward the lobby with a touch to his elbow, Ianto let him talk until they were close to the front door. It was late afternoon and although he knew there was nothing Jonathan would be able to do until tomorrow, he knew that letting him vocalise his concerns helped him feel had some power over his immediate future.

"That's all good," he said as Jonathan wound down, "but why don't we go get a coffee, maybe a sandwich."

Jonathan nodded automatically, then gave Ianto a sharp glance."Why? I mean, yeah, thank you, but this isn't really your job, is it?"

Ianto shrugged and opened the door, ushering Jonathan onto the pavement. "Does it matter? I'm hungry and you need to eat eventually. May as well go together and maybe we can sort some of this out."

And Jonathan had smiled at him, tentatively, hopefully, his heart in his eyes as he realised that he wasn't as alone as he'd thought he'd be, and any guilt that Ianto was starting to feel about his interference had melted away.

The knots in the tree behind him were digging into his shoulders as Ianto struggled one last time to explain away the emotions the appearance of the Night Travellers had dredged up. He'd certainly seen more than his share of innocent people whose lives were either lost or destroyed for no reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and just as certainly, he'd see many more as long as he worked for Torchwood.

But this case had been so different, so personal, from the beginning. A place from his past, a rare moment of affectionate remembrance, despoiled by phantoms who lived to kill their audience. A touch of evil on his shoulder, the lonely story of a woman who'd lost her entire life to fear, the last breath of a young boy who'd grow up far away from everything he'd ever known. Jonathan, not much younger than himself but too young to be alone, his dreams gone and his family obliterated, and nothing that Ianto would be able to do or provide would change that.

It was as he was remembering saying goodnight to Jonathan at his parent's house that Ianto allowed the silent tears to overflow. He'd wanted to take Jonathan somewhere where the memories wouldn't be so painful, but Jonathan had insisted, faltering only when Ianto had squeezed his shoulder in farewell. Ianto made no promises to contact him again but had written down his private cell number in direct violation of Torchwood policy. Given the look of helpless gratitude on Jonathan's face, he found he really didn't care.

The tears continued to fall and Ianto let them, his eyes open and sightless, the lower muscles of his back tensing as he fought to keep them from turning into body-wracking sobs. He forced himself to breathe deeply, a fresh surge of tears flowing upward with each exhalation as he tried to empty himself of the poisonous pain trapped inside. He'd always wept too easily, a trait that had embarrassed him too many times to count and one of the reasons he sought privacy when he could. But now he cried for all the victims, for his own innocence lost long before he'd ever heard the word Torchwood, and for the lives he'd never be able to save.

The brisk wind began to cool his wet cheeks, bringing him some semblance of awareness. He fished out his handkerchief and mopped the tears from his face, then gave his nose a discreet blow. Straightening from his now uncomfortable slouch against the tree, he folded the cotton and slid it into his pocket, gave the knot in his tie a quick adjustment and rolled his stiff shoulders. He felt empty and calm and very lonely, wishing that there had been some sense of closure at the end of all the tears. He finally noticed the chill settling into his bones and as he fought off a shiver, he made the decision to return to the Hub. Since no one had made any effort to contact him, he was reasonably sure that his time away had not been noticed and he congratulated himself that he'd been able to deal with his emotions without anyone witnessing his breakdown.

That vague satisfaction disappeared instantly when he stepped over the largest of the roots to begin the walk back up to the street. Standing ten feet away, Ianto's overcoat over his arm and a plastic bottle of water in his hand, was Jack Harkness.

"J-Jack!" Ianto stuttered, looking around as if expecting the other members of his team to pop up out of the grass. "What are you doing here?"

Jack strolled toward him and in the dark, Ianto couldn't read his expression. Unnerved by Jack's silence, he took the offered coat and put it on, then accepted the water with a nod of thanks. He took a deep drink, then tried again.

"Why are you here?" he asked. "Is something going on?"

Jack stepped around him and walked a few feet below where Lisa's marker used to reside. Using the toe of his boot, he kicked at the mud, stirring up a few of the pebbles that had once framed the marker.

"It's all gone, isn't it."

Startled, Ianto nearly allowed the water bottle to slip from suddenly nerveless fingers. "What?"

"Lisa's memorial. There's nothing left."

"You knew about it?"

"Yes. When Gwen told me tonight that you were upset, I had a feeling you'd come here."

Something was off in Jack's voice and Ianto edged closer to him, suspecting that there was something going on at the Hub that Jack was reluctant to tell him. He also wanted to explore how Jack knew about this place, but Torchwood had to be the priority.

"Is there something wrong, do we need to go back?"

Jack put his hands on hips and lowered his head to stare at the ground. "Ianto," he murmured.

Alarmed, Ianto stepped to Jack's side and slipped his hand inside Jack's palm. "What?"

Jack took a deep breath, then used Ianto's hand to yank him into a hard embrace. The bottle fell unnoticed to the dirt as Ianto went gladly, finding the shelter of Jack's body more consoling than all the tears he'd shed. He burrowed his arms beneath the greatcoat and buried his face in Jack's neck, preparing himself for whatever Jack had to say but relishing the warmth and safety that Jack represented.

"Ianto," Jack whispered against the tender skin behind his ear, "listen to me. If you need to come here to feel safe, I understand. If this is where you need to go for comfort, I get it. But I want you to know that I am here for you, that I am in this with you, and if one day, this place isn't enough, you can come to me and I will always be here for you. Just give me a chance, that's all I'm asking."

Ianto stiffened and tried to pull away. Jack's arms tightened, one hand sliding up into Ianto's hair and holding him securely so that Ianto's cheek remained pressed to Jack's.

"Shh, relax. It's okay."

Making a little sound of protest, Ianto tried again to get Jack to release him, but Jack's hold on him remained almost uncomfortably tight. The false sense of calm he'd achieved alone had been shattered by Jack's arrival, but now Ianto felt almost ashamed as he realised that in his desire to prove he was worthy of Jack's love, he was cutting himself off from it at the same time.

He'd sworn to accept Jack exactly as he is, even to the point of letting him go again when the time came, no matter what the personal cost. But as Jack rocked him gently side to side beneath the ancient tree, he knew he'd misjudged Jack's commitment. Whereas Jack had no problem blending together the myriad aspects of his extraordinary life, Ianto would rather compartmentalize his own world, and by doing so he was missing out on one of the more tender aspects of being loved by someone. It was a lesson that had begun just like this, held safe in Jack's arms on the anniversary of Canary Wharf so many months ago, and it had yet to be fully learned.

With a sigh, Ianto pressed back against Jack's embrace until he was granted just enough room to look into Jack's eyes.

"Apparently," Ianto murmured, a reluctant smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, "there is more than one idiot in this relationship."

Despite the fitful light coming from the street lamps, Ianto could see Jack's eyes begin to shine in amusement.

"Well, I wasn't going to point it out," Jack confided with exaggerated reluctance, then leaned in and covered Ianto's mouth with his own. They shared a slow, easy kiss, tongues twisting together in a lazy dance, and Ianto revelled in it, in Jack and his ability to cut through Ianto's stubborn layers and lay him bare with rare tenderness.

They held each other until a sharp gust of wind had Ianto shivering again. Jack gently bit Ianto's lower lip, then swiped it with his tongue. "Ready to head back?"

Ianto nodded and kissed the corner of Jack's mouth. As they disentangled from each other, he stole a glance at Jack and then looked down at the mud they'd trampled beneath their feet.

"Jack, how did you know about this?"

Jack settled the collar of his greatcoat around his neck. "It was actually Tosh who tipped me off. Ever since Mary and her nasty amulet she likes to watch random CCTV footage and she kept catching you on the same path. She assumed I knew where you went and asked me about it and before you get pissed off at her, she did it because she was concerned about you. Then I just took it from there. The camera coverage ends up at the end of the street, so one night I just started nosing around to see where it was you wandered off to. Once I found it, I tried to keep an eye on it, but I've only been been back here once since Owen got shot. What happened to it?"

Ianto swallowed, the memory still hurtful. He retrieved the fallen water bottle and wiped off the mud that had gathered on its surface. "Vandalised."

"Damn." The single word was soft and laced with regret. Putting a hand on Ianto's shoulder, Jack began to guide him up the grassy slope to the street. "I'm sorry. Does it bother you that I knew about it?"

Ianto shook his head. Jack had known about the memorial but had never interfered, and Ianto was touched that Jack had felt protective towards it. He had a fleeting regret that Jack and Lisa had never met and wanted to imagine they would've liked each other, both of them with their brilliant minds and endless curiosity, both of them shining so brightly in their own way that sometimes Ianto felt dim and slow in comparison.

They reached street level and as Jack moved a few steps beyond him, Ianto turned and looked back at the tree that had sheltered Lisa's marker. A crooked black outline against a pale grey sky, it had served its purpose and would stand long after Ianto was gone. He knew this would be his last visit and the realisation was bittersweet.

He smiled as he felt a tug on the back of his collar, followed by a fleeting touch of lips to his neck.

"Come on," Jack murmured, "let's go back to work, because later tonight I have a date with a certain portion of your anatomy that's been driving me crazy."

"Just one part of me?" Ianto turned and fell into step with Jack, their hands coming together in a comfortable, familiar grip. "The rest of me may feel neglected."

"Well, that part and everything it's attached to. Seriously, you need to give me some warning when you're due for a haircut so I can plan ahead."

"I'll put a pop-up on your schedule. In the meantime, I have another project I'd like to discuss with you before you get too distracted to concentrate."

Jack gave Ianto's hand a squeeze. "I get too distracted to concentrate? Is that a challenge?"

"No. Well, yes, actually. Anyway, I want to talk to you about Jonathan Penn."

Next

Also available in its entirety here: Time Enough