Fanfic - Counting Stars 4/17 [Torchwood: Jack/Ianto]

[soera]

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

---

Ianto came in to work early the next day, which was probably a good decision, all things considered. By nine that morning, Ianto had fielded a call from the Queen, two from Downing Street, and one from the police department, all of whom wanted to know a) why Jack had, however temporarily, been on the Most Wanted list, b) where Jack was, and c) what was up with that whole Toclafane thing. He’d obfuscated as best he could – and given that all of them hung up satisfied, he thought he’d done a rather good job.

Angela (and those in charge of the other safe-houses) rated a personal call from him. He explained to her that Jack’s moment of infamy had been due to a case of mistaken identity, coupled with a personal vendetta from a rather high-ranking official. Angela knew enough not to press, and hung up after being assured that Jack (and Ianto) were both safe and well.

Safe and well. It depended, Ianto thought, on your definition of the words.

When Tosh finally showed up at nine, Ianto beckoned her over to Jack’s office with a weary smile.

“You look absolutely buggered,” she said, eyeing him in dismay.

“I got in two hours ago and I already want to go home,” Ianto told her. “Look – you’ve got seniority now, which means you’re in charge.”

Tosh’s jaw dropped.

“I thought – you or Owen –” she spluttered.

“Jack hired you in September 2004,” Ianto said. “I started at Torchwood London on the first of January, 2005. Jack hired Owen in mid-2005, and we all know when Gwen joined.”

“All right, so you’re next in line,” Tosh said.

“After you, yes, but you’re in charge at the moment,” Ianto told her. “So my question is, are you going to deal with all the other organisations we have ties with? I’ve already taken calls from the Queen and the police and Downing Street today morning. Our acting commander needs to handle all that properly.”

Tosh stared at him in dismay. “But you managed? Without, uh, agreeing to go to the Himalayas?”

“I managed to avoid that,” Ianto said dryly. “Sadly, no one accepted my suggestion that we investigate potential Rift activity in Hawaii.”

Tosh giggled. “Okay, well – I abdicate!” she proclaimed.

“You’re not the Queen,” Ianto said, as his stomach plummeted to somewhere in the region of his knees.

“Ianto, I have no clue how to handle people,” Tosh said. “I’d never be able to talk to the Queen – the Queen, oh my god, how did you manage to talk to her?”

“Vibration of the vocal cords,” Ianto said flatly. “Tosh, think about it. Why on earth should I be in charge?”

“Seniority,” Tosh replied promptly. “Plus, because I said so.” She winked at him. He stared at her helplessly for a minute, then smiled despite himself.

“How about we make a deal,” he said. “I run the place and do all the liaising and things that no one else either wants to, or knows how to handle.”

“Himalayas!” Tosh sang out, and Ianto grinned.

“Right,” he agreed. “And someone else handles field work and so on, because I’m not exactly experienced in that, now am I?”

“It’s a deal, Mr Jones,” Tosh promised, holding out a hand. Ianto solemnly shook it.

“Which brings me to my other question,” he said. “I’d rather not work out of Jack’s office, but everything’s hooked up here…” he trailed off, seeing that Tosh was already shaking her head.

“A few things that are here, I’d be able to re-route to your station,” she said. “But we don’t have equivalents for a lot of them, so you’d have to move the equipment out of Jack’s office. Which rather defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

“Suppose so,” Ianto sighed. “It just seems so – pretentious. Like I’m trying to be Jack.”

“Let me know if you start hankering after a World War II greatcoat,” Tosh said impishly. Ianto let out a startled laugh, then stood to pull Tosh into a hug.

“Thank you,” he murmured, as she wrapped her arms around him comfortingly.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, leaning into his hold. After a few moments, Ianto let go of Tosh and smiled at her.

“I’ll go put the coffee on,” he murmured. “The others should be in soon, and you can battle it out for who’ll be in charge in the field.”

“All right,” she said, blinking away the suspicious sheen to her eyes.

An hour later, they were sequestered in the boardroom, trying to decide on their new field leader. Tosh was the obvious choice, but she was adamant about not wanting to be in charge. Besides, with her handling the equipment most of the time, she wasn’t always free to smooth things over with the locals. Ianto had given Gwen his best quelling look when she’d glanced at him, so the choice had come down to Owen and Gwen. Owen had more experience, but he didn’t exactly have the best bedside (fieldside?) manner. Eventually, they decided that Owen and Gwen would share the responsibilities, swapping off at being field leader every other mission.

It came as rather a surprise to Ianto that none of them protested his being in charge of everything else – especially since that really meant that Ianto held most of the power. They couldn’t possibly have missed the fact that he was now signing their pay-cheques, could they?

The other shocker was that Ianto’s workload actually hadn’t increased all that much. He’d called up the numerous organisations that Torchwood had connections to and told them that due to an unexpected trip Jack had had to take, Ianto would be taking over Jack’s duties. They’d been fairly understanding about it, and surprisingly sympathetic – maybe because Ianto had actually listened instead of running rough-shod over them (even Detective Swanson had lost some of her abrasiveness). The bulk of the work came from the extra paperwork, but if there was one thing Ianto was good at, it was doing paperwork. It only took him a couple of hours longer each day, but otherwise, he didn’t feel as stretched as he’d expected to be.

He’d cleared out Jack’s backlog of reports within the week, and just for kicks, had reorganised Torchwood Institute’s financial plans into something more coherent and easily tackled. Misty kept him company through the reams of red tape, as he pummelled Torchwood’s existing systems into something resembling rationality and simplicity. She seemed fascinated by Jack’s office, and entertained herself by trying to modify her shape to match each of the various items he kept around. Ianto simply had to watch her when he needed a break, and he invariably went back to work with a smile on his face.

Two weeks after Jack’s disappearance, the routine he’d started to fall into was rudely broken, and in true form, it was all Owen’s fault.

“We’re short-handed out there,” Owen said. “We need one more person out on the field.”

“I’m not really qualified,” Ianto said weakly.

“You can shoot,” Owen said, choosing not to comment on the elephant in the room. Ianto’s eyes darted to Owen’s shoulder nonetheless. “Why aren’t you qualified?”

“Because… I was a researcher at London and Jack never saw the need to bring me into the field?” Ianto hazarded, knowing as he spoke that there was no possible way he could get out of this. In truth, Jack had taught him how to handle a gun, and Ianto had practiced regularly despite never expecting to be out in the field.

“Get down to the range,” Owen told him brusquely. “You have a week. You’d better be able to shoot straight by then.” He left the office without waiting for Ianto’s response.

Ianto entertained a brief fantasy of cutting Owen’s wages in half, then reluctantly began revising his plans for the coming week.

---

True to Owen’s words, the next Monday found Ianto being dragged along by Gwen to investigate a report of a blue-toned man haunting the Norwegian Church. At least, Ianto reflected, it was practically on their doorstep.

‘Haunting’ turned out to be an accurate descriptor. Whatever the being was, it was suspiciously see-through, and didn’t seem to understand English. It also didn’t seem overly bothered by the fact that its feet were approximately two feet off the ground.

“We’re not the Ghostbusters,” Ianto felt compelled to point out.

“Pity,” Gwen commented. “Could’ve used some of those ghost trap things.” She added a brief, heartfelt Welsh oath under her breath that made Ianto’s lips twitch in a mirthless smirk. She’d sounded eerily like his brother for a moment there.

“Watch your language, young lady,” the blue ghost-thing said reprovingly in Welsh. Ianto’s eyebrows shot up, and Gwen’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, you are bloody joking,” she said in sheer disbelief.

Ianto was able to sweet-talk the ghost-thing (whose name was Meredydd ap Bleddyn ap Rhys – Gwen choked at the last and thoroughly failed to endear herself to him) into returning to the Hub with them so that Tosh could run more thorough scans on him. Meredydd seemed to believe that Ianto wanted to hear all about his woes, and took it upon himself to describe every last one of them in excruciating detail. Fortunately for his sanity (Tosh and Owen couldn’t understand Meredydd’s mournful litany, and Gwen had happily excused herself once they’d reached the Hub) Tosh quickly figured out that he was a projection of someone from the past. At least a century or two ago, Ianto guessed, given his name and the way he spoke. In his time, Meredydd must have stumbled onto a Rift spike, but one so tiny it merely tossed a projection of him into the future, instead of bringing him through completely.

“You’re saying it’s not even him, just a sort of… recording?” Ianto asked.

“Exactly right,” Tosh said. “The real him is still going about his business, in his own time. We can get rid of this projection right now, if you’d like.”

“Please!” Ianto said, and watched with great satisfaction as Tosh pointed an alien device at the spectral Meredydd and he promptly disintegrated into nothing. “Thank you, Tosh,” he said solemnly, once they were sure that Meredydd wasn’t going to make a miraculous reappearance. “I was about to rename him Marvin.”

“Marvin?” Tosh asked inquisitively.

“Hitchhiker’s Guide,” Ianto replied. Understanding dawned in Tosh’s eyes.

“Is that what he was going on about?” she giggled. “Why his life is terrible?”

“In detail,” Ianto confirmed. “Tiny, agonising detail.” He glanced over at the medical bay, where Gwen and Owen were. They were clearly out of earshot, but he lowered his voice a little anyway. “By the way, Tosh, I was wondering – are you free this Friday?”

“If the Rift behaves,” Tosh said with a nod. “Why?”

“I was rather hoping you’d like to go out with me,” he admitted. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance to do something fun and completely pointless.”

Tosh’s eyes widened. “Ah – you’re not –”

“Not a date,” Ianto interrupted, smiling at her. “We both know neither of us is exactly available.”

Tosh smiled ruefully, glancing over at Owen. “No, we really aren’t, are we?” She hesitated momentarily before ploughing on. “Ianto, were you and Jack…”

“I think,” Ianto said carefully. “We were just… physical. For Jack. And for me, at first. I’m really not sure when… well. Jack doesn’t though, I’m sure. We all know how he looks at Gwen.” He shrugged at her, face determinedly neutral even in the face of Tosh’s understanding compassion. “And while we’re on the topic, why Owen?”

“I really haven’t the faintest,” Tosh confessed quietly. “I’ve tried not to – I mean, he never notices a thing, you know? And it’s so –”

“Painful,” Ianto supplied, and Tosh nodded frantically.

“Yes, painful sometimes, watching the way he is –”

“Because he’s so blind to what other people feel about him –”

“Doesn’t see what he does to those who love him –”

“Doesn’t care, it feels like sometimes –”

“Makes me want to slap him or kiss him, I don’t know which –”

“Both, but then it never does matter, does it? It’s all the same in the end.” Ianto fell silent, he and Tosh staring at each other for a long moment. Then they both started laughing simultaneously.

“I think we’ll have plenty to talk about,” Tosh managed to get out through her laughter.

“Oi, what’s so funny up there?” Owen called.

“Nothing!” Ianto and Tosh chorused in unison. Tosh gave Ianto a mischievous look as Owen and Gwen both looked over warily.

“Stop spooking them, Tosh,” Ianto murmured blandly, then gave the other two a slightly-too-wide smile. Owen and Gwen glanced at each other, then at Ianto, then at Tosh, and then back at each other in utter consternation.

“You’re one to talk!” Tosh exclaimed.

---

The next few days were blessedly quiet, and Ianto took the opportunity to visit each of their safe-houses and facilities to bring himself up to date on what was happening there. Thankfully, those in charge were highly professional, and there was little for Ianto to do. On Thursday, he made an unscheduled visit to the facility at Flat Holm, where he was greeted with delight by Angela. Apparently, his suggestion of pet therapy had borne fruit; two of the staff had taken to regularly bringing their dogs to work, and some of the residents had been responding well.

“Love petting the dogs, your Naomi does,” Angela told Ianto, who smiled at the news. “Takes her a while sometimes to notice they’re there, but once she does, she always smiles. We’ve never had such good behaviour from her.”

“That’s brilliant,” Ianto replied happily. “Everyone else dealing well with the dogs?”

“All except Pete – he’s rather nervy around them, so we make sure to keep them at a distance from him,” Angela said.

“Could have had a bad experience with a dog before,” Ianto speculated.

“Unless he starts talking, we’ll never know,” Angela said sadly.

Ianto left the island thinking about a place he hadn’t thought of in a while. He’d been trying very hard not to think about it, if he were to be honest. Home, he told himself as he got into his car, and was thoroughly unsurprised when he found himself driving into Providence Park.

It didn’t take long to find the person he’d come looking for. “No change,” the nurse explained as she led him down the corridor. “Not in almost a year.”

Almost a year. Right. It would be – just about a year, in another month or so. Ianto very nearly walked into the nurse’s back as she stopped.

“Right here, Mr Jones. Press the bell above the bed if you need any assistance.” She walked back down the corridor, heels tapping briskly. Ianto took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

She was lying almost exactly in the centre of the bed, what was left of her face turned towards the door. Ianto’s mind helpfully provided an image of what she had once looked like, superimposing it over the burned, ravaged visage he now saw.

“Hey, Jamie,” he said quietly as he sat down next to her bed, remembering the first (last) time he’d visited her. He’d been too stressed back then with trying to keep Lisa going, too shell-shocked by what had happened, too terrified to see his own agony reflected in Jamie’s face. “Sorry I haven’t been by in so long.”

Jamie lay there, quiescent.

“Almost a year now,” he whispered. “In exactly five weeks and six days, it will have been a year to the day.”

Under the sheets, he knew, was more horrific scarring. She’d had some skin grafts done, but the fire had gone too deep in some places. Her face, her once-beautiful face, was nearly unrecognisable as such; she’d lost her entire right arm as well as her left arm from the elbow down; she’d suffered so many complications, so many surgeries, and through it all, her mind lay in whatever refuge it had sought as she burned alive. In nearly a year, Jamie hadn’t moved or spoken of her own volition, and the sight of her broke Ianto’s heart.

“Lisa was half-converted,” Ianto told her in a tiny voice. “I tried to save her, but I couldn’t. She ended up being taken over – was shot by my colleagues. Cardiff. I’m working for Jack Harkness, can you believe it? Remember how you used to theorise about him?”

He watched the steady rise of her chest under the sheets as she breathed. In, out. In, out.

“He’s nothing and everything like what you thought,” Ianto told her. “Nothing and everything like what I expected. What I thought I needed. Or wanted.”

He didn’t talk much for the rest of his visit. Even if Jamie was completely indifferent to what he was saying, he couldn’t find it in himself to put what he was feeling into words. Because words were Ianto’s trade, and words would make things too real. With Jack still missing and unlikely to turn up any time soon (if at all), the last thing Ianto wanted was to make things real.

Friday was quiet throughout the day, and Ianto decided to abuse his authority for once and send everyone home early. Owen lost no time in leaving, probably to get to the nearest pub, and Gwen wasn’t far behind him – apparently Rhys had a surprise planned for her.

“So, what’s the plan?” Tosh asked as she helped Ianto re-route the Rift monitors to their laptops and mobiles.

“Didn’t really have much of one,” Ianto admitted. “Something brain-numbingly mindless?” He needed it, after yesterday.

“Could go back to my house,” Tosh suggested. “Rent some DVDs on the way, pick up some snacks…”

“What sort of movies do you like?” Ianto asked.

“Just about anything,” Tosh said. “Brain-numbingly mindless would usually call for action.”

Ianto pointed accusingly at her. “Do not insult James Bond.”

She held up both hands mockingly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good,” he said, fighting back a smile. “I’m sure there’ll be something at the shop.”

“We’re agreed then?” Tosh asked. Ianto made a sound of agreement as he shut down his computer. “Well, that was a lot less hassle than I’m used to.”

“I’m low-maintenance,” Ianto deadpanned.

They ended up talking through most of the movie, stopping only when a particularly big explosion caught both their pyromaniac eyes. Nothing of actual substance, Ianto admitted to himself as he walked home. Much as he liked Tosh, he didn’t think he was capable of really opening up to anyone, even her. But he’d had a nice time discussing special effects and favourite movies and hobbies and pet social peeves and any number of other trivial things with her. They’d even spent a few pleasant minutes discussing the many failings of Owen and Jack, before they both started feeling guilty and stopped that line of thought.

All told, it had been a good evening, one they’d have to try and repeat soon. The Rift had behaved itself, too, which was an unprecedented event in Ianto’s experience. Now to see what had to go horribly wrong to even out the score.

---

Weevils, as it turned out. Cardiff suffered a squall over the weekend that drove some of them aboveground. There were enough of them to run the team off its collective feet – the sole saving grace was that the weather was keeping most people indoors. They had to split into teams of two in the end, Ianto with Gwen and Tosh with Owen. Ianto wondered if some perverse sense of humour wasn’t at play.

One of these days, he thought determinedly, he’d have to sit down and properly resolve how he felt about Gwen. He couldn’t keep jumping between these ambivalences.

They managed to bag a Weevil and carried it back to the SUV before going back out into the rain. Their scanners reported another Weevil in the vicinity, which they’d need to grab before returning to the Hub. Janet was about to get a lot of visitors.

“Up ahead, on the left,” Gwen told Ianto, pushing her dripping hair out of her eyes. “Circle round from the side. I’ll go straight ahead.”

Ianto simply nodded, spray in hand and gun within reach. He watched as she ran ahead, then quietly slipped around the side of the building, intent on coming up behind the Weevil they were trying to catch.

He didn’t count on walking straight into another Weevil.

It was on top of him before he realised what was happening. Instinct came to the rescue and he managed to get off a blast of anti-Weevil spray. Unfortunately, most of it didn’t hit the mark, and what little struck the Weevil’s face didn’t seem to have much of an effect on it. It slowed down only for a moment before sinking its teeth into Ianto’s shoulder, claws raking down his chest and arm.

Ianto shoved out desperately, throwing his entire body weight behind the movement. Pushing his shoulder further into the Weevil’s mouth worked; it gagged, releasing him just long enough for him to scramble out of the way as quickly as he could. This, he thought wildly, was getting to be too much like that Weevil fighting club, and then he had to quickly abandon that train of thought and focus on not getting killed as the Weevil flung itself at Ianto again.

He barely managed to dodge out of the way, somehow getting his gun free and aimed in a second, and one, two, three shots rang out, hitting the Weevil square in the back. Not killing shots, not on a Weevil, but enough to disorient it long enough for Ianto to sedate it completely. He finished up with the anti-Weevil clamps they normally didn’t bother with. Just in case. Then he sat down hard.

“Ianto!” Gwen shrieked in his ear, and he abruptly realised that she’d been calling his name for the past minute. He tapped his Bluetooth earpiece to answer.

“I’m here, Gwen,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“Am I –” Gwen bit off whatever she’d been about to say. “I’m fine; Owen and Tosh are done on their end, they helped me with this Weevil here. Where are you? What happened? I thought I heard shots?”

“Yes,” Ianto said absently, and then wondered what he was replying to. “I mean, I’m fine. I, ah, have a Weevil here. I had to shoot it.”

“Oh god, are you all right?” Gwen asked, sounding panicked. If he really focused, he could hear the background noise, could differentiate the sound of the rain where Gwen was from the sound of the rain around him.

“Fine,” he told her, studying the way his blood was running down his chest. “Or, well. Not. No. No, not really all right.”

“Hold on,” Gwen said rapidly. “We’re coming to get you now.” And that was all Ianto remembered because his mind decided that, hey, this would be a nice time for a nap.

---

Ianto woke up and immediately wished he hadn’t.

He lay there with his eyes closed, wishing that if he pretended long and hard enough, he’d find himself miraculously uninjured and back home. A loud squawk from Myfanwy effectively demolished his hopes, and he reluctantly cracked open an eye. Apparently, he’d been tucked into bed in the rarely-used observation room off the medical bay. He licked his lips and swallowed a few times, moistening his dry throat. He must have been in bad shape if Owen hadn’t simply slapped him awake and sent him off home with some painkillers.

It only took him one attempt at sitting up to decide that, as far as ideas went, that particular idea had been a thoroughly bad one. Once his head stopped spinning and his chest stopped feeling like something was trying to claw its way out (even in Torchwood, that couldn’t possibly happen, could it?… except it had, in February of 1902, when a prostitute called Alessandra Evans had had sex with what turned out to be an alien whose hatchlings had torn their way out of their unwitting surrogate mother’s womb and oh dear, there were some things he’d really prefer not to remember), he tried to take stock of what had happened to him.

The Weevil, of course. Ianto wondered if it had taken a chunk of his shoulder out when it had bitten him, or if he’d managed to prevent that. Cautiously, he ran a hand over the bandages wrapped around him. It didn’t feel like any flesh was missing, but the flare of pain that came from touching the injury was more than enough to dissuade him from doing a more thorough check.

The door swung open quietly. It didn’t take Owen long to notice that Ianto had come around.

“Finally awake, are you?” he said brusquely, not quite managing to cover up the relief. “’Bout time. Sleeping the day away, you sure you didn’t plan this to get out of work?”

“Positive,” Ianto replied dryly, voice cracking only slightly. “What’s the time?”

“Eight thirty,” Owen told him. “That’s p.m., if you were wondering.” He ran a scanner over Ianto’s shoulder, frowning at the read-out.

“And the verdict is?” Ianto asked.

“Eh, it cut you up pretty bad. Stitches on your chest and shoulder. Should heal up fine, so long as you don’t tear them.” He fixed Ianto with a severe scowl. “To make the point clear: don’t fucking tear them. Had to shoot you up with the usual cocktail. Bit of a fever, but everything else is fine for now. Kick you outta here soon enough.” He switched off the scanner and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. Ianto wondered how long Owen had been up, putting his fragile human body back together. And exactly how much Owen wasn’t telling him.

“I’ll let the girls know you’re all right,” Owen told him. “Need to use the loo or anything before they come in?”

Ianto nodded briefly, and let Owen assist him into a standing position. Once he was on his feet, the pain subsided somewhat, and he was able to make it to the adjoined bathroom without any further help – for which Ianto was extremely grateful. He washed up quickly and slowly shuffled back to the bed.

Gwen and Tosh were already there and they greeted him with obvious relief. They fussed over him for a bit, made some small talk, and then Gwen apologetically took her leave of them (thank god, Ianto thought, and immediately felt guilty). Owen stuck his head in to tell Ianto and Tosh that he was bunking down for the night, and that Ianto should get to sleep before Owen stuck him with sedatives.

“Give us a few,” Tosh said, rolling her eyes. “I want to talk to Ianto for a bit before I leave. I’ll close up, don’t worry.”

“Wasn’t worried,” Owen replied flippantly, door closing with a click behind him.

“So,” Tosh said, fixing Ianto with a critical gaze. “Seriously. Are you okay?”

Ianto smiled at her. “Yes, Tosh. Seriously. It doesn’t feel all that bad.”

Tosh bit her lip. “You nearly bled out,” she said softly, and Ianto nodded.

“I thought it might be something like that,” he said. “But that’s what the blood stores are for. It twinges a bit, and I’m a little tired, but otherwise? Quite all right.” Twinges. Sure. That was one way of putting it. He very carefully didn’t allow the pain to show on his face.

Tosh smiled tentatively. “If you’re certain,” she said with a sigh. “Gwen’s really torn up about it – convinced it’s all her fault.”

“The Weevil was just off the radar,” Ianto said. “We didn’t even know it was there. Just dumb luck, really.”

“Still,” Tosh said. “She thinks that if she hadn’t suggested splitting up, you wouldn’t have been as badly hurt.”

“Or we could both be dead now,” Ianto said pragmatically. “Too many variables to tell, really.”

“You don’t –” Tosh hesitated.

Ianto suspected that he wouldn’t like this train of conversation. It was with vaguely masochistic pleasure that he told Tosh to go on.

“You don’t like Gwen, do you?” she burst out all in one rush, and then went a brilliant shade of scarlet.

Ianto offered her a faint smile. “I’ll let you know when I’ve figured that out,” he told her. She made as if to say something, then appeared to see something in his face that stopped her.

“Right,” she said, getting to her feet. “Right. I, ah, I guess I’ll be off now then.”

“Thanks for staying,” Ianto told her. She switched off the lights as she left the room, the darkness broken only by the light from the Hub filtering in through the edges of the door. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of Tosh moving around in the Hub as she powered everything down, Myfanwy’s crooning, the hum of the 24-hour monitors, then the blare of the proximity alarms as Tosh left. Owen was still there to keep an eye on him of course, but he couldn’t hear anything other than the peculiar noise-quiet of the Hub at night, and it was almost like being back in time, together with Jack in the Hub, curled against each other on his too-small bed, and Ianto dropped off into an uneasy sleep.

---

Misty fussed over him even more than usual when she realised he’d been injured. Ianto didn’t really mind; he needed to do some things that he couldn’t do alone, and yet he didn’t want any of the others there.

“I’ll be meditating for a bit,” he explained to her. She projected confusion. “Sort of like a trance,” he elaborated. “I’ll just be focusing inwards, so I won’t really be tracking what’s going on in the real world. If I don’t come out of it by six, just prod me with some sort of emotion and it should jolt me back. Is that all right?”

Misty bobbed her understanding and watched curiously as Ianto made himself comfortable on his bed. Then he closed his eyes and relaxed, breathing deeply and steadily, falling into the meditative state he hadn’t reached for in over a year. He hadn’t lost the knack though. For a few moments, he drifted in a half-somnolent daze before awareness kicked in. The first thing he registered was the most peculiar sense of déjà vu. Curiously, he tried to track the sensation back, but found no memory that could account for the familiarity of the situation – as if, sometime recently, he’d found himself in exactly the same position. Uneasily, he let the feeling slip away, and returned his focus to his original objective.

Gwen Cooper. His first memory of her was of Jack asking him to find anything he could on her. Jack’s first words were enough to tell Ianto what was coming.

“I’ve seen her around at a few scenes,” Jack had told him casually. “She seemed interesting.”

– Which was code for ‘attractive,’ and as a bonus, likely to take well to Torchwood – therefore, potential new recruit? He’d have to look through her past cases, hack into her confidential files, find her psych profile and professional reviews, try and figure out her personality from pieces of paper, pull security footage, keep tabs on her so they could either turn a scene to their advantage, or manufacture one to reel her in, ready the quarter-strength Retcon for her trigger-test – oh, there’d be a lot of work to do, but first, he should check –

“Thinking of recruiting her, sir?” he asked blandly.

Jack grinned. “Ah, you mind-reader. Yeah, maybe. Now we’ve got you to man things here, I thought we should get another field agent. Bulk us up a bit.”

Not a replacement then, Ianto thought with a dizzying sense of relief. He’d known, of course, that Jack had hand-picked each of his team, save for Ianto. Ianto Jones, the outsider, the stalker, the kid, the tea-boy, the (initially unknown) traitor. He’d bet anything that Ms Cooper, if she joined the team, would become a member of their little family in a way he still hadn’t managed.

He didn’t particularly want in, but it did still rankle some that none of them thought enough of him to even greet him in the mornings. No matter. Fade into the background and they won’t see the truth. It wasn’t as if he was planning on sticking around once Lisa was better. Gwen Cooper would be useful in further distracting Jack and the team, and so Ianto hid the little twinge of pain (useless, really, just the fucking tea-boy, grand secret organisation etcetera and all you are is the office boy, the one who was so desperate for the job he tried to seduce the boss, not like them, they were chosen, they’re family, she’ll be family, and who do you have who understands you but Lisa?) and nodded.

“I’ll put together a report for you, sir,” he said mildly. “If it’s favourable, I’ll start on the testing prep.”

“See to it, Ianto,” Jack said with a broad grin, clapping him on the shoulder as he moved around the desk and headed out.

And then the tests, letting her get a glimpse of what it was they did, tempting her, drawing her ever closer, like dangling a piece of cheese in front of a mouse. She was curious (which was good), innovative (also good) and determined (could be either good or bad – they’d have to wait and see). He watched as Gwen entered the Hub, hid the flare of sheer hatred as Jack introduced him, smiled and made coffee and was the consummate butler. After they showed her around, Jack took her out for the next stage of her tests. Once she’d been fed the weak amnesia pill, Ianto hacked into her computer systems and deleted everything that she’d written. As an afterthought, he inserted a hidden, encrypted file in her computer. If she found it, they’d know she had some technological skills. Might take some of the burden off Tosh, in that case.

If Gwen was smart, she’d have left behind other reminders beyond the messages on her computer. With any luck, something would trigger her, and then Jack would have a new play-thing to keep his mind off Ianto.

It worked, and Ianto buried the resentment as Gwen Cooper was instantly drawn into the fold while he watched from outside. Doesn’t matter, he told himself. She’ll distract them all. Get their focus away from me, away from Lisa. It’s a good thing she’s here, that they want to let her in. It’s a good thing Jack’s interested in her. If he said it enough times, perhaps he’d come to believe it. Once again, he remembered the flare of unwanted attraction as he’d lain sprawled across Jack’s body, held securely in strong arms and laughing incredulously in the face of a dying adrenaline rush, inches from those smooth lips and hot breath; once again, he viciously shoved the memory down, locking it away securely. Lisa. God, his sweet Lisa. This was for her, for the only one who knew him, who cared. Nothing else mattered.

That, at least, he could believe.

Except nothing had gone like it should have, and Lisa hadn’t been Lisa, and he had no one left after all. He didn’t particularly think his family would miss him – not really, and why would they, given all that had happened with them, given that he only kept in sporadic contact, and only rarely visited his sister (never the others)? And everyone else was dead, everyone, Lisa had been all he’d had left –

And bloody Jack Harkness had to come in and save him. Ianto ached with the bone-deep knowledge that he was in love with the Captain. What a complete fool he’d been to think that he’d be able to keep any relationship simply physical. He’d always loved too strongly. Unwisely.

Ianto didn’t doubt that Jack trusted him (why, he didn’t know). He’d freely offered him the secret of his immortality, after all. Over the course of their… ‘relationship,’ Jack had shown him the Flat Holm facility, given Ianto all the access codes to every part of the Hub, gone through all of Torchwood’s dirty little secrets with Ianto. No, Jack trusted him to keep everything running while he was gone. And Jack had been waiting to leave, he knew that. He still couldn’t really blame Jack for joining the Doctor. At least he’d made sure someone in the team knew all the little projects no one else was aware of; at least he’d made sure those projects were safe. He wasn’t nothing to Jack.

Even if it sometimes felt that way.

Because every time he saw the way Jack looked at Gwen, it made him feel like Owen was right. (Part-time shag.) That look of delight on Jack’s face as Gwen laughed at something, or came up with a good idea for a case. When she challenged Jack, as she did so often, Jack always looked caught between exasperation and admiration. The sex was always rough, and amazingly good, those nights, but – Ianto had always had to lock away his thoughts and emotions, and now that he was looking at them again, the overwhelming hurt was hard to ignore. Because it was Gwen who had sparked all that passion in Jack, and probably Gwen he was wishing he was with, and all Ianto was, was – convenient.

Him in love with Jack in love with Gwen in love with – who? Rhys? Owen? Jack?

Maybe that was it; maybe that was the problem. Because Gwen had Rhys, but she was obviously attracted to Jack as well. And normally Ianto would have told himself that Gwen was unavailable and so it didn’t matter how Jack looked at her… but Gwen had already proven once that she was capable of cheating on Rhys. Maybe she regretted her indiscretion now, had sworn never to do it again, had certainly seemed exhilarated at the prospect of being married to Rhys, hadn’t shut up about Rhys’ proposal and their engagement for so long, maybe losing him once had taught her she needed him, maybemaybemaybe but Ianto couldn’t trust her not to offer, or Jack not to take her up on –

He didn’t trust Jack not to take Gwen, if she seemed at all available. That was it, wasn’t it? When it came down to it, he knew that Jack wasn’t in love with him the same way he was in love with Jack. And so if Gwen was available, Jack would want her. And even if she wasn’t, Jack would still want her, and even when he was fucking Ianto, it would be her he’d be thinking of –

Stop it.

There were some things about Gwen Cooper that Ianto did not like. First and foremost was her belief that everyone liked to talk things out, liked to be around people. It was the way she was, but she couldn’t seem to understand that some people (Ianto) were much more at peace when alone, and so she pushed and prodded where she shouldn’t and unintentionally caused more pain. Then there was the way she sometimes became very confrontational when she thought someone was doing something wrongly (read: differently from what she wanted). Jack had often told Ianto that Gwen was the team’s humanity, their conscience, but in his less charitable moments, Ianto found it hard to see. She was always so set in her ways, so convinced she knew best, so ready to accuse the others of being hard-hearted, callous, cold, even when she knew nothing of how they felt. They all had different coping mechanisms; not sharing the one Gwen used didn’t make them inhuman.

There were some things about Gwen Cooper that Ianto did like. First and foremost was her utter earnestness. As far as Ianto was concerned, she went about things the wrong way a lot of the time, but he generally couldn’t fault her motives. With the exception of a few spectacular lapses in judgement, she had everyone’s best interests at heart. Her occasionally blinkered view of the world could be explained by her utter naivety. Even through her work with the police force and now Torchwood, she hadn’t yet learned to see the shades rather than simply black and white. But, in her own clumsy way, she tried, and that she made the effort was heartening.

Gwen Cooper was a flawed being. In other words, she was human.

But did he like her or not?

1) Our personalities clash. It’s neither of our faults, but nonetheless is a check for ‘Not.’
2) She’s too often convinced she’s right; too ready to accuse us of heartlessness when we know there is no other option. Check for ‘Not.’
3) She hurts Jack sometimes with what she says. Check for ‘Not.’
4) She always comes up with team-bonding plans and the like. … Is that a ‘Like’ or a ‘Not?’
5) She’s genuine; generally has good intentions. Check for ‘Like.’
6) She tries, even if she ends up screwing up. Check for ‘Like.’
7) Her innocence can be refreshing.
8) Jack loves her.

Which made everything else moot. 8) Jack loves her, check for an emphatic ‘Not.’

The difficulty, Ianto thought reluctantly, was in realising that the real reason you didn’t want to go anywhere near a person was because you were completely jealous of her. He turned the words over and over. Jealous. He was jealous of Gwen. And why not? It was warranted. Jack – god, the way Jack looked at Gwen. Like he’d never looked at Ianto. Not once, through all their pity fucks.

Pity fucks. Owen was right after all.

WORRY

The jolt of emotion sliced through his mind and rudely snapped Ianto out of his meditative trance. He bolted straight up in bed, breath ragged. It took him a few moments before he noticed Misty, hovering indecisively next to him. He offered her a small smile, but the worry radiating off her didn’t diminish at all.

“I’m okay,” he tried to say, and found that the words came out in a painful croak. He swallowed; felt moisture on his face; brought his hand up to his eyes; stared at the damp skin dumbly.

“Oh.”

---

He went over to Tosh’s place again on Friday evening to watch another movie, but this time their night out was interrupted by a Weevil sighting. Ianto was still restricted to light duty, so Tosh called Gwen for back-up and Ianto went back home. He wished he had company. It was too easy to brood when he was alone. Even Misty couldn’t pull him out of his funk sometimes.

Owen had been surprisingly civil the past few days, though Ianto suspected the reprieve would end just as soon as he was well enough. He wasn’t looking forward to the time when Owen deemed him healthy enough to have verbal spears thrown at him. He was feeling strangely bruised on the inside, and knew he didn’t have it in him at that point to shrug off anything hurtful Owen might say (Owen had already been right once; it would be easy to believe him now).

Ianto avoided Gwen as much as he could. The trick was to still bring her coffee unprompted, to occasionally make a suggestion that helped, to smile and greet her in the mornings before retreating into the archives. It made it seem like he wasn’t running, when in fact that was exactly what he was doing.

He really couldn’t blame Jack, could he? He’d always known that they dealt with their problems in similar ways (lock it up, shut down). If there was any way he could leave, he knew he would. Knew he wanted to. The only thing holding him back was Jack Harkness. The possibility, however remote, that Jack might return. If that happened, he didn’t want to have left without saying goodbye. He was under no illusions that goodbyes were necessary for Jack – he’d amply proven they weren’t – but for his own peace of mind, for him to have any chance of moving on, he’d have to do it.

Moving on. Was he really thinking that? Just thinking it started the familiar ice creeping up on him. But he needed to, didn’t he? Sticking with Jack would just hurt him more and more and when he died, as he inevitably would, he didn’t want it to be while hurting. Not like that. He would have to explain to Jack why they couldn’t do – whatever it was they’d been doing, pity fucks, comfort shags, no-strings-attached friendship with benefits, whatever – again, why he had to leave.

The Retcon dose would be fairly high. He’d have to wipe out over three years, after all. A staged accident would do nicely. They’d just have to cut up his head a little bit, superficial cuts and bruises as if he’d struck it somewhere. The presence of the amnesia pills would interfere with any brain scan results, making it look as if he had in fact suffered a brain injury. The amnesia and probable (definite, really, at that dose) personality changes would be easily explained. His ID would be found on him and his family would be contacted. They would cluck over him sympathetically and take him back to the family home and his mother would try to stuff him to the gills with food. She would be awkward and uncertain, not quite remembering how to be a mother to him. He would resent his stepfather all over again. Dafydd would – Dafydd would. Rhiannon would bring the kids over and he’d be incredulous because he didn’t remember them being so big, and they would think he was even more of a freak than they’d first thought, and he wouldn’t really care because kids either terrified or annoyed him or both and he’d just be glad to have them away from him. They would whisper when they thought he couldn’t hear that maybe it was better this way, that he didn’t have to remember losing poor Lisa in that terrorist bombing. He would hear them anyway, but he wouldn’t trigger because with such a heavy dose of Retcon, nothing would bring back the memories. They’d be gone forever, Lisa and Torchwood and Jack.

He wasn’t sure if he was terrified or exhilarated at the prospect. Maybe, he mused as he made himself a cup of coffee, if he could feel something other than weariness and pain, he’d be able to decide.

Through it all, he still had to keep up with everything Jack had running. He pushed all the emotion away, buried them deep in his mind so they wouldn’t affect him as he spoke to the new Prime Minister (an infinitely better man than Saxon), or the Queen (who seemed to have developed an inexplicable fondness for him, probably because his weekly reports to her were far more polite, comprehensive and coherent than Jack’s had ever been), or any number of other official contacts. It probably wasn’t healthy, but he didn’t have the time to try and analyse how he felt, or come to terms with it. He wasn’t angry with Jack, he knew that much. That was the important part, and everything else would simply have to wait until he was done with work.

The motto stood him in good stead for a couple more weeks, but then he began to feel the familiar flashes of pain invade his mind. The migraines came back but this time they were even worse than before – as if, by once dipping into his mindscape and using it the way it was meant to be used, he’d become less capable of dealing without it. Even his weekly get-togethers with Tosh didn’t help relax him, though they’d certainly grown closer. By the time May rolled around, he couldn’t deny what was happening to him, and so he quietly cleared all his appointments, made a few calls, and ensured he had the day – and the next – free. As an afterthought, he scribbled out a hasty note and dropped it, making sure it looked as if it had fallen onto the floor as he left. Then he pulled his things together and left Jack’s office.

“Owen,” he called as he slipped on his coat. The doctor looked up from the alien body he was autopsying.

“I’m headed out for now,” Ianto said. “Checking on the residents and all. Probably won’t be done till late, so I might head home straight after. You’re in charge – make sure everything gets powered down and redirected, will you?”

“Yeah, all right,” Owen said with a nod, already turning back to the corpse. Ianto casually walked out of the Hub, as if nothing were wrong, and headed back to his house. He’d left the car behind that day – most days, really; he liked the walk to the Hub – but he’d need it now. Owen (and therefore the girls) thought that he was out making the rounds of the resident alien population to make sure all was well with them. With any luck, they’d have no reason to believe otherwise. All the same, he disabled the GPS in his car before heading back out onto the roads.

He drove out to Gower, to a secluded part of the shore that he knew about. The car only took him so far; he had to hike in the rest of the way, bag reassuringly heavy on his back. There was a small, hidden cave he’d discovered long ago, and he often went there when he wanted to think. Or needed to be alone.

It was deserted, as he’d hoped it would be. He didn’t delude himself into believing that his little sanctuary was completely unknown to anyone else, but thus far he’d never run into anyone else when he came here. Hopefully, his run of luck would continue for a good time yet. Carefully, he clambered over the rock and made his way into the cave, inspecting it with a torch to ensure he wasn’t going to be sharing space with any animal life. Then he spread out the bedroll he’d brought with him and sat down, leaning gingerly against the rough, cool wall of the cave. It was, as always, surprisingly dry – one of the reasons why Ianto liked this particular cave.

The utter solitude available here was the other reason.

Ianto sipped some water, then dug around for the gag he’d brought, knotting it securely into place. An experimental attempt at screaming proved that while it let him breathe comfortably, not much could be heard through the gag. He slid down into the bedroll, bunching up the top to provide extra cushioning for his head. Then he deliberately tangled himself in the rest of the bedding, immobilising himself as best he could. Preparations complete, he took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he knew was coming – then opened the locks on his mind.

The emotions struck first, vicious, tearing through him with a pain both visceral and near-physical. All of them, everything he’d tried so hard to keep suppressed, anger frustration sadness weariness despair guilt desperation jealousy disappointment shame melancholy grief self-loathing, ramming through his shields with all the force of a locomotive meeting a human body… and with largely similar results. Ianto’s mental shields shattered under the brutal assault from his own mind. Then came the images, the memories, the sightssoundstastesfeelsmells, flooding him in the wake of the emotions that deluged him until they merged in a confusion of chaos, violently buffeting him, tossing him around helplessly in a storm he had no hope of controlling.

When the tempest finally settled, Ianto found himself floating alone in the middle of pitch darkness. Stray snippets of memories would touch him lazily on occasion, throwing him fully into them for as long as it took them to move on through his mind. He remained motionless, exhausted from the ordeal he’d just put himself through, wishing he could stop drifting into memories, but too exhausted to prevent it happening. It would be so easy, so very easy to just stay where he was and never surface again to confront the real world.

“Ianto Dylan Jones, what have I told you about running in the house?”
“Sorry Mam! Meredith wants to know if I can go play at his house. Can I?”
“Meredith, eh?”

“Watch your language, young lady.”
“Oh, you are bloody joking.”

“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“You’ve never been to university.”
“Afraid not. You said it yourself; I was a bit of a drifter.”
“Most brilliant one I’ve seen in a long time.”

“That’s brilliant! You’re back in Cardiff then?”
“For a while, I suppose. I – couldn’t stay there.”
“What on earth happened? You sound – well, you don’t sound yourself.”
“… You know that terrorist bombing in London. Canary Wharf.”
“Yes, it’s all over the news. Terrible, isn’t it?”
“I was nearby.”
“Oh god, are you all right?”
“I wasn’t hurt.”
“Then…”
“I knew people who worked there.”
“Oh, Ianto, I’m so sorry.”
“So am I. … Look, I won’t be coming over any time soon, okay? I think – I think I need some time to myself. And don’t tell Mam.”
“… All right. Mind, I don’t think it’s a good idea leaving you by yourself, but I’ll give you some time. Come down for Sunday lunch whenever you like.”
“Thanks, Rhiannon.”

“Rhiannon! Swapping gossip at the cooler, are we?”
“Piss off, Douglas.”
“Oh, she’s in a bad mood. What’s up?”
“Jack Harkness showed up unannounced today.”
“The infamous Harkness! And?”
“Ms Hartman was not best pleased.”
“… And she took it out on ENA?”
“The entire department, yes, but Rhiannon took the brunt of it.”
“Ouch. Poor darling.”
“I am still here, you know.”
“I do know! So, how to make you feel better?”
“I would tell you how, but I don’t want to get demoted.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get stuck in clean-up crew.”
“Or worse, Public Relations.”
“Why, DT! Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
“So! Pub crawl tonight? Could get nicely pissed, take your mind off things.”

“Live a little! Have one, go on.”
“Thanks, but no. I’ve got my physicals tomorrow, can’t afford to be hung-over.”
“Ah, those things. Suck major balls, those.”
“Thanks for the inspirational speech.”
“You’re welcome! All set?”
“I certainly hope so.”
“We’ll see, eh? Be in there soon with me.”
“If I get the job.”
“You’ll get it. Aren’t you happy I told you about us?”
“Ecstatic.”

“Absolutely ecstatic, sir.”
“See, that’s the thing about you, I can never tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”
“In this case – not.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Quite.”
“So… you like it.”
“Very much, yes.”
“Good!”
“I just don’t understand why you’ve done this.”
“Because you deserve to be spoiled a little, my Ianto.”
“Oh.”
“Quite.”
“Mocking me, are you, sir?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Go on, strip and lie down. Scents all okay? Not too strong?”
“Nope. Perfect.”
“Is the music too –”
“Jack. It’s perfect.”
“… Good. I’ll, ah, let me just warm up the oil.”
“All right. And Jack… thank you.”

Ianto opened his eyes, too tired to even feel anything at the quicksilver flashes of memories. The cave ceiling stared down at him, blank, impenetrable. After a time, he managed to gather enough energy to clamber out of the bedding. It had twisted tightly around him in a stranglehold, and it took some work to escape. His head was sore despite the cushioning he’d ensured he had. Evidently the spasms had been worse than he’d expected. He undid the gag, spat out blood, then thankfully sucked down an entire bottle of water. His throat ached, and his mouth felt chafed where he’d strained against the gag.

His watch informed him that it was eight o’clock. He’d taken longer than he’d hoped he would, but there was no helping it. He couldn’t go back home with his shields in such disarray. No, he was stuck here until he got at least the first layer back up and functioning again.

No time like the present. He took a few moments to stretch the kinks out of his muscles before settling back into a trance again.

The worst had already passed, and only small flares of stray thoughts bothered him now as he slowly reconstructed his shields from scratch. There was no way he’d be able to get away with a quick patch – they’d been completely obliterated in the first wave. Already he could feel the gentle touch of emotions that weren’t his own. He knew he had the place to himself for quite a wide radius. For him to still be picking up on others’ emotions wasn’t a good sign. Meticulously, he rebuilt the familiar walls, setting up basic mental defences before diving deeper to look at his mental haven.

No one ever had control over what their safe space looked like. His training in the psychic arts hadn’t been extensive, but Ianto had picked up enough to know that this deepest part of their minds was always controlled by their subconscious, was always something they associated with protection. Once upon a time, it had been Torchwood London, Level B2, Secure Archives, Room 14 – where Lisa had asked him out on that first date. Now, though, his heart ached a little as he took in the sight of a familiar small bedroom.

He wasn’t surprised, though. Idly, he ran his hand across the bedcovers, revelling in the feel of the smooth cloth. Around him were the various knick-knacks that Jack kept in his bedroom, the familiar RAF greatcoat hanging in the corner. He moved to the coat, holding it out and inspecting it carefully. His mind had recreated every detail faithfully, down to the places where Ianto had had to replace parts of the fabric. It had taken quite a lot of digging to find the right materials to conduct those repairs, but he’d managed. Such a lovely, authentic old coat deserved the best treatment possible.

He slipped the greatcoat on and wandered around for a few moments more, feeling simultaneously nostalgic and melancholic. But the sharp pain had dulled somewhat, and he knew that he’d never be this badly hurt again. He might have to revise his plans though; talk to Jack before making any concrete decisions. This whole ordeal might have been easier on him if he hadn’t let everything build up all this while, but the end results were the same. He felt distinctly more at peace now than he had been for the past couple of months.

Eventually, he drew a deep breath and started up the ladder, out of the bedroom. Rather than Jack’s office, it was his ruined mindscape that he clambered out into. The greatcoat still wrapped securely around him, he began quickly and efficiently categorising all his memories again. It still hurt a little when he came across memories that made him feel neglected, but this time he had the perspective to realise that there were equally many memories where Jack had been extremely solicitous of his well-being. So many instances where Jack had done something special for him, something to make him feel alive and loved – and that emotion hadn’t been faked, Ianto was sure. The exact nature of Jack’s love for Ianto was something they’d have to talk about, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he was important in some way to Jack.

Abruptly, he realised that he’d been thinking of Jack’s return without adding the clause of ‘if he does’ for quite a while. Sheepishly, he continued reorganising his memories, never allowing himself to delve too deeply (except for a few truly tender moments he had had with Jack, which he savoured – funny how none of those involved sex) so that he’d be done quickly. Apparently his subconscious had come to terms with things far sooner than he had. Once all the memories floating around his head had been recaptured and roughly organised into groups, he started building up his shields. With his newfound sense of peace and purpose, the work went quickly, and soon he had created shields that were at least as strong as his old ones. Satisfied, he began the process of withdrawing from the trance. His thoughts still required reordering, but that could wait; the most pressing work had already been completed.

Night had long since fallen, and his torch was essential in letting him pack up in near-darkness. Ianto worked quickly, ignoring the aches and stiffness in his body. He’d worked in Torchwood long enough to know that it was foolish to be out so late – and that muggers were the least of his worries. Once he’d packed up, he made his way back to his car, keeping a watchful eye around him.

He made it home without incident and collapsed into bed without even changing, falling asleep instantly.

---

Part Five

Comments

[soera.livejournal.com]

Hey, Anonymouse!

I'm sorry to hear you won't be continuing with the story after this chapter; I'm glad you enjoyed the previous parts, at least.

Being a writer, I have to offer some sort of defence for my writing, and so I'll do that very briefly here: This fic isn't Gwen-bashing. Maybe you have a more liberal view of what "bashing" entails than I do, but to me, "bashing" involves writing a character in a manner designed to cruelly parody their flaws.

I admit that Gwen's not my favourite character and never will be, but I also don't think I'm parodying her here. She's done plenty in canon that's not entirely nice (e.g. Retconning Rhys). She grows to be a better person eventually, but she's not always perfect.

Neither is Ianto. He admits it himself in this chapter that he's jealous, and that's the main reason why he's having problems with her. It's not a nice thing, but it's human.

I don't personally feel that Ianto was particularly close to Gwen - or anyone else, even. Ianto, more than any other character on the show, strikes me as particularly aloof and reserved. I only see that changing in Season 2. (Feel free to disagree; this is a personal opinion that's reflected in the fic.)

In later chapters, Ianto goes through a bit more see-sawing over how he feels about her (though there's never much - Gwen is not the point of this fic, and does not show up much except in team scenes), and the fic does end on a generally positive note towards the entire team. Yes, including Gwen. In fact, it's Ianto who offers Gwen support and comfort, and talks her into staying when she feels close to quitting Torchwood at the end of this fic.

I don't bash for the sake of bashing, and I'm truly sorry you think I do.