Previous part of Shades of Ianto - Series 2.

***

Ianto awoke to the sound of alarms above, an insistent blare he couldn't have slept through even if he'd tried.

Fucking alarms.

Jack shifted beside him with a groan, checking his watch before laying back down. "Way too early for rift activity."

"No rest for the wicked. Stay here, I'll check it out." Before he moved from the bed, though, Ianto spread out fully over Jack, skin on skin in the most deliciously complete sense of right. Even with the Hub alarms bleating a cacophony of unnatural cries, like the Hub herself was jealous and shouting for Jack's attention, Ianto lingered just a moment longer wrapped in Jack's heat and the soft dance of lips.

"Ignore it, maybe it'll go away."

Ianto laughed as Jack made a (not so subtle) attempt to convince him to stay in bed, pulling Ianto's hips down to rub flush with his, a terribly dirty ploy. "Torchwood protocol. The alarm will stay on until we turn it off, even if the cause leaves."

"Fuck protocol." Jack's kiss deepened and Ianto almost fell for it, almost successfully turned off all external noise and distraction til nothing remained but Jack's fingers, digging into Ianto's back, clutching and drawing him closer until he was almost melded to Jack's body.

That was until he realized the slow thrusts of Jack's hips matched the tempo of the Hub's alarm. "That's bloody sick, Jack." Amidst Jack's chuckles and a final, lingering kiss, Ianto peeled himself off Jack and off the narrow bed. It took him a moment to locate his pants, well, Stephen's pants, but as that clothing was the only set available, he slipped the supple leather back on, knowing full-well that Jack's eyes were fixated on every movement.

"I need to ask Stephen where he bought those and buy you a lifetime supply."

Ianto smirked as he gave up on his shoes, but found the t-shirt he'd worn earlier. Due to the cold, Jack had dragged Ianto off the rooftop of the Millennium Centre after he'd believed Ianto had spent enough time on that frozen perch. And quickly divested him of all his clothing. Except for the pants. The pants had remained on for probably far longer than necessary but eventually, they too were discarded in a heap on the floor. "Owen said the same thing."

Even from this distance, Ianto could almost hear the thoughts colliding together of a threesome with Owen and Ianto, clicked into place and locked as a permanent vault of fantasy. "Does your libido have an off button?" Ianto asked helpfully, pulling the t-shirt over his head.

"So you two are talking again?"

His actions slowed before pulling the t-shirt down over his face. Were he and Owen speaking? Ianto supposed, their conversation yesterday had been civil, almost friendly. And he still couldn't explain Owen in Jean-Luc's room. "I went and saw Jean-Luc yesterday, ran into Owen there." Ianto turned away from Jack, looking for his socks. Or shoes, which he decided upon further consideration would be necessary given the floor was so fucking cold. That and it gave him a distraction from having to face Jack as well.

"You okay?"

"Fine." Ianto gave Jack a quick smile, finding his socks and slipping them on. He knew Jack wasn't asking in regard to Owen, but it was still too soon to talk about the other. "I'll just get that alarm, find out what's washed up in Cardiff again." He gave Jack a fast, hard kiss and shoved his feet into his shoes, not bothering with the laces even though that was just begging for an injury.

"Finish quickly, and you can finish me."

With a snort, Ianto threw Jack's shirt from the floor in the general direction of his head. "Incorrigible."

***

Finishing never came, or maybe it did but Ianto had no part in it. The alarms were off and Ianto hadn't moved, not even as Jack joined him or the others trickled in. He just stared at the monitors, computer code flashing too quickly for the human eye to read, but Ianto knew it was running calculation upon calculation. Tosh arrived first, silently joining Jack who had dressed at Ianto's request and was standing with arms crossed, just behind Ianto as they stared at the computers. Gwen and Rhys followed soon after, arms linked as they joined the crew at Tosh's desk.

Owen arrived last, but then, no one had expected anything less. "Oi, just so you know, I was with twins, twins! And you bloody phone when- oh fucking hell tell me that's not what I think it is."

Ianto eyed the monitor outputting crunched data, combined and recompiled and compared to known quantities within the Torchwood database. It was times like these he wished they had the system at Torchwood One.

But all the same, the visual was undeniable.

"It's a ship." Tosh stated for those in the Hub who couldn't identify what the shape on the screen indicated. Which, was no one. But Ianto was glad she had said something. The silence was unnerving.

"Well, what does that mean?" Gwen asked, arm linked in Rhys'. "It could be just another visitor. We get lots of visitors."

"It's bigger than our moon." Tosh was clearly awed, and Ianto couldn't blame her. The sheer scope of such a machine, of the technology and least of all how to successfully navigate space in a craft that large ... it was well beyond the comprehension of 21st century science, enhanced by alien technology or no. It didn't fit with current understanding of physics, not unless fundamental Einstein was no longer viable.

"Still, they could be friendly, yeah?"

As much as Ianto hated to disappoint Gwen and her eternal optimism, the information the computers were spitting out was not promising. Ianto gestured at the screen of data, not that it read anything to anyone else save maybe Tosh and Jack, but the data stream was impressive all the same. "I took the liberty to borrow a few satellites," Ianto started, reassuring himself that it was only borrowing as he fully intended to release control back to the original owners once he was done with them; Britain's just hadn't been in position. "The data's looking remarkably familiar. I won't know for certain until the object is closer-"

"How far are they out?" Jack interrupted him, resting a comforting hand on Ianto's shoulder. His thumb dug small circles into the tension knotting Ianto's shoulders and he closed his eyes, just for a moment, to enjoy the calming sensation.

"Approaching from outside our solar system. Well out of range of any earth-based missile, estimating relative speed and angle, maybe ... twelve hours?" Tosh removed her glasses, setting them on the desk beside Ianto's hands, but he wasn't paying much attention, just scanning the numbers as they flew past, cataloging the action going around him as 'reactionary' and 'standard Torchwood procedure' to be examined later.

Ianto had to hand it to the team, they weren't panicking.

"Wait a tic, what do you mean 'borrowed'?" Ianto spun on the chair in surprise towards Owen, who gestured at him and then the numbers on the monitor, "and familiar? What are we dealing with here, Mr. Intelligence? And none of that bumbling techno-rubbish. What the fuck is so familiar?"

Not panicking ... yet. The others turned to stare at Ianto as well, but he knew what Owen was asking. He understood why Owen had lost the 'tea-boy'.  He wanted to know if this was a breed of alien in the Dalek or Cybermen sense or if it was someone Torchwood Three knew. 

Ianto wished he had an answer that would satisfy. "Initial readings indicate energy signatures similar to the data Sheppard's team collected almost six weeks ago. And yes, Owen, borrowed. I hijacked the satellites for our use, but I'll return them to American and Japanese control once I'm finished."

"So. What you're saying is ... the dragons are back." Gwen's voice wavered, and Ianto could swear the pallor of each face in the Hub grew deathly pale in that instant. Gwen spoke the obvious, but someone had to say it. Someone had to voice the fear.

Strangely enough, there were no panicked cries, no shouts of anger, just five resolute and determined, if not pale, faces.

Torchwood had grown up, it seemed.

"But ... why? We defeated them." Tosh looked from Jack to Owen and around the room, searching for the answer.

"Ianto?" Owen snapped, though Ianto knew the tone wasn't directed at him. Nerves were fraying as time ticked past, second by second, ratcheting the desperate cling to rationality up to the nth degree. All it would take to shove that over the delicate balance was a slight push to tumble head-first into terror and discord. It wouldn't take much; Torchwood London had snapped under less. "Why this ship? What are they planning?"

To say Ianto was uncomfortable with Owen's new-found change of attitude regarding him would be to put it mildly; the direct lines of questioning were not completely unmerited given Owen's knowledge of what he had done in the past, but all the same, these were the questions Jack should have been fielding. Given Owen's last statement at Avalon, Ianto began to wonder what Owen really did know.

Ianto turned to the monitors again, watching more of the data scroll by, then to the other screen where the size of the ship registered as a massive empty space. Hundreds of reasons why clamored for victory in his shortlist of answers, but one remained at the top no matter what variables he added or deleted.
 
It's what he would have done, if he were intent on galactic conquest. Sometimes, that idea didn't seem like such a bad idea. Maybe then they'd stop coming to earth if earth spread an empire into the universe.

"I imagine the previous ships were meant to tenderize the meat." Ianto caught Tosh visibly flinching out of the corner of his eye; she remembered that night as well. "Destroy any resistance, or quite possibly the entire population, though given what we know of their treatment of Torchwood Four thanks to Owen, we would probably be both food source and slaves. Those were warrior aliens, the battle fighters. This ship probably contains colonists prepared to establish contact with the breeders who were here before, beginning the next generation of their race with the young born on earth."

"Well then, we'll just fight them like we did before." Rhys sounded amazingly confident, but Ianto suspected either blind optimism or faith in a system he didn't quite yet understand. Unfortunately, there was an entire population on earth who would probably react the same way and Ianto hadn't the foggiest notion how to respond when the world looked to Torchwood and the other groups for salvation. "Can't we?"

Jack finally spoke up; Ianto spun his chair around to listen with the rest of the circled team despite knowing the statistics Jack was about to regale. "We've got a limited quantity of the enzyme. Production started on a more global scale following the attack, but just as a safeguard measure in case there were a few scattered about that were missed. There was no reason to believe another attack coming."

Ianto should have guessed it. Should have asked why the warriors had been sent. But he'd been so focused, so obsessed with the revelation of Torchwood and Avalon to the world that he'd neglected to question why.

Fuck.

"And Jean-Luc still hasn't woken," Tosh added quietly, pointing out what Ianto's mind had just been dancing around. Jack pulled Tosh into a one-armed hug, and Ianto had to smile at that. Such a Jack gesture, a pale echo of the old.

But she raised a perfectly valid point, reminding Ianto that Stephen was in London. He located his mobile, buried in some print-readouts, and dialed Stephen's number. Stephen's ''lo?' was groggy with sleep and Ianto hoped the man was awake enough to understand the severity of the situation. "We need you in Cardiff. Now." Something of Ianto's voice must have bled through, because Stephen's reply was far more alert, but the face of Mr. Black would be to Cardiff long before the latest threat arrived.

Ianto had no more than put down his mobile when it rang; a quick check of the number revealed it to be Sheppard, someone Ianto probably should have contacted by now but had delayed. "Sheppard. Caught the latest I presume?"

"We'd have more information if you hadn't yanked control of our satellites. At least I'm assuming it was you, Wilson here insists that for some reason Torchwood does that a lot, even if he can't remember why."

Sheppard's voice took the tone it always did when Wilson was brought up in conversation. That international fuck-up had been before Sheppard's control of the program, but he still (rightly) blamed Torchwood for the gap in the man's memory. But it was interesting, the idea that there might have been some residual memory left intact despite what Jack had done. "The dragons are back," Ianto said instead of addressing any of Sheppard's other comments, filing away the Wilson information to address at a later time when world threat wasn't upon them.

Ianto held the phone away from his ear as Sheppard's violent cursing filled the Hub, bringing a much needed amusement to help disperse the tension. Finally, Sheppard calmed enough that Ianto no longer feared for his hearing and moved the mobile closer to his ear in time to hear Sheppard growl, "Give me our satellites back before I sic McKay on you."

Smirking, Ianto considered that as much as a challenge to duel as any action. "I welcome him to try. The first sweep of data has almost finished compiling, I'll send you the information once it's in. And I'll turn over your satellites then, but I imagine at that point, we'll know what we need to know."

He could hear Sheppard sigh over the line. "Jean-Luc still isn't awake yet, is he?"

"No."

"Fuck. And we never did figure out their shields, for all we did try to reverse-engineer based on the limited intel we could get from Avalon. Alright, send us the data when you get it, I'll put my team back on the shields."

"We've got twelve hours." Ianto snapped the mobile shut, tapping it on his chin a moment, thinking. Avalon merging again without Jean-Luc was improbable, no one had the strength or skill to manage such a force. Not that they wouldn't ask to try, and Ianto knew they would.

"Maybe they'll just ... pass on by."

All focus in the Hub turned to Gwen; even Rhys seemed a bit dubious of his partner's hope.

"Maybe they will," Jack said after silence had stretched an uncomfortably long time. "But I think we should come up with a Plan B in case they don't."

"It's really the bloody dragons?"

Ianto nodded at Owen, who still looked as shell-shocked as the rest. "Without question."

"Well, shite."

***

Hours passed in a blur of frantic activity about the Hub, the communication lines abuzz between UNIT and Sheppard's crew, trying to organize an effective plan to combat any threat that might emerge. And the ship just kept inching closer, thousands of miles but shrunk to a more comprehensible inch on the computer tracking system.

Essentially, they had limited options. They knew of the shields encountered before, they knew of the limitations of ground weapons, and Sheppard wasn't entirely confident in any weapon he had on board their battle cruisers to engage the ship in space without first taking down the shield.  The weapons in London were good, but overuse during the fight against the dragons the first time had fried some circuitry.  Torchwood London was working on it, even if it didn't have the capacity to shear through the shields of the ship; it could still be used in a ground attack. 

Avalon was out of the question; Stephen had arrived a few hours after Ianto had called and agreed with Ianto's assessment -- to ask Avalon to merge without the assistance of Jean-Luc would have far too many consequences and little if any success. They simply just didn't have the strength or control without Jean-Luc.

No one was panicking, at least not outwardly.

But it was a growing oppression in the Hub, a strangling feeling as their options were discussed and thrown out, the view of the future so bleak it seemed to drag every breath of hope from them all and stomp it into oblivion.

It didn't help that the Weevils, numbering a dozen, began howling in their cells, reaching Torchwood Three's ears despite the layers of stone.

The atmosphere was shattered nine hours after the initial alarms when the monitors, both telly and computer, wavered, then turned to blue. Everyone slowed and stopped, turning to stare in confusion, looking at each other like someone had just pulled a plug on their equipment.

"Tosh?" Jack asked, shaking the cords of the monitor nearest him before turning to the device at his wrist for answers.

"I don't know. This doesn't make any sense."

Ianto scowled when he achieved no more success than Jack.  His mind was already cycling explanations when the screens flickered back to life, but not with just any picture.

"Mr. Black." Michael Hallings' voice echoed from every sound outlet. Next to him was a fierce looking Weevil, baring its teeth in a snarl. Ianto wondered what its name had been. "We invite you to conversation at Roald Dahl Plas, two o'clock sharp. Don't be late, my friends do not like to be kept waiting."
 
The monitors turned a disconcerting shade of blue again before flickering to the programs previous running, be it software or the news.

Ianto wasn't the only one who cursed.

"But, what does that mean? Who was that?" Gwen asked, stunned by what they had just seen. She wasn't the only one; everyone seemed as shocked, if not momentarily speechless.

"That was Michael Hallings, leader of Torchwood Four," Ianto elaborated, checking his watch for the time and catching Stephen's eye. They had half an hour to figure something out. Anything.

He didn't even know who they would be meeting, but Ianto was fairly certain they'd be seeing dragons again.

***

"You should have let me come alone." Ianto muttered to Stephen as they walked. It wasn't just them striding across the Plas, all of Torchwood was walking with them. UNIT had set up along one side, and reporters and spectators lined the other. Disturbing. Civilians shouldn't be allowed to view whatever might happen. "This is a trap."

"Which is why I am acting as Mr. Black," Stephen smiled grimly. "You shouldn't be here. None of you should." Stephen paused a moment. "And why the hell are you wearing my clothes?"

Ianto smiled absently as he surveyed the Plas. He didn't see any sign of the Torchwood Four members or Weevils, and he most certainly didn't see any sign of a dragon. It didn't escape his notice that if the Plas was a target, they were hopelessly exposed. "I wear them better, old man."

"Youth." Stephen grinned, though his eye too was on his surroundings. "Can we get UNIT to move the civilians?"

Ianto tapped his earpiece and chatted briefly with the UNIT commanding officer, shaking his head as it ended just as quickly. "Apparently not without threat to their ranks. They brought nothing for crowd control. And as he puts it, 'no bloody way I'm fighting with rabid idiots who choose the front page for their obituary.'" Ianto shrugged, ignoring the video cameras filming their walk across the Plas. "I suppose the world wants to see contact."

"They're fools."

Ianto couldn't disagree, but he also understood the lure. The message from Michael had been broadcast internationally, by some feat of technology Ianto didn't understand. The world knew. And the world wanted to hear. And, he suspected, there was always the concern that maybe Tiffany had been right at that news conference, and maybe the dragons had come to save the world.

Torchwood Three stood united in the middle of the Plas, watching for any sign of Torchwood Four. They hadn't used the invisible lift, that would have been foolish given the attraction they'd drawn in the past weeks. So from the Information Center they'd walked, favoring the side of the Plas more heavily armed with UNIT operatives. Ianto wasn't going to deny heavily armed guard with weapons loaded with enzyme.

Just a precaution. But this reeked of a trap.

"Ianto..." Jack's voice pulled Ianto's attention from the Plas to the gap widening in the civilian group, at the furthest point from Torchwood Three. It set Ianto on edge, watching Torchwood Four, both human and Weevil, and their recruits emerge from that line of defenseless citizens. Michael Hallings led the way, striding with Torchwood-bred arrogance; behind him, Ianto could recognize faces here and there from the original Torchwood Four, but there were an alarming number of faces he didn't recognize.

He'd never have guessed their numbers had grown so large.

Ianto knew they had recruited, from Tiffany to the woman who was after Rani. But the number was surprising, nearly four hundred in the front building on the Plas. And judging by the faces that were missing and the number of Weevils, Ianto assumed that many former employees of Torchwood had been somehow changed, as had some of the recruits.

More alarming, it appeared every human was armed.

The legion of Torchwood Four stopped in front of Torchwood Three, silent and waiting. Michael gestured to his left and his group shifted, making room for something ... incredibly large.

Fuck, they really were bringing in a dragon.

A slim disc skittled across the pavement, thrown by one of Michael's lackeys, but before Ianto could move or protest the action, the air just seemed to ... burst ... above the disc, a prismatic rainbow of glowing cloud coalescing into a very live, very real dragon.

"Shite."

Ianto was fairly certain that had been Owen who had squeaked as he heard UNIT snap to attention, training their weapons at the dragon.

The alien was smaller than the warrior dragons they'd previously fought. No, Ianto amended, taking in the full scale of the alien, it was slimmer. More streamlined. Less built for battle and more, well, Ianto wasn't really sure. Conversing, apparently, given the invitation Michael had extended. Its colors were far more drab than the violent colors of the warriors or the pale breeders. It was ... puce. A mottled, purple-brown darkening to a deep cocoa on its throat and underbelly. At its crown, instead of the bony knob on the warriors, hide extended like wings around its monstrous face, an odd bat-wing'd lion's mane. Not very aerodynamic, Ianto reasoned, but perhaps they folded down in flight. Or perhaps this one didn't fly at all, like a penguin or an ostrich. It did have wings, the puce stretched thin over the same skeletal structure as the warriors, but looked far more fragile in their dead-lavender shade.

Almost as though it read Ianto's thoughts, the wings unfurled, maintaining a close lie with its body but ruffling them, as if to get accustomed to the atmosphere. The dragon shifted on its clawed feet (four toes, Ianto catalogued, and if he remembered his Chinese lore well enough, that meant it wasn't an Imperial and lesser in the hierarchy of dragons, though lore meant nothing in face of real invasion by alien forces), perhaps not used to the sensation of Earth's gravity given how long it may have travelled in space.

Ianto noted that perhaps his duties as tea-boy and Information Center clerk had quite possibly irreparably damaged his psyche as he caught himself taking into consideration the alien's comfort following their attempt to savage Earth's people.

"A blow job says this is a trap." Jack whispered loud enough to be heard clearly by Ianto's ears, and Ianto was inclined to agree so that wouldn't be the best bet to accept, not because blow jobs involving Jack were bad; Ianto simply  hated to lose.

Before he could answer, however, Rhys spoke up. "I'd accept your wager, however the missus says she owns this cock and the odds are heavily in your favor. Don't suppose you'd settle for a pint instead?"

Tosh's giggle and Gwen's indignant protest for Rhys' cheek and subsequent elbow to the ribs did much to calm Ianto's nerves, if only to make him cringe at the maturity being demonstrated by Britain's finest. It hadn't taken long for Rhys to become corrupted by Torchwood Three's response in face of danger. However, the alternative was panic, and Ianto knew they could not afford the loss of any one person due to fear.

Fear was not an option now, not on the Plas facing a dragon and its armed followers.

"Please tell me my backup is outfitted with something more dangerous than lube and condoms." Stephen winked as he spoke to Ianto, leeching any heat from his words.

Ianto smiled, eyes still mostly trained on the threat in front of them, a motionless array of human and alien. Torchwood Three had yet to move either, remaining in their straight line bisecting the Plas at its middle . Someone in the surrounding civilian crowd coughed, causing the dragon's massive head to tilt slightly in their direction.  The shrill, but muffled, cries of the men and women who'd chosen to risk their lives for a news story bounced off the light poles and was echoed by those who didn't understand why they were shrieking but felt the need to join in and claim an experience.

He would have laughed, except he found it not very funny at all.

"Well, I suppose I ought to make friendly with the scary alien -- can't say I thought this would ever happen when I started working for Ms. White." Stephen rested a hand on Ianto's shoulder, squeezing it and speaking low and just loud enough that Ianto was certain only he could hear.  "My choice, Ianto."

Scarcely able to draw breath, much less offer anything in return, Ianto nodded and watched as Stephen stepped forward, just one step away from the Torchwood line. Doubt ate at his nerves as an uncomfortable flutter that built upon itself in his stomach and threatened the rhythm of his heart, beating a relentless cry in his ears. Something touched the hand he had resting at his gunbelt, none of them had their weapons drawn, a signal for open communication, Gwen had said. Owen had ridiculed the logic, but in the end, they'd agreed to keep their guns at the ready. The touch came again, and for a moment Ianto stole his eyes away from Stephen to glance down.

"Breathe, Ianto," Jack murmured, his hand slipping along the inside of Ianto's arm under the jacket to circle his wrist, then to clutch his fingers, briefly, so fleeting a movement that Ianto almost believed he'd imagined it. The action did its trick, however, startling Ianto and drawing him from the internal battle in which he'd lost himself.

"Greetings. I am Mr. Black, here by your invitation for conversation." Stephen's voice boomed confident across the Plas, flashbulbs lighting for the first photo of Mr. Black addressing the alien, word by word it seemed from the sheer number.

Ianto thought it rather ridiculous.

The dragon's head swung down from its towering heights to rest near the ground. Ianto was relieved that it hadn't taken aim to fire a stream of burning air in their direction; Torchwood Three would have been wiped out in a breath. Instead, one of its eyes (golden in color, slitted like a cat's eye) peered at Stephen who looked so small in comparison, blinking once (four lids, Ianto noted). The Weevils began wailing in unison on an odd pitch, one Ianto had yet to hear from any of their captured Weevils. If that wasn't enough to stand the hair at the back of his neck, the whimpered cries rolling down the Torchwood line (first Tosh, then Gwen, next Rhys, god, what was happening?) drew the gun from his belt without second thought.

He moved to pull Stephen back from his position ahead of the line when the cracking blast of gunfire splintered the quiet. Ianto was forced backwards as Stephen collided with him, tumbling them both to the ground.

"We speak only with Mr. Black." Ianto was dimly aware of what Michael shouted, at least he believed it was Michael, the voice had an odd sound to it, multiple layers, tones upon tones but he wasn't thinking about the voice and how odd it sounded, he couldn't think about it. No. Ianto frantically pushed at Stephen who lay partially on top of him, the rational part of Ianto's mind pointing out leverage points on a human body, depending on weight, but fuck, Stephen wasn't helping by moving.

He just ... lay still.

Ianto's hands shook as he finally managed to free himself and kneel beside his mentor, gently rolling the shoulders until Stephen settled on his back, eyes staring blindly at the skies while a third cried red tears from his forehead.

"No." Ianto denied and reached for a pulse at Stephen's throat, trembling so hard he could almost pretend the heart still beat.

"You're right, my apologies. I'm Mr. Black."

Jack's voice registered but it didn't. Sound struck Ianto, but rather than bounce it was absorbed, bleeding into consciousness just as quickly as the puddle grew beneath Stephen. Ianto didn't dare breathe. If he moved the tableau would be broken and he couldn't cling to the hope that time had stopped and this wasn't real. But his lips moved in truth, he could feel them curling about the syllables even if there was no voice to plead. "I'm sorry forgive me I'm sorry forgive me I'm sorry ..."

"What the hell are you on about? He's not Mr. Black, I am."

Ianto felt a shadow fall over him as Owen spoke, he knew it was Owen speaking but all that he heard were the cries before the blast, cries down the line and then the gunshot and falling. Falling and Stephen tumbling after and fuck, no. This wasn't ... Numb, Ianto stretched his hand, touching Stephen's cheek (god, still warm) and slowly, with every dignity and respect due the man, gently closed his eyes.

"Men. Never think a woman can do it. It's me, I'm Ms. Black."

The fierceness of Tosh's voice reminded Ianto of their trip to Torchwood Four; they'd won that day, Stephen and Jean-Luc surrounded by throngs of children and adults all ecstatic to be found and to be going home.

Fuck. How was he ... shite. The kids looked up to Stephen so much, looking to him nearly as much as Jean-Luc. He was Avalon's leader. They couldn't ... how was he ...

"No, they're all lying. I'm Ms. Black."

At the sound of Gwen's voice, Ianto remembered to breathe.

"They're all bloody barmy. Don't believe the lot of 'em. I'm Mr. Black."

Ianto looked up, startled to see the backs of Owen and Jack covering his position, Torchwood Three standing together a solid line as Rhys spoke. Jesus. Their words flashed through his mind, in order, in repeat and in unison, all their voices, all making claims, all drawing attention-

No.

Absolutely not.

The charade ended now.

Finding the gun beside him on the ground, Ianto squared his jaw and took Stephen's as well, not even drawn from his belt. Anger crept slowly from a corner of his mind, dark and heavy, spilling forth like a tidal wave until it poured out his toes. Stephen hadn't even been given a chance. Too many had died. Far too many. Ianto could see every face, he knew every name beginning with Stephen and ending with Ms. White and the guards. All because of the aliens. Aliens which were his responsibility. His duty.

His oath and pledge to Queen and country, to his family and the rest of humankind.

Ianto stood, resolutely looking at Stephen once more before cocking Stephen's gun and slipping the safety off.

No more deaths.

He was Mr. Black.

"Stop." Ianto said, walking around Owen to stand in front of Torchwood Three, surprised to hear UNIT squawking in his ear, something about withholding fire for fear of the civilians. Starting a battle on the Plas would endanger too many with the enemy so armed and the vultures refused to leave. He ignored the voice, throwing his earpiece aside because it was too distracting.

And right now, he wished no distraction. Speaking clearly, Ianto addressed the dragon eye, ignoring Michael and the rest of Torchwood Four and the Weevils. "I am Mr. Black."

Ianto was aware of the team shouting behind him, he could hear Jack's voice and Owen's protesting his actions, but it was Gwen's voice that cut through above them all.

"Ianto, they saw our conversation! They know about your family!"

His eyes widened in surprise; of course, that would explain the cries before the gunfire, the dragon, scanning their minds down the line, stopped when it had what it needed.

What it wanted.

Ianto had just a moment before his mind was slammed by the same oily touch he'd felt before, back in the basement of Torchwood Four. Only that had been an infant, a fledgling. This was a jab of pure malevolence, crushing through to his public mind and spreading like tar about its surface, coating each thought, each awareness caught free-floating in thick sludge until it too was entangled and trapped in the mass stabbing at his mental walls, searching for holes and pockets where confidence or strength fell.

Fuckers. They had never played with Jean-Luc.

Ianto built and rebuilt old walls and new, faster than he had before in all the time practicing with Jean-Luc, building upon his natural mental barriers and the ones trained by Avalon and Jean-Luc.

He knew too much, he had too much to protect.

Like shutters flipping shut, vault doors closing, and pavement over earth, Ianto stared at the eye of the dragon as it stared back. The black depths of the snake eye widened as its determination increased and the oozing, inky darkness slashed at Ianto's defenses, trying to weaken them, to find a way in. Ianto fell back on more training, the hardest days when he'd been left on his knees and sweating before Jean-Luc, the bastard smiling because Ianto had kept him out but it'd taken everything Ianto had to keep it that way.

But he was older than that time, older by years.

And wiser, with more to protect.

It was not getting in.

Very slowly, Ianto regained ground within his mind, forcing the darkness into a sphere he could picture so clearly, spinning with such ferocity Ianto knew if he wavered for a moment, it would rocket forth and crumble every wall he had built.

That wasn't going to happen.

As with Jean-Luc before, a lifetime ago in the Information Center, Ianto pushed as hard as he could, hurtling the mass of other away from his mind, forcing it out of his public mind and shutting even the most public of areas off once the other mind had left, growling in anger and defiance as he did so until he felt to the core of his being the will flowing into the power behind the shove.

The dragon in front of him reared up in a roar, backing up a few steps as it struggled to maintain its balance after Ianto had forced it out of his mind. With a smirk, he hoped as he had with Jean-Luc that it left the bastard with a bloody headache to end all headaches.

He may not have an ounce of gifted bone in his body, but he sure as hell could keep the psychic out.

"Stay the fuck out of my head," Ianto warned, aiming his gun first at the dragon, then at Michael whose cries equaled the dragon's pained roar, then to the howling Weevils and back to the dragon again. "And stay out of the minds of all those around me. That is not how we begin conversations on Earth."

Ianto found himself remarkably calm. In the time it took to draw a steady breath while the dragon thrashed its head about in a swooping puce pendulum swing, he looked about and truly saw the enemy before him: Torchwood Four in all their monstrous splendor, some in various stages of what appeared to be transformation to the Weevil state. It was hideous, the scaled skin and piercing teeth, some with curled clawed hands, others with broadening foreheads and jutting jowls. Ianto wondered if it had something to do with the mental connection, the alien minds warping and twisting the humans until their very shape reflected the evil inflicted upon them. Could have a genetic component as well, but from what Ianto had felt within his own mind, he wondered how long a mind could remain human after that evil had broken through to their core human spirit.

He pitied the Weevils.

They had been human, once.

Michael distracted Ianto from his steady contemplation and growing empathy, his focus shifting in what felt incredibly slow but more probably had moved quickly, in real time. The leader of Torchwood Four stood with the same snarling Weevil at his side as he had in the signal interruption.
 
He wondered if the Weevils still remembered their names.

"Bloody hell. Couldn't break the bitch either." Michael's voice sounded clear, a normal baritone instead of the multi-toned sounds Ianto had heard earlier. The dragon had stilled, finally, but appeared to be observing rather than controlling its puppet. Ianto spent little time on the dragon, his gun aimed directly at the Torchwood Four leader as Michael laughed, patting the arm of the Weevil beside him which snarled and pulled away from the touch. "Oh, but we tried, didn't we?" Ianto swallowed bile as he realized with certainty it was Ms. White he spoke of. His father had said it; her mind had been like Ianto's, perhaps he had meant more than just memory. "Beat her, bled her, snapped her, she just wouldn't give over." Michael's laughter turned to rage, shouting at Ianto like he was personally responsible.

The man was mad.

"I hereby arrest you, Michael Hallings, under Torchwood Codes 43.2a and 213-C for treason against Britain in the death of Ms. White." Ianto felt like ice ran in his veins, the gun unwavering on the man as his dependable memory recovered the long-buried images of Avalon burning, of the hand indicating where the body lay beneath the rubble of the massive desk, blood staining her white blouse. The bastard had killed her. And he was still an employee of Torchwood.

He knew the government would handle the situation, Michael would be tried for multiple counts of treason. How that would work with the recent public awareness of Torchwood he wasn't sure but it would be handled appropriately. Ianto knew it would.

But at the same time, vengeance would taste so sweet, even if it wasn't free.

Michael laughed, the man laughed. "And what makes you think I bloody care about your rules? I act with a higher purpose."

"So do I." Ianto let some of his fury creep into his words, all his grief and anger flooding the ice and directing the gun at the man's heart. Until now, he'd not believed it, not wanted to accept it, had wanted to keep the two separate in order to make it understandable. To comprehend and accept. But now that was no longer necessary. He'd accepted the Jacks, he'd accepted himself, and now, just one remained. And really, that wasn't so very difficult. Ianto smiled and Michael paled; he saw the color just bleed from the man's face as his laughter stopped. "Ms. White was my mother."

Nothing but silence reached his ears, but maybe it was just the peace of everything finally clicking into place, unlatching for the first time a stable strength Ianto had missed while fighting himself or others.

Ms. White was his mother.
 
He never got a shot off, however; in fact, he didn't think Michael had even blinked as Ianto lost track of time as it moved around him. But before the trigger of Stephen's gun could be pulled, an ear-shattering wail began, so inhuman yet at the same time so heartbreakingly human it lacerated Ianto's nerves and forced him to stand still on limbs which refused to cooperate. 

The Weevils.

Their movement was so fast Ianto didn't have time to react even if he could; just watched a blur of action as the wailing continued but became broken, shattered as the pitch and meaning. As he numbly stared on, sound coming and going in waves of new auditory focus, decelerating until Ianto was almost certain he could discern a language within the sound.  A call to war.  At least that's what it felt like, the slowed patterns stretching out of time with the furious-paced action in front of him.  Occasional blasts of true sound reached his ears, disrupting the analysis, but mostly, he heard rage.  Anger.  Suffering. 
 
Images caught up, spinning forward too quickly for his mind to process, though Ianto was certain he'd remember vividly later when he had time to consider what had happened.  In his almost fugue-state, Ianto was shocked by what he saw, sound second to sight now that the overwhelming impressions were past.  Weevil attacking humans.  Not just any humans. particular humans.  The vicious, snarling Weevil had turned on Michael, its inhumanly sharp teeth tearing through the thin skin of the neck like katanas through paper.  Ianto caught sight of Michael's surprised face frozen in death as the body was thrown to the ground, limbs askew, a broken marionette cut from its cords. The violence was directed, this wasn't madness spreading before Ianto's eyes, bodies falling one after the other among Torchwood Four ranks, a few Weevil but most of all, human.

The Weevils were acting with purpose.

So much death.

"Stop this!" Ianto shouted to be heard above the wails of the Weevils and the sounds of blood and gore splattering the pavement, followed by clicks of weaponry falling. "No more death!"

Ianto wasn't sure who was more surprised when the Weevils stopped, him or the dragon who raised its head in response to the sudden stillness falling over the Plas. The Weevil which had once stood next to Michael stepped forward, a cautious step towards Ianto as it sniffed the air. Sniffed or ... Ianto wasn't sure what it was doing. He hadn't interacted with Weevils much, outside the occasional capture and handling their care within the Hub. But looking into its eyes, its depressingly human eyes, Ianto could see fear. And pain.

And fuck if there wasn't hope.

Sounds of pain dotted the landscape, the injured voicing their wounds. No human remained standing that had been of Torchwood Four. Not a single one. For all appearance, dead or injured, their weapons lay scattered about them like dropped paperclips, removing the immediate threat of harm by that force. And still standing, the Weevils and the partially transformed, blood glistening on tooth and claw but they made no further indication of threat, just ... stood there. Watching the lead Weevil.  Watching Ianto.  And Ianto looked in return, seeing the Weevils for who they were in all various permutations of alien and human existence.

"Ianto, mind telling me what's going on? Cause from where we stood, it looked like they just listened to you."

From the corner of his eye, Ianto caught sight of Jack, gun ready but not immediately threatening as he stepped beside Ianto. The carnage was dreadful, just a fraction of a moment and everything had erupted in violence Ianto couldn't have stopped if he'd all the Weevil spray in Torchwood Three storage. He heard Jack swear at the bodies littering the pavement, at least, Ianto assumed it was a swear; even in alien languages, curses translate fairly clearly when delivered. Ianto had to agree, for no longer would horizons sing within these stones; rather angels would weep the past.

"If I were to hazard a guess," Ianto began, his eyes never truly leaving the lead Weevil's. It stared back, as though willing Ianto to understand, but for all Ianto tried, he couldn't. He wasn't gifted, he couldn't peer into the thoughts of the Weevil and discern their intent. He knew they were empathic, the old Jack had theorized as much, probably some absorbed trait from the aliens, but Ianto couldn't actively read them. A soft sound interrupted what he was going to say, a low resonating croon which threatened Ianto's grasp of control as it swelled, his throat closing as the song of sorrow crept along all the carefully stifled grief and reopened it to the exposure of the winter sun.

The Weevils.

Ianto listened, for the first time he truly listened to the calls of the Weevils, this cry so painfully revealing of unending sadness that Ianto wondered if he had missed it before or if they had never connected on such levels that he could understand. God, it was beautiful, even if for all appearances they were monsters, human emotions running through their being but trapped within an alien cage.

Ianto didn't miss the irony; for all he appeared human but believed himself a monster within, they appeared as monsters but were ultimately human within their thoughts.

He continued his answer to Jack while the Weevils still sang, providing a background Ianto could finally read. "Freedom. I would guess ... freedom." Because that's what it was, the Weevil's coup. Ianto had no idea why it had happened now. Maybe they remembered their families triggered by his statement, and all their losses because of the aliens. Or maybe it was just the most opportune time for rebelling against the ones who held them, controlled them, forced the Weevils to do their bidding for their masters, breaking them beyond what even had been done to Ms. White.

Or maybe, perhaps it was more simple. Maybe they had liked Ms. White.
 
The tone of the Weevils' cry changed, lightening, just a bit, lifting from the sorrow, maybe in answer to his comment. God, he'd never listened before. They'd always been alien. Written off and tended to, but always ignored. They'd been forced into this shape, forced into their actions, but they still felt beneath it all. He could no more blame them for being monsters than he could himself. "Go on then." Ianto lifted his chin, jerking it towards the still-parted crowd from which the Torchwood Four group had entered.

"What're you doing? We spend half our time catching them for public safety."

Ianto smiled at the lead Weevil who remained still while the others broke away towards their exit from the Plas. Jack's statement was true, Torchwood Three had spent an inordinate amount of time capturing and caging Weevils who had crept into the streets to kill -- and return with food for the dragons, Ianto assumed. Efficient hunters, untraceable to any human involvement. But that was the past and while Ianto could make no guarantees, everything had changed. "If they bring harm to any person, Torchwood will find them. But they deserve their freedom, Jack." The Weevil bobbed its head as Ianto spoke to it rather than directly to Jack. It wasn't much of a life, Ianto knew they would never be accepted among Earth's population. But even in the tunnels underground or buried deep within the night, at least they were free. "They are still human."

The Weevil snarled, at least it sounded like a snarl to Ianto's human ears. He understood, though, for all it was alien in sound. Much like cursing, thanks defied language.

A leathery rustle reminded Ianto of the fact that the dragon still stood in the Plas, though how he could have forgotten a dragon in Cardiff he wasn't quite sure. Time seemed almost ... surreal ... melting and bending like a Dali painting. He had no concept of how much time had passed since they all had arrived on the Plas, much less a timeline of events. He supposed it was shock, or trauma, or maybe he had reached the point of calm the old Jack had always exerted in time of stress, when one had seen far so much that it either failed to penetrate too deep or was quickly cordoned off to deal with once the situation had passed and there was time to understand.

"Your toys are either dead or run off," Ianto finally spoke to the dragon who watched ever so still, as though quietly contemplating its options. Stepping away from Jack, Ianto moved forward towards the dragon, aware that all it would take would be a breath of fire from the alien to kill him but somehow believing the dragon would not.  Not for any measure of 'like' or care for his well-being, but Ianto knew there had been far too many points in the afternoon, dots upon the timeline, in which it could have killed all of Torchwood. But it hadn't; hadn't even moved when the Weevils had rebelled, and Ianto hardly thought the threat of the UNIT soldiers standing nearby was preventing it from acting. It wanted something. Something from him. "Why don't you start this conversation you requested."

"You are a worthy adversary, Mr. Black." Ianto watched, both surprised and not, as Tiffany emerged from behind the dragon, one hand pressing against a wound in her side and the other leaning against the belly of the alien for support. Her voice was compounded in tone as Michael's had been, Ianto assumed he now spoke with the dragon and not the woman. No human's voice sounded like this, tone upon tone, uniquely feminine but encompassing the scale of vocal range. "You speak for all people of what you call Earth?"

Did he? Ianto rather believed that wasn't in his job description. "I am one voice of many," Ianto carefully chose his words, knowing that thanks to the media who had remained despite the earlier events, all people of Earth were probably listening, "but I am the one with whom you have chosen to speak."

Tiffany/the dragon laughed, a chilling sound that raced down Ianto's spine. "Clever, Mr. Black. The death of your impostor was unfortunate, but I do not tolerate deception."

"And I do not tolerate the death of my people," Ianto all but growled in response, knowing rage wouldn't help matters, but he couldn't allow the death of Stephen, Torchwood Four, or any of the thousands around the world to go unacknowledged. "State your purpose."

The dragon's head lowered; Ianto was so close to the eye he could see himself reflected in the gold and black depths. It was disconcerting, the voice coming from a distance while the beast was in front of him, ventriloquism worthy of a Twilight Zone story, the human the dummy as another mind controlled it. "We seek your council to negotiate a treaty between our races. Our homeworld was destroyed by a terrible race, and we need land upon which to continue our lives. Earth is the first viable planet we have found and our supplies grow scarce."

Ianto didn't believe the story for a moment. Not when Earth had faced such a strategic attack. "I find myself strangely unconcerned for your race's welfare. Try the next planet on your list; you'll find no assistance here."

"We have much to offer in return for land. You are acquainted with some of our technology, Mr. Black. It is quite superior to yours."

While he couldn't be arsed about technology, with a sinking feeling he knew others who would be lured by the temptation of shield technology, including those who would use Torchwood's purpose to protect Britain and scavenge tech to protect against alien threat. He knew the Queen would back him on any decision he ultimately made, but the rest of the world's leaders and other various interested parties ...

This was a trap. None of Torchwood had been wrong in that, Ianto could feel it in the marrow of his bones. The aliens had launched a direct assault against Earth and now were looking to trade land for technology? To co-habitate peacefully with the human race? He couldn't believe it, no matter the story of tragedy the alien spun. No, they had harmed people, twisting their minds and bodies into Weevils. They had killed thousands. They had turned human against human. They sought destruction and conquest, not peace.

Tiffany laughed again, a soft, chuckle that sounded like glass scratching porcelain. It knew -- the dragon knew what game it played. Their words were being broadcast internationally, fuck, probably the reason the initial signal had been sent across all media channels; to alert those who had the power to record this event to the location and time so they'd be there, reporting and transcribing everything that was said. Everything, to all peoples of the Earth by sundown that day.

No matter the celebrations, no matter the spirit of world unity, this offer would not be turned down by everyone. Someone would give in, despite the attacks and the loss of lives. Someone would offer court and that would be the tipping point. That would be the moment, like Jack had once said with a gun to his head. Different race, same problem.

Torchwood One's legacy, mankind's fallacy.

How many times would history repeat itself?

How many times would he allow it to happen?

He could feel his heart rate double beneath both the dragon and Tiffany's gaze, though he supposed that was one in the same. He did wonder if she was aware as Michael had appeared to be. But Ianto felt no sympathy for her. She had given the dragons Avalon and his mother, and although she must have latched onto the vitriol the dragons fed as impressionable minds would a cult leader, she had made her choices in life.

As had he.

God, this was a trap.

"I accept your offer to enter into negotiations," Ianto said, surprising himself with the level confidence of his voice. Though, he really should have been, he'd built a life on lies.

"Your race is a generous one." Ianto had to fight to contain his eyeroll and the instinctual arch of an eyebrow. "If you would step closer, we can transport directly to my ship."

Traptraptraptraptrap. He hadn't played this strong of a game since matching wits against his mother. "Given that you are requesting Earth to give so generously to your solicitation for assistance, I had assumed we would negotiate here."

Tiffany smiled, a predatory, hungry look if Ianto were ever to see one. It would probably have been more impressive had it been performed on a puce-colored dragon with a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth, but an unnerving look all the same. "Unfortunately, some of our technology cannot be transported as easily as life forms and we understand the need to ensure viability before a treaty is signed. Would you so quickly turn away our offer of full disclosure, Mr. Black? We are nothing, if not honorable."

"Of course not, I meant no offense." Shite. "I will travel with you to your ship," Ianto agreed somewhat slowly, mind working furiously as he tried to think of an alternate plan. He held up his hand to effectively cut off Jack who had immediately begun protesting, protests which would most certainly not help Ianto think, "but I ask for twenty-four hours to confer with world leaders as I am just one voice and cannot speak to their needs or demands in the negotiations. You are, after all, asking one nation to relinquish land for your use."

"You have twenty-four hours, Mr. Black." Tiffany raised a hand, stalling Ianto's departure. "If you are not here at three o'clock tomorrow, we will consider this an act of hostility and negotiations with you closed."

Implying that another would have the chance? Ianto did not appreciate that information being shared worldwide; he would have to remember to have UNIT and the British military heighten security for the next twenty-four hours. "It will not come to that, I assure you. Until then."

Turning on his heel, Ianto let his strides carry him quickly away from the dragon and Tiffany, the dead and the wounded, trusting UNIT to respond if the dragon in any way threatened the civilians. Or Torchwood. But he assumed it wouldn't. The dragon wanted something from him. Something that wasn't precisely a treaty negotiation.

"You cannot be seriously considering following through with this." Jack caught up to him quickly; Ianto gave him one look, then was distracted by UNIT soldiers and medics moving forward to tend the injured and dead. Ianto whistled sharply, shouting for the injured to be placed under guard and arrested for treason while he directed one of the men with a gurney towards Torchwood Three who stood in a protective arc over Stephen's body.  Ianto refused to leave him behind to be tended by anyone other than himself or Owen. 
 
Stephen deserved that respect. 
 
Ianto didn't speak to Jack though, couldn't even look at him.  He couldn't think of an answer that wasn't ''yes, I am."

***

UNIT provided a buffer between Torchwood Three and the mobbing reporters shouting questions the entire stretch of pavement back to the Information Center. Questions about Stephen, questions about what Ianto (Mr. Black) intended to do. Questions as to why he hid his identity. Questions about his mother. Questions about everything.

Ianto didn't speak. Not once.

Neither did Torchwood Three, all strangely silent as Rhys and Owen carefully wheeled the gurney beside them, a white sheet masking the figure beneath.

Ianto didn't think about that, either.

It wasn't until they'd arrived at the lift, a quick gesture to the soldiers to station guards at the entrance leaving Ianto fairly comfortable that they would be left undisturbed in the Hub, that anyone spoke.

"So, you're Mr. Black then? I thought it was Jack."

Bless her for all her faults, but Gwen had truly remained innocent despite Torchwood's corrupting influence. Ianto rather hoped it never changed.

He smiled a flash of a smile, nothing to it, no feeling, no warmth, that was much beyond him given the quarters they shared. More than large enough for a gurney, but a tight fit for five others.

"For how long?"

Tosh answered Gwen's question for Ianto, relieving him of the task of speaking, for the moment. "Since Ms. White was killed when Avalon fell, the day Ianto had his migraine and was absent for four days." Ianto wondered how long she had had that figured out. Tosh's focus fell on Ianto; he could feel the weight despite not lifting his gaze from the white sheet carefully folded over the corner of the gurney. "I'm sorry, Ianto. I didn't realize she was your mother."

Ianto nodded, lifting his head with a sigh to rest it on the wall of the lift. Jack hadn't spoken a word since the Plas, but Ianto could feel a hand slip beneath the coat he wore, palm broad and reassuring against his back. Jack would demand to continue their conversation, but for the moment, Ianto leaned into the touch, drawing confidence he certainly didn't feel. "We were unsure who had attacked Avalon and I was unwilling to leave my post here. Stephen agreed to be the public face-" Ianto's voice cut off of its own volition, leaving him struggling to continue. The lift sank in silent descent while Ianto found his control again. "He swore his life, to protect mine."

"Well, don't be expecting me to be doing anything of the like, tea-boy. I only got a pittance of a raise this year, and don't think I don't blame you for that one."

Rolling his head against the lift wall, Ianto lowered his gaze to fall on Owen and felt his face warm in an honest grin. Typical Owen bluster. Ianto still remembered the shadow falling over him, Owen stepping to cover him and claiming to be Mr. Black. He had been risking his life for Ianto, and he wouldn't soon forget that.

Besides, he'd approved the maximum raise for Owen, just as he had the rest of the team.

Something in Ianto's smile made Owen flush and turn away, muttering about tea-boys and caffeine addiction and idiocy, much to Jack's amusement apparently as he began chuckling softly beside Ianto.

Further conversation was halted when the lift alert 'dinged,' announcing their arrival at the base's ground level. Rhys and Owen disembarked first, announcing their intent of transporting Stephen's body to Owen's autopsy theater. Jack, Gwen, and Tosh stayed behind, all looking fiercely determined. Ianto raised his hand, quickly dialing Lana to send her to Avalon, bringing with her all the elders she could contact.

They would need it.

Clicking off the phone, Ianto turned to the others.

"What can we do? The dragon was lying, they can't be here for peace."

Ianto had no more than opened his mouth to respond to Tosh when his mobile rang. Sheppard, again. He assumed this would be an enlightening conversation.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing? You can't go to that ship! It's a fucking trap! How can you be so stupid to agree to something like that? Jesus Christ, Ianto, have you got no sense? Kavanagh's got more brains than you and McKay swears the man has one the size of an atom of hydrogen which is apparently seriously fucking small. You-"

"How's the work on the shields coming?" Ianto interrupted Sheppard's tirade smoothly with the question, receiving his answer by the silence from Sheppard's end. Ianto continued, not stopping even when Sheppard tried to speak over him, voices escalating as they each fought for control of the conversation. "I appreciate your concern, but unless you have some demands for the negotiations, I really can't afford to waste time that could be spent trying to figure out a way to eliminate the threat to Earth. Keep me updated on the shields."

Ianto snapped his mobile shut, cutting off Sheppard in the middle of whatever he had been trying to say in defense of his argument. Owen and Rhys walked back into the Hub about the time the 'argument' had reached its highest pitch, and looked to the other three for an answer. No one moved, no sounds except the steady fall of water.  Ianto's gaze fell instead on Jack who leaned against the railing, arms crossed, his expression set in the most severe Ianto had yet seen. A conversation awaited, probably along the lines of Sheppard's earlier rant. Jack wouldn't be as easy to brush off, in fact, he couldn't quite hang up on the man. Ianto's mind spun wildly as it tried to logically deal with the situation, rationale for his actions and why Jack couldn't take his place outside the obvious.

Because, god, even if the dragons weren't telepathic, this Jack was younger. Torchwood needed the elder Jack in its past; Ianto needed him in his past. Time made little sense to Ianto when it fell out of linear passage, but he knew this. He understood paradox.

This Jack had to live.

Ianto needed every moment, from his assignment to his first meeting in that dingy old Information Center to Lisa to the time spent at his father's after Avalon had burned and all the moments on scattered rooftops across the city.

He needed Jack for that first 'date,' when the insufferable Captain had dragged him to the invisible lift, determined to rid Ianto of that fear.

Jack had such a guiding influence on Ianto's recent years he wasn't quite sure where he'd be without him.

Fuck. Their first date.

Ianto could remember each word so clearly, how Jack looked that night, his greatcoat swirling about him as he stood in front of the Millennium Centre, the doors opening and the crowds pouring out but there Jack was, speaking words which at the time Ianto had a hard time believing.

"I don't know that I could, if it were you."
"But you've stood back for others."
"None of them looked nearly as good in a suit."

Ianto had thought at the time, when Jack had said he couldn't stand back and watch Ianto die, that the Captain had most certainly loved in the past.

Loved and lost.

Fuck, how much had that Jack known?

Cold ice raced down Ianto's spine as pieces fell into place, scattered and pulled from all the snapshots of time within his mind. He became aware that the Hub had grown silent in his silence, staring at Jack as Jack stared back. Taking a moment to straighten his leather jacket, just to give him an excuse to pull his eyes away from Jack's in case any of his thoughts shown through, Ianto smiled the most proficient business smile he'd cultivated in all his years of lies and deceit.

His life was built upon them. What were a few more to ensure the past?

"Gwen, Rhys, Owen, Tosh, I need you to search the Archives for information regarding Fornaxian engineering. That galaxy cluster was home to hundreds of technologically advanced races through the centuries. For all their arrogance, I have a suspicion that these dragons are collectors, not creators. There may be information we failed to compare in our databases because those records are quite antiquated."

"What? But that's-"

"Do as you're told for once, Owen," Ianto snapped back as he turned his phone 'off.' No interruptions. "It's filed under either 'E' for engineering or 'F' for Fornax. Tosh can teach you the alphabet if you're confused. Jack." Ianto gestured towards Jack's office, the other man pausing only a moment before nodding, shoulders set and his entire body-line hard as stone.

A storm was brewing.

Ianto waited long enough that he saw each of the team exit towards the Archives, grumbling confused arguments as they went, before he gathered himself and walked to Jack's office. He closed the door behind him, hoping to keep any sounds of shouting from the Archives; it would do no good for the team to hear he and Jack argue.

Or anything else.

"You can't do this."

Ianto smiled briefly, walking around to Jack's desk to sit in his chair. "And what if they speak the truth? They mean to make peace, to rebuild their civilization ravaged by a terrible race." He rifled through the desk drawer contents, moving objects around noisily. He was searching, looking. At least that's what he lied. "We would truly be doing a disservice to the human race by portraying ourselves to be equally ruthless and savage." Ianto held up the key that had been the excuse for the search. Unlocking the bottom drawer, Ianto removed the bottle of aged single malt Scotch Jack kept hidden for times such as these.

And this most certainly was one of those times.

"You don't believe that."

"Don't I?" Ianto located two glasses, pouring a finger of the amber alcohol in each. He paused, god, he didn't even fool himself with those lies. But he knew, he knew with certainty that Jack would attempt to stop him no matter the greater good, no matter the big picture. And at the current moment, there were no other options. "Jack, would you ... " Ianto started and lost his confidence.

"Would I what?"

Ianto could feel Jack step closer, the heat of his body just inches away from his. Even without immortality, the fire of life still burned with in.

God, this Jack had to live.

"The other ... you. The older you, we had this tradition," Ianto laughed in mockery of memory that wasn't real. "When things turned sour, we'd ..."

"Get blistering drunk?"

"No, well, yes, sometimes. But we'd toast, then perform a sacrilegious act and shoot the first round. Second, we'd act civil. But ... please? I need this." Ianto twisted and held up a glass, bearing the weight of Jack's contemplative look. They never really talked about the other Jack, it was a bit of taboo when it came to conversation. Ianto couldn't blame Jack; living up to a memory of one's self would be a challenge no matter the legends. And Jack had to deal with that plenty with the others of Torchwood Three, but it had never been broached between them.

Until now.

Jack looked resigned, but took the glass anyways, perhaps in acknowledgment of the fucked up situation Torchwood Three was in or maybe it was just concession to this one odd request of Ianto's. "And what did you toast to?"

Ianto refrained from reacting negatively to the words, just smiled and held up his glass. "To Torchwood."

Jack arched a brow in response to the toast, but clinged his glass against Ianto's all the same. "To Torchwood." Glasses raised and Scotch was drank, one drink, one swallow, Jack standing so close Ianto swore he could hear each neuron fire as throat muscles contracted to swallow. He was beautiful. Captain Jack Harkness. Ianto wondered what his name was.

Smiling a smile Ianto didn't feel, he poured their second drink, tucking the bottle back in the bottom drawer.

"You can't go."

Ianto rolled his eyes, standing up to pace the office, drink in hand. He needed a plan, in addition to the one he currently was executing. "I don't want to go, Jack, but that doesn't mean I will shirk my responsibilities. If we don't have a plan to lower their shields, I've no other choice."

"They'll kill you!" Jack stood in front of him, stopping Ianto's pacing. "They killed your mother. What makes you think you'll be any different?"

"What else am I supposed to do? You once told me this is where these things start. Small decisions that become mass slaughter." Ianto could hear every word as he spoke in time with the memory in his head, "these creatures regain a foothold by exploiting human weakness. Weakness, Jack. It will start with a meeting with someone craving power. Unlimited power," Ianto laughed as he quoted Yvonne. Fuck, he was not cut out for this job. He didn't know anyone who was. "I don't go, someone else will. And then we might as well have raised the white flag for the warriors and given Earth over then, sparing Avalon. They'll come and take a base. Rebuild their forces, you said. And before you know it, the whole bloody dragon race is spreading out across the universe, erasing worlds, assimilating populations. All because of the tiny beginnings here, Jack!"

Jack's hands shook as he sipped his Scotch, Ianto could see the tremors. God, Jack was angry, but Ianto knew he was right. He had to be.

"Small decisions, huh, Ianto? What about yours?" Ianto watched as the vein in Jack's forehead, the one that only throbbed when Jack was the most angry, and at his most stubborn, began to throb in tempo with Ianto's heart. "You don't think this could become mass slaughter? You leave, Mr. Black is gone."

"If I don't, the dragons will come." Ianto ran his fingers over the buttons of Jack's shirt, feeling the slight curve and thread, memorizing before moving down to the next, and the next, tracing the line of Jack's chest through the tiny bits of plastic.

"No," Jack pushed Ianto's hand away, shoving him off-balance and while Ianto stumbled to maintain his footing (though he lost control of his Scotch, a pity), he pulled his Webley from its holster. "I will not stand by and watch you die!"

Fuck it was confusing, which Jack was Jack. Conversations overlapped, reaffirmed and assured that this was certainly no impostor. Ianto looked down the barrel of a gun, for the countless time in his life, but he knew this time, there'd be no death, even if Rani wasn't present. "Are you going to kill me, Jack?" Ianto smiled sadly, remembering the last time Jack had held a gun to his head. He rather thought Jack was serious at that time and he didn't doubt Jack now. "Stop death by doling it out yourself?"

"I won't let you leave. You won't show up, we'll fight the dragons just as we did before."

"With what, Jack? What will you fight with? Avalon's out and their shielded ship is bigger than our moon." Ianto smiled as he saw the gun waver, the strength in the grip failing. "You're right though. You wouldn't just let me leave. You'd do something foolish, play the hero. Have I ever told you how many times you've died for the team, Jack? How many times you've sacrificed your life for the greater good? Of course," Ianto smiled ruefully, "you were immortal then. Not so much now."

Jack shook his head, Ianto assumed to clear his vision more so than denial though it could have been a bit of both. Carefully, he removed the gun from Jack's hand, not a difficult feat as Jack only seemed to notice after the gun was gone that he ought to fight him off. Ianto barely managed to slip it onto the desk before Jack's knees gave way and he caught the bulk of the captain's weight before he toppled to the floor. Ianto helped him into a chair, setting the glass on the arm, remaining expressionless despite Jack's accusations.

"What have you done?"

Ianto leaned against Jack's desk, deliberately not remembering the times he and Jack had worked off the emotions and energy of a particularly rough mission and instead focused on his plan. Jack's words were a bit slurred; but Ianto would not underestimate how much a species might have physiologically evolved in three thousand years. "What I must to keep you and Torchwood Three safe."

"Retcon?" Jack's laughter sounded so wrong, so off, a sluggish, rasping chuckle that Ianto heard after a night of sex and too little sleep. "Won't work."

"I assumed as much." Ianto watched as Jack's head dropped forward only to jerk back up again as he fended off sleep, the instinct to reach out and touch, to hold Jack so strong Ianto had to cross his arms to remain still. "Whether your body or your mind would repel any attempt at conditioning, I couldn't be certain. Doesn't matter, so long as the sedative worked." Ianto broke from his lean, straightening with business-like efficiency, desperately depending on old habits to carry him through this. He walked to the wall safe, where the most dangerous of finds were kept, and quickly entered the code.

"We've hours before deadline, I'll wake up."

"Wake up and kick your ass from here to Glasgow." Ianto's mind helpfully supplied. He smiled at the idea, pausing a moment before opening the safe; whether in regret or second thought he wasn't sure but it was so tempting to push it shut, leave it be and forget the plan had ever been considered. Ignoring any doubt, he pressed on, taking each locked box out one by one. "You will wake," Ianto sadly agreed, refusing to think about where or when. His hands began to shake as he removed box after box, but he doubted it was due to physical strain.

God, he couldn't do this. Not to Jack.

"Ianto?"

His name was stretched across syllables and lifetimes, sounding for the first time hesitant and tasting just slightly of fear. It shattered Ianto's resolve to remain untouched, aloof, a model of Torchwood One's dispassion and arrogance with just a breathed word.

No, he had to. Jack had to live.

Ianto pretended he was doing this to preserve timelines, to make sure the past played out in Jack's future. But he wasn't quite as good at lying to himself as he was to others, he never really had been, and Jack's life was more important now; Jack wasn't immortal. He'd do something to stop Ianto and he would ... The doubts crept in again, tingling at the back of his neck just above his spine, stretching its shadowed tendrils out to numb his hands, force the release of the last box tucked into the furthest recesses of the safe. It had the opposite effect, however, the numbness; Ianto gripped the handle even tighter, removing the clear-walled box from the confines of the safe to its new resting spot on top of Jack's desk.

He snapped the seals, refusing to look at Jack, trusting the sedative to maintain its grip a little while longer. Not much longer, Ianto realized as he withdrew various objects he'd studied during Jack's absence. He knew essentially what each should do, in theory and based on what he had learned during his training at Torchwood One. A plasma weapon, a utility knife which functioned as a portable medical trauma analysis system, various bits and bobs and finally, a slim device. Shaped rather like a malformed wishbone, the twin curved prongs cursing out from the central point in dove-grey innocence. At the center, a rather simplistic computer system masking an enormous storage array, built on science far beyond the 21st century.

All of them, stamped with the mark of the Time Agency.

"Don't do this."

Jack's sky-blue eyes bore into his, awake but Ianto knew it was probably more to do with a burst of adrenalin than the sedative wearing off. Jack had yet to move from the chair and Ianto hoped this energy would not lead to a fight, not that Ianto would blame him if he tried.

He just couldn't fight Jack.

"Earlier, I wondered how much you knew, the older you. And I realized you knew nothing." Ianto slowly rounded the desk and held up the device. Jack's eyes followed, but he made no attempt to move. "You wouldn't have left, knowing this day was coming, when the Earth you fought to protect would be so threatened." Ianto crouched in front of Jack, sinking so he could better look at Jack, knowing this left him terribly open to retaliation, but he needed this; he needed to be close to Jack.

He just hoped Jack didn't have the alertness to kick.

"You would have tried to stop me, months, years ago. And you'd still attempt to stop me now, risking your life to do something foolish because that's what heroes do." Ianto traced Jack's cheek, regret fueling his determination when Jack pulled away. He didn't miss the anger or the betrayal in Jack's glare; Ianto couldn't deny that he deserved it. He deserved all of Jack's recriminations, all his hatred, and as Jack attempted briefly (and weakly) to fight him off, Ianto admitted he deserved the pain as well.

Fuck, he couldn't be doing this.

The struggle seemed to take everything from Jack as he sagged back into the chair, Ianto carefully restraining Jack's fists with a hand pressing them firmly into Jack's thighs to prevent another fight. He didn't think it'd happen as Jack looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. "Two years, you said, two years you couldn't remember." Ianto quickly programmed the device, holding the prongs to Jack's temples. "I can't stand aside and let you die. Not for me, not for Torchwood."

Ianto looked over the device, framing Jack's piercing eyes as though to converge the fury like a magnifying lens the sun. It worked, too, burning straight through Ianto's defenses to explode into guilt which threatened to suffocate for all its intensity. Ianto could scarcely breathe, much less speak, and it took everything he had to croak out the words he'd spoken so long ago, when he'd chosen Rani's safety over Jack's life. "I'm sorry, Jack."

He didn't close his eyes; he deserved to see, to remember every moment within his unforgetting mind just what he'd done to Jack. Ianto pressed the button to activate the device without hesitation, feeling what little remained of his innocence curl fetal within his mind, screaming denial as Jack's head slammed back, trying to escape the arching ends that glowed so brilliantly. Ianto's eyes watered; he blamed the light as it pulsed impossibly bright, searing the vision of Jack, betrayed, so deep into his mind he'd see it upon waking and even after he closed his eyes at night.

The device shut off, leaving Ianto's vision struggling to keep up with the drastic changes but it didn't stop him from seeing the vacant expression written upon Jack's face, eyes wandering from object to object within the room, drowsily smiling at nothing and everything.

God, he felt sick.

"Jack, remember." Ianto whispered, touching Jack's face in an attempt to draw those vibrant blue eyes towards his, nearly weeping when they failed to lock on his face. God, he deserved this last memory for what he'd done. Standing enough to make it possible, Ianto placed a gentle kiss on Jack's lips, warm but so coldly unresponsive. "Remember, the 21st century is when everything changes. And you have to be ready." Jack had to be. He had to prepare Torchwood Three. Cardiff would not survive the attack without Torchwood Three, especially not after Torchwood One fell to the Daleks and Cybermen.

Ianto paused before speaking low into Jack's ear, though no one else was listening. "I love you, Jack." With a smile that didn't reach his eyes and resolve more firmly rooted in desperation, Ianto straightened, first slipping the Webley into Jack's holster before walking away, leaving Jack alone, sleepy and lost as his mind healed around the missing memories.

He didn't look back at Jack, he couldn't. Now after he'd done it, Ianto could hardly stand to be in the same room as the living reminder of everything monstrous about him.

He wondered if this was how his mother had felt when Torchwood One had fallen.

Picking up the pocket knife-med kit, Ianto depressed the button he assumed was the emergency beacon. With hope that the device still had power to alert the proper individuals across whatever time and space it needed to, Ianto sank into Jack's chair and stared at the treasure-trove of artifacts Jack had collected over the years. Of course the ugly statue with a hole in its middle was there ...

Wilson had turned out all right. No permanent damage.

Ianto wondered if he should hit the signal button again.

Time passed, Ianto knew so because he had counted forty-eight breaths before Jack's office walls seemed to ripple, carrying a current of light that shouldn't have been. Ianto slowly turned in the chair, unsurprised to find two weapons pointed at him; one he recognized the tech, though it was a significantly advanced version from what he had seen in training, and the other looked remarkably like an old Winchester rifle, Model 1892 if his eyes weren't mistaken, though it appeared a custom build. The clothing of woman and man were remarkably eclectic as well, ranging from what looked like Korean War era on the boy to dark brown pants of the Western era, leather gun belt and vest on the woman, though he supposed it shouldn't have surprised him given Jack's penchant for fashion. The man looked barely old enough to hold a pistol, much less be aiming a weapon at him.

Ianto supposed Time Agents did have to go through training as well. He pitied the poor individual stuck with Jack as a youth.

"You are unauthorized to use this equipment."

He snorted and eyed the younger one who had spoken in a clipped, remotely Irish accent before focusing his attention on the elder. Ianto nodded slowly to the chair behind them, not wanting to draw their ire. Upon reflection, maybe this hadn't been one of his wiser ideas, given what Jack had said about his time with the Agency and the limited intel from Torchwood One. He skipped the obvious part of the conversation, knowing that if they were familiar with the equipment at all, they would recognize the effects. "He's also been dosed with a double-strength sedative. I trust you have facilities which can provide care."

The older Agent definitely recognized Jack though she tried to hide it, the rifle unwavering as it aimed at Ianto. The hard edge was unmistakable; he had seen the expression on Jack's face before. Military, maybe found skills in a war or two. Seen a lot of death, lived a hard life. She was beautiful though, or maybe it was the hard edge which gave her the beauty. "We don't take kindly to attacks on our own."

Ianto bit his tongue at what he wanted to say, instead he nodded his acknowledgment of her threat. He didn't particularly know what to believe when it came to Time Agents, cons and ploys all part of the job. This act could be as much artificial as Owen's preferred cheese. "He doesn't belong in this time. I assume you can safely transport him to the correct period."

"You'll be handing over his memories then."

"No." Ianto knew with a certainty of only one he would trust with such a treasure outside of himself. And even that respect was questionable of late. He stood, placing his hands on the desk and gestured to Jack. "You will transport him away and see to his safety. His memories stay with me."

"You have no authority to tell us what to do!" The kid finally spoke, his voice rising defiantly, though he might not have been much younger than Ianto, Ianto still felt old next to him.

"What he means to be sayin' ..." the woman drawled, glancing at what must have been a new recruit. It made sense, answering a medical emergency signal wouldn't demand fully trained operatives. "... is you're not exactly in a position to be making demands. Our equipment comes with us."

"They are Jack's personal possessions and memories. They stay with Torchwood." Ianto raised his chin, daring the woman to argue. He really had no leverage, nothing he could even offer in return. He just knew the device, storing the memories, could not leave with the pair. He would fight for them, if he must.

"Torchwood?" The woman looked around, clearly not all that impressed with the Captain's office. The kid was another story, taking a new interest in his surroundings. Ianto hoped he didn't get too comfortable, the team would be back soon and these people needed to leave "What's your name, mister?"

Ianto didn't hesitate. "Mr. Black. And you might be?"

"Mr. Black?" The kid started firing off a language Ianto had never heard, but the woman seemed to understand. She jabbed him in the ribs with her rifle to shut him up; Ianto had to smile and thought of how many times he would have liked to have done that to Owen. And have it work so well.

The woman caught the smile, and Ianto could almost swear he saw shared amusement in her eyes as well. "Of course, sir. We'll just be taking our Agent and be on our way."

Ianto blinked in surprise as the two Agents turned to Jack. No further argument? He had been prepared for a fight, and instead, compliance? For all the kid had appeared lanky, he was strong, hefting Jack easily to a standing position as out of it Jack appeared. He finally found his voice, talking to the woman directly, more plea than an order of any kind. "You'll not harm him and breathe no word of how or where you found him."

She looked at Jack, slumped and semi-conscious on the shoulder of the kid, then back to Ianto. She seemed to understand him far better than the kid; Ianto supposed that maybe, she had felt something equally as protective at some point in her life. "I'll make sure the kid keeps his tongue. A pleasure, Mr. Black."

The woman punched something into a wrist device similar to Jack's and the walls shimmered again, dancing with sparks of light. The whole act was soundless, at least to Ianto's ears, and he watched as they simply walked into the light without harm, carrying their burden with them.

Fuck. He'd done it.

His knees shook so hard he was forced to sit in Jack's chair, staring mindless at the wall for a few moments to collect himself. Just a few moments, he knew that was all the time he had to dwell but he needed it, needed the quiet to reflect, to consider what he'd done and how if the dragons didn't kill him, a returning Jack most certainly would.

But Jack's life was worth the consequences. Jack would live to play hero another day.

With a deep breath forcing dark thoughts from his mind, Ianto stared at the office with a clear head, noting the disarray and things that needed to be done. He stood quickly, gathering all the Agency objects, save for the memory device (he'd never gotten the name of the device, perhaps he'd refer to it as the Mind Bind) and placing them back in the safe box. Renewing the seals, Ianto placed the box back in its home within the safe, buried deepest and furthest from detection. Then he began restoring all the boxes to their original home, pausing when he encountered a few devices which caught his eye. He left those out, they might work well into future plans.

Cradling the device (Mind Bind) in his hands, Ianto scowled as he tried to anticipate future events in order to convey a package, especially difficult for someone with no gift of clairvoyance or time device. The Time Agents -- they had appeared familiar with the name Torchwood, surely Torchwood survived? Or maybe it had been destroyed, and Torchwood's infamy carried through as a lesson to those who wished to challenge dragons, which would make storage at Torchwood Three illogical.

Fuck.

Ianto stared, desperately willing the innocent-looking device to give some indication of how to convey a message. A quiet hum distracted him from his unwavering stare; it was barely audible, in fact, Ianto was fairly certain it wasn't audible at all. He felt it more than heard it, resonating on a pitch that tingled his nerves, making them dance in awareness. Looking about the room, Ianto searched for the source; it was light, spirited, not dark and oppressing as the dragons, and his heart raced just a little. He couldn't explain it, couldn't explain how he knew but this was his answer. Something was ... just at the edge of his public mind, tickling awareness.

It'd be unnerving, if it wasn't so comforting.

His eyes fell on the bit of coral Jack kept on his desk, a coral which through the years had appeared to grow despite lack of sea water or rock. A single touch, just a bare brush of his fingertips had that awareness in the corner of his mind sparking into life, crackling with intensity and nearly overwhelming his senses as no thought entered his mind, no image, just a feeling of ... 'right'. It was beautiful, a shattering awe of something exuding both timeless age and wisdom, yet an innocent youth which reminded him of his sister swinging on the old wood swing back at his father's, laughing with a gaiety as only a child could laugh.

He didn't know why he did it, it just seemed the right thing to do and really, he knew he hadn't consciously decided to act, but his hand was moving, setting the memory device upon the coral in a depressed curve which Ianto swore hadn't been there before. Ianto's eyes widened in amazement as the coral moved, curling about the device, securing it and protecting it in a blanket of replicated or altered growth he knew was too fast for an ordinary piece of coral. In a panic, realizing there was no explanation, Ianto grabbed a piece of paper from Jack's desk -- a requisition slip, but Ianto wasn't picky. He jotted a quick note, then nabbed another piece, this time a letter from the Prime Minister about funding. Scribbling one last note, he addressed both and set them carefully atop the coral as well.

In a breath, the paper had disappeared and the coral looked as it had once before.

Shaking, Ianto's mind caught up with what he had just done. Jack's memories were ... gone. He'd trusted the security of Jack's memories to ... an old piece of coral? He was both foolish and brash, he had no reason to believe that the device would ever reach the one person Ianto knew would secure the memories and keep them safe until they were returned to Jack.

But yet, he was rather assured they would.

Ignoring what he could no longer change, Ianto broke into the boxes, slipping one blue-tinged pebble-shaped object into his pocket and keeping the larger, cross-shaped weapon out. He had no plan, no concept of what to do, except he knew they might come in handy for any plan they did come up with.

***

That was how Rhys found him some time later, sitting in Jack's chair, absently spinning the weapon on his finger at irregular intervals, the weight of the object carrying it completely through its revolution without falling, a most disastrous thing given that Ianto presumed it could fire, shoot a hole through the office walls (or himself) but he was feeling a bit reckless.

"Sir, I've taken the liberty of cataloguing the information the other mindless lot researched, given they had no skills for tracking or any sort of methodology. So far, we've found one hundred sixty-three instances of engineering cross-referenced with Fornax, fat lot of good that did as most of it was just rubbish hair trimmers or gizmos to fix a leaky faucet-" Rhys stopped tapping his pencil on the clipboard, to Ianto's relief, as a thought must have struck him. "Oh, I've been had. They figured I'd walk in on you and Jack buggering over his desk or something, like that'd shock me after I caught Owen and that alien gal with, never mind. Ah, where's Jack?"

The question instantly stopped the spinning, making Ianto clutch the weapon with a ferocity which startled him. He knew he should have come up with an explanation, something rational to legitimize his disappearance. For once, his mind still calculating every permutation for plans and theories based on weapons on hand and intel on the the alien species, theories and plans far more often than not discarded as futile, for once he was left without an answer. "He left," Ianto said simply, lacking a better response.

"Left?" The statement didn't even seem to phase Rhys. "Do you need me to phone him? We best be putting all our minds on this, can't have you wandering off to some space ship filled with vicious little aliens without a plan. We're going to have a plan, right?"

"We'll have a plan," Ianto reassured, unconvinced himself if they actually would. None of his plans were creating a viable outcome. "No leads with the Fornax technology?"

"No, sir. Lots of engineering, but mostly household items. Could stand to find one of their laundry units, myself. None of this sorting by colors nonsense."

Ianto felt his eyebrow arch into his hairline as Rhys spoke, more disbelief than annoyance, the word sounded more foreign than when a complete stranger had spoken it less than an hour ago. "Rhys," Ianto interrupted, only strong will preventing himself from laughing at the ludicrousness. "We've been on first names for months. Why the 'sir'?"

Rhys shrugged, as though the answer should be perfectly clear to Ianto. Which, it wasn't. Ianto waited, and finally the other man responded. "Seeing as how you're in charge of things and aliens are asking for you by name, can't well be calling you by name like I would my mates. Besides," Rhys grinned and Ianto wondered how it was that despite everything, the man could be unfailingly happy, "look at the missus. I work best following orders. Keeps her happy and lets me get away with more in the end."

With a snort, Ianto ran a hand over his face, scrubbing away any sense of tiredness and stress, least of all the absurdity of someone older than him addressing him as 'sir.' Which reminded him of Jack and the brief levity faded. With a sigh, Ianto looked at Rhys with sudden concern as to what the man may be trying to get away with. He'd hid a Cyberwoman in the basement, after all. "Remind me later to scan the security logs to ensure you've not slipped anything toxic into the creamer Owen prefers."

"Now, that'd be right deviant of me, wouldn't it, sir?" Rhys just smiled the innocent smile of the cat who caught the canary and Ianto began to question how much Rhys truly knew about the secrets of Torchwood and the affairs she hid.

The quiet types. Always the underestimated.

"So, should I phone Jack, then?" Rhys continued, resuming his pencil-tapping.

"No, we'll plan without Jack as he won't be joining us."

"Who won't be joining us?"

Ianto glanced up as Tosh's voice sounded behind Rhys. With no warning, all the other Torchwood Three members had filed into the room, shifting about so all could stand within sight of Ianto, an action Ianto found incredibly unnerving. They were all looking at him expectantly, like he had an inkling of how to continue, of where to guide them. "Jack." Ianto sat back in the chair after setting the cross-shaped weapon (too dangerous a distraction to be toying with at the moment) down on the desk. "He won't be joining us. He's left for another mission again."

It was sickening, feeding that story to the team, but Ianto could hardly admit to what he'd done. He'd confess later, when the fate of the world wasn't upon their shoulders.

"Jack's gone? Again? But why? Surely he left an explanation after last time. Did you see him leave? What did he say?"

Gwen's rapid questions, her constable mind in overdrive it seemed given the frantic escalation in tone, tweaked his headache again, and Ianto rubbed his temples, ignoring the flashes of slim prongs touching Jack's in perfect symmetry, ravaging his mind to steal the memories of the past two years. "He didn't say. He said he was sorry, but he had to leave," Ianto lied, the words sounding false even to him.

There was a time when such a lie would have come easy. Now, it all sounded so wrong.

He had no time to second guess the lies as two hands tore him away from the chair, spinning him until his back hit the wall (luckily missing the row of shelves, that would have been dreadfully painful), an action Stephen would have chided him for failing to deflect but he had been admittedly distracted at the time.

And Gwen was admittedly pissed.

"Don't lie to me, Ianto. Where is he?" Gwen's hands pushed his crumpled tee up and against his throat; revealing what had to be an inordinate amount of pale skin for the others to see but they were either too stunned by Gwen or they agreed too much with her questions to make any effort to assist him. "He wouldn't have left us again, not when we need him. Tell me, where is he?"

Her hands shook with the effort it took to keep him restrained against the wall, not that Ianto didn't believe he couldn't have broken her hold with minimal effort. But he rather feared his actions would be stronger, driven far more by jealousy -- jealous of her anger, jealous of her loss of control, jealous of her apparent fixation on Jack that had never really left him since Gwen had arrived that first day -- than naught and she didn't deserve that sort of petty revenge. She was frantic, he understood that. Hell, they probably all were a little stressed-to-breaking at this point in time. They had more time to think, more experience to fear and far less certainty than their previous battle against the dragons. Small wonder she had reacted so fiercely.

Small wonder he couldn't help but be more than a little jealous of her freedom to react.

"He's safe." Ianto's voice cracked, but he had nothing more he could say. The others weren't safe; he knew that. None of them were. And hearing himself admit his concern for Jack's safety, well, it felt so shallow and unimportant to the concerns Gwen had for herself, Rhys, and her team. But, he reminded himself, he was protecting the team as well, protecting their past by saving Jack now. That had to mean something.

The click of a gun distracted him from Gwen's stare; Ianto didn't bother hiding his surprise at Owen. Not that he should have expected anything less, he'd actually shot Owen. A little threatening in return wouldn't be so amiss.

"Gwen, put Mr. Black down."

Course, Owen always managed to do precisely the opposite of what Ianto believed he would do.

"Can't you see, Owen? Jack's gone. Torchwood needs Jack. There's a bloody ship the size of a moon coming and there's nothing stopping an all out attack. We need every man here and Ianto's more concerned about his boyfriend's safety than Cardiff's."

"All right, that's about enough threatening, luv." Rhys stepped with surprising casualness in front of Owen's gun, prying Gwen's hands from Ianto's throat. Gwen protested, of course, complete with the requisite angry tears  but Ianto was more concerned with straightening his shirt and breathing than comfort at the moment. "She just needs a moment and we'll be back."

"Take as much time as you need." Ianto nodded his thanks to Rhys before he left with the struggling Gwen, still determined to get answers from Ianto. He wondered if a sedative wouldn't be necessary, perhaps he should have Owen leave with them.

Which reminded him of the two watching the whole ordeal with what amassed to contemplative quiet; Ianto could almost see the gears cranking in their minds.

He needed a plan, not accusations.

"You sent him away, didn't you?" Tosh spoke softly, but her voice seemed to echo about the office in the silence that had followed Gwen and Rhys' departure. Owen was still silent, hand on his chin, staring at the abandoned glasses. She wasn't accusing, just commenting, her tone gentle like she was scared she'd startle a deer into bolting.

Maybe she was right.

Ianto thought about lying and knew that'd be a hopeless gesture at this point in time. "Yes," he said quickly, moving back behind the desk to add a barrier between him and the other two. Not that he feared for himself, but the truth just felt better coming with a shield in place.

"That wasn't our Jack you saved at Torchwood Four." Again, another statement, not a question. Tosh had apparently put together a lot more than Ianto had given her credit for.

"That's why all his labs were off!" Owen shouted, causing Ianto to flinch at the sound. He'd have said something, but Owen continued, the proverbial light bulb on and fueling the theory. "Couldn't make sense of it, especially with you going all sacrificing in order to save his bloody immortal life. But if he wasn't able to come back all smiles from death's door, and you knew ... fuck, Ianto. What other bloody secrets are you keeping?"

"You sent him away because he hadn't yet lived our past," Tosh continued before Ianto could say anything about secrets and aliens and well, anything, her voice rising in excitement as her theory gained ground in her head. "He was unsurprised with time travel, when we went back to 1941. He was younger, wasn't he?"

"And he'd've acted like a bloody fool and gotten himself killed tomorrow," Owen concluded with a smirk.

Ianto had nothing to say, just stood there, staring at his team in stunned silence. He hadn't assumed they'd figured it out, not that they weren't observant, well, Tosh was, Owen was questionable at times. But he hadn't considered a time when they might know. Maybe he should have said something upfront; though it had seemed such a good idea at the time to keep it from the others. He was underestimating people again, misjudging.

He was definitely not cut out for this job.

Quietly, a small voice inside him hoped they never asked how he'd sent Jack off. They might forgive him for lying to them about Jack, but they'd never forgive what he'd done. He had a hard enough time forgiving himself.

His arms were suddenly filled with a slight, female figure, wrapping him in a hug so tight he could hardly breathe. Ianto was fairly certain Tosh was crying, but after recent events he could not fathom how to comfort what he had no idea was causing the emotion He supposed it was losing Jack. Losing him twice, actually. He held her, rubbing soothing circles as he did so often with Elaine. While she clung, Ianto took a brief glance at Owen (not desperate, though it might have appeared as such) who just shrugged and smirked at Ianto's situation.

Ianto wasn't amused.

She pulled away just as quickly as she'd arrived, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek as she'd done times before. It wasn't so much the action that surprised him, but her words, spoken in a whisper, "Your team loves you as well, Ianto."

Tosh smiled as she pulled away, leaving Ianto flushed red as he tried to figure out what the hell she meant by that and how much she'd understood about his concern for the team. As her earlier confidence dissolved into the Tosh that Ianto understood much better, Tosh's eyes darted to every surface but Ianto or Owen as she wiped her cheeks dry. "I'll just ... I've some reports to run." And with that, she dashed out of the office, leaving Ianto and Owen staring at each other.

"Don't ask me, I'm shite with women." Owen threw his hands up then flopped with typical Owen-flair into the chair Jack had once sat, the half-full glass still on the arm. Ianto sat as well, watching as Owen sniffed the glass curiously (Ianto placed quick two-to-one odds that Owen would actually drink the contents), then set it down. "Give me credit, Ianto. Jack wouldn't have willingly left. Which brings me to my next question."

Ianto blinked as Owen's sidearm again made an appearance, this time most certainly aimed at him.

"What other secrets, tea-boy? Cause I'll be arsed if you put the rest of the team in danger. Are you even human?"

Resting his elbows on the chair, fingers steepled at his lips, Ianto stared down the barrel of the gun, growing rather tired of the sight. "You're the doctor, you'd know better than me if I weren't human."

He had to give Owen credit. The statement didn't seem to faze him, nor did the gun ever waiver. "I'd believe that if the wool weren't pulled over my eyes about Jack; I should've been told. And you still haven't answered my question."

"What, secrets?" Ianto felt on far more familiar ground with this line of questions. Jack was his downfall, he knew, but lies about family, his past, those came much more easy. "Or human? If I'm not, what would you do then? Kill me?" He quirked his eyebrow with a small nod at the gun. "Or maybe I am perfectly human, but you believe I'm lying and kill me anyway. Either case, you're left with an appointment with the dragons tomorrow and no Mr. Black."

With a curse, Owen lowered the gun, checking the safety before setting it in his lap. "Fine. Who the bloody hell are you? That mess in the kitchenette, should we expect faeries to be poppin' out the woodwork?"

"I'm Ianto Jones, same as I ever was." Faeries popping out of the woodwork did raise another question, and Ianto quickly considered (and equally dismissed) seeking help from the faeries for their plan. Working with the faery was like herding cats and Ianto would never attempt to herd old Banshee at his father's, much less attempt to work with the faery. Like Gwen said, they didn't play fair. "My mother was the former Ms. White, my father lives in a small home in Wales with my sister and her two sons."

"That tells me absolutely nothing, you know that, right?" Owen rather peevishly pointed out.

"Of course," Ianto smirked, then licked his lips, craving a cup of coffee to melt the tensions of the day knowing full well the time to process all the events would have to wait until after his meeting with the dragons. He'd take a few weeks off, have a breakdown in a secluded cottage somewhere on the coast and return to work the calm and collected Ianto Jones, a.k.a. Mr. Black to the rest of the world. But until then, the comforting dark-roasted coffee. "Owen," Ianto leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. "I understand you want to protect the team. But I am no more a threat to them than you. Perhaps less, since I'm a better driver."

"Oh, hah hah," Owen grumbled, standing with a stretch before grabbing the glass, prepared to drink after what for him must have been an exhausting conversation; Ianto couldn't remember any time when they'd actually spoken civilly (if one considered a gun aimed at the other civil) for any length of time, although Avalon might have ranked a close second.

"You might not want to drink that," Ianto warned before the glass touched Owen's lips. As much as he didn't want to admit anything which had happened with Jack, he needed Owen conscious and remembering the events of the day.

Owen smirked. "Figured. I won't hesitate to shoot you, you know. If you threaten the girls I will not stop."

Ianto stood, hefting the cross-shaped weapon to his shoulder, grinning as Owen's eyes widened a fraction. He must have remembered the damage the last time it was fired. After checking his pockets for the pebble and turning on his mobile, Ianto gestured towards the door. "If I threaten the team, I would expect nothing less."

He honestly laughed as Owen turned away and cursed all the way to Tosh's desk about overcompensation.

***

The conversations with various world leaders had gone precisely as Ianto had assumed (and feared) -- on the one hand, outrage over the dragons' audacity following the invasion of Earth, on the other, a significant curiosity and interest in their technology. Some had outright refused a dragon stepping foot on Earth's soil, much less a restricted portion of their land, others had appeared willing to compromise.

If the dragons' intent was honest, Ianto might be willing to negotiate.

However, odds were not exactly in their favor and he no longer had Jack to give him a blow job for being right.

But he wasn't going to think about Jack. He couldn't.

So they all stood around Tosh's computers, Owen throwing paper balls into a bin (missing seventy-three percent of the time), a very quiet Gwen and Rhys reading through file upon file for an answer, Tosh hadn't moved from her chair except to visit the loo, and Ianto had finally made his last call. It was approaching seven in the morning; they had been up all night (the team outright ignoring Ianto's request that they get some sleep) and were no closer to an answer or even a theory than before.

They had roughly eight hours.

Desperation had found its home.

"What if we capture the alien, take it hostage and demand they leave."

Everyone turned to Owen and stared. Ianto wondered if it was time to put on another pot of coffee, the earlier whips of heads as the ideas had grown more and more ridiculous had grown to slow stares as time had crept forward.

They were saved from responding in any fashion (acknowledging the craziness of the idea and giving it credence) when Ianto's phone rang. A quick glance at the name and number left Ianto closing his eyes in protest of what he saw and an overwhelming sadness for the conversation that was to follow. It rang again, drawing questions from the team, before he answered. "Elaine."

"Ianto."

He should move, he couldn't have this conversation in front of everyone. But at the same time, all of his coffee-fueled energy had drained from his body leaving him rooted in place, clutching his mobile like a security blanket while the others looked at each other trying to figure out the relationship of the mystery caller.

There was silence on both ends of the line. Ianto knew his responsibilities, as did Elaine. Hell, they'd lost their mother to these things and now they had a new target. What was there to say? It was so easy to pretend with the others, to put on a front (sorely being disintegrated at the moment given the call) of belief in success. That they'd find a plan. That somehow, Ianto would get out of this mess and return to the Hub to deal with the paperwork. That's how it should be. That's how Torchwood Three acted. They'd faced a similar situation before, but Jack couldn't be killed and rose days later, a veritable modern-day Lazarus.

Expect the impossible.

Rely on the unexpected and blind luck.

That was the Torchwood way.

He couldn't lie and pretend like that to his sister. She knew him better than that and not even coffee and the smell of pipe smoke could make the situation any better. She'd lost a husband and a mother to Torchwood. And now, her brother was threatened. What was he supposed to say? They had no bloody plan, he couldn't even pretend they did. He'd have to go with the dragon to a ship in orbit just this side of Jupiter and he had no fucking idea how he'd ever get back home.

What could he say?

Ianto stared up at the high ceiling of the Hub, the mobile dangling in his fingertips as the stone appeared to swim, fighting against the grief of the past twenty-four hours so ruthlessly shoved aside in search for an answer to his small problem, fighting against losing the ones he loved and fighting equally as hard the need to protect the same.

Fighting. God, he was always fighting something.

Maybe the aliens truly wanted to negotiate. At which time Ianto might agree to supplying a few resources if only to get the dragons on their way. This stress and worry proving as unnecessary as sending Jack back to ... whenever he was taken. Maybe this preparation had all been for naught.

Much like the faeries, life didn't play fair. Torchwood didn't play fair.

And Ianto knew that, as did his sister.

"Give Bryce and Gareth a kiss for me," Ianto finally said once he was certain his voice would hold steady. "Make sure ..." He cut himself off, not wanting to voice anything like he was giving up. He wasn't. Torchwood had an amazing track record for success in the face of improbable situations. Ianto could hear his sister's sniffles on the other line and bit back an admonishment. Bravery for Bryce and Gareth's sakes, that was just ridiculous. They understood far more than most kids their age and maybe, just maybe they'd think their uncle might be with their father. "Da' too. You know how he hates that."

Elaine's choked laughter spread warmth through his limbs, his own smile less artificial, more real in response. He could picture Elaine at this moment, standing in the kitchen with the boys outside, his father at the store, staring out the back window to his old haunts, the trees and his stone, standing so proud and solitary on the hillside. He knew because he'd seen her before, watching through the glass, towel wrung thin in her hands. She worried, he knew that, hated his career, hated his path in life and following in their mother's steps. She hated Torchwood and Avalon, she hated the alien forces.

But she loved her brother. Ianto knew that, had caught her staring at the stone so often he'd at first believed her obsessed until he realized it represented him when she could not see him, she could watch the stone and protect the memory, even if she couldn't protect her brother.

He knew she stood there now, staring out that kitchen window, watching the stone he always retreated to as a kid, watching her brother as she remembered.

"Fluffy kitties on my next birthday cake, Elle," Ianto all but whispered, his voice breaking on the reminder as it hadn't before, not in front of the team and never in front of Elaine. He was the strong one, standing tall and steady in the face of Gavin's death, not speechless and cracking as now. He was Elaine's support, not this mess he'd become. He shouldn't even be looking to her for anything, for any hint of reassurance or comfort.

But fuck if he wasn't, clutching the mobile like a lifeline, seeing her standing there at the window, towel twisted within her hands, watching out the window when he'd promised, even as a kid, standing on top of that stone that he'd protect her like a big brother ought, repeating it again after Gavin died and he'd felt the weight of guilt upon his shoulders.

Fuck if he didn't need her reassurance. That he was doing the right thing. That Stephen's death meant something and betraying Jack was worth it. Tell him that going to that ship was the right thing to do. Tell him he wasn't making a mistake.

She couldn't; he knew that. But that didn't mean he didn't want it.

"I love you so much, Ianto."

Elaine's voice sounded so close, so close he could almost smell her perfume. But Ianto knew she was at their father's, watching over the boys, far, far away from this disaster brewing in Cardiff. She'd take care of them, the boys and her father, he knew she would. If this mission were to fail, she was strong. Hell, she might even take over for him, and wouldn't that be something. She'd survive, because that was the woman she was. Strength and beauty. Grace and intelligence, a mother and a fighter. She understood and wasn't telling him not to; she understood and had called to say she loved him.

She was his sister.

"Love you too, Elle." Ianto closed his mobile before he said anything more or before Elaine could actually voice her doubts or fears. He swallowed, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth as he stared at the communications device in his hand, stating the end of the conversation and the time it took to fully speak silence.

His family was safe.

He knew they were safe.

Ianto didn't look at the others, had relatively brushed them from thought as he pushed past to walk aimlessly around the Hub, staring at the blinking numbers indicating how long it had taken to speak volumes of a lifetime spent together.

A lifetime of family in four minutes, twenty-eight seconds.

End conversation. Blinking over and over before the light finally extinguished and the reminder stopped.

Four minutes, twenty-eight seconds to quantify his love for his family.

End conversation.

End conversation.

With a curse, Ianto threw his mobile at the water tower, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as it splashed through the water and split into pieces against the metal only to drown a miserable death in the shallow pool surrounding the tower.

Shite, that might have been the last time he spoke with his sister. Had he said everything he meant? Did she know? Had he been the brother she'd wanted and needed?

He ran his hands through his hair, pacing to and fro in front of the tower, torn between confidence and doubt, a study of certain melt down if any were to be painted. Ianto knew he wasn't acting a leader; he should be rallying the team, stimulating new thoughts, new ideas, encouraging and building confidence.

Or at least acting like he wasn't going to die. That they'd have a plan.

Instead, Ianto's front had been shattered by the call he knew was coming and had been avoiding, broken and mangled the calm Torchwood One exterior that was second skin to wear. He was not cut out to do this job, he wasn't cut out to lead anyone, not if tantrums were his response to stress. He shouldn't have sent Jack away, hell, he shouldn't have allowed Stephen to continue posing as Mr. Black. And now, now he was afraid that-

That was it. Fuck, he was scared. Afraid of death, of meeting those dragons and what they had planned, afraid of responsibility, afraid of inaction but afraid of his actions, afraid of what could be and what had been and what was.

But most of all, afraid that he would fail everyone -- his sister, his family, his friends and team, his associates and the world at large.

"Ianto? Are you okay?"

Ianto spun at the feather-light touch on his elbow, Gwen's voice startling him from his self-recrimination. He smiled, mostly at her wary approach; she must have drawn the short straw and given their earlier encounter, he didn't imagine he was at the top of her list for small talk and platitudes. "I'm fine. I was about to put another pot on, which blend would you prefer?"

He easily read Gwen's disbelief, following her eyes to the water tower before they returned to him. Definitely the short straw.

"That was your sister, yeah?"

She could have answered the question about the coffee, that would have been the preferred line of conversation. Coffee was safe, was comforting. Was habit. "Yes, it was," Ianto finally acceded, hands braced on his hips to staunch any hints of being less than fine. He could feel the weight of the CCTV eyes on him, he knew the conversation was being watched from Tosh's desk, Owen probably watching over her shoulder with Rhys who would be ready to jump into action should his partner attempt to throttle the boss again.

He didn't need to turn and look, he knew his team.

And they apparently knew him better than he had given them credit for.

"About earlier," Gwen began, looking terribly unsure of herself but Ianto wasn't going to give her any assistance. She got to panic, she got to curse and be angry over Jack's absence, like a lover ought but he never had the opportunity to take. He was feeling rather unsympathetic at the moment. "I'm sorry. I was just ... scared, you know?"

Ianto did know the feeling. He'd felt scared shitless since they'd first seen the ship.

"And you agreed to go with those aliens," Gwen continued, reaching out to touch him again but thinking better of it, withdrawing it to cross beneath her breasts in a way Ianto supposed others might find attractive but he just saw it as petulant. "And Jack ... Jack's the only one who could have stopped you from going."

Well, that was different.

Ianto stared at Gwen, her hair slowly regaining length over the weeks so she looked less different and more the Gwen of old. She did make some sense, in a rather narrow view of things. Jack was the only one with power over him to stop him from going; his family would never ask that of him and the rest of the team Ianto believed might try, but would ultimately fail. Jack, however ... Jack would not stand aside and watch him die. He knew she meant well, as she had with Jasmine, but sometimes things surpassed individual needs. Sometimes more was at stake.

This was definitely one of those times, no matter how much Ianto wished it wasn't. "I couldn't allow that to happen, you understand," Ianto soothed, glad for the sound of falling water to mask any awkward silence between them.

"But I don't, Ianto. They killed your mother and they killed Stephen. And you'll just willingly go with them?" Gwen stamped her foot in frustration; Ianto would have smiled if not for the severity of the conversation. "Do you want to die? Is that your plan? Tell me, Ianto, because we can arrange that here loads easier than making us watch you go off with these dragons to be killed where we can't help you."

Ianto rather assumed they intended more than just killing him, as that could have been easily accomplished on Earth, in front of everyone. But he wouldn't tell Gwen that, simply because she might actually dose his coffee with Retcon just to keep him on Earth. "I go willingly, by my choice, because it is my duty and responsibility. This is Torchwood, not games and fast chases, followed up by a trip to the pub for chips and a pint. We are the line of defense for Britain, against all the threats space and time can throw at us. Torchwood One failed because we forgot we were simply tiny little humans playing with a universe we didn't understand. If this is too big, go back to the police, Gwen, where humans get in drunken brawls over money and their wives. But don't dare question my duty, not to Torchwood, and not to Britain."

Gwen looked abashed, but resolute, raising her chin in defiance. "We just need to come up with a way to get you off that ship, then, if you're so determined to go. Steal that disc thing they brought the dragon in with and get you back."

Bloody hell, they'd been so stupid.

Ianto grinned broadly, heart thumping so fast he felt light-headed and weightless. "Gwen, you're a genius." He grabbed her shoulders on impulse and kissed her soundly, realizing after the fact that might have been improper conduct (and far more Jack than he'd like to admit) but not giving a care.

Shite, they should have thought of this long ago.

"Tosh," Ianto ordered, smiling at the dazed Gwen before running up to the desks where the others all stood in various forms of speechlessness, "bring up the reports from yesterday at the Plas. See if you can't separate the noise from the alien signal and extract whatever information you can."

"I suppose I should be angry cause that's my wife you just snogged." Rhys seemed all but angry, in fact, everyone at the work stations seemed to be having problems maintaining a straight face.

Ianto snapped his fingers at Owen, speaking over his shoulder to Rhys. "And a beautifully smart wife she is, too. Owen? Your mobile."

"You're worse than Harkness," Owen grumbled, handing Ianto the mobile. He immediately started punching in the number, Owen's eyes widening as he counted. "Oi, this conversation is being charged to Torchwood."

"All your calls are paid for by Torchwood, even those to Ginger at Fantasy Palace." Ianto smirked as Owen stammered and blushed, though denials about the phone sex line never did surface. A wary 'hello' echoed in his ear reminding Ianto of the purpose of needing the mobile, of course the number wouldn't be recognized. "Sheppard. We have a plan. How soon can you get the Spes Nostra in the air?"

"Depends on what you need her for. Planning on making a run for it across the galaxy?"

Ianto snorted, skimming readouts over Tosh's shoulder. "No, we've been going about this backwards. Tosh will be sending you energy readings and signal mapping for the time we were at the Plas. They transported in. Forget about bringing down the shields, if we can mimic their device, you can get me out and drop off a bomb if negotiations fail."

Sheppard's voice grew muffled, though Ianto could distinctly hear conversation in the background. "McKay says it's an idiot plan that won't work because we're talking a completely alien system."

"You've already got similar tech on board your ship so you won't be reinventing the wheel." Ianto grabbed a set of initial numbers from the printer, he could hear Tosh talking ecstatically in the background; he assumed she had found something. "Besides, I thought you said your McKay was some kind of genius. Between him and my Tosh, I'd say we'll figure it out in the next seven hours."

Barking laughter rang in Ianto's ear, mixing with a muffled rant that Ianto couldn't quite make out, but knew it had something to do with Sheppard relaying Ianto's doubts of McKay's genius. "Send the data. We'll work out a way to pull your skinny ass out of the fire once again. And Ianto," Sheppard's voice lost all the humor from the taunts, "I'm sorry about Stephen."

Ianto clutched the phone a little tighter, smile turning brittle as he could do nothing but agree. "He was a good man. Good friend. I'll have Tosh send you the information." Ianto hung up quickly before Sheppard could say anything else and handed the mobile back to Owen who took it without a word.

There was nothing more to say.

They had seven hours, and for Ianto's sake, they had to be ready.

***

Six hours, fifty-eight minutes later, Torchwood Three strode across the Plas in a strut Ianto believed would have made Jack proud. Ianto led dressed in black, refusing to part with the small confidence wearing Stephen's clothes gave him (though he did snitch a fresh t-shirt from Jack's wardrobe). He'd showered, carefully shaved with Jack's straight-blade, dashes of memory surfacing as he remembered the one time Jack had so carefully shaved him, insisting that he could do a better job with that blade than any electric razor. Ianto wasn't so certain about the truth of that, but it had definitely been far more erotic.

Ianto's hand shook as he wanked, almost violent but definitely desperate, one hand braced on the sink, hating himself for the action as much as he couldn't shake the images and the laughter.

That had been a good night.

Slung over Ianto's shoulder was the cross-shaped weapon, such a heavy device but a comforting weight as it pressed a curve into the fine leather of the jacket. He really preferred this to the handguns strapped at his hips; made a bigger boom, a bigger dent in the sides of things that threatened him or his own.

It'd definitely make a good-sized hole in a dragon.

Or a ship.

Owen and Tosh walked a pace behind him, looking remarkably fierce, Ianto thought. It had been Tosh's idea first, racing home to change before their deadline, returning in the same gear she'd worn the night of Avalon's rescue. She'd returned and Ianto was fairly certain he'd seen Owen's jaw drop; then he collected himself, returning dressed in serious black as well, denims gone, ratty t-shirts nowhere to be seen. It'd amused Ianto, in that lull leading up to three o'clock, when the solution had been found and the tension was building. Everyone had left and returned fresh-looking and showered for the media, a fierce-look donned purely for intimidation.

Intimidation by fashion, the enemy an alien dragon. Life didn't get more ridiculous.

Rhys and Gwen brought up the rear; they'd left as well, spent a bit more time away which led Ianto to think things that he shouldn't be considering about employees. Jack had been a damned bad influence, everything was sex and passion. Though, with those two Ianto supposed it might not be far off the mark.

Ianto fought down that stubborn jealousy a little bit more.

The dragon stood at the far end of the Plas, pretty much where they'd left it nearly twenty-four hours earlier. A smaller figure stood near the dragon; Ianto assumed it was Tiffany. The voice of the alien. God, it made him sick. But a small part of him breathed a guilty sigh of relief; the dragon's presence within his mind had been horrible, if it chose to communicate through another, well, he wasn't one to argue.

He preferred his sanity and his looks in one piece, no matter the understanding shared with the Weevils.

The flashbulbs were blinding, every fraction of a step captured forever in still-frame and motion picture to be shared round the world. Ianto couldn't believe they were still there, despite the carnage of the day before, eagerly awaiting the next sound bite, the next horrifying image, the next gripping story glorifying their lives and punishing their weaknesses.

He enjoyed it better when they were the not-so-secret secret agency and could meet with aliens without requiring a press pass.

Ianto stopped a hundred yards from the dragon, turning to address something he'd forgotten to say at the Hub. Not forgotten so much as neglected, opting for a time when debate was not an option and he could say his peace without disagreement. "Owen? You're in charge while I'm gone. Take care of the team."

The surprise on Owen's face quickly shifted to resolve, a serious nod answering Ianto's request. Gwen protested that it was unnecessary, that Ianto would only be gone a short time, but as Ianto studied Owen's face, he read understanding and a visible shift. Owen had refused when Jack had left the first time, but he was ready. Ianto knew he was. More importantly, Ianto trusted him not to completely fuck up without a guiding hand.

He might fuck up a little, it was Owen Ianto was referring to after all, but not completely.

Saving himself from drawn-out goodbyes and/or speeches which would give credence to his shot nerves and rolling stomach (not to mention the response it might earn from the team. He had been concerned most about a dramatic scene with Owen, but the other man appeared relatively collected. Rather disappointing; a sniping Owen was much easier to deal with than a quiet Owen), Ianto smiled and half-bowed to the team. "Torchwood," Ianto said, more praise than acknowledgment, everything that couldn't be said spoken in the single word. They had a plan, they all knew of the plan. The plan should work. But given he was traveling this side of Jupiter to chat with a bunch of aliens who most likely were engaging in some form of trap for Mr. Black, Ianto believed it wiser to say what he meant before it was possible he might never speak it.

And from the looks on their faces, Torchwood knew it too.

Displaying confidence he certainly did not feel, Ianto straightened with all the pride and arrogance Torchwood One and his mother had taught him. The cross-weapon at the ready, he adopted the Captain Jack Harkness casual-yet-dangerous stride and quickly closed the distance between Torchwood Three and the dragon.

Up close, the beast positively stank of sulfur and wet leather and looked no better in mottled puce than it had at a much safer distance. The dark espresso-roast brown of its underbelly, upon closer inspection, appeared cracked and worn with age, the scales more jagged like teeth, not because they were grown that way, Ianto surmised, but more because they'd simply broken off, like chipped, ridged fingernails left unattended and in sore need of a manicure. The warriors they had fought either must have been younger in age or kept in better care, Ianto was willing to place a wager on the former. This dragon was old, even the scaled hide near its mouth looked dull, its mottling almost like age spots on human skin; it had been perhaps beautiful in its younger years, however far back that may have been.

As Stephen used to say, the older, the wiser. Ianto consciously began reinforcing his mental shields.

"You have kept our appointment, Mr. Black," Tiffany's multi-toned voice rang out in the silence of the Plas, only the occasional cough disrupting the still. Even the birds had found better places to be at this moment than standing with a dragon. "Though typically our negotiations are performed unarmed."

Ianto looked up, the head of the dragon towering at least two stories above his own. The beast had him not only in size, but he'd seen the fire-breathers in action, and while his breath in the morning may be questionable, Ianto knew he lacked any natural defense against a creature such as this. Hence, the weapon on his shoulder, his hand strangling the device in tension and reassurance; ready to move to action should any threat be perceived. It balanced the game, the weapon did, a fire-breathing dragon versus a man with a fire-blasting gun. "You're taller," Ianto drawled as the dragon's head tilted down so the alien could look him in the eye, "I'm compensating."

He swore the rumble he heard roll down the throat of the alien to spread across its belly might have been laughter, another one of those cross-species languages which needed no translation. Ianto had no time to think otherwise as he stepped right next to the beast, hopefully within range of the device which would transport them to the dragon's ship. He turned to look at team Torchwood, standing with weapons drawn and guarding Ianto for what it was worth, before the world around him fractured and dissolved into nothing.

***

The trip was not unlike transportation with Sheppard's device; leaving Ianto slightly disorientated before the floor solidified and felt real beneath his feet. He cautiously sniffed the air, belatedly realizing he should have questioned whether the atmospheric conditions on board the ship would adequately meet a human's needs, but as this was his first venture off Earth, he supposed he was allowed a few mistakes.

He just hoped they were all as minor as this.

The air was stale, tasting slightly metallic but overall seemed breathable as he wasn't growing light-headed or experiencing symptoms of hypoxia. There was a pervasive odor of sulfur, one which tickled the edges of a headache, encouraging its development. Ianto shoved the notion aside, he had no time for headaches. No patience, either.

After reassuring himself that he wouldn't suffocate on-board the dragons' ship, Ianto truly looked around him for the first time. His first impression was 'Fuck. Me.' followed immediately by 'Tosh would be so jealous.' The ship was massive, even from just the single room Ianto saw. Cavernous, might be a better description, Ianto noted as he catalogued the details. The floor and walls were stone-like in appearance, all jagged and chipped edges, shining like polished obsidian. All the doorways were curved, stretching at least thirty feet above his head and appeared to be doorless, though Ianto couldn't be certain if that was merely by design for the room or if the entire ship lacked doors. He calculated the size and shape of the room, estimating it to be similar in size as the main room of the Hub, only this was certainly just one of many rooms given the size of the ship generated by Torchwood's computers.

He was impressed, until he remembered the ship housed dragons, which would explain the overall generous size of the ship.

There were odd indentations in the walls at patterned intervals. The reason why escaped Ianto, knowing nothing about the culture, or even if this was their ship and not one they'd commandeered from another alien species. He even questioned whether he could call it a ship or not, as for all appearances it looked like a hollowed-out asteroid. Maybe the properties of the stone assisted flight of this massive vessel, an explanation how the dragons could move a mass that far and fast despite limits of known physics. Foreign elements, different math and science, a universe of unexplored possibilities Earth had never before seen to even begin considering.

Scattered about, however, was tech, the panels and displays so far above his head he would need rock climbing gear to reach, limiting his options for any sort of escape via hijacking of the ship, one of Tosh's solutions. Overall he felt ... small ... Alice through the looking glass and trapped in a giant world in which he had no place. The tech, though some at towering heights, appeared relatively human-sized, though some of it was really a mash of appearances. He'd only suggested the idea that they could be scavengers to send the team on a goose-chase, however, he may not have been far off the mark. None of the technology he could see fit the design or class of the disk which had transported the three of them to the ship. Some of the panels in the wall looked antiquated compared to the shiny new-ness of other tech, some appeared almost familiar, and others looked completely and literally alien.

Aesthetically, the decor clashed and was definitely not feng-shui. There wasn't even a plant to be seen.

"I trust my ship meets your standards, Mr. Black."

"It is impressive," Ianto agreed, uncertain if the killing was to begin now or maybe they'd invite him to tea before making threats to his person. He continued looking about, assuming he was in an interior room as there were no windows. Whether there would be windows he wasn't sure; the technology needed for either atmospheric shields or clear paneling that could withstand space travel was complex in the least, although any ship with force shields of the strength of this ship's more than likely possessed the science to create viewing surfaces of the outside.

Unnerving as it was, Ianto wanted to see where he was, the space he was in.

He was currently closer to Jupiter than any human from Earth his century had ever been. He wanted to remember the moment with more than just the visuals of a puce-colored dragon.

"Come, this way."

Tiffany and the dragon turned and exited out one of the doors to his left, leaving Ianto at a slight disadvantage. He hated following like a lost puppy to a kind stranger, but his only other options were to remain in the room or exit out another door, becoming lost or encountering dragons more inclined to eat him upon first sight.

He followed, for lack of a more successful alternate plan.

The floor out of the room was a broad stretch of stone, more than the width of two dragons with sides dropping off to a vast open shaft. Ianto stopped a moment to get his bearings, not trusting himself to maintain balance looking up while walking along what appeared to be an arched causeway. Because up ... up was incredible. 'Up' appeared to stretch for miles, an enormous lit hollow criss-crossed with occasional walkways. Dark doorways speckled the shaft, entrances into deeper recesses of the ship, he assumed, he lost count of the doorways after his estimates entered the thousands. And as he watched, some of the entrances seemed to expand like growing shadows, until the black separated off to become its own entity.

Its own dragon.

Ianto's eyes strained to distinguish them, but eventually his mind caught up with what he was viewing. Dragons. Thousands of dragons, flying from rooms in dizzying formation, diving down through the tunnel past the walkway he was currently on, swooping up in a rush of air as others scaled the heights. Like a shopping mall viewed from a height, people milling about in all directions, rushing about up and down escalators, racing from store to store, a chaotic mass of bodies shifting from place to place.

It didn't take long for Ianto to become extremely off-balanced. The idea that artificial gravity could be accomplishing this while the ship was technically upside-down did not help Ianto's sense of location.

"It helps if you don't look down. Or up for that matter." Tiffany's voice at his side surprised him, partially due to the fact that it was actually Tiffany's voice, not the dragon's, speaking to him. With a quick nod as he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her but the advice was relatively sound, Ianto focused on the path in front of him, quickly catching up to the dragon which had brought him to the ship.

It didn't escape his notice that other dragons arrived as well, trailing behind the trio but breathing so loud Ianto felt like they were just over his shoulder.

Tiffany struggled with the walk, her hand going to the bandage at her side as her breathing grew more labored with the fast pace the humans walked in comparison to the casual stroll the dragon seemed to be enjoying. Ianto ignored it for as long as he could, his anger still bubbling beneath the surface in regards to her responsibility for the death of his mother and others at Avalon, but eventually, when they did not appear to be nearing their destination, he cursed everything from the dragons to idiot children of mad men.

"Some courtesy, please," Ianto bellowed at the dragon in front of him, stopping to assist Tiffany. His skin crawled despite the layers of leather and cotton as he braced her against his side, supporting part of her weight as they continued walking. The dragon in front of them turned to watch their progress, slowing its pace to better accommodate theirs.

That didn't slow the dragons behind them, Ianto noted, their clawed feet clicking their progress on the stone causeway.

Ianto wondered why the aliens walked at all, but then took into account their giant wingspans. While flying might carry them faster from one place to the next, depending on the number of dragons living in this rock, air collisions were a threat.

Or, again, maybe they didn't build this ship and had stolen it from another race who did need to walk.

They arrived at a large room after what felt like hours, but could only have been minutes. Almost immediately, Ianto released Tiffany, refusing to touch her any longer than necessary. Unless it involved throttling and then he might be willing to make an exception, no matter how cruel a person it made him.

The room was huge, eclipsing the one they had transported into by at least a magnitude of three, with an array of levels scattered like a layered waterfall of stone with platforms and cascades of well-worn steps etched into the gleaming stone. At the different levels were dragons of all shapes and colors, though a vast majority were relatively small and in varying degrees of blue shades, some teal, some royal blue, others almost violet but all blue. Crewmen, Ianto surmised, raising new questions about the culture of the creatures and how they were bred if scale-color determined position and authority.

He was momentarily distracted by the sheer number of panels and instruments on each level, what appeared to be massive keyboard and input systems as well as maybe diagnostics and control displays? Ianto assumed they were on the bridge, if there was one on this ship. He couldn't help himself from turning about, taking in the sights and sounds, freezing in place as his carefully controlled exterior finally melted into one of what he assumed must be awe.

It was absolutely beautiful.

An entire side of the bridge was just ... gone. No glass or clear paneling that he could see, just an open hole in the side of the ship, floor to ceiling, like one of those eerily real street chalk drawings where it looks like one would fall into a hole but in reality was just a picture. But this wasn't a painted mural, it wasn't a picture or a snapshot.

It was space.

Lots and lots of space.

Ianto had never seen anything quite like this before, not even the momentary view of Earth he had seen from Sheppard's ship. At the time, he hadn't had the conscious thought to really absorb what he saw, too concerned with the safety of his team and Cardiff to spend wasted on gazing out the window.

This view, however, Ianto felt like he could just ... fall out of if he stepped too close to the edge. Thousands of stars dotted the vast black of space, appearing to twinkle in the vacuum as cosmic mirages fooled his eyes. The brilliant curve of Jupiter graced the far left side, swirling orange and reds looking more vivid and angry than any photograph captured by satellite or telescope. It appeared small, taking up no more than a fourth of the height of the open area, but Ianto felt like he could all but reach out and touch the planet.

But small was nothing in comparison to the shining point in the center of the view area.

Earth.

Ianto knew it was Earth, for logical reasons as well as the blown up image he assumed was real-time, a marbled blue-green-brown-white sphere superimposed on the view area next to it. Alien symbols scrolled in what must have been data gathered by the dragons' sensors, though what it said Ianto hadn't the faintest idea.

He returned his focus to the dot, looking so small and so far away it was hard to believe that was his home. That was his planet; his family was somewhere on that dot of light, possibly watching the heavens for a dot of light signifying the ship he was on, watching down on them. His team, Torchwood, Avalon, god, six billion people were on that tiny little speck.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Tiffany purred next to him, the octaves blending together in her speech signifying that Ianto was once again speaking with the dragon, not the girl, and serving to remind him of the danger he was in. "And so helpless."

Ianto spun to face the puce-colored dragon as a deep rumble was echoed across the cavern. It was the same rumble he'd heard earlier: the dragons were ... laughing. He drew his weapon from his shoulder, aiming it at the puce-dragon who Ianto assumed was some kind of leader aboard the ship as he had yet to see any other who reflected a similar age or authority. "We are anything but helpless."

Again the dragon laughed, the amusement repeated by Tiffany who strolled into view, standing between Ianto and the dragon. "And this is how you begin negotiations on Earth? Your actions are on display for all to see. It would be horrible for the saviour of the humans to display such open hostility when invited as guest aboard a ship, is it not?"

Ianto didn't move, though the name made him flinch. He remembered the broadcast of Michael and the Weevil, breaking through all communications devices and once more cursed the dragon-kind for making this conversation known to the world. His eyes darted about, looking for any kind of recording device, locating what appeared to be a camera, though it appeared far more crystalline in appearance.

He wondered, briefly, if there was a time delay in the relay to Earth and if there wasn't, how exactly that was accomplished.

"You'll pardon me if I don't entirely trust a race which so openly attacked my planet and my people." Ianto replied with equal casualness, focusing his attention once again on the dragon, hand on the trigger of the weapon, itching to pull it and blast the dragon (and the ship) from there to kingdom come, but refraining, if only to continue the plan.

After all, the broadcast made it easier to complete.

"Then it should come at no surprise that you are not trusted as well."

Ianto had never wondered what it would feel like, never stopped to ponder what the sensation would be if one's lungs were ripped from their chest, but as he was driven to his knees he knew without doubt it was something he'd never have to imagine. Fuck, if the shock hadn't made him collapse the pain would have, clawing at his chest, shredding every breath he tried to take but he knew, he somehow knew in the haze of pain that it wasn't his chest, it wasn't even physical. He knew he could still breathe and his lungs were still functioning. He knew but his mind still deflected, protecting itself from acknowledgement of the attack. He knew it was an attack, he was aware as his ears registered a hoarse cry that did not sound as though it came from a dragon.

Him.
 
God, it was him.

The pain wasn't in his chest, though the initial impact felt like it shattered bone and separated limbs. Fuck, his mind bent and bowed at the pressuring black, the sensation of malevolence so oppressing it threatened to collapse every barrier. Which was what the dragons intended, Ianto knew. He understood that much as his hands clutched his temples as though to block the probing mind, minds.

Plural. Multiple attacks combined in effort.

Fuck it hurt, black talons tearing at his mind.

Long, in vale of fog and mist ...

The TARDIS had barely settled, the whirring sounds of activity still singing her arrival, before Jack burst out of the door, skidding to a halt to get his bearings.

Earth. Cardiff. Plas Roald Dahl. Late-afternoon and winter for all it was cold and dreary, from the clothing fashion of the masses huddled off to the side it was about the time period he left.

Fury shook his hands as stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. Seven days. It had taken seven days just for the Doctor to get up his nerve. "Doctor!" Jack yelled, turning back to the blue Police Box in the middle of the Plas.

Martha Jones exited first, Jack rather liked her for all her spirited femininity, part warrior, part innocence, definitely all beautiful woman. Reminded him of a woman he once knew back at the Agency, a woman if he didn't know was already dead he'd search for her and kill her himself for her involvement. The thought made him glare at the Doctor, hands in his pockets as he waltzed out of the TARDIS like he hadn't a care in the world.

He ought to care. Jack was half tempted to strangle him as well for the secrets he had hidden, the past he'd pretended to not know. If it weren't that the bastard could just regenerate and continue living, Jack would have acted without remorse.

Two years of his memory. The fucker had wiped two years.

Calm settled over Jack as he strode towards the first group of people he saw. Always innately curious, he wondered about the commotion, typically the Plas wasn't this popular except for nights of a good show at the Millennium Centre, but it was far from night time and in late afternoon, a crowd only meant trouble.

Lights flashed as he approached, his coat swirling about his ankles as he walked, presenting a striking picture if there ever was to be one taken of Captain Jack Harkness. He smiled, though he wasn't sure it was a kind smile.

Didn't really care.

A few of the group looked familiar, though their attire raised his eyebrows. They'd never dressed like that for him; though he now remembered seeing Tosh where the same outfit when he was rescued from that pit of torture Torchwood Four had liked to refer to as their Archives. They'd been good, but he'd doled out worse in his past, not that he'd ever admit that to Torchwood Four. Kramer did well enough on his own.

He didn't think of Ianto dying in his arms. He refused to remember ever saying "I love you" to the man, whether he meant it or not. Thinking so just brought the fury back, and he smiled a wolfish grin at the backs of his team. "Hey kids. Where's Ianto?" Jack asked in the most innocent, carefree voice he could manage.

Four figures jumped in comical surprise. Really, he'd taught the team better than that, they should have had at least one person watching their six. Gwen shrieked, the sound making him cringe but she didn't advance like she had during the time he now remembered, maintaining instead a careful distance.

"Is it really you, Jack?" Tosh asked, her voice small and scared.

Jack couldn't be bothered to find out why. "Where is Ianto?" He asked again, smiling sweetly and carefully enunciating his question so there could be no mistake, his honed American accent pristine if not slightly overdone.

Tosh looked at Owen, and something about the look on their faces drove the fury from Jack so quickly it left him breathless. They turned, pointing to the screens they had been watching, media vans, all keyed into the same signal.

Jack stared as Owen spoke. "They found out about the plan almost immediately, chased off Sheppard's ship before the crew could get a lock on his signal." Owen paused, clearing his throat while Jack just watched, Ianto's face covered in a sheen of sweat, his whole body violently shaking as a voice spoke in the background, telling of its delight, telling of the joy it would feel destroying Earth and knowing Mr. Black had witnessed the destruction as he had organized the destruction of their kind.

Telling how it found pleasure breaking him.

"We don't know if they're waiting to destroy Earth before or after they ..." Owen cut himself off, waving a hand at the screen. "He's been giving up things for a while now, his birthday and age, though how the bloody he's done what he's done at thirty ..." Owen shook his head and continued while Jack watched the blood began trickling from Ianto's nose, stress or damage, Jack wasn't certain. "Access codes to the Hub, his mum's true name-"

"What is he protecting?" Jack interrupted, uncrossing his arms to point at the screen. "He's protecting something. That information is useless. What's the other plan?"

Owen looked to Tosh and back to Jack, shrugging. "We only had the one plan. Use their transportation frequency to plant explosives on the ship and get him out. Went balls up once Sheppard's ship was discovered. He had some arms on him, but don't reckon he's capable right now of shooting that old weapon you used on the ship in the bay."

Jack felt fingers of fear crawl down his spine as Ianto suddenly focused on the camera, his eyes clearing to a startling crystal blue. If he weren't immortal, Jack knew the frantic pace of his heart would kill him. "Doctor!"

The spirit in sopor lives ...

Ianto huffed air through his mouth, trying to regain footing within his own mind without retching from the pain. Or passing out as the attacks grew, countless attacks, fuck, how many and how long could he fight them off?

Too much to protect. Too much. Fuck, too much. The plan ...

Laughter filled his ears as he felt a bubble burst in his mind, black tar oozing over the thought, ensnaring it, capturing it.

Devouring it.

"A plan, do you?" Tiffany's laughter mocked him, cackling as a dragon roared what had to be emphasis on an order or a thought or a plan. God, the plan. "It's failed, Mr. Black. We've targeted the ship now, the Spes Nostra wasn't it? And altered our shields. There will be no plan, Mr. Black."

As quickly as his struggling mind could manage once he was aware what was happening, Ianto buried himself deep within his own mind, sinking himself away from the surface as he could. Deep, where victims of violence and those who witnessed horrible things hid, that safety net disconnecting them from the experience, where they could protect themselves if not their bodies.

A safe place, buried within layers of memory and thought, sought after by Buddhists and yogi alike, a tranquil place, peace borne of meditation, solace and examination of one's self. Transcendence, they called it, buried beyond layers, carefully crafted to sacrifice the least important to the minds of the dragons.

Let them think they won their victory.

"We will win, Mr. Black. And you will watch as we destroy your Earth." Ianto felt a hand tilt his face towards the open wall, the screen where Earth gleamed a pinprick of light and magnified to marbled brilliance. He could hardly see it, but he knew Earth was there. "A fitting end, don't you think? Watch the world crumble which you united to protect. Those were our kin." Tiffany growled, though Ianto hardly thought that they were any brethren of her, the human's. "We will obliterate it, erase it from time. All those little people, all that history, all that future. Gone."

Tiffany's laughter made Ianto flinch, trying to escape her hand but only drawing the dragon's attention, Tiffany's fingernails digging into his jaw, holding him still. His hands flailed in protest, weakly pushing at her hand, her body, anything he could touch and the dragons' roared behind him but it worked.

Distraction.

Deep within his mind, Ianto planned, smiling when he could not physically smile.

The device was small, flat, pebble-like. Probably why it was missed when his weapons were stripped after falling to the floor. Fit small within his hand, a tiny, innocuous blue-tinged skipping stone he'd stuck in his pocket ages ago in Jack's office.

Arm ... he had to arm ...

Ianto felt another wall pop, could almost visually see it go, a dam cracking under pressure. "Ah, you are young, Mr. Black. Just a fledgling attempting to do an adult's job. Born March 28th, 1978 to a Viviene, is it? That makes you a child." Tiffany's nails scored his skin, digging painfully deep into his jaw but he almost welcomed the distraction from the chaos of his mind. "I will enjoy breaking you, once Earth has been destroyed. You and all your precious secrets."

He would have liked to clarify the dragon's statements, as it wasn't only that dragon's mind battering his -- that he could have withstood, a single attack. Had, in fact. But he couldn't, his fingers curling around the flat pebble in his hand, slowly flipping a corner of the device. The weight of the minds battering his crushed the ability to speak, he could remember speaking once, the tongue sounding so foreign to his ears but he knew he had.
 
Once.

Another dam burst. Ianto was fairly certain he cried. Not great sobs, that would require focus beyond the skipping stone, that would have required him to feel beyond the barriers of his mind but he couldn't, not for lack of tears streaming down his face while his body trembled at the force being used.

"Torchwood Three access codes!" Tiffany sang with glee, Ianto felt her smearing the blood on his chin but he brushed the thought aside, washing it away with all the other trivial thoughts which flowed past, mere ripples in the calm pond. Ripples. Skipping stones.

He flipped another edge, spinning the corners in its specific code.

A code he remembered, beneath river and sand, buried deep in corners of his mind of which he had no knowledge.

Buried deep whereupon he found himself.

Tiffany laughed as the dragons roared, barriers and walls falling quicker than he could protect. Memories of Lisa camping, of Stephen training him to fence, his mother teaching him manners, Jack kissing him, bringing him back to life. The more that fell to the sickening slime that ate its way through his mind, the more he fought, stress and resistance pulling his muscles taunt, splintering and pulling at his mind until even his toes curled in protest of the invasion, feeding strength through sheer desperation than by any physical help.

"We are arming our weapon now. Say goodbye to your pretty little world, Mr. Black. Smile, the world watches your failure. Earth. Is. Lost."

The last corner flipped.

Ianto raised his head, independent of Tiffany's hand, deep calm and acceptance brushing aside the dragon minds with casual thought. His gaze fell on the camera, knowing Earth watched, Earth feared as the threats of complete annihilation filtered through to any and all listening. He didn't doubt the dragons, he was sure they'd scavenged technology across space and time which would permit such an action, such ultimate destruction as to erase a world from both time and space.

Most likely illegal in any galaxy, which left him with no remorse for his actions and little doubt for the purpose of bringing him to the ship.

"No," Ianto stated clearly, smiling as he stood. The dragons roared in a panic around him; Tiffany screamed in his ear as her hands clawed at him in an action more apt to taloned dragon claws, not human nails. This wasn't supposed to happen. This went contrary to their plans.

But it was his plans, his family, it was the six billion people on earth and Jack who floated sometime in-between. It was his love for his people, his love for his family, the love for all that were and that were to be, unborn yet cherished in the eons of Earth from beginning to end. It was his love for Jack, born three thousand years from now to live in yesterday.

It was his choice.

"No," Ianto repeated, standing tall as he felt the wind whip at his back, the smile broad upon his face. "Earth lives."

In time r'turns, with love combine ...

"Doctor!" Jack desperately grabbed at the man's jacket, manhandling him away from the screens, away from Ianto whose eyes burned so fiercely blue Jack could feel him staring into his soul. "Get me up there now! We still have time!"

"Jack?" Owen's voice pulled him away from the struggle trying to get the Doctor in the TARDIS, more easily said than done as the Doctor was a most wily character and slipped out of his grasp while Jack was distracted.

Distracted in time to catch the radiance of Ianto's smile, the certainty by which he spoke.

"Earth lives."

Ianto's beautiful smile.

The screens switched harshly to static, black and white snow racing across and down and every scattered direction as the signal was lost. Jack fought around that conscious thought; a signal lost meant nothing, meant absolutely nothing.

Meant nothing. Nothing until the heavens paused, the world stilled as though by a mighty hand, waiting, waiting on the edge of something. Something ... something erupted into flame, a fireball so brilliant it dimmed the sun as it went from pinprick to shattered light streaking across the skyline, shooting lengthwise to span its touch across the horizon.
 
No.

No.

"Take me back!" Jack shouted as he wrapped his hands in the Doctor's jacket, twisting them until they lifted the man off the ground, slamming him into the TARDIS. He felt Martha beside him, maybe the rest of the team too, but they would not stop him. "This is the wrong time! Take me back. I can still save him." His voice cracked, pitching up far sharper than anything he ever spoke but it didn't matter, none of it did.

He didn't remember a time when he had heard those same words spoken, didn't consider the time when Ianto had plead with tears in his eyes, calling him a monster.

Jack didn't think about the denial he had given.

Calm eyes stared back into his, despite trainers dangling as he was forcibly held against the TARDIS. "I can't do that, Jack." The Doctor said with regret, holding aloft a slip of paper which bore a script Jack instantly recognized.

Dropping the Doctor, Jack grabbed the slip of paper: a requisition slip dated just days ago but frail with age. Hands trembling, Jack smoothed his thumb over the hasty scrawl.

Doctor,
Captain Jack Harkness will find you following his battle with Abbadon.
Protect this as you would your kin until then.
15:15, December 31st, 2008
I love him.
In your debt,
Ianto Jones

Jack's hand shook, dropping the paper which Martha quickly retrieved before it could blow away. Of course the Doctor couldn't go back. Not after directed and such a small jump.  He'd cross timelines or something universe-shattering. Hell, Jack doubted the TARDIS would even take him back, just fifteen minutes, thirty at the most, a skip in the pond as ripples swam about him. It was nothing, fifteen minutes.

And yet Ianto had asked for it. Asked the Doctor for it. Probably because he knew Jack better than Jack knew himself.

Fuck.

"Fuck!" Jack echoed, shouting at the skies which served no purpose other than to release whatever it was that he couldn't feel. He shouldn't. Not if he were immortal, living the span of many Iantos. Iantos would come and go and he would live on.

Iantos wouldn't.

Ianto couldn't.

"Forever," Jack had told Elaine, curled up against Ianto while he slept, holding him tight after nightmares had plagued him, promising Ianto while he slept, "I'm with you, I am always with you, on every curve and coil."

Forever.

Jack stared up at the sky, ignoring the weeping of those around him and settling for the cold comfort of grief to wrap around himself, solitary, standing alone against the sky until the atmosphere burst into flares of light, fragments of ship the size of a moon bidding farewell as the sun sank to slumber.

"I won't let you go."

Choking back a sob, muffled against the greatcoat Ianto had loved so much, Jack wept in time with the falling of the heavens, for promises failed and the forever never lived.

Chasing time to save victory, sorrow rains while light doth shine.

***

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)