Title: Deaths and Entrances
By: ninefics
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper
Rating: 13+
Warning(s): None
Spoiler(s): No. This is AU, set after the end of S2.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.
Author's Notes: This is completely my own thing. Details, characters, information, and events in this story are not based on any spoilers, rumours, or teasers about S3 of Torchwood. Any eventual similarities between these stories and what happens during S3 is completely coincidental. "Deaths and Entrances" is the title of a poem by Dylan Thomas.

The last box containing Owen's life was pushed into the self-storage locker. Jack snapped the padlock shut and pressed his palm flat against the metal door. His mouth was set in a tight line. Ianto stood to his right, back against the wall, eyes closed. He might have been praying.

Gwen, standing near Jack's left shoulder made a soft sound.

“Gwen.” Jack acknowledged her presence.

“Jack. I...” she started and faltered. Gwen took a deep breath and spoke again, the words coming in a rush. “Jack, I can't do this any more. I can't do this to Rhys. I can't come to work every day knowing that everything I am is going to end up in a locker. I... I just can't.”

Jack turned to face her. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she wanted him to talk her out of it. She wanted him to beg her not to leave. Instead, he took her hand and brushed his thumb across the wedding band she wore.

“Go,” he said gently. “Go live a normal life, Gwen Williams. Kiss your husband. Have children. Be happy.” His tone changed to insisting. “Be normal.”

Gwen could have the life he could never have. She deserved it.

“Will you erase my memory? Will I forget all this?”

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

“No.” Jack offered her a broad grin, but his eyes were sad. “No, because I want you to know that you can call me – us – any time. You can always come back to Torchwood.”

"But call ahead first," Ianto said. Gwen gave him a questioning look. He cocked his head toward Jack. “Just so you don't walk in on anything again.”

Gwen laughed for the first time in almost a week.



“What about Gwen's friend Andy?” Jack paced the hub and tried not to let his gaze linger too long on any one empty workstation.

“Background check looks good. He's familiar enough with what we do thanks to Gwen, and he's always reacted fairly calmly to things. Good organisation skills, knows the area, has all the same contacts as Gwen. And a few she doesn't.”

“Great! Get him on the phone and see if he wants in.”

“Asked and answered,” Ianto said with a smug grin. “He starts Monday.”

Jack beamed. He couldn't find the words to express how grateful he was Ianto was still here. This would have been impossible without his skill and diplomacy. Impossible without his calming presence.

Jack stood behind Ianto's chair and rested his hands on Ianto's shoulders. Ianto leaned his head back against Jack's stomach, but his eyes and hands never left the computer.

“Martha politely declined,” Ianto said. “She said she loves you, but she's enjoying working with UNIT. She did have a few suggestions for medics, though. I've got their checks running now.” He tapped a few keys and brought up an array of faces.

"Ooh," Jack purred and pointed to a blonde woman with a crooked smile. "How much for that one?"

Ianto rolled his eyes and brought up her full information. "Rowan McHenry," he said. "She's a forensic pathologist by trade, and was working as a medical examiner in Scotland."

"Was. Why'd she stop?" Jack crossed his arms and tried to pick out the details from the lengthy report.

Ianto highlighted the pertinent section and summarised. "She discovered fifteen bodies in a shallow, unmarked gravesite. The bodies were collected and immediately taken to Torchwood Two."

"That's the report you insisted I read before you'd let me —"

"Yes, that's the one," Ianto interrupted. Even though they were the only two in the Hub, he still didn't want some things being discussed. "Anyhow, she wouldn't let the case go and kept trying to get information. She actually managed to track down the location of Torchwood Scotland. Eventually she was caught, given an amnesia pill, and told she'd contracted a form of the plague from the 'animal remains' she'd found in the gravesite. She's technically still employed. Just on extended medical leave."

Ianto turned and looked over his shoulder. "She's got the drive and determination, and although she's not a practising medical doctor, she does have the knowledge to perform."

"Once we get her up to speed on alien anatomy, the pathology might be more useful." Jack wrote her number on a sticky note and waved it at Ianto. "She's on my 'to-do' list. How about a computer expert? Any leads there?"

Ianto turned his chair and looked up at Jack. "Actually, I was wondering if that might be something I could do. I'm not quite to Tosh's level, but I can learn." His lips compressed in a tight line and he waited.

Jack cocked his head to one side and gave it serious consideration. "I'd say yes... but I don't think there's anyone in the world who could do what you do."

Ianto stood and looked Jack directly in the eyes. "I can be both," he said calmly.

"Consider the job yours. But if I think you're not handling the stress, you have to listen to me. I can't have you break. You're too important. To Torchwood."

Jack's implied "to me" hung in the empty space. The two men stared at each other for several long moments, then broke the silence simultaneously.

"I'll go give doctor McHenry a call," said Jack.

"So I'll go fix the coffee," Ianto said.

Jack Harkness stood in the open doorway of the hothouse, folded his arms across his chest, and looked down at his team. Two blonds and a brunet, he thought. Might need to go for a redhead or two. And when couldn't he go for a redhead or two? His gaze lingered briefly on Ianto's back. Ianto rubbed the nape of his neck as if he could feel Jack watching him.

"Doctor McHenry," Jack called down. His voice was stern, commanding. He caught a slight movement from Andy's desk; a quick glance to see if he was also needed. Ianto didn't react.

"Captain Harkness." Doctor Rowan McHenry looked up, squinting. She blinked in an attempt to refocus her eyes. Jack was just a silhouette against the bright light from the hothouse.

"Sing 'Mary had a little lamb' for me."

"Sorry?" She frowned and looked at her teammates. Andy looked equally confused. Ianto wore his usual neutral expression.

"Sing 'Mary had a little lamb'." Jack repeated. Slower. Clearer. He made the simple, silly request sound dire.

Doctor McHenry sang. "Mary had a little lamb. Little lamb. Little lamb? Mary had a --"

Jack cut her off with a wave of his hand and started across the platform and down the stairs. "A little flat. Flat I can work with. Flat can be trained. But you're an alto. I really needed a soprano." He paused and sighed dramatically. "So much for that barbershop quartet."

There was a smirk and something that might have been a snicker from Ianto. He didn't look away from his monitor, so it was a little hard to know for certain.

Jack continued his circuit of the room and stopped behind Andy Davidson's chair. He put his hands on Andy's shoulders. "P.C. Davidson!"

"I'm a tenor, sir."

"I know, but not what I was going to say, P.C. Davidson. Dresscode! Torchwood has one."

This finally drew Ianto's attention and he looked over at Jack, furrowing his brow.

"Popped collars are for the 1980s and Dracula." Jack flipped Andy's shirtcollar straight and smoothed his hands along Andy's shoulders. "Don't do it. Not unless we go back in time."

"Is that likely?" Doctor McHenry looked skeptical yet concerned.

"It's been known to happen." Ianto said. "But usually only on Thursdays."

Andy and Rowan stared at Ianto, not sure if he was joking or not. Jack's expression was no help.

"Are you sure we can't get Martha, Ianto?" It was clearly a rhetorical question. Jack shoved his hands into his pockets and headed toward his office, talking to himself. "I bet she's a soprano."

Andy Davidson and Doctor Rowan McHenry wondered (not for the first time and certainly not for the last time) exactly what they'd gotten themselves into.



Ianto sat behind Jack's desk, in Jack's new chair. It was an antique - high-backed, leather upholstery held on with brass tacks, and had elegantly carved legs. The weight of it prevented it from sliding or even moving easily. This was actually part of the reason for the purchase. It meant one could use the desk for things a little more... strenuous than paperwork without worrying about the chair skidding across the room.

Ianto had remarked once that the smell of the leather was simultaneously comforting and arousing. That had been a huge motivator for Jack and was the real reason he'd bought the chair.

Jack put a glass of whiskey down in front of Ianto and sat down on the edge of the desk. He took a sip of water and stared blankly at the wall. "Today. Was I too..."

"Flamboyant?" Ianto offered as he took a sip of his own drink.

"I was going to say 'jovial' but okay."

"You might have put Doctor McHenry off a bit, but at least she didn't run screaming."

"I think she fancies me," Jack grinned over the rim of his glass.

"You're not her type."

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm everyone's type!"

Ianto shrugged. "Apparently not hers."

"And what about you?" Jack leaned in close, grinning.

"I'm not her type either."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Am I your type?"

Ianto stirred the ice cubes in his drink and shrugged again, refusing to make eye contact. "I suppose you'll do."

Jack didn't mind being "Mister Right-Now".