Previous part of Shades of Ianto - Series 2.

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

The brief disorientation passed and Ianto found himself in his kitchen, Colonel John Sheppard smirking beside him less than an arm's reach away. Ianto gestured towards the sitting room where he knew a bottle of Scotch and some glasses could be found. "There is something to be said for instantaneous travel."

Sheppard chuckled as he trailed behind Ianto, drawling in the speech pattern Ianto had yet to identify. "Should have seen the naked grey aliens who invented the tech."

Ianto raised an eyebrow as he poured two glasses. Not that he didn't believe Sheppard, the man had battle cruisers after all, but he really didn't know how to respond to naked grey aliens. He blamed the past thirty-nine hours for his lapse in retort.

Fuck, yesterday morning seemed a lifetime ago.

"To victory." Ianto raised his glass in toast after handing one to Sheppard. Victory. And what her cost. Avalon. The thought of the school made his stomach twist and knot something painful, each breath pressing against a building, oppressing mass of guilt. Reports had spread quickly across the news -- hundreds of people of all ages collapsing in the streets, at their jobs, in churches and villages. People in hospitals treating the injured, people the injured themselves. People driving cars and riding bicycles, stopping on the roadways. People in governments, friends and foe. Far more people than had ever visited or been protected by Avalon. Far more by a magnitude of ten.

It seemed while Avalon's power grew, the meld drew the gifted out like a magnet, attracting the unknown and the unaware, requesting their presence in the fight, building strength. 'Like those fractal things,' Lana had said, miming the swirl effect as the force of Avalon gathered force. 'A hurricane. Spinning faster and faster and picking up more and more. Some had no clue they possessed gifts.'

They did now, Ianto noted. Reports from the globe over as loved ones and strangers panicked, so many unresponsive, so many questions, so many demands for answers.

Ianto had none.

Twenty-four had died; mostly the elderly who simply weren't up to the massive strain put on their bodies (though Ianto questioned a few reports). And slowly, most were waking from their unconscious state. It had begun as a trickle, a few students of Avalon crawling from their beds to check on their friends. Owen, being infinitely more understanding than Ianto would have ever given him credit for, didn't nag once to get into their separate beds. Maybe it was shock, maybe Owen really did have a heart. Ianto had smiled when he caught Owen tucking a blanket over the shoulders of two kids (Marion Raspun and Willie Parker); the glare Owen had shot him was worth the effort.

That was the first and last time Ianto stepped foot in the residential wing.

Neither Owen, Tosh, or Ianto left Avalon while the world was uncertain of the fate of the gifted. Jack and Sheppard took care of the media, informing the public and what to do for the immediate future. Gwen and Rhys had left to work with police, fire, and military forces to start clean-up. Ianto had retreated. He knew there was no better word for that. While Tosh and Owen looked after the gifted, Ianto quietly snuck away to the courtyard. He knew it was wrong, he should be helping somehow, sitting with the kids, but he couldn't look at their closed eyes and relaxed faces, couldn't see the occasional dried blood from the bitten lip or the gauze-wrapped hands covering red crescents in their palms from fingernails when the fight had grown.

And most of all, he couldn't go to one room. Couldn't even look at the door, despite the disappointed looks Tosh gave him.

So he hid out in the courtyard, just thirteen hours after the initial dragons had been spotted above Cardiff and hell had rained from the skies.

Hid and breathed the fresh air of the free.

Hid and suffered the guilt at what freedom had cost.

He made phone calls, hundreds of them to all the government leaders and civilian "Torchwood" groups around the world and to parents of the kids of Avalon. Called and called until his voice crackled with fatigue. Called despite half the numbers failing to connect. Called despite dead silence.

Called despite the wish to pretend that, just for a moment, he could sit down and pretend all was back to how it had been, obscurity and secrecy and shadows.

"No. To Mr. Black, for saving us all."

Ianto flinched in surprise, nearly dropping his glass as Sheppard's voice drew him from his thoughts. The mere notion that he should be thanked was repulsive, tasting of the most foul. People had died because of his choices. But before Ianto could repudiate the toast, Sheppard had clinked their glasses together and waited expectantly, his glass raised to his lips.

In defeat, Ianto drank, silently toasting luck.

"It was the right call, Ianto."

Grimacing, Ianto hesitated a moment before throwing the glass back, exhaling as the alcohol burned down into the knots of his gut. Lubricant, the knots unwinding as his body bled tension and seeped into the floor, forever polluting the grounds but he felt better for it. He poured another, topping Sheppard's sip. He almost spoke, then snorted in derision at himself and the protests on his tongue. They sounded weak even to him. It was battle; people die in battle. He knew that. Wishing otherwise would fail to honor the sacrifice of the fallen. Logically, he understood it.

But there was nothing logical about how he felt. He didn't think there ever would be.

The world had shifted overnight and shrieked the chaos he felt, an echo of logic and confusion. Everyone knew. Before, they had denied; they had ignored and made excuses. Now, everyone knew. It screamed across the headlines and dominated the airwaves. People were asking questions and they demanded answers. Or salvation; Ianto wasn't sure which had the greatest global reach. And in the panic of alien invasion and the victory of Avalon, the world's unified perception of themselves as sole inhabitants of the solar system, galaxy, or universe shifted, causing a shite-storm among the religious, the alien believers and those who never really thought of it. This was Copernicus and Galileo. This was the discovery the earth was round.

Life existed beyond Earth.

Pods falling from the sky to release alien dragons intent on world domination were hard to ignore, no matter how much the human mind wished to cling to tradition.

He couldn't understand the feeling; Ianto had known of the existence of aliens all his life. But he could sympathize with the fear of chaos, and Torchwood was doing their best to allay those fears. As were Sheppard and his crew, the thirteen governments in the nations united against the alien threat, and the families and students of Avalon.

The world population was having a harder time accepting Avalon than the existence of aliens, Ianto discovered, having turned on the telly a moment to find out what Jack and Sheppard were saying to the media. The Vice President of the United States, Raymonn Fillmore, joined the education of the public; Ianto had been surprised to learn Mr. Fillmore had collapsed during a meeting in Washington, D.C., a symptom difficult to mask as the world's gifted fell like dominoes scattered and thrown -- he hadn't been a student of Avalon, but he had known of his gifts.

His voice helped; as did Avalon's victory. It wasn't enough; but it was a start.

Everything had changed, now they just needed time.

"What're your plans from here?" Ianto finally asked, clumsily changing the subject like a blind dragon in Splott. It wasn't missed by Sheppard.

"Dragon hide." Ianto frowned in confusion, waiting for Sheppard to clarify. "All the cool superheros have uniforms. Mine's going to be dragon hide."

Sheppard spoke with such childish glee that Ianto couldn't but grin in response. He reminded Ianto a bit of his nephews, how their eyes would just light up when they got a new toy. "Spandex and cape, big 'S' on your chest?" Ianto asked innocently,

"I was thinking more Batman. With a dragon hide eye patch. And no ears."

"Dragon slayer, circa 21st century," Ianto eyed the last of his Scotch and swirled it once before drinking the remains of the glass. "The public will love you for it. Their own hero. You might even get an action figure."

"I think Mr. Black deserves an action figure too."

"Stephen's welcome to the action figure. He might even like it." Ianto tucked the bottle of scotch into the cabinet, deliberately misinterpreting Sheppard's not-so-subtle statement. He'd made mistakes; they didn't make action figures for mistakes. No matter the success, there were always options.

"Ianto ... "

He looked down in surprise when arms grabbed his shoulders, spinning him about. Sheppard's face had lost all sense of the earlier joviality, all previous lackadaisical lounge replaced by an intensity which made Ianto shirk, just a little. This was the Sheppard who had lost a city. This was the Sheppard who had commanded the military in that city.

"I killed my commanding officer in mercy and I woke the worst threat a galaxy has ever known." Sheppard gave a quick shake to Ianto's shoulders as though he were physically trying to impress his point upon Ianto. "I understand guilt. Don't let it consume you."

Ianto could scarcely breathe, unsure of what he'd say even if could say anything. What Sheppard said, it touched too close, way too close to the hidden corners Ianto tried to deny and push away. There was a victory but it had cost so much. Too much. If he wasn't responsible; if the guilt wasn't resting upon his shoulders, who would be to blame?

Jack and he had once had a conversation, long, long ago. Ianto had called Jack a monster.

Ianto had allowed kids to fight. Ianto had allowed Jean-Luc to fight.

Who was the monster now?

As though reading his thoughts, Sheppard's eye narrowed and Ianto found himself being pulled forward roughly, throwing him off balance and almost tumbling against Sheppard's chest. Sheppard's chest. Surrounded by arms of no intent of letting go while a stubbled cheek grazed against his. Their lips met, warmth spreading slowly through all places, no matter how small, where he touched Sheppard. The kiss wasn't fire, not like he'd known with Jack, but it was calming, reassuring, a summer's day spent at his father's, walking the pastures as the sun warmed and baked his skin on the rare occasion the sun showed her face.

Ianto didn't know how long it lasted, time was truly forgotten as guilt was banished by slow heat wrapping around him like his favorite blanket. Sheppard finally broke away with a soft chuckle, rubbing a finger over Ianto's lips. "Rodney's going to be jealous."

With a rueful smile, knowing full-well his own thoughts rested with someone else as well, Ianto tried to filter through the ones of Sheppard's team he had met and who could be Rodney. "Should I be concerned for my well-being?"

Sheppard's laugh reminded Ianto of a dog barking, but he wasn't going to comment.

"No. Unless he and Jack team-up and then we have something to be concerned about."

"Oh, Jack isn't-" Ianto started, changing his mind at the last moment. "He wouldn't be-"

"Jealous?" Sheppard arched his brow, smirking in disbelief. "He may have changed, Ianto, but I know men like him. I am men like him. He's still very much in love with you."

Ianto was fairly certain his jaw was dragging on the floor in shock as Sheppard stepped away, start/stopping a protest with every breath. Sheppard just grinned, tapping his earpiece to connect with his ship.

"Catch yourself a shower and get that arm of yours looked at. I'll send you my full report; I overheard you asking the Japanese director for one. And Ianto?"

With a nod, Ianto motioned for Sheppard to continue, not like at the present moment Ianto seemed to be able to stop the man from talking and he was still too busy trying to compute the fact that he thought Jack loved ... no, it was ridiculous. Sheppard didn't know Jack, not like Ianto knew him. What was more unnerving, however, was Sheppard himself; he was treating Ianto with far more respect than Ianto believed he deserved, and almost like-

"You're a good man. It was an honor to serve with you."

Like the man treated him as an equal.

Ianto returned the sentiments and watched as the shape of Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard wavered, then flashed out in the blink of an eye, leaving Ianto as speechless in the solitude of his flat as he had before Sheppard had left.

Love indeed.

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

"You should have seen Owen about this."

"Mmhmm." Ianto absently agreed with Tosh, relatively glad he'd taken Sheppard's advice and showered first (and grabbed a quick bit of sleep, what he could) since she had ordered him to remove his shirt the moment she saw him, though he really didn't intend to see Owen about the injury to his arm. They still disagreed (almost violently at one point) on whether it had been wise to involve the kids, if Jean-Luc couldn't have managed it with the adults...a useless, pointless argument to Ianto. And he wasn't going to hold it again.

There was no way he could take back that decision even if he wanted to.

But he'd be damned if he had to constantly defend it to anyone other than himself.

Instead, he turned up the volume on the telly, listening to Stephen's prepared speech to the media. They'd talked about what he should say, how he would present Avalon as Mr. Black. It was Stephen's first outing since he had woken, the first time anyone had 'seen' Avalon.

The world waited to see the man behind the scenes.

"We gather here today on the most auspicious of occasions."

Ianto spared a moment to glance down at his arm, the long scrapes and cuts from the dragon scales exposed once Tosh had removed the hastily applied field dressings. He had others -- bumps, scrapes, bruises -- but that was by far the worst.

He was at least conscious.

"A day in which I have the honor to present two of Britain's most cherished and prized operations, Torchwood and Avalon. But I stand here not to talk about aliens, I think we've had enough of aliens to last a lifetime," Stephen paused and scattered laughter filled the room, "but to talk about people among us, people with marvelous gifts. Some are no older than five, others older than even me," he paused again as more laughter, warmer this time sounded in the room, "but every one of the gifted are as human as you and I, as our neighbors and relatives, and as the people we stand next to on the street."

It was hardly a better alternative than Owen, seeking out Tosh, but Sheppard had been right, in both the need for a shower and addressing his injuries. He'd gladly suffer Tosh's ministrations, drawing quick stitches over the few areas she didn't think would seal properly on their own and clucking her tongue every time she removed more dirt and ash from the areas, than to deal with Owen. But it was still Tosh, and she knew he was avoiding, and Ianto knew the recriminations were laying on the tip of her tongue; she was just too polite to speak them.

"Freaks! You're all freaks! Unnaturals and creations of the devil! You're damned, you're all damned and you'll pay for what you've done to them! They were coming to save us! Save us from the freaks! You're unnatural! Unnatural!"

Ianto's attention immediately snapped to the telly, his arm jerking out of Tosh's hands to adjust the volume again, louder this time, but she didn't make one word of complaint. She was as attuned as he was to the screen.

This was not in the plans.

There was a commotion, shouts trying to be overheard over the woman's shrill cries and the reporters were all trying to cover what was happening for each of their viewers and readers. Ianto's stomach sank as he realized who the woman was, Tiffany Woodbridge, the plant at Avalon, and why her words sounded so familiar.

Ianto had forgotten of the human army, Torchwood Four and their recruits. The aliens had touched far more than just that fight for the earth, in some respect, they were still here.

"Silence! Please."

The crowd quieted at Stephen's words, the cries quieting as Tiffany was escorted out of the hall the press conference was occurring in. Ianto had no idea what Stephen would say, what he would do. This was the kind of thing they had been hoping to avoid, that through education and calm discussion they could end any doubt regarding Avalon.

They'd forgotten about those loyal to the aliens.

"Tiffany's right, in some respect." Stephen began, looking calmly out over the crowd. "The gifted, they're different. -We- are different." A few startled gasps echoed about the hall, but Stephen continued. "But no more different than one with blue eyes from those with green. Or blond hair instead of black. As far as our research can tell, it is an inherited genetic trait which can skip generations, like twins."

"This Tiffany, she said the aliens were coming to save us. Is this true?" A reporter asked.

"These aliens wanted nothing more than to enslave our world. Before their arrival, they sent two to breed a whole new generation of dragons. They also recruited to their cause. These recruits kidnapped the gifted, both children and adults, killing their family, friends, Avalon Guardians and innocents who happened to be witnesses. They killed so that what happened, the fight of Avalon against the dragons, could not occur. It wasn't protection that drove them to lock the gifted in cells in a hidden base; no one harms children for protection. Fear did. Fear of a fight. They wanted Earth and would stop at nothing to get it, even turning human against human."

For once, Ianto was relieved Stephen had demanded he be the face of Mr. Black. Stephen had far more grace at public speaking than Ianto did. The reporters all shouted to be heard again, finally Stephen picked one out of the crowd.

"You said 'we.' You're saying you're gifted as well, Mr. Black?"

Ianto snorted -- god, that'd be the only time the answer would be yes -- and Tosh gave him a look before resuming stitching the wound on his arm, one eye on the telly, one eye on what she was doing.

Stephen hesitated before answering. "I am, to a small degree." The reporters demanded an example, to show them something as a demonstration of Avalon. As the noise and demands grew, Stephen looked about and grabbed a pen from the podium, holding it flat on his palm so the reporters could see, before raising the pen until it hovered -- more danced as it spun and twirled -- in front of his face. He caught it back in his hand, and smiled to the public. "That's about all I can do, no fancy flinging bodies across the room or reading everything within another's mind like you might see in the movies." The crowd chuckled, albeit it a bit nervously. "Those that can, we've all been trained in ethics, in what is considered proper use and improper use. That is one reason Avalon exists, to educate in control and use. There are varying degrees of power, some with less and many others with a great deal more than I, but we do not abuse our gifts. There is one in particular, one whose gifts far exceed any other at Avalon, and he-"

The telly flicked off, dimming to a blank screen as Ianto stared at it, his finger still on the power button.

"Ianto-" Tosh's voice was scolding, and Ianto wondered when she'd turned into his surrogate mother. She didn't continue though, she watched him for a moment before turning back to the stitches.

Ianto stared at his arm as she worked, watched as she spread antibiotic gel on the scratches which didn't merit stitches. He couldn't understand it; why she was doing it, helping him. And Stephen had spoken yet another reminder of all the reasons why she should have turned Ianto away. He was responsible, for the threat to her niece and the threat to ... he was responsible. "Do you blame me?" Ianto finally asked while she poked and prodded other injuries, the bruising still sensitive enough to make him wince.

"No." Tosh motioned for him to stand and she tested the bruising on his ribs, feeling for any broken bones. "And neither would he," she added rather pointedly.

He didn't have the chance. Comas would do that.

She had Ianto spin, keeping a careful eye on the bruises and multitude of scratches and scrapes dotting his body. Poking a few more (painful, in the very least), she pointed back to his stool where Ianto sat and attempted to redress in the button-down he'd worn knowing it might have to come off.

To his embarrassment, Tosh helped him slip his arm back into the sleeve. "You should go see him, I can go with you."

Ianto believed he could now list that among the most embarrassing moments, even if it had never happened, nor would it ever. He crossed his arms, cringing when he bumped the work Tosh had just performed to repair the injury, and crossed them the other way so he wouldn't risk tearing stitches. He wasn't going to answer, was just going to wait for her to leave. Didn't she understand? He'd almost killed her boyfriend. Still might, since no one knew why he wouldn't wake up. To actually step foot in that ... no. Absolutely not. "I can't," Ianto said instead, surprising himself with his answer. It wasn't what he'd exactly meant to say, but maybe he was more tired and less guarded than he typically was.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd really slept.

"You're not to blame, Ianto. He loves you very much and he wouldn't want you burdened by guilt for a choice he and the rest of Avalon made. Might have been your decision to approve it, but they would have fought, with or without your permission. They couldn't have allowed Earth to fall if it was within their power, much as you did everything within yours to protect it."

Something in the way she had worded things caused Ianto to look up, certain she knew. She knew. Not that he'd been the best at hiding, not during the fight against the dragons, but ... shite. No one was supposed to know, especially not anyone in Torchwood Three. Except for Jack, but Jack seemed to be the exception to most rules. But Tosh ... Ianto supposed he should have figured that Tosh would figure it out. Fuck, he was shite at this whole secret identity business. He should have just come out after the fight and admit he was Mr. Black instead of continuing the charade with Stephen.

"We follow you, Ianto. We trust your decisions," Tosh continued, looking quite pleased with herself for having figured it out, Ianto assumed, while still maintaining that honest earnestness that Ianto admired. "Even when you doubt yourself, we never do."

In his daze, he couldn't find the words to respond.

Tosh seemed to recognize his speechlessness and smiled, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before handing him a week's supply of antibiotics.

Some things never changed.

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

Ianto picked up his mobile, surprised it still worked following all the communications which had passed through its electronics and plastic, and dialed the number of a person he was actually looking forward to speaking with.

One positive conversation, out of how many thousands of others?

"Ianto! Oi, you lot, hush! It's Ianto Jones!"

Ianto winced and held his phone away from his ear as the last part, not directed at him, he knew, was yelled into the receiver. "Sophia. You have kids?"

Laughter sounded the same, even digitized, and Ianto couldn't help but smile in return. "Yes, luv. Nineteen other adults who have acted like nothing but children since we became survivors squared. You need to get yourself to London and celebrate with us. Wouldn't mind waking up next to you in the morning instead of Nigel. He's right scary in the light of day, sober, much less first face ya see when the light's just a bit off and your head's pounding like a twenty-tonne dragon loose in your skull."

"A frightening thought." Ianto had seen what a twenty-tonne dragon loose in Splott could do. "I don't suppose I could convince everyone to quit drinking long enough to re-establish Torchwood London, could I?"

Silence dropped and for a moment, Ianto feared that perhaps it was too soon, too early to ask the question. But if not for the survivors joining the fight against the dragons in London and quite literally turning the tide, London would have suffered far more casualties and damage than the seventy-eight civilian lives lost on the ground. And Ianto had thought, from earlier conversations, that this would be something they would have wanted, were almost waiting for. But now, maybe it was too soon. He should have waited.

"Are you having me on?"

"Mr. Black's orders. Rebuild Torchwood London." Ianto spoke, wishing now he'd waited a few weeks. Maybe months. "I couldn't think of a better group to lead the effort."

"Oh."

Ianto could hear Sophia's choked breath on the other end, kicking himself now that he'd made her cry when she had been celebrating the victory with the others. He glanced at his watch; half two in the afternoon might have been a little early for celebrating, but he'd not scold anyone for it, much less the survivors of Canary Wharf. An odd bond, but palpable nonetheless, joined them all. And now he'd made Sophia cry.

"Bless you, Ianto." Blinking in surprise, Ianto had just a moment to remove the phone from his ear before he could hear, even at a distance, her calling to the others. "We're back! Torchwood London's back!"

Cheers exploded on the other line, Ianto was sure they were partially fueled by alcohol but no less deafening for a mere twenty people.

Maybe it hadn't been wrong not to wait.

"You'll come back and help, won't you, luv? You're part of us. Weren't for you, we'd not have had a chance against the dragons over London and there wouldn't be a London to protect with Torchwood. Oh, and Bertie, Bertie Finnegan, wants to know if she can be head of Archives and Josh wants to know if you'll bring Jack when you do visit."

Ianto smiled, still hearing the animated conversations in the background, of plans and processes and who to put in charge of what and what areas were best to provide the most centralized protection for London when the building itself was rebuilt. Everyone had ideas, everyone had their own specialty.

Survivors squared, Sophia had called them. London couldn't have better.

"Of course," Ianto agreed, not caring what he'd agreed to. He'd bring Jack dressed in tights if they wanted. Best not to offer, though, they'd probably demand he arrive in nothing. Realizing he was making assumptions that by all rights were his decisions to make, but Sophia wasn't aware, Ianto quickly added, "depending on Mr. Black, but of course."

The vibrant voices from London continued their loud celebration, toasts and dedications made at such levels Ianto could hear them word for word. Sophia continued her exuberant play-by-play and Ianto just listened because listening was so much better than going back to his duty.

Although, he reminded himself, listening was part of his duty.

Torchwood London was back.

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

Ianto could see the dragon approaching, but there was not a damned thing he could do about it. His bullets were spent, wasted against the hard battle armor of the dragon's scales. Aside from physically throwing himself at the dragon, he had nothing. Nothing at all. And behind him, Torchwood stood, frantically trying to gather enough parts to make something, anything that might damage the dragon before it attacked.

What a feeble line of defense they were, the last line of defense for country and earth. Jean-Luc stood behind them with Stephen, just a yard away, working to destroy the aliens but the one dragon was coming. It had a bellow of fire. Ianto had counted down the minutes since its last sweep of flame they'd narrowly dodged.

God, they were going to burn.

He saw a rocket launcher on the ground, just a little distance away. Hoping it was loaded, he made a dash for it; the dragon was so close he could smell the reeking hide drenched in sulfur. Sulfur.

Ianto stood with the launcher in hand, empty as he'd feared it would be. Jack was shouting, yelling at the others but Ianto couldn't hear over the beat of the wings, the roar of the wind as it rushed past his ears.

No.

"No!" Ianto shouted, trying to distract the dragon, draw its attention away from the others, but it as too late as an arc of fire poured forth from the beast's polished metal mouth, igniting the air and raining down upon Torchwood and Avalon.

It burned, burned so hot Ianto could feel the heat where he stood watching helplessly as the team screamed amidst the flames and all crumpled to the ground in clouds of ash. Jack took the longest to fall, burning slower than the rest as though the dragon had planned it just to torment Ianto, to make him watch while Jack's skin blackened and bubbled, his screams shattering the night. Finally, they stopped, Jack stopped, blame and pain the last light in his eyes before the body sank to the earth while the sounds of metal clanked around him and the dragon turned towards him with its yawning, gaping mouth filled with sharp steel teeth rowed like a shark-

"Ianto."

This was it, Earth would fall. Avalon was gone, Ianto didn't think they could have survived the destruction of their focus. Torchwood was gone. He'd killed them all. He should have sent them elsewhere, less unprotected, not an open field. He should have sent Jean-Luc back to Avalon where they'd have been more defensible. A metal hand grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place as the dragon approached, teeth gnashing and clawed forearms slashing at the air-

"Ianto!"

Ianto registered his name, someone was saying it and he knew, rationally, that he had been dreaming but the touch on his shoulder was real and still all he could see was the dragon approaching while he was being held. Real or illusion, he pulled away from it as hard and fast as he could. Something fell, he heard the sounds of metal falling, and he spun about, trying to identify the source but tripped on his own two feet, stumbling forward until hands braced him and he got to focus on the lips saying his name.

Jack.

His heart still pounding in his ears, arms shaking from the rush of waking, Ianto gulped air faster than he ought to but his lungs were pleading for it. He turned his head and saw Tosh, but didn't see anyone else and for the life of him, he couldn't think of where they were or would be. "Gwen?"

"Checking out an alien sighting in Penarth with the new husband. Remember?" Jack spoke slowly, letting the information sink into Ianto's brain, which was still moving sluggishly with sleep and exhaustion. He faintly remembered Gwen's wedding just days ago. On schedule, despite the attacks. That had to be something, even if he'd nearly slept through the ceremony. He could have slept for months at this point. Continuing, Jack nodded towards the figure hovering a step away. "Tosh and I just got back from one at the Llanishen Gold Course and you were meeting up with us here. Avalon's safe, Owen's still there keeping an eye on everyone. Can I let go now or you still planning on becoming acquainted with the floor?"

Despite knowing that he had only been dreaming and the fact that it wasn't the first time he'd had such dreams (seemed every time he tried to close his eyes, it was all he could see, even after nearly two weeks), the relief at hearing of everyone's safety made Ianto's knees weak and for a moment, he had the fleeting thought that the floor might make good bedfellows. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Jack, squeezing until the man laughed a bit breathlessly at Ianto's exuberance.

"Must have been one hell of a nightmare."

"You have no idea," Ianto mumbled into Jack's shoulder, hating himself for admitting any weakness, but too relieved that they were (Jack was) alive to care. Even with the images rattling around his head, certain fodder for additional and more graphic dreams, Ianto could have fallen asleep again just like this, standing upright with Jack's hands rubbing circles on his back, but fates worked contrary to his wishes as he heard faint voices approaching from above, confusing him for a moment before realizing Gwen and Rhys must have taken the lift at the Plas into the Hub.

"I'll take care of him. You want to brief Gwen and Rhys on what we saw?"

Tosh must have given some affirmative because Ianto felt himself being led away from the desks (a chair, the chair he was sitting in, that must have been the metal falling) and towards Jack's office. Jack laughed as he helped Ianto down the ladder, an action completely unnecessary because the couch would have been an easier and less problematic location for him to sleep but Jack would have none of it.

Jack's bedroom.

Ianto would have blushed, remembering the last time he was down here with Jack (the other Jack), but this Jack was still that Jack, even if he looked a bit different and didn't know quite as much. Ianto knew every inch of this man's body and had mapped exactly where and when a response would occur. An unfair advantage, to be sure, but it kept Ianto at ease as Jack removed first his shoes, then his clothes. All of them, Ianto noticed as he was tucked under the covers of Jack's bed.

Of course Jack would use the opportunity to look, and look he did if Ianto correctly read the smirk on Jack's face.

What surprised Ianto, however, was when Jack turned to leave. Ianto was tucked into Jack's bed, naked, and this Jack was leaving like he hadn't made passing comments and innuendo at his suits just like the old Jack, much less have Ianto's unclothed body to comment on or leer at.

"Jack?"

The man in question turned around at the sound of Ianto's voice, rattling deeper with exhaustion than Ianto was used to hearing from himself, just having barely made it back to the ladder. He'd not stopped in thirteen days, running here and there, doing this and that and monitoring the world's reaction to both the gifted and the alien. Ianto would have blamed arousal instead, but he was so tired he didn't think he could think a dirty thought, much less get hard and have a wank on Jack's bed.

Maybe one dirty thought. Wanking on Jack's bed was a nice, dirty thought, even without the actual wanking.

Unsurprisingly, all Ianto could think about was what Sheppard had said before he'd left.

"Jack still loves you."

When Jack was close enough, inching closer and closer with every moment of silence, Ianto grabbed a handful of his braces and shirt and pulled, tugging Jack down until he hovered just close enough to Ianto that all he had to do to finish was raise his head. He kissed Jack, this Jack, his Jack, kissed him like he had wanted to out on that air field, kissed him like he remembered them kissing and kissing as he'd never imagined.

God, this was Jack.

He was an idiot.

Ianto pulled at Jack's shirt until he was lying flush with Ianto; clutched the back of his head until Ianto was certain he wasn't moving, knotted his fingers in Jack's hair (longer, longer than the earlier Jack's) until he knew that Jack would swallow his whimpers. For that could be the only explanation for the sound in the room, desperate cries trailing from tongue to tongue, passing over lips, god, this was his Jack even if he wasn't.

When Jack toppled on top of him, Ianto knew that it didn't matter.

"Who am I?"

Blinking in confusion, the foreign words flitting across his mind in some semblance of order, Ianto stared at Jack, Jack's lips, wondering why they were so far away when they were much better suited to crushing his.

Ianto felt Jack's hands push his shoulders, focusing his attention as they sunk into the mattress, Jack repeating his question, enunciating every word. "Who am I?"

Explanations filtered across Ianto's mind, from drugs to concussion to alien spores. Amnesia? Retcon? Ianto tried to think of the appropriate thing to say, to do, but Jack was straddling his hips, fingers digging into his shoulders and he couldn't think much beyond JackJackJackJack. It superseded all other thought, even his bone-weariness. He could forget all that, temporarily, Jack was on top of him. Jack was touching him. Jack was-

Oh.

"Jack." Ianto spoke the name but it cracked in the middle. He tried again when Jack didn't move. "Jack." He lightly traced the scar above Jack's eye, the one he'd received in the past few months of capturing aliens with Torchwood. It did matter, and Ianto knew who was pinning him to the mattress. This Jack scarred. This Jack told Sheppard to protect him at all costs. This Jack watched over him, since that day on the roof of the Millennium Centre, always making sure he or Stephen or Jean-Luc was with Ianto while the threat of dragons loomed over their heads, even when Ianto despised the feeling of being watched over. This Jack kissed him in the Hub before they'd left to fight the invading aliens.

This Jack had stayed.

"Why?" Ianto asked, confused on that one point. It made no sense. Ianto had been expecting it for months, had been expecting it since he'd found Jack chained to the wall, had expected it since the fight against the dragons began. "Why didn't you leave?"

"I couldn't." Ianto didn't think he'd ever seen such an open, unguarded look on Jack's face before. It was almost painful to see, for all its honesty. "I had to prove I wasn't him. I don't know who I become, or who I was to you, but whatever reason it was, it wasn't worth it. You are worth staying for."

Ianto wasn't quite sure he'd heard Jack correctly, he knew he wasn't functioning at full capacity and needed a few days sleep to catch up to just 'tired', but he was fairly certain Jack had ... but he wouldn't, would he?

He would. "I love you, Ianto." Even if Jack hadn't meant it at the time, had only been speaking what he'd thought Ianto needed/wanted to hear, the words echoed across Ianto's mind, speaking what Jack hadn't said now but Ianto could feel.

Lacking any better response, Ianto pushed up off the bed, sitting up to cling full-bodied to Jack, ignoring the other man's rough clothes in favor of his heat and skin. Cause touch he did, cradling Jack's jaw as they kissed, more than kissed, shared air, shared life, shared everything Ianto couldn't say in response but felt all the same. His fingers slipped over the buttons on Jack's shirt, pulling and tugging because he needed to touch skin; he needed to touch Jack when he'd pretended this Jack wasn't his for so long.

Because this was Jack.

This was Jack.

Somehow he removed Jack's shirts; Ianto didn't quite remember the act but the next thing he knew he was touching skin, Jack's skin, Jack's imperfectly perfect skin. Jack was chuckling at his frantic pace, but he didn't care, not really. He'd been so long without, been so long with the teases and the innuendo and for all appearances Jack but he'd fought against it, it hadn't been right, it hadn't been proper, this wasn't his Jack ... but it was. It was Jack and while it shamed Ianto to admit it; this Jack wanted him. He wanted Ianto enough to stay.

And that meant something. Enough. Enough to make the touching and kissing right when everything around him was wrong.

Between one breath and the next, Ianto found himself laying back on the bed, sleep furthest from his mind as Jack sprawled on top him. The weight was familiar; comfortable, like Ianto hadn't spent months apart and maybe it was a little different, Jack a little lighter, less muscled, but Ianto knew the scent. He knew the touch and the feel and he knew that cock pressing into his hip while Jack discovered all the places that made Ianto moan.

Jack refused to allow Ianto to reciprocate, slapping his hands away when Ianto moved to run finger-light touches over Jack's sides, back, anywhere and everywhere he could touch. Jack didn't want it and while Ianto hoped only for this time, he could understand why.

For Jack, this was new. Ianto was new. He didn't want to compete with himself or Ianto's knowledge of him.

It's what Ianto would do, if it were him.

He'd make Jack forget there was ever another Ianto.

A giant yawn distracted Ianto from the nip of Jack's teeth along his collarbone, at first he thought he'd managed to stifle it and hide it from Jack, but the man's shaking shoulders proved otherwise.

"You should sleep," Jack grinned as his hands ignored his statement as they continued to move over Ianto's body.

Of course, Ianto should sleep. But he also felt Jack's cock like a brand on his stomach, burning a line to his navel and Ianto decided there were other, more important things he should be doing at the moment. "Later." His own voice sounded as though it were being run over sand, tumbling waters spinning and swirling with every stone. Later he could sleep, right now, he had Jack here. In bed. Naked and hard and Ianto wasn't going to deny he wasn't desperate for Jack's touch.

Jack's silence lasted for a long moment; Ianto finally opened his eyes and saw a scowl on Jack's face, not directed at him, but down ... Ianto's body? He watched as Jack bent and he felt the nudge of Jack's nose against his cock, a quick swipe of the tongue. "This isn't me, right?"

"Jaaack." Ianto drew Jack's name out into at least three syllables as he threw his arm over his face. Not in embarrassment. No, actually, embarrassment, but not severe. He wasn't bothered (yet) by the fact he was no more hard than the pillow he was laying on, because he understood.

He hadn't wanked for months after Torchwood One.

But Ianto supposed he'd be as insecure as Jack if the tables were turned. At least it wasn't permanent. He hoped. Opting for humor rather than anything he could have said which would have revealed far too much, Ianto spoke with his arm still providing the sand in which to bury his head. "Hurry up and fuck me before I fall asleep."

Jack's bark of laughter was surprisingly close, and when Ianto finally opened his eyes (after Jack pried his arm off his face; maybe a bit more than a little embarrassed), Jack's lips were so close Ianto could feel the words breathed towards Ianto, tickling his nose. "You're quite the romantic. Just...this isn't ...?"

Ianto thrust his hips up, not quite sure where or how high Jack's body straddled his but colliding with Jack's cock all the same. He rather hoped he got his point across. "No, it's not you," came his weary response, "and if it happens again and I've not been run ragged by attacking aliens and the outing of Torchwood and Avalon, then I'll panic, question my manhood and blame a medical condition."

"We can sleep, I'll wake you up if you start having a nightmare..."

"No." Ianto finally looked at Jack, really looked at him. This was Jack. Jack. The one he'd grieved, the one he'd mourned, the one he'd broken a vase in his sitting room in anger over; this was Jack, even if it wasn't. Ianto had spent months denying, months pushing him away because he wasn't his Jack. He was different, he was younger, he was mortal. His Jack was better and this one was less because of it.

But, Ianto loved Jack.

Both of them were Jack. The spirit, the courage, the loyalty and intelligence, self-sacrificing and kindness (least of all, attractiveness) had no more changed with the Jacks than had Ianto through the past few years. He was still Ianto, even if his title had changed. Jack was still Jack, even if his age had changed.

God, he loved the man.

"Jack," Ianto spread his hands over Jack's jaws and cheeks, holding his face firmly within his grasp because Ianto would be damned if he said this and Jack wasn't paying attention. "I need you." Fuck, but he needed Jack. Jack. This one, the other, both of them. Ianto didn't know what he'd have done without Jack's steady support over the months or during the defense of Cardiff. He needed Jack.

Ianto watched as the eyes boring into his exploded into black, Jack's pupils dilating so quickly if Ianto had blinked he'd have missed the impact of his words. They weren't any declarations of love, but Ianto did not need, not usually. Tosh had said it once before, he didn't ask for help.

He needed Jack.

There was no warning, no hint; Jack swept down upon him faster than Ianto could react, not that he'd offer a token of protest. Lips mashed against his, savage and desperate before softening into molten heat Ianto felt to his toes, the tense planes of his body relaxing into the mattress until it felt like Jack's body covered his and all around him.

Relaxed so much he yawned into the kiss, much to Jack's amusement.

"You're sleeping," Jack laughed against Ianto's collarbone, soft kisses peppering Ianto's skin as he shifted the intensity to a slow burn. "I'm not fucking someone who's not an active participant."

"Oh, you've self-control now?" With a grin that seemed as slow as syrup over ice, Ianto curled into Jack as the other man shifted and maneuvered his way onto the small bed to lay beside Ianto. This was right. Nothing else mattered. Ianto might kick himself later for decisions made on a sleep-addled brain but this felt right.

"I exemplify self-control."

Jack's smirk faltered as Ianto arched an eyebrow in doubt and reached between them to rest his hand on Jack's erection, setting off a series of cascading tremors just under Jack's skin that was fire and need all rolled into one. A firm hand grabbed Ianto's wrist and forcibly moved it to his chest, reaffirming Ianto's doubt.

"So much self-control I'm at least going to wait till after you fall asleep to rub off on your thigh."

"S'more like it." When it involved sex, Ianto wondered if Jack had ever possessed self-control, in this form or the other. Or maybe it was a cultural thing, from whenever and wherever he was from. Or maybe Jack had just seen so much death that he wasted no time delaying sex. Or maybe he just was a man with a healthy admiration for sex. Not that Ianto blamed him, sex was fantastic, especially when-

God, he really must be tired. His thoughts hadn't spun so much on nothing since his youth spent daydreaming on his favorite rock.

"Jack," Ianto asked with hesitation stretching out the name, truly hoping his earlier thoughts hadn't been voiced but most certainly wanting this question vocalized and knowing on any other occasion, the filter between his brain and his mouth would be intact and fully functional. "How old are you?"

For a moment, Ianto almost believed that Jack had actually fallen asleep. Or maybe Ianto had, and he was merely dreaming, self-aware in the dream state like he had never felt before. In fact, given his state of exhaustion there was a chance that this was all a figment of his imagination, lost in the bouts of insanity and hallucinations accompanying sleep deprivation. The odds increased as time passed, though Ianto hardly had the mind to bother with the calculations of change and probability.

But then a hushed voice answered his question, quietly falling between the crests of breath and exhale, "Thirty-five."

"Younger, then," Ianto decided, having received the answer to a long-plaguing question. Not that he knew the other Jack's age; but he was older, immortal or not. But the answer left him more confused, and definitely not something that his drowsy mind could comprehend. "But then, why did you pretend that you didn't know me? Why did you leave?"

"Sleep, Ianto," Jack whispered, his arms tightening around Ianto until Ianto was almost certain Jack's goal was to deprive him of oxygen to get him to sleep. And he let his mind drift, floating on tendrils of thread and thought, hearing and replaying in his mind, "I love you, Ianto", until he could almost believe it was true and even monsters had hope.  

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

Ianto fought the urge to shift on his feet, shoulders heavy with the weight of five sets of stares. It wasn't like he never had any viable suggestions, he had many. But perhaps nearly disappearing for the past few weeks had removed him from top of mind among those at Torchwood Three.

Or perhaps it was his suggestion. Ianto rather believed they didn't think he had a life outside of Torchwood.

"What? I do step out, on occasion."

Five more stares, although Rhys' was less stunned surprise and more reaction to the others, waiting to see how events played out.

Rhys had been a remarkable help of late, Ianto barely noticing the subtle shifts until one evening when he'd absently gone to feed Myfanwy and Rhys was there with a smile and a wave, already setting the girl free to fly and stretch her wings, maybe pick up a sheep or two. He'd rocked back on his heels, trying to remember the last time anyone else had fed the pterodactyl, trying to remember when anyone else had gone to the Archives to retrieve a file, trying to remember when he'd last done paperwork for Jack. It wasn't that he hadn't been busy; the days and nights had been filled with the rebuilding process in London, the education and dissemination of information regarding Torchwood and Avalon, meetings with global leaders (as Mr. Black's assistant, of course), and reparation projects within Cardiff herself.

Hardly his old duties.

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd run a report or logged a case file. He hadn't hacked a computer in what felt like months and he most certainly hadn't altered any police records or government databases.

Come to think of it, the only thing he still did of his old duties was make coffee.

Ianto had spun slowly, quickly picking out Jack in his office. It was unspoken, his question, but Jack knew precisely what he was thinking and smirked before giving a "what are you on about?" shrug. Tosh giggled at her desk, wall of monitors blocking most the view so Ianto reasoned she must be watching the CCTV footage. She shrugged as well, and Ianto knew he'd been had.

And that, really, was the odd thing about life in the Hub following the dragon incursion. Life flowed around Ianto, patterns curving to allow his presence in the river, never blocking (unless thy name be Owen), but always permitting him to move as needed.

The others moved in kind, like Rhys taking over Ianto's 'tea-boy' duties, more than likely at Jack's request. It had helped reduce the stress, but not completely. And Ianto knew Jack was determined to reduce the stress in Ianto's life.

God, they were actually talking since Jack had taken it upon himself that no reaction from Ianto meant no action.

Which was increasingly frustrating for Ianto who had never actually had to deal with a willing partner when faced with post-battle ... he wasn't sure what the psychology field would call it but certainly trauma played some part. Hell, they hadn't even attempted anything in the past week. They had just ... talked. Not that Ianto minded, he was actually learning details about Jack he'd never known; his years spent with the Time Agency, his childhood, his family ... and Ianto returned in kind. It was almost therapeutic, talking about the Battle, his childhood, finding Ms. White in the burning rubble of Avalon, his family and how much he missed them, but with time being what it was, he hadn't been home to see them.

They'd even gone out on a date. A real one. One that photojournalists had decided to interrupt and capture on film but a real date nonetheless.

Just, no sex, not until Ianto got over whatever was impeding his arousal. Fucking dragons. No kissing either, since Jack obviously didn't trust his self-control that much. They touched; held hands at the theatre which had nearly sent Ianto into a fit of frustrated anger, but he'd refrained from kicking the seat in front of him or cursing loudly in the silent pauses within the actor's monologue.

Not amusing, not in the slightest.

But most of the time, he kept himself buried in work and didn't think of certain things, stuffing the guilt so deep within him he was fairly sure it had compacted to the strength of a diamond like coal within the earth.

He focused on responsibility instead; current responsibility. Helping Sydney, Australia recover. Sending aid to Glasgow. Organizing relief efforts in New Delhi, an area decimated by the dragons before help arrived from the Americans. It wasn't just Britain helping; every major city was sending workers and supplies to the cities most devastated. Everyone was pitching in.

It'd be lovely to sit back and look from a view far away, to see the peoples of earth coming together to help the nations in trouble, but Ianto saw it far too up-close to see it as anything but personal; to see anything but failure in those fallen cities, on the faces of those who'd lost entire neighborhoods to the dragons. Those who'd lost their entire families, their homes, their livelihoods.

Ianto saw each and every face, even when the reports were closed.

He knew each of their names.

So, maybe the rest of the team had a reason for their disbelief. He had been rather focused lately.

"It's not far from here. They do karaoke?"

That sealed it for Gwen and Jack, who immediately began the dares and the bets, goading even Tosh into agreeing to sing something if they bought her enough drinks. Rhys just looked amused (Ianto really did wonder if anything phased the man), and Owen began stammering something about injury to his vocal cords in his youth.

By the time they'd reached Lana's, the bets were already up to twenty quid for Owen to sing anything.

Ianto drove, and quietly listened to the laughter and taunts.

"Let's hear it for ... dear god, it's Torchwood. Everyone put your hands together for Torchwood!"

On second thought, coming to Lana's might not have been the best idea Ianto had ever had.

The applause was thunderous; the club was filled with far more people than Ianto had seen in trips past. Even during its clubbing days. The more Ianto looked around, the more surprised he grew. He recognized many faces, faces of Avalon graduates and faces of the newly gifted, or rather, the ones who had always had a gift but hadn't known until Avalon's fight. Buried among them were many more, sitting at the tables with Avalon, some sitting as entire tables of people he didn't recognize but Ianto was rather overwhelmed.

This must be where the gifted came and gathered after hours; it really wasn't that big a surprise given Lana and her ability to draw people like moths to flame, though the size of the crowd was impressive. Karaoke, to Ianto's knowledge, wasn't that big a draw. More certain were the comforts of companionship, of being able to talk to others who knew and understood.

What truly surprised him, however, were the sheer number of people he knew weren't gifted, mingling with those who were.

It was too much to hope, but perhaps people had started getting over their fears.

Jack and the others strutted in, waving and smiling in typical Torchwood confident fashion. They were heroes now, recognized heroes, if the flashbulbs blinking from cameras and mobiles were any indicator, and it amused Ianto a bit that for a group so shrouded in secrecy they had so easily transitioned to public knowledge.

Ianto trailed in behind them, keeping a distance from the rest while they enjoyed their elevated status. A table actually cleared for Torchwood, Ianto saw, the previous occupants gesturing for Jack and Tosh to have their seats while they blended into the crowd of others watching. Ianto offered a small wish to any deity listening that this fame and awareness pass quickly, or else Owen's ego may grow too large and Ianto would be forced to deflate it with some scandalous CCTV photos or something of the like. Surely it couldn't last. New heroes would rise and the alien fighters would be just another public service.

Though Ianto hoped for Torchwood Three, it lasted a bit longer. If there were any deserving, it was that lot.

"And last but certainly not least, let's give a Lana's welcome to Ianto Jones!"

It didn't take Ianto long to locate Lana on the stage and focus his glare in her direction. The little imp just smiled brilliantly and waved him forward to join the Torchwood table. Humiliating didn't quite cover Ianto's feelings as he tried to slink past people who were cheering and clapping, shouting various things Ianto attempted to tune out and ignore like their thanks and love.

Lana met him halfway to the table, jumping into his arms as she'd done on nearly every other occasion, but this was the first time Ianto had felt uncomfortable catching her and returning the hug. While he spun her round, slowly as space would allow, he whispered into her ear, "I swear I'm never returning if you do that again."

To his dismay (were his threats really that ineffective?), Lana laughed. Her rich purr echoed around the expanses of the club, bouncing from speaker to speaker as her accented voice was lifted by the microphone she still carried. She gestured to all the people in the club, including everyone in the sweep of her hands, while the room quieted to listen. "We know you, Ianto Jones, every one of us. We were with him, we felt as he felt and now that feeling is each of ours. Avalon made a promise to Jean-Luc, a promise to be carried out in life or death."

Ianto struggled to breathe and tried to pull away, wanting nothing to do with the conversation, especially not in public, not in front of people who would see as that diamond chipped away at his control and the steady facade, but Lana held on, surprisingly strong despite her small frame.

"You're one of us, gifts or no. And you will always be."

Movement caught Ianto's frantic eye as he sought for escape, feeling much the caged animal on display at the zoo, Stephen stepping out of the shadows near the bar, arms crossed with a wry look upon his face. He knew and hadn't told Ianto? What was this promise? What ... no. Ianto refused to think about that because that meant death had been an accepted possibility and Ianto had not authorized or given permission to anyone to die.

He hadn't.

He turned away from Stephen, unable to look at his old mentor any longer, and instead scanned the crowd. Many were now standing, watching, the gifted, Ianto realized, looking expectantly at him, like Ianto could magically pull flowers from his arse and wouldn't that be quite the sight to see. His hands were shaking, he could feel them vibrate as he clung to Lana's arms, felt like he was hyperventilating as well but he wasn't there. Not yet. His heart raced, though, running in fear within his chest like he so wished to run away from the scrutiny of the crowd of Avalon because the weight of their expectations was becoming too much; too much to carry while holding Lana.

Ianto heard a sniff echo from all around him; a quick glance down and he realized Lana was crying, god, Lana was crying. But smiling, a combination that Ianto never quite understood as it defied logic. With a sinking feeling, he remembered her gift, her empathy, and whether she was reading from him or reading from the crowd, the very concept of tears shed for him, for Avalon's acceptance, for ...

Fucking hell.

Licking his lips, Ianto looked up and around him again, looked at all the people watching he and Lana. Even the Torchwood table was quiet; they'd all paused in various moments in seating to watch.

Avalon's strength was gone; the one who had always been there with gifts and protection to shield them all. Maybe not gone, but missing. Ianto knew what his best friend meant to them, the unquestioned leader even if he lacked some form of formal title. They were in awe of what he could do, what he could teach, and that was gone, leaving a gaping hole in Avalon's stability and strength.

Ianto was responsible for that.

But they weren't angry. None of the faces read blame. Or hurt or anger.

"You became important to him. And with him, so too the tide of Avalon." Stephen had said ages ago at his father's home. "Avalon stands behind you."

They were missing Avalon's pillar. But Ianto had been loved by him, and now, Ianto was equally important in his absence to Avalon.

Fuck.

Ianto did the only thing he could think of after nodding his recognition to the others, to Avalon and all the gifted, he hugged Lana to him, smiling at her squeak which was carried by the microphone to the ears of everyone in attendance. Laughter joined the cheers which had demolished the stretching silence while they waited for Ianto's response and Lana worked her way out of Ianto's arms, berating him for ruining her mascara, then starting up the entertainment again, calling the next singer to the stage.

"Sit the fuck down, Ianto. You're ruining my chances of pulling tonight. Ow! Shite, Tosh! It's the truth!"

With a grateful glance at Tosh for shutting up Owen, Ianto searched for his chair and found it set back a bit from the table already. He couldn't remember pulling it out from the table to sit, but then it inched forward, waiting for him to sit, no hands or persons visibly present to move the chair.

Avalon.

Shaking his head at whomever was behind this particular little trick, Ianto sat down, trusting whomever was directing the chair and was moderately relieved when the chair slid the rest of the way forward, catching him and not further embarrassing him for the evening. It was something he would have done, only back in their days of Avalon, and more than likely the teacher would have ended up on the floor with their feet in the air, much to the class' amusement.

How things had changed.

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

Sidling up to the bar, Ianto waited for the next round of drinks while watching one of the latest round of salt-in-wound torture sessions. The comedy gambit had been far more entertaining and less harmful to his ears, but people were out in droves and having for all appearances far more enjoyment than Ianto ever would singing into a microphone for the public to hear. He couldn't deny it; Lana had a knack for hitting the vein of an entertainment goldmine. Or maybe it was just the patrons fueling the atmosphere, a sort of gifted cloud other places failed to fully utilize or develop.

Could just be that these people had more than enough reason to celebrate, too.

"Torchwood seems to be enjoying themselves."

Ianto looked up, surprise drawing him from contemplation of the stage, or rather, staring at the singer in hopes they might sit down to let one of the few with actual talent take the stage. Stephen had grabbed a spot next to him at some point, silent and stealthy as a cat, and was smirking like he'd caught the canary, too.

Looking back at table Torchwood, where Owen had two women on his lap, Gwen was on Rhys', and Tosh, Jack and Lana were participating in a drinking game of some sort (poor Tosh, but Ianto thought it was rather intentional on Jack's part -- and Lana's -- whether to distract her from Avalon and who still had yet to wake or to get her drunk enough to sing), Ianto had to smile. It was good seeing them laughing together, honest laughter, not fueled by stress or situations far beyond their control. Gwen and Rhys' wedding had been a start, but this night seemed the first in ages where they were together, all of them, and appeared to be having fun.

Having fun, and everyone knew who they were.

People had been buying drinks for the table throughout the night, coming up to share stories or shake hands; unreal if Ianto was to be asked.

And a little too much for him.

Ianto preferred the relative quiet and touch-free zone of the bar, retreating often to pick up whatever the table wanted, doing as he had always done as tea-boy for Torchwood. This time it was tequila shooters instead of coffee, however, and lime wedges instead of biscuits.

He caught Jack's eye, warming into a broad, full smile from the Captain which stole Ianto's breath. This Jack was far more at peace than the other. Perhaps immortality had a consequence Ianto hadn't considered. Deep down, Ianto knew it couldn't last; this Jack was younger, he would eventually have to leave to maintain timeliness. Torchwood Three needed Jack in its past; Ianto wasn't selfish enough to believe he had Jack for the rest of his life. But Jack had stayed when it mattered. And now ... Ianto felt himself warm under Jack's gaze, the man somehow affecting Ianto even at the distance, though it might have been Jack's tongue lavishly fondling his own wrist, licking a path that couldn't have all contained salt before shooting one of the few tequila shots left, before spending an exorbitant amount of time and pressure sucking his lime.

And then he winked, the bastard. Like they hadn't spent the last two weeks not having sex. Of any kind.

Stephen must have caught Jack's antics because his chuckling was audible even over the slaying of "One."

"Yes, they're having a good time," Ianto all but growled, leaving the tray of drinks behind him for the moment; they could wait a few minutes. Jack could wait a few minutes. He grabbed two from the tray and handed one to Stephen, there were enough there that a couple wouldn't be missed. "You didn't tell me about Avalon and this 'promise'."

"If I had, your team would be missing their good time tonight."

Ianto had to concede Stephen's point; if he had known, Ianto most certainly wouldn't have come to Lana's.

"And you would have missed Avalon's embrace. This is good for you, too, even if you've spent most of your evening hiding."

Scowling, Ianto threw back the tequila, not bothering with a response. He vehemently disagreed with Stephen, he'd have rather avoided such spectacle, but it would end up no better than arguing with Sheppard. He'd not win, no matter how strong his case. "They deserve this recognition."

"And you don't?" Stephen was sipping his tequila; Ianto rather believed that was akin to shooting brandy. "Ah-ah." Ianto was cut off before he could even open his mouth to protest. "You listen to me, Ianto. Because you choose the shadows does not mean your decisions are dark."

"I allowed children to fight," Ianto said simply, grabbing another shot glass from the tray. The barkeep had replaced the earlier two he had removed from the collection, he wasn't concerned he'd offer a dry platter to the team. He didn't look at Stephen; he couldn't. Staring at the stage (god, he much preferred the comedy to the sacrilegious massacre of the Stones), Ianto continued, "you said it yourself. Only monsters use children for protection."

"They chose, Ianto." Stephen's voice intensified, sharpening around the edges in an effort to keep his voice down, but Ianto could almost feel the anger pouring off him. "You did not use anyone in that battle. We chose to fight. The children, too. Do not mock what we have lost by dismissing our involvement. You made your choices, so did we."

A hand stopped Ianto's from raising the glass to his lips. He looked down, then travelled the hand to Stephen's shoulder and finally meeting his eyes. Stephen always was faster than sin. And uncomfortably poignant in his speech. The minutes stretched, expanding and encompassing each breath. But Stephen was not backing down, hard in his stance as he held on to Ianto, hard in his stare. "I meant no offense," Ianto said finally, acknowledging the costs to Avalon and the gifted as well as his mentor's part in the fight.

He waited for Stephen to release his wrist but it was kept in the vice grip. "And you're right," Ianto added slowly, "Avalon chose to fight." The hold on his wrist finally loosened, but Ianto didn't drink the tequila, not yet. He was too distracted by Stephen settling back against the bar looking far too smug. Ianto snorted and raised his glass. "Enjoy it, old man."

"Youth," Stephen scoffed, but Ianto could see the smile creeping in to crack the edges of that hard, resolute face Ianto had seen earlier. It wasn't a beating on the mat, but Ianto felt the sting of his wisdom all the same. Or rather, his stubbornness; Ianto wasn't prepared to call him wise. He'd pulled that trick on the conference phone so many months ago after all.

"And next, the man of many talents. I would not have believed it myself had I not heard him singing 'Light My Fire' while studying in the old courtyard and let me tell you, he lit my fire."

Ianto's elevated mood he'd shared with Stephen plummeted sharply as he heard Lana speak and he swallowed his tequila and grabbed another. "Never coming back here," he muttered, Stephen outright laughing at him. The woman was positively evil.

"So put your hands together for Ianto Jones!"

The entire Torchwood table spun on their seats, turning to look at him with varying degrees of amusement and disbelief, Jack's leaning more towards disbelief than amusement. Ianto ignored Jack's shouted, "You can sing?" and focused on the stage, where Lana smiled so innocently in her deep ruby halter and skirt. And boots that went to her thighs. Not proper stage-wear as anyone close could probably answer as to what, if any, color of knickers she preferred, but then, nothing about Lana was ever quite proper.

The impertinent vixen kissed his cheek as she directed him to the microphone. Never coming back. No birthdays.

Ianto glanced at the screen as he ran his fingers over the microphone.

Oh, she did not. Who puts that in a karaoke computer?

He turned, glaring, for an explanation and she just smiled sweetly and shrugged, mouthing that it was random.

Random his skinny pale arse. He knew a certain glue formula that might again find the light of day.

The music started and he took a deep breath, wishing he had another drink beside him.

"No one know what it's like
To be the bad man,
To be the sad man,
Behind blue eyes."
 
He ignored everyone else, knowing the odds of him not walking off the stage were slim to none if he actually looked out, looked at all the eyes watching him, listening to him, singing this song of all songs.

This wasn't random. Chaos theory did not play with coincidence. Fate and lies, anger and pain, he lived this song. And he could feel it growing in his chest, boiling out in the words of The Who; his life was a masquerade, one he'd been raised to perform. He fought the words, his conscience wasn't empty, but his dreams were as lonely as his hours.

But who's to blame, who's the 'you'? On what could he pin his thoughts and feelings, his anger and pain? There was always an enemy, a bad guy fighting the good. But here the 'you' disappeared, wavering in silver sheen, a mirror long and tall in front of him.

The cost of vengeance, never absent but a black mark upon his soul.

The tempo increased, the notes dropping to allow him to fairly growl his pleas, his need for someone to bring him to his senses, to ground him when it all grew too much, too overwhelming. He had power, he had position and authority and he needed that person, that someone to root him in sanity, to bring him back to calm.

"If I swallow something evil,
Put your finger down my throat.
If I shiver, please give me your blanket,
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat."

He could feel his throat closing on that phrase, not needing the prompter to give him the lines.

Fuck, he missed that greatcoat, the scratch of wool against his back as they lay entwined upon a rooftop.

"Behind blue eyes."

The notes lingered, then faded off, dwindling into silence. Ianto listened to the microphone stand thump back and forth after he released it, focused on the steadily increasing beats as it settled itself on the wood of the stage, ignoring the applause he assumed was there but it didn't matter.

Jack's eyes, in the audience, boring into his.

That mattered.

Ianto had no more than stepped off the stage when he felt a hand at the small of his back, pressing firmly and guiding him away from the stage. He couldn't feel anything else, numb to all sensation but the hand on his back, fingers spread wide, directing.

A door closed; dimly Ianto noted a lock closing, the silence as people were shut out and one was left.

Jack.

Individual nerves fired as multiple points of contact; fingers, Ianto realized, fingers tilting his chin to look at Jack, who looked back just as intense, eyes darkened by light and need. Need, Ianto realized, Jack's short tether on self-control apparently lost.

"Never lonely."

The words weren't spoken so much as vowed, Ianto could feel himself breath the same heated breath as Jack, in tempo, racing like they'd run to the Hub and back but not from any physical exertion had they made their hearts race or their temperatures rise. Ianto could feel it, so damned close, Jack's chest pressing against his with each inhale, parting briefly to exhale but that only drew them closer, closer until Ianto felt his back against the wall, crushed by want and need.

Never lonely.

Ianto didn't answer, couldn't answer, but he knew Jack believed himself true, true as the press of his lips, true as the thrust of his hips and true as the hands nearly strangling as the refused to let go from their cradle of Ianto's jaw. Not that Ianto didn't respond in kind, using the wall to press back, to grind his erection against Jack's (finally) because he couldn't get enough, he wanted as much as Jack needed and it'd never be enough, enough touch, enough taste and enough desire.

Fuck, he needed this.

They spared no time, fingers plucking and pulling at buttons and belts, frantic to chase the fire through every cell. It was a race, not to an end but to a goal, a goal Ianto craved so much as desperately needed and had wanted ever since Jack left, before Jack left really.

This was Jack.

Time wasn't wasted as he was spun about, not a breath missed, Ianto captured them all and didn't compare so much as catalogued, cementing to memory Jack, tasting of lime and tequila and passion.

He'd missed Jack.

"Next time, we're using a bed."

Laughter huffed at his ear, chilling the hair curled in sweat. Ianto didn't care, bed, desk, or wall, he just wanted and needed Jack now. Time slowed as movement ceased, Ianto feeling alarmingly bare for Jack's eyes as the warmth of the Captain's body vanished, an unnerving moment despite Ianto's trust. "Jack?"

"Beautiful." The word was partnered with the touch of hands, running down his sides to squeeze his arse. The ability to breathe vanished as Ianto's nails dug into the tiled wall. "Beautiful." Ianto had heard that before, had heard Jack speak that and had been here, if not the exact location but oh god, the first time they'd fucked, that night after Wilson, in Lana's club. Ianto had danced, and they'd fucked, shagged rough and dirty against the wall.

And Jack had called him beautiful.

"Jack..." Ianto began, pressing into Jack's hands, turning his head to invite a kiss, the kiss he'd denied that first time, denied because a kiss meant too much and stabbed too deep. Ianto didn't think himself sentimental, but this meant something, this meant ... a shift. A shift towards what, Ianto didn't know, Ianto had lost that Jack eventually, he'd lose this one as well. He had to, to bring the past. But he had this now. He had Jack.

Not much time was spent in preparation, Ianto arching a brow as Jack pulled a tube of slick from his pocket but not complaining at any presumption, quick, as neither were patient to draw out what had been building and compounding since the beginning, since Jack had been found and future set in motion.

Metaphysical circles of time, moments both identical and dissimilar, shifting forward to advance yet always repeating, Ianto felt his fingers slip and skid against the tile as Jack entered him. He found his grip, pushing back as Jack steadied himself, settling hot and deep and fuck, Ianto needed him to move.

Noisier, this time, this circle as Ianto scrambled to maintain his purchase against the wall, Jack was vocal with every thought and touch, Ianto's name not a whisper but a cry. There was no coat, no wool scraping across his legs, but there was Jack, Jack speaking his name over and over as they balanced precariously against the wall. Each movement, each arch threatened to tumble them to the floor but they stood, Ianto swearing sometimes the words on Jack's tongue foreign and alien, the words smothered as Ianto twisted for a kiss which begged for release.

"Come for me."

Ianto balanced himself, braced with one hand as Jack thrusts grew even faster, harder, slick sounds of skin, sweat, and lube the rhythm Ianto followed as he ran a hand over his cock twice before spilling over the edge, crying out Jack's name as he came. He could feel Jack follow, Ianto knew he did, but his ears rang so loud it threatened to drown out Jack's voice, just a moment, because Jack's voice was an insistent buzz, pulling Ianto from the haze he'd drifted upon while lazing in the sensation.

"Jack."

"Hmm?" Jack's voice was close to his ear, resting on his shoulder and supporting Ianto as he sagged against the wall. The desire to sleep was great, but Ianto knew they were in a loo of all places, with all of Torchwood and half of Avalon outside the door, sure to watch as they exited smelling and looking of sex. And the thought did drift across Ianto's mind, relief that his bits were all functioning properly and this whole hiatus on sex would hopefully come to an end. It was important to say, though, important for Jack to know as much as it was important for Jack to tell Ianto because the circles rounded, presenting past into future and future into past. Jack needed to know, no matter where or when he was.

"Never lonely."

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

Despite the assistance from Rhys in alleviating some of the more mundane responsibilities from Ianto, one thing still hadn't changed: his status as 'tea-boy'. Not that Ianto particularly minded, there was something relaxing and zen-like about brewing coffee and so he hadn't cursed Owen's interruption to put on a fresh pot. That would require speaking and they still were at odds.

Sure he was busy, but they were all busy. Reports upon reports had been flooding the Torchwood and police phone lines of suspected alien activity after the stark reality of alien existence was forced upon the disbelieving public. Every little thing was blamed on aliens in the paranoia that followed the incursion just a short thirty-nine days ago; paranoia which reached into the highest echelons of the world's governments. It was ridiculous and time consuming, checking each and every report and pulling Ianto away from other duties more in line with Mr. Black's responsibilities. Add to that, priority fell not on the most believable and probable, but rather the ones who had the strongest pull and the loudest public voice.

Fat lot of good that did when the Rift was still as active as ever.

The last sighting had been a small house in Heath, reports of vandalism and noises disturbing the home owners.

Gwen and Rhys' investigation had uncovered not a terrible threat from a violent nocturnal Hezien, but rather the wanderings of a very bored house cat.

File number six-seventy-six since Torchwood went public, closed.

Tapping his stylus quickly over the messages, pages upon pages of alien reports, Ianto gave up with attempting order in the chaos and rather focused his attention on the coffee, something he could perform by rote and required none of the thought and consideration of interpreting leaky pipes for that pesky alien who kept pissing on the walls of a house in Splott.

He shoved his PDA back into his pocket and decided coffee first, then the few dishes in the sink. With a grimace at the sides of the glass carafe dotted with coffee grounds, Ianto placed a wager that Jack had been the last to make (or in Jack's case, attempt) a pot of coffee, which meant a small disaster existed in and around the filter. No matter how often Ianto tried to instruct the others in the proper methodology of brewing coffee, the simplest task escaped even the most capable. Like pouring the grounds into the filter.

He'd even gone so far as to draw a diagram, with giant specs falling into the filter. At some point, the carafe had grown arms, legs, and a suit, clinging to a coffee machine with braces. Might have been clinging; could have been humping the 'brew' button with the carafe handle; Ianto wasn't sure. Owen wasn't the most gifted artist.

Ianto had removed the drawings and had instead opted for demanding that no one touch the machine. Jack, of course, failed to listen even on the best occasions.

The lid of the filter unit was slightly stuck; Ianto gave it a gentle tug and the lid flung back on its latches like it was spring loaded, spilling red rose petals over its lip to cascade onto the floor. Hundreds of them, perfect and fragrant, hundreds tumbling out after Ianto had released the lid.

No.

He was done with this.

He was done with them.

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

Motion out of the corner of his eye drew Ianto's attention one-eighty as he spun on his heel, trying to capture the faery in the act, to talk with them, to ask them what they wanted, why they still watched. Rose petals filled the dirty mugs and the clean left out to dry; red satin bubbling the scent of rose straight to his brain as it continued to deny what he saw.

No no no.

He'd made his choices.

People suffered because of his choices.

J-no. He wasn't going to think of that. He wasn't going to picture what was behind the door he wouldn't walk through. That was his choice personified. Pale skin and freckles, so very still.

He was through with them.

Laughter echoed behind him, childish, gleeful, high-pitched and taunting.

Ianto whipped about, hearing the hummingbird flap of wings but saw nothing, nothing to confirm the presence he felt in the room. He knew they were here, watching. They were in the room because the carafe now stank of roses, petals crushed against the glass where stuck grounds were pressed in velvet red.

No.

No, no, no.

Choices. He'd made choices and look where it had gotten him, look where it had gotten others, trampled beneath the weight of his choices. Twenty-four dead. Thousands throughout the world had died due to the dragons. Alien threat. His responsibility. He was responsible, his choices. His friends; his family. The world had been saved, Britain had survived.

But one ...

No.

That was off limits. The door he wouldn't open. He couldn't.

That was his choice, behind the door.

His fucking choice.

His choice, while they watched. The faery, with the power of the elements, sat back and watched as he made the choices they'd taunted him with. Not his choices; their choices. He just was the puppet, jerked around while they played spin the bottle with his world, laughing while people died, dancing as the world burned.

Choices? He never had a fucking choice. In any of it.

In fury, he threw the carafe at the wall, enjoying the gratifying scratch of glass as it struck stone before it shattered, splintering into shards of clear daggers piercing the blood red petals as they fought for space within the same time. He didn't wait for the crystal, bleeding tears to fall before Ianto added ceramic to the mix, glass tinkling like hundreds of bells on a blanket of rose petals. Every mug, one at a time, cups of his choice crashing into the wall he knew was simple stone but he could swear he could see the shapes of the faery, laughing and taunting as yet another coffee mug broke in a hundred pieces and joined the littered remains of its kin on the floor.

The floor bled his choice.

Ianto turned away, shaking as the anger fled, hands braced against the sink as he tried to regain his control. This wasn't fair. He'd made his choices. And now ... no. No no no. They couldn't still be watching, there was nothing more for him to give.

"Oi! Jack, tea-boy's gone mental."

Owen's voice sounded harsh as nails scratching on a chalkboard, and for a moment, Ianto remembered a time so long ago when the world was innocent and the sound of Owen's voice had been all that he could hear, his scent all that Ianto could smell. The pheromones. God, that had been when all this started, when Avalon had collided with Torchwood and Ianto's life changed. Back when Jack was still Jack and Ianto had dry humped his boss' leg while he fondled the fabric of Jack's shirt. He'd been nobody then; a quiet figure sticking to the shadows, maintaining order while life spun around him. His sole purpose for living had been Lisa.

Then there was that shift, that moment in time when nothing could ever return to normal. He'd believed the destruction of Torchwood One had been that defining moment, death to everything he'd known and loved. But it had been Rani. Rani and what must have been supporters of the dragon-kind. He'd died that day, figuratively and literally. He couldn't go back. Torchwood One was merely a push towards this, towards Cardiff, towards now, when years of quiet shadows and calculations culminated to light etching every surface, revealing Avalon and Torchwood in the hidden depths of that brilliantly cut diamond, shattering prisms of color across every wall.

Jack was right.

Everything had changed.

And Ianto was no longer that tea-boy cleaning up after Owen's deliberate spill.

He straightened from his lean on the kitchenette sink, straightened his suit where it had been displaced or wrinkled, reapplying the formality and pristine nature the clean lines of the suit offered. Everyone was crammed into the kitchenette, Ianto distantly observed the concerned looks and the eyes darting from the mess behind him back to him again. Jack was talking, but Ianto wasn't listening, his own focus on Owen. Ianto raised his chin, not a great degree but enough to feel the effects trickle down his spine, freezing the vertebrae into a rigid line.

Ianto had faced dragons and faeries, weevils and Cybermen. He'd seen death and chaos, he'd seen life and passion. He'd ordered war, he'd sentenced lives. He'd felt pain, he'd felt love, he'd felt both in their loss and more in their gain.

For all he cared, Owen could go fuck himself.

And as Ianto stared, almost daring the man to speak again, Owen took a step back.

Ianto didn't smirk, his face felt far too immobile to move at all, but he felt the warmth spread from head to toe, lighting a path along his nerves until cell was singing in harmony. It was near euphoric, maybe Owen was correct and he had lost what tentative hold he had on sanity. But not since, well, he couldn't remember a time he'd felt so at peace, peace with himself, his choices, fuck, even knowing the faery still watched. Maybe it was the endorphins racing through his system as a result of the fury, but it was something.

Something new, something different.

He took a slow glance behind him, surprised to see the coffee machine on the floor as well; he didn't remember throwing it, but he must have; the cord lay snake-like among the blood red petals and glass. There were petals everywhere and he was standing in the midst of them, a veritable phoenix standing in its ashes. This did make him smile, remembering the burning of Avalon and the glass panes of the unicorn and the phoenix. Avalon had risen from those ashes, risen and fought back with all her might.

And as all the sleepers woke from the strain of the battle, she was rising again. Avalon was not one to suffer death.

Neither was Ianto. It was pure and simple, laid out in Black and White.

"Make your own bloody coffee." Ianto finally told Owen, speaking calmly, enunciating every word as he stepped from the petals, before he walked past his speechless team. His feet moved him without conscious thought, acceding to the desire most strongly fighting for dominance. Not Jack, although that was a desire which physically stopped Ianto before he reached his desk, displaced by the fire in the Information Center and the subsequent rebuilding construction in its temporary home within the Hub and he'd just never gotten around to moving it back.

Ianto looked down at the hands holding him in place, then to the face connected to the hands. Jack. Every much the same Jack as the one he knew before, if not a slightly less aged Jack. To the core, Jack was the same as he'd always been, in all the time Ianto had known him. This Jack, his Jack, older Jack; all one in the same. Jack who would be a hero in future time, Jack who was a hero in the current one and Jack who was a hero in the past.

Time lines were funny things. Because this scarred Jack was definitely not immortal didn't make the one Ianto loved any less then as he was now. Loved. The word both scared the hell out of Ianto and lent him courage as he pushed Jack back against his desk without care for who watched or listened. It didn't matter, and he was tired of thinking it did. The kiss was neither gentle nor polite and Ianto could feel Jack's cock grow hard and hot against his thigh. On most occasions, Ianto might have taken advantage of the situation, he had before, teasing the other Jack against the side of the SUV at his father's ... but this wasn't about teasing. It wasn't about toying. Ianto pushed harder, feeling Jack's hands slip from his shoulders to grasp onto the desk for purchase as his boots skidded on the floor of the Hub. This was all about everything Ianto wanted and needed, and as he thought he spoke with lips and tongue, everything he wanted and everything he needed to give.

Because as much as fate attempted to intervene, he needed this.

But not because he some how depended on Jack; he'd learned that wasn't necessary.

He bloody loved the man.

If that made him a fool, knowing that tying down Jack was as easy as capturing the wind, then he would enjoy being the fool and dance in the wind while the wind blew.

Ianto stopped the kiss once he felt Jack's hands turn grabbier, clutching at his clothing in effort to remove them. Now wasn't the time for that, especially not in front of the others. "Love you," Ianto whispered just loud enough for Jack to hear as he pulled away, fingers tracing Jack's jawline as he smiled. "I'm fine, quit worrying. I just need some time away."

Jack's reaction to his words were almost comical, his tongue tripping over itself to say anything before he opted to keep silent. Ianto grinned as he worked around Jack, powering down his computer and turning off the small lamp on his desk. He turned to leave but Jack pulled him back for a kiss not unequal to the first, leaving Ianto's knees a bit shaky and his breath uneven. An answer and reply; Ianto knew how Jack felt, he'd made it no secret. But the confirmation was nice.

"You're such a bastard," Jack rasped as Ianto pulled away.

Smirking, Ianto flicked his eyes down to Jack's crotch where the trousers were most clearly tented and straining at the seams. With a half-hearted shrug, Ianto picked up his keys and turned away, leaving Jack cursing after him but leaning unashamed against Ianto's desk as the rest of the team was exposed to the full view of the extent of Jack's arousal.

Ianto almost stayed, very nearly did but the desire for that something else pulled stronger than even Jack, walking unobstructed to the hidden lift to the Plas; a few keystrokes on his PDA triggering the lift which would carry him street-side.

He'd made it to the car park and almost to his car when he heard footsteps chasing after him. Even in the dark of night, he knew those footsteps and so refrained from pulling his gun at the one approaching. "Gwen," Ianto simply stated, sort of a greeting, almost a dismissal. He didn't want to speak with anyone, and his instant thoughts, despite their improved relationship, was that she was to ask him some inane question as she tried to understand why he'd thrown the bloody coffee pot.

Sure enough, the bobbed brunette haircut appeared under the lights. Only Gwen could have run fast enough to catch him, anyway.

"Ianto."

They stared at each other for a moment, Ianto waiting for the question he knew was to come and Gwen, well, Ianto assumed she needed to catch her breath.

"The business with the petals, it's the faeries, isn't it? What's going on, Ianto? Are you in trouble?"

Both the question and her concern surprised Ianto, and he realized again he might have misjudged Gwen. He chided himself, remembering their conversation about judgment they had held in the pipes before meeting their first dragon and her bravery on the air field. For all the naivety there was experience, and while Gwen still, in years, might be a novice in all things Torchwood, she did understand. And that, perhaps, was where he failed to give her credit. "It's just a game. I'm fine."

Ianto tried to smile, he really did. But thinking of the faeries, of their overwhelming presence at times and the choices they demanded made Ianto grimace.

Gwen wasn't fooled, either.

"They don't play fair, Ianto."

No, they didn't. And point to Gwen. But discussion of fate and choice and the predetermination of actions was not something Ianto wished to be partaking in at the moment. "They don't," Ianto agreed, flashes of petals pouring out of the filter threatened to drown the person he didn't want to think about, choking him as he stood on the air field. Ianto found the key to his car and unlocked it, hoping Gwen would take the hint and go back to the Hub. The faery and his involvement were not something he wanted to talk about.

Ianto's agreement seemed to give Gwen pause, and for a moment, Ianto thought he had won his escape.

"You're coming back, yeah? 'Cos we need you here."

Gwen spoke quietly, the earnestness of her plea written on her face, easily seen in the light of the street lights. Ianto thought at first he had just imagined it, but no, she was waiting for his response, arms crossed over her chest, wedding ring glinting.

"Of course. What would you do for coffee otherwise?" Ianto smiled as he tried to pass off her concern with humor. He opened his car door, hoping she would catch the hint this time and let him leave.

"No, I don't think so, Ianto Jones." His door shut and he was almost stunned silent as she stepped in front of him, standing between him, the car door, and escape. "This is more than your coffee. There's something going on and you shouldn't be alone, not with those bloody faeries out there."

Gwen Cooper-Williams. Ready to take on a dragon with a single bullet and apparently willing to fight against the faery. Ianto had to admire her courage. "I'll not be alone, I'm going home."

"To your flat? But Jack's here."

Ianto smiled, he couldn't help himself. "No, to my father's."

Her eyes widened in surprise, and Ianto noted sadly that while he'd never offered the information, no one had ever thought to ask. "I didn't know ... I thought Lisa ... " Gwen stumbled around for a moment as an awkward silence stretched. "Is it just your father?"

Ianto shook his head, relatively certain that the information was about as useful to the public as him announcing his favorite color was navy blue. "I have a sister and twin nephews. They all stay at my father's since her husband was killed during the Battle."

"Oh god, this one?" Ianto shook his head, he'd never consider the war against the dragons as the Battle, only one earned that name. Perhaps some savvy reporter would coin a term but for now, it remained too close for casual naming. Gwen put two and two together and rested a hand on his arm, unnerving even under the best circumstances, but after the combined efforts of the most recent conflict and reuniting with Torchwood One survivors, his recoil against touch had dropped dramatically. "You lost a lot that day."

Torchwood would do that to a person. Ianto shrugged but Gwen continued. "It's just me, ya know. My mum died when I was just a kid. Dad passed a year before I became a constable. He always wanted to see his girl follow in his footsteps, but he never got the chance."

Ianto knew, it was in her file including his manner of death in line of duty, but he didn't mention. "You'd have made him proud, Gwen. You've surpassed everything he could have imagined for you."

Gwen's smile was radiant. "You think? You lot are really my family now." She quickly grew somber again, Ianto could almost visibly see when the thought struck her. "What about your mum? You didn't mention her."

Ianto damned himself for ever bringing up the topic of family. Once Gwen knew of a topic, she wouldn't quit, especially not when she'd known him for years and never even knew he had a family. He supposed that made her a good PC. "She died." Ianto gestured at his car, not-too-subtly changing the topic. "If you don't mind? It's fairly late already."

"You're coming back?"

The second time she asked, and Ianto supposed Jack's departure ages ago had set a precedent that wouldn't soon be forgotten by some. Ianto didn't have a blue box and a Doctor to escape with, however, and he had no intention of permanently leaving Cardiff. "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Will you be okay without me until then?"

He'd meant for levity, but Gwen seemed to take his question seriously, carefully considering before answering. "Maybe. Torchwood wouldn't run without you, Ianto. And not just your coffee. I don't think I ever thanked you for what you did." Ianto opened his mouth to tell her there was nothing to thank him for, but she covered his mouth with her hand and continued. "You kept us together while Jack was gone. You were certain about the threat and kept pushing us to prepare. You made the connections and informed the rest of the world to prepare them." Ianto cringed when he heard her voice crack. "You saved my life and made sure we had our wedding. I don't think anyone's thanked you for saving all of us."

Gwen removed her hand only then, but instead of being able to refute what she said, Ianto found himself with an armful of Gwen, her small frame feeling extraordinarily large as she hugged him with the fierceness of a bear. He couldn't deny what he had done, he'd at least attempted to do everything she'd said. But he hadn't always succeeded; the past always looking better in the review.

At the same time, however, Ianto couldn't deny that Gwen's thanks and acknowledgment meant something, a tiny glimmer of something buried deep and hidden within him, rarely accessed or acknowledged. Ianto could almost pretend it was Ms. White speaking the praise, lavishing it on as she would on the one who had succeeded her in command.

Lavishing it on as if he were her son.

If Ianto squeezed Gwen just a bit tighter for speaking those words and if he kissed the top of her head for her kindness, he had merely been driven to it by the stress of the day.

Ianto extricated himself from Gwen once he was certain enough time had passed that Gwen's voice wouldn't crackle again when she spoke. Not that he gave much time for the opportunity, just bid his farewell and got into his car. She was still watching as he pulled away, waving as he drove off. He wondered how long it would be before she convinced Tosh to get into his personnel records; not that they'd find anything, even with Tosh's skill at the computer. Not long, he imagined, not with Tosh's curiosity piqued. They might even ask Jack, but Ianto was fairly certain Jack wouldn't breathe a word about his mother or any additional information about his father, sister, and nephews.

His family was safe.

Just to be sure, Ianto checked on each when he arrived at his father's house, slipping in the front door and avoiding all the creaky steps he'd avoided as a kid. He checked first on his father, then his sister, then watched Bryce and Gareth sleep, reassuring himself that they all still lived, and perhaps revelling a moment in their safety despite all that had happened, before heading back downstairs. He didn't go to his room, he opted instead for the couch in the sitting room, the long couch with the hard pillows and his favorite blanket wrapped tight around him.

If it was the long couch his best friend had slept on the last time he was here, it was merely coincidence.

And if his favorite blanket was the one his mother had given him for his sixth birthday, the birthday she had missed but at the time he pretended he could smell her perfume in the blanket threads and spent the next week wrapped in it, that was pure chance as well.

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

Ianto woke to the smell of coffee so tantalizingly close he was fairly certain he'd fallen asleep on coffee beans. Through bleary eyes, he could just make out a mug floating in front of his face, slim fingers moving it around like the motion would inspire him to move.

It did, not that he'd admit it to his sister.

He sat up with a groan, his back stiff from the short night; a quick glance at his watch told him he'd been asleep for less than three hours. He took the proffered mug once he'd got himself settled on the couch; soon disrupted as Elaine curled up under the blanket next to him. Ianto took a sip, relieved his family knew how to brew a cup of coffee; he didn't fancy facing another coffee machine soon.

"Nearly scared me half to death when I found you here this morning. What time did you get in?"

Ianto grimaced as Elaine giggled and tried to push his hair, which must have been awful if she was even trying to fix it, back into place. Either she succeeded or she gave up because she stilled beside him. "Late. Early." Ianto took another sip of coffee, more a gulp which burned like alcohol without the fire down his throat.

"Dad took the boys to the store to keep it quiet a bit longer, otherwise it would have been even earlier. You should hear what the ladies down at the store say about you Torchwood lot." Elaine laughed and Ianto cringed at the thought of what gossiping women might be saying . He'd grown up listening to their chatter, and often none of it was kind. "They are positively entranced by that 'Captain Harkness' and Colonel Sheppard, though they think that one's using alien hair products. 'Course, old Mrs. Ellis swears her son Dewey is a member of Torchwood."

"Dewey Ellis?" Ianto frowned, thinking back to what he knew about the village gossip, "I thought he ran off with his girlfriend from Swansea because his mum hated the idea of him marrying a Catholic?"

"He did!" Elaine stole Ianto's coffee mug from him to take a sip before handing it back. "Has three kids now. Not that Mrs. Ellis will admit to 'em. He wouldn't work with Torchwood anyways, always drank more than he worked." They sat in silence for a while after that, Ianto drinking the rest of the coffee before setting the mug down on the end table.

Elaine broke the silence first. "I was so scared when your call came though." Ianto had included them on the emergency band just in case, he knew that was probably a violation in Torchwood code but he really couldn't be arsed about it. He'd figured Ms. White wouldn't have disagreed, had she been watching his every action. "It was Canary Wharf all over again. I was so scared I'd lose you, too."

"You didn't lose me." Ianto gave his sister a one-armed hug, holding her as she clung to him in quite a different fashion than Gwen had the night before. Where Gwen's had been fierce, Elaine's was desperate. Ianto couldn't blame her; the dragons had been terrifying and Elaine had two children to worry about and their family was so small. But the worst hadn't happened, Britain still stood as did his father's home and his family was safe. Secure. Whole.

Ianto didn't know where or when his father was from, but what family existed in this time still lived. And for all the destruction and horrors, losses and sacrifices, that was something. A small something in relative scope, but a small hope, a small smile of success.

He'd saved his family.

"I hate that you stay at that bloody place," Elaine mumbled into his sleeve. Ianto didn't look down when he felt her fingers knot into his wrinkled shirt at his chest, just covered her hand with his; he'd sat with Elaine enough in the past to have the art of sister-comfort down pat. "But it was easier knowing it was you who took mum's place and was out there protecting us."

He'd almost failed, in a spectacular sense, but he didn't tell his sister that. She didn't need to know how close they'd all come to falling. If it hadn't been for Avalon, if it hadn't been for Sheppard and Ronon, if it hadn't been for Jack and Owen and all the others, they most certainly would have failed.

"I made a promise to you after Gavin died, Ellie. I will do everything to protect our family." Ianto rested his chin on Elaine's head and pulled the blanket tighter around them. Even if it meant taking Ms. White's place. Family was important, and like Gwen had said, the team had become family as well. So many responsibilities, so many families. So much to protect. "Including running around Cardiff being chased by a dragon. The damned things looked like my birthday cake two years ago. I swear, you'd better put a kitten on my next cake. Big, fluffy harmless kitten. I don't care what the twin terrors say, no more kings and queens, no more dragons. Just a big, harmless kitten."

Elaine giggled like Ianto hoped, taking a shaky breath before loosening her grip on his hand. "Fluffy kitten. Got it. Any other requests, King Ianto?"

Ianto nudged his sister with his shoulder, silently chiding her for the nickname he really hoped she didn't start using in common practice. A giant yawn cracked his features; Ianto felt seventy for all he wasn't quite thirty. He'd believed that events had aged Stephen; he should probably assume they had aged him as well. Maybe it was just the let down from the intensity of war; after the Battle at Torchwood One, there hadn't been time to think or rest, he had simply moved on to the next stage in his plans. this time, however, the recovery period was inching along at an ever increasingly slow pace and dragging him unwilling along for the ride. What did he want most, next to his family?

"Yeah. How about a long sleep until the next emergency?"

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

It was hardly the next emergency that woke Ianto from his doze. He and Elaine hadn't moved until their father came up with Ianto's nephews, the three apparently having found a large quantity of sugar given the range of the twin's vocals. Elaine got up with an admonishment to their father and herded the twins outside to run off some of their seemingly unlimited energy. Ianto rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grinned at his father who held out a large travel mug of coffee from the store.

Must be a genetic thing to think that coffee was the answer for everything.
 
"Don't suppose this is just a visit."

Point to his father, but Ianto hadn't the faintest idea where to begin, much less how to start. He padded over to his father's pipe stand instead, picking it up as well as the tin of tobacco and silently handed it to Broderick before falling back onto the couch to curl back up in the blanket with his coffee. His father didn't ask questions, just started preparing the pipe while rambling about the day-to-days at the store.

"Grace Roberts, you remember her? Of course you do, you remember everything, don't you, dear boy. Your mother," Broderick waved the bell of the pipe at Ianto as he settled back into his chair, the rich, spicy smoke curling up with its calming caress. Ianto inhaled deep and sipped his coffee, the scents blending into an earthy scent of all things good as his father continued, "Your mother was the same way. Couldn't forget a face or a name. Not quite as good as you, but a mind like a steel trap."

She had no apparent problem forgetting her children or birthdays, but Ianto wasn't going to remind his father of this fact, not while he was smiling with fondness at the memories.

"Oh, to be sure, her work consumed her. But you two are far more alike than you might care to think."

Ianto knew his grimace had nothing to do with the temperature of the coffee, and he'd apologize to his father if he would have actually meant it. Broderick found it amusing all the same, laughing as he puffed on his pipe. The years and times, not even the death of his wife had ever seemed to dent the man's spirits and Ianto wished he took after his father more.

"She hated coffee, though. You got that from me." His father beamed with pride now and Ianto snorted as he took a sip of the perfect cup of coffee Broderick had brewed. Could have been worse, Ianto supposed. He could have inherited his father's sense of style instead. "The faeries too, it seems. Pesky little buggers, aren't they? Always meddling in something or another."

This time, Ianto choked on his drink rather than swallowing it properly, coughing and sputtering as he saw on the coffee table what his father was gesturing towards with his pipe. Two red rose petals in clear view, resting on the top of a book of Celtic myths and legends. Rather than the rage he had felt the day before, Ianto could only stare in stunned silence as he wiped coffee from his chin. His father didn't appear to either notice or care about Ianto's predicament, just continued on, puffing with a smile on his pipe.

"In fact, I remember the night of our wedding. Oh, but your mother looked beautiful that day. Carried my Viviene up to the bedroom, ran her right into the corner of the wall up at the top of the stairs but it didn't matter, we were laughing so. More nerves than naught, I think. I was so afraid of screwing up she'd leave me without a second thought." His father paused, and for that Ianto was glad, the images of his parents' wedding night was one he did not need etched into memory. There were just things he did not need to know about his parents, plenty he wished he did know, but their wedding night was not one of them.

Ianto squirmed on the couch as father continued, wondering if for once, the faeries couldn't play his way and just ... swallow him, the couch, the blanket and his coffee up in their timeless forest which had taken Jasmine. "Walked into the bedroom and had to blink to make sure I'd entered the right house. Bed was buried in rose petals, spilling off the bed and onto the floor, trailing to the door. Bless your mum, she thought I'd arranged it all. Didn't have the heart to tell her I had nothing to do with it. Made you that night, we did, right on top of those petals. Pesky little buggers that they are, but they can set a mood. Nine months later and you come around, all solemn and so rare with your smile. Thought for a while I'd done something wrong, should've told your mum the truth or knocked those petals to the floor 'cause they'd stolen your joy. But every now and then, sometimes with reason and sometimes just out of the blue, you'd laugh and it'd just light up the house. And now you've gone and saved the joy of the world. Guess your old man didn't do so wrong after all."

Wondering if it was too early to begin drinking something heavier than coffee, Ianto finally found his voice for the first time since his father arrived. "You know about the faeries? They're dangerous creatures."

"Dangerous? Oh, sure, they get a little carried away with their games sometimes, but I wouldn't call 'em dangerous. Quite beautiful when they want to be. Only explanation I have for my boy surviving that accursed battle at Canary Wharf when so many others didn't." The joviality drained from his father's voice as he remembered, as did Ianto, all that had been lost that day. Broderick had gained a full household following so many years of solitude after Ianto and Elaine had left for their careers.

"I survived because I had to." Ianto said carefully, avoiding all mentions of his true purpose in his will to live.

"Yes, yes. And I suppose you escaped carrying a partially converted Cyberman and a conversion unit all on your charm and wiles." Ianto gaped at his father who just winked and smiled. "You're smart, my boy, but even intellect and cunning didn't get most out of that building."

Unexpected shame burned his cheeks, threatening Ianto's loose control over his emotions as only his father could do. In retrospect, it hadn't been the wisest choice of actions and his rationale and logic questionable at best, but to have his father know that he had been so craftily duped by the Cyberman and to have made such an egregious error in judgement was humiliating. Instead of looking at Broderick, Ianto picked at a piece of fuzz still connected to the blanket, one of many spots on the blanket worn by time and love.

"Did mum know?" Ianto finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse and crackled with embarrassment and a lingering grief that he'd never been able to shake for the events of that final day; the trust which had been broken, the havoc he'd almost unleashed on the world once again, and the loss of a final piece of Torchwood One.

"I don't believe so; she never mentioned it. Ianto." Reluctantly (and feeling like he was again five years old), Ianto quit fidgeting with the blanket and looked his father in the eyes, holding his head high despite the heat in his ears and the flush in his face. "Everything happens for a purpose, even the most doubtful of choices. You acted out of desperation and loyalty and I can hardly find fault with that. After all, it led you to become the man you are today."

If Ianto had believed his face on fire before, that compared little to the stain of red flushing his cheeks now under his father's praise. Ianto began and stopped himself numerous times, not sure how to respond and feeling desperately inadequate and undeserving given the losses and destruction still collected during the fight against the dragons. Everything he could think of to say just sounded so ... trivial.

Finally, he realized what he could ask. "You seem to know everything-"

"Me? No, must've been your friend Jack who told me about Lisa."

Ianto didn't believe his father for a moment, given Broderick's knowledge of the faeries and of his wife's death, so Ianto continued. "Can you tell me ... what do you know ... I have ... my friend," Ianto fumbled around, trying to talk about precisely what he'd spent the past weeks avoiding talking about. He knew it was ridiculous, that he was handling this childishly, but thinking meant acknowledging and for his part, Ianto couldn't think about it, much less speak of it. He knew there must be a whole process of guilt in those self-help books, and at the present moment he probably fell into whatever step was labeled 'denial,' but he just couldn't for all that he should.

Broderick watched Ianto for what felt like hours, just silence stretching between the two of them after Ianto's voice trailed away. It was uncomfortable, having his father's focus solely directed at him, but Ianto remained still, knowing he had sounded as desperate as he felt for just a brief reassurance. His father had spoken of choices and purpose, and Ianto knew there must be a purpose in this. There had to be. There was an answering reply for every decision made, his father had said as much.

Ianto just simply could not see the purpose in his one choice, however.

"I think you already know the answer, Ianto. And how will you accept it if you can't even speak his name to recognize the life?"

Sullenly, Ianto nodded, knowing his father was right but at the same time, avoidance had worked so well for him. After all, he'd managed to deny Lisa's death for a good year before admitting the Cyberman portion had won long before she'd been killed by Torchwood Three.

"Go see him, it'll just get harder the longer you stay away."

"I will," Ianto promised; almost sounding convinced of his own words.

"Ianto Llacheu Jones..." Broderick warned, just as he had when Ianto was twelve and broken a window in the store next to his father's with a pellet from a mis-fired slingshot.

"Fine, fine. I will." And this time, he meant it.

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

"Uncle Ianto!"

Only the twin warning cries alerted Ianto of the incoming child-sized missiles which struck and attached themselves to his legs. They'd grown like weeds since last he saw them, and they easily pulled him down to the grass, suit trousers be damned. Ianto laughed and rolled with them anyway, fending off their combined tickle attack, their four small hands much more effective than his two. But if their squeals and giggles were to go by, he was getting in a few solid tickles of his own.

Eventually, they tired out. Or rather, Uncle Ianto grew tired and Bryce and Gareth got bored with the tickling and opted to just sit on their conquest instead of attacking when Ianto failed to play along.

"Did you really fight a dragon?"

"Was it big?"

"Did it bite you?"

"Dragons don't bite, they blow fire out their noses."

"Nuh uh! Do not. They have fire in their stomachs. Don't they, Uncle Ianto?"

Ianto grinned at his nephews, looking up at them from his rather comfortable spot on the grass. How he wished he could be a kid again. "They were very big," he admitted carefully, not sure what Elaine had told the boys about the fight or what they might have seen on the news. "A lot of us fought the dragons, but they're all gone now."

His nephews' cheers made him grin all the more.

"Tell us about it!"

"Yeah, were you scared?"

"More scared than I've ever been." Ianto didn't have to lie or fib on that one as he slid the twins to his thighs so he could sit up. He wrapped them both in a big hug, feeling tiny hands grab his sides in return. "Was scared I'd never get to see you two again."

"We were scared too, but mommy was more scareder-"

"'Cause she was crying-"

"Uh huh, and so we told her that Uncle Ianto would protect us, just like you said."

Ianto felt his eyes well-up at their blind faith in him, so trusting that their uncle would watch out for them despite all his faults. Hell, they probably didn't even think he had faults. They were young yet, and far too new to the horrors of the world and how even those they put on pedestals would fall. Everything did, eventually. Ms. White and Avalon, Torchwood One and Yvonne. Even an alien attack was exciting. He wondered how long it would take for that illusion to fall and they discovered their uncle was just as human as they were and at some point, would fail them, too.

"I will always do what I can to protect my family."

"We know, Uncle Ianto. We told Kent," Ianto had to rack his brain to think of who that was, before he remembered Elaine mentioning something about the twins having a friend named Kent who'd stop by the store to play. His mother taught at a local school. According to Elaine, the mother was not looking forward to having the three troublemakers in school together. "We told him that our uncle fought the aliens-"

"And Kent wants you to be his uncle too cause he says the aliens might take him from his bed like they do on the telly so now he won't sleep."

"'Cause he doesn't have an uncle who fights aliens."

"Will you?"

"Will I what?" Ianto tried his best to follow Bryce's question, but he failed miserably, too keenly aware of the cold seeping in through his trousers from the ground and how even Torchwood Three's best dry cleaner probably wouldn't be able to get the stains out.

"Be Kent's uncle? He needs an uncle to protect him too."

"Tell you what." Ianto shifted a bit so that he could look at both Bryce and Gareth, who's concern for their friend was so plainly written on their faces. How odd was it to be having this conversation with his nephews, it certainly wasn't one he had dreamt of having in his lifetime and certainly not planned for. He'd planned for talks about the kids' father, about sex and wanking when the time came because imagining his mother talking to him about wanking nearly pushed Ianto over the edges of sanity every time he considered it, but never had he planned on how to address the twins' friends' real fear of aliens. "Why don't you tell Kent that all of Torchwood is working to protect his family, so he shouldn't be scared about being taken from his bed. Torchwood is watching out for every single one of your friends, too. But you two are under my special protection and always will be."

Amidst his nephews cheers, cheers that meant more than any from Avalon or complete strangers, Ianto hugged them just a little tighter.

"Uncle Ianto, you're squishing us."

With a snort of laughter, Ianto let them go, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet and dragged back into the house where Elaine took one look at the grass stains on his shirt and trousers and mouthed an apology. Ianto just shrugged with a smile.

Suits could be laundered, but he wouldn't pass up a moment with his nephews for anything.

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

After grabbing a change of clothes (stolen from Stephen's closet since he'd already used the spare suit he kept at Avalon), Ianto made his way down to his (Mr. Black's) office. He turned on the telly and poured a glass of Scotch kept secure in a vault behind a psi-proof lock, along with various official papers and documents curious children and adults should be kept away from.

As he sat at the round table, the furniture looking rather lonely with its twelve open spots, feet kicked up on the top and the chair tilted back at what was certainly a dangerous degree and watched, the reporting was about the celebrations still continuing across the globe, from India to Britain to South Africa, everyone was still enthralled by the notion of a narrow escape from an alien threat and the celebration of freedom and life. It had surprised Ianto at first; but then, he was viewing the situation as someone who had grown up with aliens. The attack had been nothing new or different, only the magnitude had changed. For everyone else, however, it was as though a new lease on existence had been felt and cherished by all, and the stores selling food and alcohol were profiting.

The first world-wide party, broadcast simultaneously on all stations had taken place only two days after the fight. And now, over five weeks later, spontaneous parties were happening for little or no reason, just an excuse to be with friends and family, Ianto theorized. From the way it sounded, New Orleans in the United States hadn't shut down yet, day or night, the party still continued.

Ianto pitied their livers. Fuck, it wouldn't be the dragons that killed off the population on earth, it'd be the alcohol pickling their insides.

But, at least the in-fighting among humans had momentarily ceased. The few nations who had sought to profit from the ordeal were quickly stomped out in a surprising union of spirit. But warring factions all had the same surprises, the same shock and questioning of values. In some areas, they'd dropped the animosity and fought side by side against the dragons. Hard to resume fighting against a supposed enemy who had risked their life to protect yours. If anything had come from the casualties of this attack, at least there was a temporary peace. The cynic in him said it wouldn't last, that humans were, by nature, a people who would not be satisfied with what they possessed but must continuously look for more, be it land or converts or rights or goods. But at least, for the moment, there was a relative peace among the celebrants.

With a grim smile, he raised his glass in toast to the telly on the far wall and drank, joining in as well he could from inside the offices of Avalon.

"Mr. Black, I need your sig-"

Ianto turned slowly in surprise, surprise switching into amusement as he caught Owen openly staring. Ianto supposed it was either the black leather pants, which Stephen considered 'denim' and about the only thing he owned (and an article of clothing Ianto had grown rather fond of in their recent escapades) or the black tee he had snitched from Stephen's wardrobe as well (minus the gaping bullet wound the previous tee he'd borrowed, Ianto had made sure to stock Stephen's wardrobe with his favorite shirts for damaging the one). Or quite possibly, it was being mistaken for "Mr. Black" which had caused Owen to pause so dramatically in his statement. Any of the three possibilities made Ianto smirk, and he raised a brow as Owen continued to stare, the gaze only broken once when his eyes darted to the vault, to the scotch, and back to Ianto again.

"Stephen's not here," Ianto drawled, stating the obvious as he swirled his scotch and turned back to the telly to see what else had happened in the world aside from parties and purported alien sightings.

"Bullocks. Sorry. Don't think I've seen you dress like a normal person before."

Ianto didn't even turn to respond, just continued watching the images on the screen. A ferry had capsized near Bergen, Norway. All passengers had been saved by a passing vessel. "Brecon Beacons, the night we all about became the main course. I wore denims." Ianto nudged the bottle of Scotch over to Owen after pouring a refill, the other man would have to fend for himself to find a glass. "My other clothes got dirty and rather than walking around naked, I borrowed some of Stephen's."

"Right. Want my advice? Buy a pair of pants from Stephen." As Ianto turned to confirm that it was indeed Owen who had stated this, the doctor began to stumble over himself. "Cos Jack would appreciate the look. Then again, he appreciates anything with a hole or at least a crevice to rub off in. Not that he would, 'cos you and he, ah, fuck." Ianto settled for snorting in amusement as Owen cut himself off by drinking his Scotch.

Ianto would have to thank Stephen doubly for the clothing and the entertainment.

"So, I've been thinking," Owen started, to which Ianto turned his head, mostly in surprise at confirmation that Owen indeed thought. The look Owen threw him confirmed that Owen had caught on to what Ianto's train of thought had been. Owen glared (which, oddly enough, had no discernible impact Ianto noted)before continuing. "Out there during the fight, you were comfortable giving orders and could chat in whatever fucking language you were talking in on your mobile like it was your native tongue. My friends Amberlynn and Mitch were medics at Torchwood One and never mentioned you in their stories, so you weren't a field agent. Makes me think you were being primed to take over Yvonne's spot."

Owen smirked with pride at his deduction while he awaited Ianto's answer.

Ianto's following snort caused it to crash almost immediately. "Not bloody likely."

"She didn't like your coffee?"

"No," Ianto refrained from rolling his eyes, but only barely. He knew what he was about to say was considered classified, it was all locked away under encryption and various other security measures, but Owen would understand. He'd lost in the Battle of Canary Wharf, just as Ianto had. Besides, Ianto reminded himself, he set the rules anyway. "She didn't like me disagreeing about the purpose of the ghost shifts. Put me on limited desk duty before the attack."

Owen scowled, like Ianto's statement didn't compute with the information he had gathered. "What the bloody hell was she thinking?"

"Unlimited power. Energy for all of Britain." Ianto shrugged, staring at his drink before sipping from the glass.

"No, that's not ... never mind." Owen pushed the bottle of Scotch back over to Ianto who wondered briefly why Owen had come in search of Mr. Black in the first place. Hopefully nothing to do with the children, not after sharing a drink or two with Ianto. "So what department were you in?"

Ianto debated for a moment between lying and telling the truth before he decided it just wasn't worth it to lie. "Intelligence."

Owen's reaction was similar to Jack when he had shared the information so long ago. surprise written across every feature as he coughed on his drink. Ianto really didn't know why it was so surprising; it wasn't like he tried to hide his knowledge of alien artifacts, research, or people.

Inside, there was a young boy who smiled with glee at the thought of one-upping Owen.

"So ah, not just a tea-boy then."

Ianto smirked. "Not exactly."

"Would explain why they never mentioned you; they always said you lot were a secretive bunch. And how you knew of that glue." Owen grimaced as sipped his drink, then waved the glass at Ianto after what must have been painful contemplation for Owen. "So, if you're all intelligent, why haven't you been in to see Jean-Luc yet? Avoiding my patient for some particular reason other than being a complete and utter twat?"

Or maybe not so painful. Owen occasionally did have a good grasp on Ianto and his habits. "I'm working up to it." Ianto raised his glass and drank the last of the scotch, feeling the warmth spread through him and give him courage he might not have had otherwise.

"You're a fucking idiot, ya know."

Yes, while, Ianto might be, but he wouldn't ever admit that to Owen.

"Your best friend, from what I hear, is lying up there in a coma and you haven't been to visit since we brought him in. I know you have a guilt complex longer than my prick, don't get me started on fighting the bloody dragon with a field knife to save Jack who is immortal in case you forgot, but this is going on ridiculous. You're being a shite friend and you're making Tosh worry." The last was said with a cross of his arms, Ianto watched as Owen sat back in his chair, rather pleased with himself for his scolding.

And the sorry thing was, Ianto knew he was right.

Except for maybe the prick thing. Ianto was fairly certain his guilt complex was much longer than Owen's prick.

"For whatever reason, Jean-Luc sought your permission for Avalon to join the fight. And it was the right bloody choice because they won where we would have utterly failed. So quit being an arse and get up there to see him. Would do you good instead of mucking about in the guilt you've drowned yourself in."

For lack of anything to say to defend himself, Ianto gathered the bottle of scotch and put it back in the safe, making sure the vault was sealed shut so none of the children could get in.

"And don't ever wear those pants to work; Jack will never get anything done!" Owen shouted after him as Ianto left the room.

Ianto smirked, fairly certain that Jack wouldn't be the only one not getting anything done if he wore these pants to work. He'd felt Owen's eyes follow him all the way out.

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

Ianto nervously knocked on the door before he entered; he chided himself after he did it since he wasn't really expecting an answer, but maybe the situation had changed since Owen had checked in last and his friend would be awake and calling him a prat (or worse) for avoiding him.

His heart sank when he looked in and heard nothing but the steady rhythm of the heart monitor mixing with the utter stillness that was Jean-Luc.

Closing the door behind him (which really was just another opportunity to avoid looking at the bed), Ianto steadied himself before turning to walk towards the bed, hesitation and guilt dragging every step until he was barely moving. He made it, eventually, tugged by an invisible hand until his thighs were stopped in their forward progress by the bed. It startled Ianto, consciously he knew he was walking forward but he'd so successfully pushed aside the knowledge that he was moving towards Jean-Luc's bed that once he was there, it was as though he were magically moved and his feet had no part in the process.

There'd be no avoiding now.

Ianto sat heavily into the chair by the bed; uncomfortable and hard on his back; he couldn't imagine Tosh sitting in it for any length of time. But he knew she had. He knew a good many had, spending time each day with the most gifted of them all; the one who had saved the world.

And Ianto had put him there.

Guiltily, Ianto's eyes finally focused on the figure laying on the bed, white sheets (the black satin sheets Jean-Luc was so fond of, hedonist that he was, had been removed the moment Owen had moved his patient to his room for privacy) pulled up to his chest, the pure white bedding just contributing to the pallor of his skin.

Even Jean-Luc's freckles were pale.

Ianto didn't move, not for a very long time. He just stared at Jean-Luc, motionless save for the steady rise of his chest as he breathed. Ianto got lost in the action, counting the number of times the sheet rose and fell, pitching his own breath in tempo with Jean-Luc's. It was almost too slow for Ianto, but it was relaxing, hypnotic.

Calming.

The thought made Ianto laugh, the noise sounding harsh in the room. Or perhaps it wasn't the sound, just the tension strung tight within Ianto (and the alcohol he'd drank before venturing to the room) that made it sound so foreign to his ears.

Leave it to Jean-Luc, the man could be in a coma and still work to calm Ianto.

Ianto reached out, then jerked his hand back, irrationally scared to touch Jean-Luc because what if his friend's skin was cold, cold and fragile and still as death. He looked so pale, laying on the bed, Ianto hardly could believe life still flowed. But he knew it did, the Healers said Jean-Luc lived, as did Tosh and Owen. There was technically nothing wrong with Jean-Luc, not that the Healers could find and repair. One of them, Geppetto Russo (who the kids called Gipper for a reason Ianto couldn't quite understand), likened Jean-Luc to a spring which had sprung with such force and power, it'd stretched beyond its means. It might recoil and pull itself back together, or the spring may have been irreparably damaged, no one could tell.

And so Jean-Luc slept on, lost somewhere in that sprung mind.

And Ianto avoided.

After a second graceless jerk of his hand, Ianto steadied himself and touched Jean-Luc's hand, releasing a sigh of relief (not a sob) that the skin was still warm, the fingers movable if not limp, as Ianto curled his hand around Jean-Luc's.

There was still the chance. The Healers and Tosh and Owen hadn't given up hope yet for a full recovery. No one knew anything. No one had seen this in their lifetime, much less read about it in any text books.

But there was no guarantee he would ever wake up.

Ianto leaned forward on the chair, inching closer to the bed until he could rest his elbows on the mattress. He started once and had to clear his throat when his voice came out all cracked and unintelligible. Ianto's second try was much more successful, though the words sounded so much like they didn't belong. He didn't even know if there was any point to it, but once he started talking, he just couldn't stop.

"You'd love it, you know. You're a celebrity, the hero of the day. Fuck, people are praying for you." Ianto laughed at the ridiculousness of it at the same time as he wanted to weep for the public's sincerity and outpouring of concern. For all the people across the globe knew nothing of Avalon, once they did (for those who had gotten over their initial fears), it was like they'd always known of Avalon, and Avalon's losses and grief were their own. They'd set up memorials to the gifted who had died and money poured in for education, both in the public and private sectors, everyone wanting to contribute and be a part of this 'new' brand of talent, for generosity now, for profit later, Ianto assumed. Another thing for Mr. Black to manage, to make sure the gifted were not abused.

And the cards and gifts to the one who had yet to wake from the alien attack. Ianto shook his head as he looked about the room, flowers and plants dotted every surface like people knew Jean-Luc. Maybe some of them did. Ianto still wasn't certain how much information had passed between the minds of all who had merged to fight the invasion, but there was definitely a bond that had developed between them. All of them; the globe over. The Vice President of the United States had even made a trip to Avalon, visiting the kids and spending some time, privately, with Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc would love it.

Except maybe for the praying bit.

"There are even people who are calling to write your bloody memoirs. Everyone wants to know Jean-Luc." This time, Ianto couldn't quite conceal the choked sob, reassured that no one was in the room to hear it anyway except for Jean-Luc who would mock him endlessly if he had heard it. Ianto almost wished he had. He'd accept the mocking gladly.

Instead, there was just the steady beeps of the heart monitor filling the silence between Ianto's hurried sniffs as he tried to get himself under control. Now was not the time to fall apart; he'd managed so far to maintain his usual calm (save for one or two more harried moments, the coffee machine in the Hub came to mind first) despite the overwhelming urge to scream with laughter at the heavens for yet another near miss in the intergalactic race to beat up earth and crawl into his bed and hide for days on end and allow himself to splinter and break as responsibility cracked every defense. But he didn't. He performed his duty, to Queen and country as well as Torchwood, Avalon, and the rest of the world who demanded answers and looked to the figures of Mr. Black (thank whatever deities kept Stephen in his place, it was almost as good as having two of himself with Stephen doing speaking engagements), Colonel Sheppard and Captain Harkness for strength and understanding.

But here, in the quiet of Jean-Luc's room, no one was listening, no one was looking for a reliable pillar of collect calm and it was just too much as those requirements fell away, leaving him without the structured official Torchwood One decorum to rely upon in face of stress and others.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," Ianto whispered rather than spoke, clutching Jean-Luc's hand to steady his own. "I did this. Remember-remember when we were kids, it was winter and we were out running on the roof to get out of class and I slipped on an icy patch. Tumbled clear off the roof, but you stopped me. You stopped me from falling. Fuck, you were always watching out for me." Ianto didn't even bother pretending to be collect and reserved any longer, no one was around to see him give in, just this once. His shoulders shook as he cried, guilt for the relief that Jean-Luc had succeeded, that his family lived, that Torchwood lived, that the whole world lived because of Avalon and Jean-Luc. That guilt blended with other responsibilities, knowing it had been war against the dragons but feeling there had to have been an alternative other than Avalon. He'd made the decisions, he'd called the orders. "You were my responsibility to protect. And I don't care if you bloody chose to do it, I said yes."

And for Ianto, that was really the crux of the argument. For all Avalon had chosen their place in the fight against the dragons, Ianto had allowed them to do it. Jean-Luc wouldn't have done it if Ianto had said no; Ianto was certain of it. He could have stopped it. He could have stopped Jean-Luc.

But then, earth might have fallen.

The uncertainties and consequences were what fractured his control. He'd second guess his decisions until the end of his life, always wondering what could have happened if only he had acted differently. If he'd been wiser. If he'd had more experience.

If he was more like Ms. White.

Would she have made the same choice? Ianto rather thought not; she would have held the safety of the kids and Avalon above all else; especially the safety of Jean-Luc.

Then again, Jean-Luc almost died under her command as well.

Maybe Ianto was more like Ms. White than he had thought.

Black and White, the decision makers of the century. Ianto almost laughed.

"I'm making a right mess of things. Failed to keep Torchwood a secret. Failed to maintain Avalon's secrecy and failed to protect you. What the fuck have I accomplished other than nearly destroying Britain under my watch?" Ianto gave a hearty sniff and dried his eyes on the bedding when he didn't find a tissue box about and the black tee wasn't exactly made for stretching to his face. "Fuck, I know. You'd tell me I'm being a complete wanker and rig my showers to only spray cold water till I agreed. We're not kids any more though. And I don't honestly think I was meant for this."

Ianto rested his head on Jean-Luc's hand until a tapping on his shoulder startled him. He'd lost track of the time, a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand read it was late afternoon, well past when he'd intended to return to the Hub. The tapping resumed, and Ianto saw it was the corner of a box of tissues digging into his shoulder.

"Out. I need to check on my patient, and you need to eat something before you go back. I already called Gwen and told her where you were so she wouldn't worry."

Ianto wiped his eyes with a handful of tissues and blew his nose, collecting himself before he allowed his mind to filter through the information presented to him. The speaker's voice was Owen. Nope, his mind pretty much stopped there with the information processing.

"There's fresh coffee in the kitchens and soup for the evening meal. I've given Jess strict orders not to give you any coffee until you finish off a bowl of soup and slice of bread. Coffee and scotch are not food groups, Tea-boy, and one patient is enough for me. I'm shite with patients."

Owen was giving him orders. Ianto felt his ears flame red with embarrassment at having been caught out in such a state, especially by Owen, but the man wasn't commenting, just held a rubbish bin up for him to toss his used tissues in, then handed him the remaining box as Ianto was guided towards the door.

Owen?

"Straight to the kitchens. Don't try to sneak out, Jerry is on security duty and knows not to let you leave unless it's been cleared by Jess. Doctor's orders. I'll keep you informed of any changes with Jean-Luc. Now out."

With that, Ianto found himself outside of Jean-Luc's room, struck speechless by a smirking Owen who seemed to enjoy pushing Ianto around a little too much. Probably thinking of it as revenge for the glue incident. Or shooting him in the shoulder. Or the time Ianto switched to decaf, just for amusement's sake.

"Oh, and Ianto?"

Ianto didn't say anything, just waited for whatever else Owen had to say. Maybe by that time, he'd have found his voice and have a witty rejoinder to follow.

"You're being a complete wanker."

The door clicked shut in his face before Ianto could remember to breath, much less respond.

***

The 21st Century is when it all changes, and we've got to be ready.

The wind whipped about Ianto, the cold currents of air threatening to push and pull him right from his perch on top of the Millennium Center. He had quickly caught up on things at the Hub; Jack had begged for a cup of coffee, insisting he'd had nothing but instant all day, and Ianto had frozen still upon walking into the kitchenette, a new coffee machine standing in proud, shining splendor where the other one had once stood. Ianto wasn't sure who had gone out and bought it, none of Torchwood Three were fessing up to it, but it brought a smile to his face all the same.

As did the crudely drawn picture of a faery with a big red 'x' drawn over it pinned above the machine.

Ianto was fairly certain that was Gwen's doing.

New mugs gleamed in the cabinets, and not a single red rose petal could be found. Not that Ianto had looked too hard. But he did notice that someone had been efficient in their removal.

It didn't even smell like roses.

He'd left after finishing some paperwork for Jack, plenty of time to catch his twice-daily perch atop a building in honor of the original Jack. Ianto had maintained that tradition, all this time, save for a few occasions when doom and dragons had threatened.

But this time as he stared over Cardiff, drinking in the sights of the city at night, Ianto permitted himself to grin in wonder.

Cardiff still stood.

Even in the patches of city where he knew the dragons had attacked and destroyed huge portions of land, buildings and people (although thankfully the loss of life had been far less than Ianto had initially calculated), lights still shown in the darkness, signs of rebuilding, signs of life.

At least in this part of his job, Ianto knew he had succeeded. Cardiff still stood. As did Britain. Forgetting, momentarily, the costs, Torchwood had emerged victorious against the alien threat.

That was something.

Even Torchwood Three itself remained standing, the Information Center quickly rebuilt (the lift had gone in first; the initial few days of Gwen bitching about the rope ladder and her boots were enough to change priorities) and a new shipment of brochures ordered to replace what had been lost. It had become quite the attraction these days, the old Information Center. Word had spread that Torchwood members were often spotted coming in and out of the building before it had been destroyed (and that take-away had been delivered to the location) and visitors now flocked to see the building, and to maybe catch a glimpse of the defenders of Britain against alien threat.

Surreal was the only word Ianto could use to describe the first time he'd been asked to pose for a picture.

Ianto pulled the coat tighter around his body, also 'borrowed' from Stephen. He was in London doing more interviews as Mr. Black, and Ianto knew he'd have time to return the coat and pants to Stephen's wardrobe before he returned to Avalon the next day. It was long, reminding Ianto of Jack's greatcoat, and on impulse he had taken it to remind himself of things that once were. Ianto had spent a few evenings and mornings with Jack on the rooftops, wrapped in the warmth of the greatcoat to fight off the chill in the air. He wondered if it'd be poor form to buy a similar one for this Jack, just so he could have some of those moments back.

He didn't hear any footsteps announcing a presence, but Ianto felt hands wrap around his waist, burying themselves in the warm folds of the leather coat. Ianto supposed he should been startled, or at least affronted at the audacity of whomever was behind him, but he knew the sound of the one breathing at the nape of his neck, lips lightly kissing the skin behind his ear before a cold nose was buried in his hair.

Ianto laughed softly and leaned back into Jack, shivering as his cold hands crept under Ianto's tee and pressed against his skin.

"It's freezing. What are you doing up here?"

Looking out over the city, lights twinkling amidst the shadows of people walking along the pavements, Ianto could almost feel the life in the city, the pulse beating strong as ever. There had been no defeat in Cardiff. And the denizens of the city; they knew and they understood. Yet they weren't frightened or cowering in their homes, they were still out there living their lives as they had before they knew of such things as aliens and the gifted.

She really was an amazing city.

"Reminding myself that there's an entire population with a hint of the threats Earth faces, concepts of space-time, alien races, and foreign tech just creeping into the notions of 'real' within their minds. I came up here to remind myself that its my duty to make sure they're safe."

Jack pressed himself completely against Ianto until Ianto was sure there wasn't an atom's-width of space between them. "And is it working?" Jack returned, quoting himself from both then and now, joining Ianto in the gaze out at the city and her lights.

"Yes," Ianto started with a smiled, leaning back against Jack, confident as he surveyed the city. "Yes it is."

***

Next part of part of Shades of Ianto - Series 2.

• Main Torchwood slash page
• New stories page
• Jack/Ianto stories
• Ianto/Owen stories
• Other pairings stories - ie threesomes
• F/F stories
• Gen stories
• Amazon.com - Torchwood: Children of Earth
• Amazon.co.uk - Torchwood - Children of Earth [DVD] [2009]
• Amazon.ca link - Torchwood - The Complete First Season (7DVD)