Title: Through Other Eyes
Author: halfspokenwords
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13
Summary: An AU in which Ianto is offered command of Torchwood Three after Canary Wharf.

***

They approached him while he was still in hospital. It was UNIT's doing, the cordoning off of an entire wing of Albion Hospital just for the survivors, what few of them there were. Ianto Jones wasn't nearly injured enough for full-time medical care, but it had only been a few days and the doctors were citing observation for acute stress. It was the same for all twenty-seven of them; all in shock.

Their world had just burned. Of course they were.

They came, a woman in a smart pantsuit and a man in waistcoat and tie. The two of them certainly hadn't been in the battle, but they were Torchwood, through and through.

They found him in his bed, gown pulled tight around him, tapping with the oximeter clipped to the tip of his right index finger, listening to the steady beep of his heartbeat. His other arm was hung in a sling close to his chest, his wrist in a plaster cast.

The man pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. He seemed to be the more personable of the two. "Mr. Jones, how are you feeling?"

"Better," Ianto said, though he didn't even try to smile. Better than what, he wasn't sure, but it seemed to be enough for the visitors. It was going to have to be.

"Good. My name is Emmett Sadeler and this is Miss White. We're from the steering committee."

"You're aware," the woman began in clipped tones, "of the recent death of Suzanne Costello, leader of Torchwood Three?"

Taptaptap.

"Mr. Jones."

"Yes," he answered, wondering what it had to do with him. "I'm aware."

"You've decided to remain with Torchwood?." Somehow, in the woman's voice, it rang out like an accusation. But it was true. Most had chosen not to. He didn't need to be told; there was no blaming them, but Ianto couldn't go that route. The implications were too great to bear thinking about: to leave Torchwood is to die, one way or another. He could die on an autopsy table or die in another life, believing he was someone else-- or a constructed version of himself, which was almost worse.

Or he could go on, so that the lives lost were not in vain: he could remember. So Ianto nodded. "Yes."

"Long story short, Mr. Jones," she continued, "until Torchwood One becomes operational again, and it will, Cardiff is going to be our forerunner. It will be Torchwood. And therefore, we can no longer afford to let it run amok."

Sadeler nodded. "Of the current management, barely enough people survived to get the main office running again, let alone one or two spare to ship off to Wales. The Committee has therefore voted to promote from within."

"And that is why we've come to you."

"What--"

Before he could ask them to clarify, or otherwise stutter through a question that would no doubt embarrass himself, Sadeler gave him a much gentler smile. Strangely, he didn't feel patronised. "We'd like you to consider the position."

Ianto struggled with that a moment. They were offering him Torchwood Three? He knew he was more tired than he wanted to admit to himself, but that seemed a little far-fetched for even his brain. "I'm not sure I'm qualified--"

"You possess a background in technology, are trained in data and logistics, and have completed two field rotations. Your record is flawless. In fact, you were on Director's personal watchlist for recruitment into the administration."

"Ah." That would be something else to mull over later. Being chosen by Yvonne Hartman no longer sounded like the honour it would have been a few days ago. "And should I choose not to accept?"

The man smiled. "We'll move on to the next name on the list and you'll be offered the same choice as the rest. Memory alteration and a new life, or placement at the head of a department when we're off the ground."

His own department or his own branch. Either way, he was being offered a promotion-- a promotion he wasn't sure if he'd deserved, and one he certainly hadn't earned. He was being rewarded for watching hundreds of people die, for holding on just a few seconds longer than they had managed.

He wanted to scream about how unfair this was, but all he did was nod.

Shock, Ianto reminded himself. In the background, his pulse rang out in tinny, echoing beeps.

***

Even once he was in Cardiff, belongings stored in a small, modern flat, it seemed unreal. Torchwood One was gone.

Torchwood Three was his.

He knew Cardiff, one might even say well, on account of it being the closest city to his childhood home. In fact, that had greatly contributed to his decision to avoid it at all costs. He'd wanted London-- the center of it all, where the real work was done. Cardiff was backwater, the rogues.

His rogues.

Ianto stopped in the middle of the Plas and spent a moment looking up at the Millenium Center. It hadn't been there when he was a child, or even when he'd left for university, and now it felt out of place. Too large, too showy-- it seemed wrong, somehow, to come from London and criticize Cardiff for being flash.

He knew about the invisible lift embedded into the paving stones at the base of the fountain, but that seemed a bit too flashy as well. He chose instead to make his way to the normal street entrance, the small, run-down tourist information office.

And run-down it was. Once inside, he was surprised to see that it didn't improve. There were all the usual trappings of such an office, all the brochures, posters, and two-page dictionaries of 'helpful Welsh phrases' but they were dusty, ill cared-for. There was something wrong about that too, his heart aching for dusty brochures when he had a world to mourn.

Using the pre-programmed override he had been provided, he secured entrance to the main area of the base. This was slightly more impressive, with the automatic lock on the outside door, the slide-away wall, but all a bit James Bond for his taste. Torchwood One had been all about security guards, voice prints, and retinal scans.

A few minutes later, it made sense: this was nothing like Torchwood One. In place of glass and chrome, it was all tile and running water, with a high ceiling-- the look of an old Tube station. In his best, most expensive, finely tailored suit, he felt out of place in the dark, damp Hub.

"Howdy," came a voice from the top of the steps. Ianto looked up and found a tall, dark-haired man in braces and a military greatcoat. Classic good looks, American accent. No doubt this was Captain Jack Harkness, interim leader after Costello's rather unfortunate demise. His cipher. Captain of nothing, as far as he could tell.

"Guess you're the new sheriff 'round here," Jack drawled.

"As a matter of fact," Ianto answered, motioning with the briefcase he carried in his uninjured hand. "Though if your next comment is a variant of 'This town ain't big enough for the both of us,' I may have to reconsider."

Jack laughed, the sound easy but there was something about the mechanics of it that seemed forced. Ianto could understand that well enough. "I'll spare you, then."

"Thank you." He went to offer a hand to shake, but realised belatedly that he had only one and it was occupied. The other man seemed to realise this too, but he thankfully stayed silent. "Ianto Jones. You must be Jack."

Jack. Not Captain. He was going to have to be very careful about that.

Something screeched overheard. The sound, the sudden movement-- Ianto was taken off-guard and dropped his case. For a moment he was back at Canary Wharf, amongst the screaming, the flames, and the marching. Oh, god, the marching--

All of that must have shown on his face, because Jack approached, everything about him suddenly serious. "Hey, you all right?" Ianto became aware of a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," Jack said, looking him square in the eye. "It's just the pterodactyl."

He knew. Ianto realised this suddenly, with the echo of the Cybermen still crashing in his ears. There was something about the way his fingers curled almost too-tightly, the way he held eye contact, the compassion on his face. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew why. Great, Ianto thought. What he really needed was for his new subordinate to think the boss was crippled.

"Fine," he answered smoothly when he could, immediately stepping out of the contact. "Believe it or not, prehistoric pets do make it into the briefings. I take it that's my office?"

"Yes." Jack stooped down to retrieve the briefcase, like a steward. Ianto cursed himself again; he'd nearly forgotten that too. Falling apart was a hell of a way to introduce himself. "But I warn you, it's a mess. Suzie wasn't very good at paperwork."

"I am. I'm sure it will all sort out."

"That's a lie, actually," Jack corrected, without a trace of shame. "She was good at everything. It's me that's terrible at it."

Ianto smiled, grateful for the deflection. He doubted it was an oblivious move on the Captain's part. "Guess we'll have to sort you out, too."

Jack followed him toward the office, though he walked a few steps behind. Ianto felt studied, and he didn't know if he liked where he imagined that studious gaze to be lingering. "You're younger than I thought you'd be," he said, almost conversationally.

"I assure you I'm very experienced."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that," was the reply, appreciative. Ianto could feel the leer burning into him without turning around; he was beginning to wonder if the amount of sex appeal on this man could possibly be natural. He shook his head instead of answering, then began to take a look around.

His office was rather large and the only private space in the Hub-- not that it managed to be terribly private. Most of Suzie's personal effects had been moved out by Jack and the others, so only the professional debris remained. There wasn't truly an 'only' about it-- papers, notebooks, and boxes were everywhere. It looked as if someone had started to clear it out and halted quickly. On the news of his transfer, he assumed.

A hatch distracted him from that line of thought. He called it to Jack's attention. "What's down there?"

"Rooms. Suzie kept a bed; she was dedicated. Didn't always go home. Neither do I, most nights, if we want to be honest." He held up both hands, palms out, at Ianto's look. "Hey, I stay in the barracks."

The next morning, at 0800-- or more accurately, quite a bit after, once they'd decided it suited them to come to work-- Ianto met his staff. He had already reviewed their files-- and that included both personal and professional, as well individual cases-- so he barely needed introductions at all. In fact, he preferred to cut those out as much as possible.

"Dr. Sato," he said as he entered the conference room, nodding to the very pretty Asian woman who was already seated. "Very nice to finally meet you. I've read your work, particularly concerning the computer core recovered last year."

Her spine seemed to straighten and she smiled shyly, almost glowing. This was a woman not used to being noticed. He'd have to do something about that. "Oh. Really?"

"Yes." Ianto paused to smile quickly. "You should have seen the faces of the guys down in Computing when we passed it along." The pang of grief was quickly suppressed; sooner or later it would worry him that it had become so easy.

"So, is he here yet?" Ianto heard echo through the Hub. "I don't see why we need a suit, anyway."

He couldn't hear Jack's hushed reply, but as they both appeared a few seconds later, he assumed it was nothing genuinely disloyal. "Ah," he observed in his dryest voice, "Dr. Harper, I presume? You're late."

"Bloody bender, all right?" The doctor seemed to slump into one of the empty chairs as Jack slid in on the other side of Ianto. Owen scowled. It seemed to be his default expression, judging by the photograph in his file. "But yeah, okay, I'm here. Make yourself at home."

Ianto let himself show neither amusement or irritation-- already he suspected that Owen would routinely inspire a frustrating combination of the two. "Well, I'd say good morning, but it obviously has failed to be one." He was rewarded with only a grunt, though he noticed Toshiko smiling behind her hand. "As I'm sure you're all aware, my name is Ianto Jones."

Introductions, protocol, and rules and regulations all out of the way, he released them without new instructions. There had been no new reports that morning, nothing of immediate importance, and so he thought it prudent to give the team time to adjust to his presence-- not to mention finish the duties assigned before he'd arrived.

Just as he sat down to review the current cases he hadn't had a chance to read the night before, there was a knock.

It was Jack, standing in the doorway, knuckles resting against the doorframe. "Hey, boss. Can I get you a coffee?" His tone was mocking, as the nickname seemed, but something in the offer sounded genuine.

Coffee. The coffee machine, the smell of the beans, the smell of the smoke, of the flames, of seared flesh-- Ianto ground his teeth to keep from gagging. "No," he said, hoping that Jack missed the heavy swallow, "thank you. I drink tea."

The only answer was a long, considering glance, a nod, and then a quiet departure. Ianto watched him go and got down to work.


*****


Torchwood One was all about delegation and departments. Torchwood Three, by its very nature, was completely different. It was only the four of them for now, though Ianto planned on making personnel his top priority. Jack would make a fine second-in-command and seemed to be at home leading the others in the field-- a blessing for Ianto and his healing arm-- but even then, they were stretched thin.

He couldn't imagine how they'd managed before he arrived, but a quick look through the interim files showed the answer quite simply: they hadn't. Jack had kept everything together on the surface, but no reports had been filed, no recommendations written, and there were two cardboard boxes full of alien equipment waiting to be tagged and secured. One of them was labelled harmless while the second, to Ianto's horror, was very, very dangerous-- with do not shake added in another hand.

It had taken longer him to discover the third box, shoved under the desk and forgotten, which read who knows? in Jack's old-fashioned script. Unsurprisingly, this last was filled to the brim; also unsurprisingly, the first device Ianto identified could have levelled half of Cardiff if it had been armed. Which it hadn't, thankfully-- a quick check revealed that it lacked an energy pack.

As he'd rolled up his sleeves and begun to sort the contents, he didn't miss Jack out of the corner of his eye. He was watching, thoughtful and unashamed, and seemed to be waiting for something. He must have found it, because when Ianto looked next, he was gone.

Only after everything was sorted did Ianto discover that none of his current team had more than a precursory knowledge of the archives.

It was a therefore a mere matter of days before found himself venturing down into the labyrinthian archives, up to his elbows in dust, in order to see just what it was he was up against. Everything down here was well-cared for, at least; one might even say loved. The vaults to his left were technological, and a few rooms deeper were biological specimens, oddities stored either on ice or in formaldehyde.

The last archivist had been an older man named Miles; Costello had thought very highly of him, judging by her reports. He died six months before her accident-- and though it was rare for Torchwood employees, his death had been natural causes. He'd had a heart attack right here in the archives, after straining to lift a loaded-down box. Costello hadn't ever forgiven herself for that, and for the rest of her tenure insisted on doing the archival work herself. It was probably why she didn't sleep, Ianto reflected as he walked through the dimly lit corridors. He'd have to see about hiring someone for that.

As he was finishing his introductory rounds, he caught sight of what seemed to be an old workstation, set up for some recent studies. A stack of files was set out, all out of order but thankfully alphabatised, numbered, and colour-coded for convenience. He lifted one file and found a page of recent notes on the top; he thought he recognised his predecessor's handwriting.

Before he could get too involved, a photograph, old and brittle, became dislodged and floated to the ground. Once retrieved, it appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary, just a shot of an old crime scene, something taken care of by Torchwood nearly a century before. On the back, in ink that looked just as recent as the page of writing, was scrawled, "Jack??"

He flipped it over and held it closer to the light. It did indeed look like Jack Harkness, but it couldn't possibly be.

Could it?

Very carefully, Ianto tucked the photograph back into the correct folder. Then, with an uncertain look and a heavy sigh, he set it aside. He'd take that home for a proper look.

"Hey, look what I found in the archives," Owen was saying, holding up a hand on which he wore a metal gauntlet, as Ianto resurfaced. "Came with this," he added, hefting an oddly-shaped knife. "Cool or what?"

"Christ!" Ianto exclaimed, his voice echoing, as he approached and could see everything clearly. Sometimes he wondered if they were idiots all the time, or if he brought it out in them. "Do we need a seminar on safe handling of alien objects? Take that off."

Jack waited for Owen to do as he was instructed and then grinned at Ianto; he wanted an audience. Ianto obliged, the photograph he'd found threatening to burn a hole through the manila file in his hands. "Definitely not your colour, Owen. What, they didn't have anything in fabulous?"

Tosh, already rummaging in her desk drawer, laughed; Ianto smiled, but that was all. "Owen, Tosh, if you want to run some more tests, be my guest, but do wear gloves and be careful." He checked his watch, then nodded toward his office, adding, "Jack, I need you for a conference call. Options Committee and the PM. Five minutes?"

"Yes, sir," Jack called, with a cheeky grin and an offhand salute, as he headed to his desk.

When Ianto got to his own, awaiting him was a cup of tea, still hot.

***

"Team morale," Jack said, looking comfortable in the passenger seat of the SUV. Ianto was no longer in a cast, had therefore begun driving again, and had therefore cleared himself for field duty. Owen probably thought he hadn't heard the cracks about the suits being inappropriate, but Ianto wasn't about to compromise his personal dress code.

"Could use some work, yeah." That was an understatement; he'd been heading Torchwood Three for a month now and though he'd settled in well and his orders were being followed, he couldn't help but notice Suzie's death still weighing on them all. "Should I get the iron maiden from the archives?"

Jack laughed. "You saw that, huh? Well, that's one way, but I gotta warn you, it's not exactly medieval. It's a transporter in disguise. More or less. We don't know where it goes, either. No one's ever reported back."

He raised an eyebrow. He'd gathered that Owen and Tosh found it hard to tell when Jack was joking, but to him it seemed incredibly naive to assume jest unless assured otherwise. Ianto, on the other hand, chose to go neither route; he faced everything with the same careful skepticism. "Even better."

"You, Ianto Jones, are a cruel man."

"Oh, yeah. Vicious, me." After a few seconds went by, he said, as something as an aside, "Iron maiden's nineteenth century, anyway. Wouldn't be medieval. Siebenkees' was a hoax."

"You frighten me sometimes. I was more worried about who would build a transporter that looked like an iron maiden."

"Maybe it doesn't go anywhere," he suggested, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "Maybe that's the point. It isn't a transporter. It's an iron maiden, of a sort." Beat. "An iron maiden that looks like a transporter that looks like an iron maiden."

"Did I say sometimes? You just frighten me."

"Worried I'll have you strung up?"

"Would you?" Ianto thought he should have been more concerned over the delight in Jack's voice.

"No," he answered mildly. "I'd be too afraid you'd enjoy it."

"If you did it? I would."

Ianto laughed. This wasn't so bad. He didn't mind the flirting, as long as it was harmless, and it seemed to be. Harmless and so normal, and for a few moments each day he could pretend all the people he knew weren't dead. "You know. Apparently there's a pool," he said, taking his eyes off the road to glance over at Jack. "Toshiko told me about it. She wanted to know my opinion."

Jack's grin was wolfish in return. "A pool?"

"Regarding your sexuality."

"Oh, that pool," Jack said, sounding far too pleased about being the subject of debate. "And what was your opinion?"

Ianto raised his eyebrows in an are-you-kidding sort of expression. "That as your superior it's none of my business." He allowed for a pause that was just long enough. "But that if she found out, she should let me know."

"Ooh, now you have my interest." Jack shifted in the seat, so that he had one elbow on the dashboard and his back against the door. "But I bet she didn't mention the other pool. The Ianto Jones version." Ianto laughed. "No, really. Owen thinks your manicure gives you away. Tosh isn't sold; she says you could just be a young professional who's too busy to date."

"And what do you think?" Ianto asked, immediately chiding himself mentally. Stupid questions backed people into corners, and that was the last thing he needed right now.

"That I don't like labels." Sometime during the conversation, that Jack Harkness grin had become a Jack Harkness smirk; Ianto relaxed nonetheless. "But that if they found out, they had damn well better let me know."

He laughed again and the rest of the drive was spent in the same sort of light-hearted banter, the subject of Ianto's orientation thankfully not coming up again. They caught up to the Weevil in, of all places, the police station. It was fairly routine, as far as Weevil chases went. They had it cornered; Jack sprayed, Ianto clamped.

As he finished securing the beast, he looked up to see where Jack had got off to to-- only to discover him talking to a female PC. Figures, he thought. Even on a deserted floor of a building they were only in to catch a riftugee, the man managed to find someone to charm.

"Captain Jack Harkness," he was saying, his body a shield between the girl and the Weevil. "So, what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"You're Torchwood," she answered, trying to see around him. At one point, she caught Ianto's eye and he shoved the Weevil further from sight. If she needed to be retconned, it would be easier if she'd seen nothing with large teeth. "I recognised you. You were at that crime scene last week, the one with the teeth marks that couldn't be human."

Another Weevil attack, one the police had gotten to first. Routine clean-up and body collection, really; the Weevil had gotten away. It might have even been the one Ianto was holding. That wasn't exactly a cheerful thought.

"Torchwood?" Jack laughed. "No, what's that?"

"I don't know. Some kind of--special ops or something, they said. But look, I don't care who you are. I want to know what they are. Those things, the ones that are killing. If the people around here aren't safe, they deserve to know." She was insistent, this girl. Ianto would have been impressed, if only this hadn't been such a spanner in the works. "Don't they?"

"Jack," Ianto called finally, as the spray wore off and the Weevil began to struggle slightly. "Give me a hand, and then you have my permission to take the nice PC for a drink."


*****


Having got the Weevil safely in the SUV, Ianto sent Jack off with a retcon capsule. Predictably, he only made it as far as the nearest intersection before a message from Tosh had him making a U-turn and nearly driving onto the curb to get Jack's attention. He pushed the passenger's side door open. "Code one! Jack, get in. Now."

He did. "They have awful timing," he said, his voice light but his eyes serious. "What about Gwen?"

"Who's Gwen?"

One of the back pasenger doors slammed shut. "Her," Jack said, thumbing back. "Ianto, meet PC Gwen Cooper, professional snooper. Gwen, Ianto. My incredibly sexy boss."

"Charmed," Ianto said, starting up the engine and hitting the gas. He'd deal with this later. He had a code one to worry about. "I'm sure."

"Hi." He looked at her in the rearview mirror. She was wide-eyed, maybe scared, but determined. "Right, so where are we off to, then?"

"I can't take you anywhere," he muttered to Jack, who responded with only a grin. "We," he directed to Gwen, emphasizing the pronoun, "have something to take care of. You are going to try not to get in the way."

"And watch the Weevil." Jack didn't twist in his seat, but the smugness was clear in his voice.

"The what?" Almost as if on cue-- and Ianto wouldn't rule anything out where Harkness was concerned -- the Weevil began to throw itself against the sides of the containment area in the back of the SUV. Gwen shrieked and tried to jump forward, wrapping her fingers around back of each headrest.

Ianto recognised Jack trying his very best not to laugh. Himself, he merely licked his lips, stared straight ahead, and added, "Seatbelts please."

As he worried in silence, a conversation continued around him. As he caught bits and pieces, he had to smile to himself, despite himself.

"I said I'd meet up with you later."

"Yeah, but I didn't believe you."

"So you followed me?"

"Well... yes."

"Fair enough."

The smile faded when he looked at the time-- they didn't have much of that left. Ianto shifted forward and hit speakerphone. "Tosh, what do we have?"

"Two ships, geosynchronous orbit. Our satellite picked them up on its last rotation."

"Wait, wait, wait," interrupted Gwen from the backseat. "You lot have a satellite?"

"Yes," Jack told her. "Shh."

"Does it say Torchwood on the side of that too?"

Ianto sighed. "Yes, actually. Tosh?"

"They're sending an umbrella broadcast. So far not on any frequencies that should affect radio or television channels, but it's only a matter of time. From what we can tell, their weapons are armed and locked."

Ianto cursed and drove faster.

When they got back to the Hub, he parked across two parking spaces in the garage and took off at a run. He felt Jack at his elbow. "I need you to arm the plasma cannon," he said in a quiet voice as they stopped just before the main area of the Hub. "And I need you to do it without telling the others. I don't plan to use it, but..."

"Back-up plans. Always a good idea. Got it."

"What?" Gwen asked, trailing behind them. "What?"

Owen stopped in the middle of his sentence, his mouth staying open for a few seconds too long. "Who's she?"

"Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper," Ianto supplied without even looking in their direction. He was already at a computer, accessing the broadcast. "Tosh, have you got that translation program running yet?"

"Already on it." She hit a few keys and suddenly Ianto's monitor was displaying the same readout as her own. This was software developed jointly by Torchwood and UNIT; it was the best they had.

"-- surrender."

"There!" Tosh cried. "It's working. Hang on, it'll repeat."

In the meantime, Ianto chewed on his thumbnail. He stopped abruptly when Jack appeared at his side. He tapped the mysterious computer he wore at his wrist and Ianto knew the cannon was ready. It was a last resort, something they'd cannibalised from a crashed ship several years ago.

"People of Sol," the computer announced, in artificial tones that were almost alien enough to sound authentic. "You cannot resist. We are claiming your planet and planetary resources as our own. You will surrender."

"All right," Ianto said, keeping himself completely calm. He glanced at Jack. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek; that couldn't be good, but he also wasn't panicking. Yet. "Tosh, I need the translation to go two ways. Hook it into the transmitter and wait for my signal."

"Ready," Tosh announced thirty seconds later. He nodded and with a deep breath, he leaned down.

"We do not surrender. This planet is protected by the Shadow Proclamation," he said into the transmitter, "and I hereby invoke convention fifteen. Read, convention fifteen of the Shadow Proclamation. I demand conference." As he clicked the channel closed, he eyed the others and remembered to breathe. "I hope this works."

"So what's the Shadow Proclamation?" asked Owen. Admittedly that didn't set Ianto's mind at ease when it came to staff competency.

"And why does it protect us?" That was Gwen; at some point previously, she'd come to sit nearby, moving back and forth in a swivel chair.

Jack looked between them, his face grim. "It doesn't."

"No," Ianto agreed, voice firm. "But they aren't aware of that."

Tosh's computer suddenly burst into life. The static cleared as the program translated. "Sol Three," came the same, mechanized voice. "We were not aware it was protected."

"I speak for Sol Three when I say that it is. Convention eighty-four, subsection seventeen, statute six mandates that proper warning be given prior to invasion, and all the correct forms, complete and in triplicate, be filed by the deadline."

Behind Ianto, there was whispering. He caught Jack's voice in the tangle: "The yellow one's for us."

It took a long time for the final transmission. "We recind our claim on Sol Three."

"Thank god." He found the nearest chair and attempted to sit down without collapsing. "Tosh?"

She spent a few seconds typing and then grinned his way. "Both ships are leaving orbit."

"Jack?"

"Disarmed and powered down."


*****


"So what about her?"

Ianto looked at Jack a bit askance. He could guess what he was asking-- and didn't know what, if anything, he felt about it. "What about her?"

He motioned to the CCTV footage playing on Ianto's computer. It was real-time, showing Gwen following Owen in a sort of a self-made tour. Between the relief that the Earth was not being invaded and the extraction of one very angry Weevil from the SUV, they hadn't yet had her escorted out. "She's taking it well, Weevils, aliens, secret underground bases. She's with the police, seems to really care about people..."

"She's stubborn, and nosy, and--"

Jack grinned. "So you see it too."

He sighed. "Yes. Hang on, I'll put on the audio."

"What's this?" Gwen was asking, reaching out for the metal glove Owen had taken to keeping at the side of his work station. As he turned around to answer, she yelped and pulled her hand back as if it had been burned. "You should really put warnings on this thing."

"What?" He stared at her. Back in his office, Ianto zoomed in to have a better look.

"Warnings," she repeated. "On things that are dangerous. That glove, thing, whatever it is, it gave me a shock."

"It's never done that for anyone else."

Strictly speaking, Ianto mused as Harper checked the girl's fingers for injuries-- she had none-- that wasn't quite true.

They'd continued to run tests on it, even though a quick glance at the paper records had shown a wax and wane of interest in the glove. Every decade or so, someone would take it out and perform a battery of tests, to differing results. That last was the reason for most of the fascination, really. Generally, uninteresting artifacts garnered consistently uninteresting results.

This, on the other hand, seemed to vary according to the person who wore it. Psychic testing hadn't been done on it before-- not surprisingly, since the procedure had only been perfected and approved in recent years.

So they'd all tried it, hooked up to various psychic monitors. Tosh and Owen had both registered just about nil. Jack the same, though Ianto privately suspected some sort of psychic shield. Ianto, when he'd tried, had felt a tingle, then a burn, enough that he'd had to raise his own psychic shields, ending the experiment. Even then, there was only a radiation spike; nothing notable.

Ianto had been about to order it classified harmless/unknown and packed back into its original box, which looked as if it dated from the Second World War itself. They were wasting time and getting nowhere.

Until Gwen.

"Oi, Ianto!" Owen called over his headset. "So, this PC. Can we keep her?"

***

He 'borrowed' Gwen, in the end, but all too quickly the provisional basis became permanent. Police liason was her official title, but in reality she began to take on paperwork because she was bored of being Owen's lab rat. It was helpful, to have another set of eyes, someone to read through the data stream, make telephone calls, do the little bits of investigating that Torchwood generally avoided.

Her first day was also the first time Ianto saw Jack die.

It went well until the evening, when two reports on opposite sides of Cardiff forced them into dividing.

Ianto sent Tosh and Owen off to investigate a crashed meteor with Gwen in tow. The Army had already secured the site, so all the trio had to do was take readings and, if necessary, pack up the rock and bring it back to the base. He was thankful he'd stressed protocol when, later that night, Owen had cracked the surface of the meteor and became infected with some sort of purple alien gas. He'd been in a containment suite at the time, and Tosh had freed him safely.

Meanwhile, Ianto had taken his own car and Jack to check out the police reports that indicated that there was something prowling through a residential area. The police had suspected dogs, until sightings had begun to feature words like gelatinous and fangs.

They started with a canvas of the area where the sightings were most concentrated.

"Look," Ianto called, squatting down by some garbage bins and pulling out his torch. In the light, a thin, almost translucent trail shimmered. "Not terrestial, then."

Jack joined him, took one look, and remarked, "Certainly not dogs." He held out one finger and touched it to the trail. Immediately, he inhaled sharply and wiped the slime on another patch of ground. "Acid. Wonder why we haven't gotten reports of that."

"Gloves," Ianto reminded idly, but Jack didn't notice. He was already on his feet again, motioning for silence.

After a few-second pause, he pointed to the end of the block, where the entrance to an alley was just barely visible. Ianto nodded, took out his gun, then moved in front of Jack. For a moment, he thought the other man was going to argue, but he seemed to come to terms with the situation because he set his mouth and stayed silent.

The alien was there. It didn't even attempt to hide itself. Ianto fingered the portable cell that he had pocketed before leaving the SUV. If only he could get closer-- if only. In fact, he was only a few feet closer when it attacked. He made for cover, and it was only after he was safely behind something that he heard Jack scream.

He moved back out into the open, only to see Jack struggling with it. None of Jack's bullets had seemed to impact or if they did, the alien showed no effect. Ianto took aim, but realised too quickly that he couldn't fire without risk to Jack.

He was beginning to formulate a new plan when he saw the alien's tail. It resembled a scorpion's, though in concept more than form.

The tail struck. Jack went down. Ianto fired three bullets into what he hoped was the heart of the creature; as soon as it stopped moving, he was at Jack's side.

No pulse. No respiration. There was something lodged in the side of his neck-- a barb? When Ianto eased it out, it was nearly blunted and the wound didn't bleed. He smelled it and identified a sharp, pungent odour. Poison. Fast-acting poison.

He grabbed his mobile and dialled 999. "Ambulance," he gasped into the phone as someone picked up. He gave the address. "Torchwood security code alpha-alpha-six."

He felt foolish, now, for the nights he'd spent poring over Suzie's legacy-- the files from the archives. Photographs all the way back the 1800s, fuzzy and grainy and of men who might have been Jack's relatives. Documents, Torchwood and otherwise, yellowed and falling to pieces, with a signature that might have been Jack's, handwriting so similar it was hard to believe, and the initials JH. Newspaper articles and stories from private correspondence, of a man living through a lightning strike, of a soldier being mistaken for dead and piled with the corpses.

He had almost begun to believe in the obsessions of a dead woman. He might have come to, some day, were Jack not dead in front of him; it had been easy to wonder about the secrets beneath the empty smile, beneath the knowledge Jack shouldn't have had and the wrist device Ianto'd always supposed had fallen through the Rift. Secrets, yes, but it looked like immortality was not one of them.

Ianto put on hand flat on Jack's chest. Vaguely, he wondered when he would stop losing people.

Today, he told himself. He tilted Jack's head back, pinched his nose, and breathed for him, twice. Feeling heavy and hopeless, he started chest compressions, counting to himself in a gravelly voice.

As Ianto got to his third "twenty-nine," Jack gasped.

Ianto pulled back with a start, almost stumbling away, which was incredibly bad CPR technique. But this wasn't anything that should have happened from CPR. Jack was breathing, his eyes were open, and as Ianto brought one hand to his wrist, he found a strong pulse.

"You're alive," Ianto said, immediately chiding himself for stating the obvious.

"Yeah." Jack's voice was hoarse, his breathing shallow, and yet he was still attempting to sit up. Ianto was too dazed to stop him; instead, he helped ease him into a sitting position. "Happens sometimes."

It happened too quickly to think. One moment he was looking at Jack and attempting to classify what had just happened, and the next there was a kiss. He was aware of a response, weak but thorough, and also that he had somehow lifted one hand to cup Jack's face, fingertips threading into his hair.

"You were dead," he gasped against Jack's neck. He wanted to believe that his shoulders weren't shaking, that he had had a more professional reaction to a colleague reanimating-- not for the first time, either, though of course he was glad not to have to do any re-killing at present.

Something occured to him and he pulled back thoughtfully. "You kissed me."

"Actually," Jack said with a rapidly strengthingly laugh, "You kissed me. I think that might be harrassment."

Ianto would have had a witty retort, he told himself, if only the ambulance hadn't chosen that moment to arrive. Instead, he merely stared at the jelly-like corpse that lay several feet to one side.


*****


"You can't die." Ianto looked Jack square in the eye. Without breaking the gaze, he opened his drawer, removed Suzie's file, and threw it, open, to the desk between them. Jack's eyes flickered down, then back up.

"No," he said, "I can't." And then, because he seemed to be having trouble believing it, "You knew."

"I suspected. I found these. Did Suzie know for certain?"

"No. At least, I don't think she did. Look, is this going to be a problem?"

"You're alive," Ianto answered calmly. "Of course that isn't a problem. But you could have told me, Jack. You should have told me."

"Hi, welcome to Torchwood Three, and oh by the way, I'm immortal?" He moved closer, still watching Ianto. Ianto wondered when he became the one who was being studied. "No, I don't think that would have worked. The others don't know either, before you ask."

He had a point. Torchwood, and particularly Torchwood One, had never had a good track record with dealing with people so profoundly different. At times it bordered on out-and-out xenophobia. Another agent might have dragged Jack in for study-- but Ianto was not another agent.

"There's nothing in your file to indicate you're anything but human."

"I change it every once in a while. But I am human. I promise you that."

"You're my second, Jack," he said, and suddenly he was not at all impressed with the sound of his own voice. "I need to be able to rely on you. Hell, I do rely on you, more than I ought. I'm not going to stop because of this, but I might if you continue to keep secrets that could affect the job."

Jack sighed; he looked resigned. "It never has before, and I've been doing this a long time. You know, I could have your position if I wanted it. Several times over."

"Do you want to get dinner?" Ianto frowned as his brain caught up his mouth, and then promptly stopped frowning as it occured to him what that must look like. "To talk, like. I think we could use it."

"Depends," Jack said, perching on Ianto's desk and leaning back teasingly. Ianto marvelled at how he seemed to speak with his entire body when he wanted to, only he tried to do it without staring. "Do you cook?"

"Yes, but not tonight. I'm shattered. There's a fantastic Thai place by my flat. Late-night take-away?"

Slowly, Jack smiled-- not the grin, not any of the looks used for deflection. This seemed serious somehow, like the dullness Ianto sometimes saw in Jack's eyes. "You're on."

Ianto smiled. If nothing else, it was a start.

***