Six times Jack had to take care of Ianto, and one time he didn't. These are a bit Timey Wimey; 1: S2, 2: After 'the deadline,' 3: Post S2, 4: S2, 5: Post S2, 6: S2, 7:S2

I lie on the sofa, with you resting- finally sleeping peacefully against me.

You'd been screaming pretty much nonstop since it happened. Then again, if I'd been reduced back to the body of an eight month old and then been thoroughly prodded by Owen, I doubt I'd have felt too reasonable either.

Naturally, you stopped screaming when I picked you up. Owen said that you probably had your memories, but only the mental capacity of an infant. So when I picked you up- I guess you felt safest with me. Imprinted. The trouble was, you wouldn't let me put you down.

So there we are. You slumbering peacefully against me, having been sick over my back 30 minutes before. Owen says he'll fix this, so tomorrow I'll have to go and search for the escaped Essika with the malfunctioning temporal weapon, no matter how much you scream when I put you down.

But I very quietly make a promise that if I don't find the weapon that did this, if you are stuck like this, I will take care of you. I'll make sure of it.

I'll find you someone, and somewhere to grow up, away from all of this. And when the time comes, I'll find you again and explain everything. I even kid myself that you'd come back and be a part of this again.

I wouldn't wish it on you. You deserve so much more.

You were exhausted and I should have known better. When you shrugged your shoulders and told me you were fine- I should have known. I was too caught up in saying goodbye to Stella and being fawned over.

You'd been wearing the same clothes for days. I should have picked up on that. I should never have let you drive me back to the Hub.

And there I was stood there babbling away like an idiot hoping you'd make me coffee when you drop out of the corner of my vision and I hear the thump as you hit the floor.

And the twelve seconds until you come back around are terrifying as they are long. You're pale. How could I have not seen that? You hadn't slept, you hadn't eaten- and you'd been stuck at my side in hospital with a thousand viruses and infections circling you.

You even try bluffing it when you come to your senses, saying you just felt dizzy despite the fact you were non-responsive. The moment you can stand I put you to bed. And you keep telling me you're sorry.

You have no idea.

Because just for a moment when you hit the floor-

Never mind.

Another pint. It's at least your fifth. You've gone beyond tipsy now. We needed this. We needed a celebration of life after Tosh and Owen, and you reaching twenty five is cause enough.

In our corner of Terra Nova life is good. Gwen and Rhys are dueting 'total eclipse of the heart,' and we seem to be drinking the city of Cardiff dry of Brains.

Your cheeks are glowing. You keep giggling.

When I come back from the bathroom Rhys has you shotting sambuca. This cannot end well. An hour later you can't stand up and keep shouting 'Sex please! I'm British.'

I pull you into the hub and you zone out on the sofa before I can even get you through a glass of water.

You snore, and I realise someone has written the word 'horny' on your face in eyeliner, and you have a pint glass in your jacket pocket. Just as well there were no traffic cones in the 30 ft walk between the hub and the pub.

I hate birthdays. But for you I can make an exception.

I wake gasping. I shouldn't have. I'd come back too soon and I was still bleeding, my guts were still hanging out. I was going to bleed to death again.

I lie back on the cold floor and wait for death. I'm happy to wait for it until I hear my name being shouted streets away.

My breath is rasping, I'm blacking out by the time you reach me.

You should be repelled by the state I'm in. You lift my head off the ground. I open my eyes and you cup my face. You glance down at my untucked giblets.

"It's just not your day, is it?" Is the last thing I remember you saying before it went black again.

I go easy this time. I know when I come back I won't be alone, and there's a good chance my guts will be back inside me.

It's been 2 hours since the explosion and I can't find you. I've been keeping a lid on my panic, but you haven't emerged from the ruins, your phone rings off and Gwen hasn't found you on the ward or in the morgue at St Helens. Hell, she's even got one of her copper mates looking for you in Penarth hospital in case you went there with minor injuries.

I can only conclude as I look at what used to be a building that you're still in there. A fireman stops me going over the line. Normally, wrestling with a six foot four fireman would be an ideal way to spend a Thursday afternoon, but I'm ready to start clawing at unstable rubble to find you.

"Jack!"

I turn and it takes a moment before I can recognise you. For a moment I thought you'd gone grey- you were covered in dust and debris. Your clothes were in rags. You're bleeding from your scalp.

I ran to you. I knocked you too hard when I grabbed you and held onto you- clashing with your bruised ribs. "Oww." You winced before trying to push me away. "You'll ruin your coat!"

It took three showers to get you clean. Gwen made you drink 4 cups of sugary tea to get you to stop shaking. You ate 1 bite of the pizza I bought, and none of the whiskey I poured.

When I put you to bed I almost told you- then stopped myself. You'd spent an hour under rubble thinking you were going to die- the last thing you needed was that.

My headset goes dead.

"Ianto? IANTO?"

Nothing.

I run. I'm terrified you're already dead. I run past the point where I left you, before I went on ahead. There's blood on the floor, a line of blood getting thicker as it goes further into the building.

"Jack." Owens voice in my ear.

"Stay outside." I say. "All of you." The only reason you were in here was because you'd already seen Stox beasts in London.

Something glints in the dark and moves quickly, I draw my gun. I grip it tightly, holding it still is more difficult than it should be, my heart thudding, making my hands shake.

An inhuman moan from the room. I creep forward, then it moves. I unload my gun into its face. It wails and slinks away, but I'm not sure it's dead.

And there you are. Slumped against a wall- I move closer. Oh god. Oh god no. The stox must have been surprised by you- that's why it's released its spines and they're embedded in your chest.

I rush forward and drop to my knees. My fingers slip under your jawbone. You have a pulse. Oh thank god. I put my hand in-front of your face and feel your breath against it. You move your head and moan. I put my hand to your face. You open your eyes, then groan loudly in pain.

The Stox growls somewhere in the room with us. I clamp my hand over your mouth. As the sound of you dulls, the Stox gets quiet again.

I need to decide, you've survived the spines without major injury- none of them are in your face or causing you to bleed very badly, but the longer they stay in the more poison is in you.

No. If I pull those out now the Stox'll be on us. The minute it thinks we're a threat again we're dead.

I check my pockets, and I can't find my extra clip.

"What?" You mouth at me, seeing my franticness, even in your current state.

"No Clip." I mouth back.

You painfully reach across and pull your Glock out of your waistband. I check the chamber. It's fully loaded.

Oh, I love you.

I grab your underarms and pick you up. You hold it in as best you can, but I can hear you swearing under your breath. And to think I let you kiss me with that mouth.

I can't carry you, I haul you to your feet and leaning against me you hold your own weight. We start to walk, slowly, quietly. We made it out of the room when, my foot scrapes against wood and knocks a plank. It clangs and the Stox howls before tearing out of the room. I grab you and run. Suddenly the door opens and Gwen stands there with a double barrel shot gun. She fires it and it slumps down.

The recoil blows her off her feet. Owen goes to her first before he sees you, but when he does he almost has a fit.

"Fucking hell!" He says seeing as you step into torchlight.

He lays you on the ground, my coat goes under your head. You manage to comment that "This is more painful than it looks," before you black out.

********************************************************************************************************************8

No one else knows why you stayed at home today. They didn't know that you called me at four this morning freaking out.

They didn't know I ran every traffic light on the avenue to get to you.

That I found you on the floor trying to breathe and convince yourself that everything was fine.

That when you got your breath back you tried to apologise for calling me out and then couldn't breathe again.

Frankly, I'm not sure that they can really picture those few occasions when I have to take care of you.