Takes place season just after 'To The Last Man'.

The Burial Of The Dead

Ianto wandered up from the Archive with a pile of careworn manila files cradled against his chest. He made his way through the cog door and up to the Tourist office where he could work in peace. He had been trying for weeks to get the old paper files scanned and added to the extensive computerised database he'd been working on, but it was time consuming and monotonous work. Truth was Ianto found it quite relaxing because it meant he didn't have to think too hard, or worry, or run about and ruin another suit. He carefully placed the folders on to his desk at the Tourism counter and switched on his computer, while he was waiting for it to start up he busied himself with trying to find a decent radio station on his I Pod, once done he opened up the little shop. Hardly anyone ever came in, but as he was there he may as well direct a few a random tourists as well. Ianto took a brief glance at the leaden sky. It was a foul day, even by Cardiff standards. Who'd want to be out in that anyway? He went back to his computer terminal and began his work, quietly and methodically removing sheets of 1920's documents and scanning them and saving them for prosperity. Sometimes he would read the documents, they all fascinated him, especially the old mission reports, but today he just wanted the monotony and he didn't want anything to happen that would make him think.

Thank God Jack had understood.

Yesterday would have been Lisa's 27th birthday. Ianto had decided on celebrating by getting uncharacteristically hammered on a litre of Vodka in his flat. He'd turned up at the Hub for work three hours late completely bladdered. Jack had hidden him from the others in his bunk to enable the young man to sleep and sick it off, and boy was he sick. After all that and much dry heaving through the late afternoon Ianto had bawled his eyes out on Jack's shoulder, revisiting his overwhelming guilt and remorse. Jack had held him quietly, allowing Ianto the time he needed to vent the feelings that were usually caged so tightly inside him. Ianto didn't lose grip on himself very often, but when he did, he lost it good and proper. Yesterday had been quite mild really. The last time, two days after the Cannibals (eight months ago now) Ianto had done some nice artwork on his wrists with a Stanley knife. Jack had saved his life that day. Jack was still saving his life.

So Ianto needed monotony, peace and preferably no loud noises because he still felt like his brain was some where other than in his head. It was the tail end of a weird week. Tommy had been revived and sent home to save the world, as a result Tosh was down and Jack had been introspective and quiet. They all just felt like crap really. How else could one describe it? Crap. Crap that was Torchwood. Ianto knew he'd never change what he did for a living though. He picked up another sheet and swapped it over with the one in the scanner bed. Where would the Earth be without…?

The door to the outside world opened and Ianto looked up about to smile his customer service smile. The blood ran out of his face.

"Hello Ianto."

Ianto's jaw dropped and he gaped at the woman who had come in.

"Err….Patricia…..I….Err…Hi."

Dark eyes met his blue ones. "Well at least you remember who I am. I should be grateful for that at least."

Ianto put down his paperwork when he realised that his hands were shaking. "What……Why are you here?"

Patricia rummaged around in her handbag, not taking her eyes away from Ianto. A moment later a handgun was pointing at him. Ianto stared at it.

"Pat?"

"I want some fucking answers Ianto Jones."

He carefully stepped round the counter, keeping both his hands in plain sight.

"Pat, there's no need….."

"There's every fucking need. Tell me why you are still fucking alive when my sister is 6 feet underground in Putney Vale cemetary? Where the fuck have you been? Where were you when we buried her?" She was shouting now, but the gun remained steady in her grip aimed at his chest.

Ianto froze about a metre in front of her. "Pat, please. I'm sorry……..I'm sorry. If there were any way to change places with her I'd do it. I would. I'm sorry……"

Oh God, I can't go through this now, I can't. Just fucking shoot me and get it over with.

"What happened Ianto? Don't give the terrorists bull; I know it was a cover story. I want the truth. How come when all those fucking ghosts disappear and turn into metal monsters, how come that's when my sister dies and you….you fucking don't. Why aren't you dead?"

"I can't give you those answers." He was sorry, so sorry that she would never know just how much so. "I can't tell you. I lost it after Canary Wharf. I'm sorry I didn't make the funeral. I just couldn't. I'm sorry."

"We needed you. You were the last connection to her that we had. How could you just desert us like that?"

Out of the corner of his eye Ianto became aware of another presence in the room.

"Drop the weapon or I'll put you down."

Patricia didn't move, she held Ianto in a death glare and squeezed the trigger. The sound was deafening and Ianto found himself covering his ears at first, before realising he was on the floor his white shirt blossoming red. His vision blurred and he heard echoing shouts and screams above him. It was like being under water. Something had a hold on him as he sank into blackness.

Patricia Hallet sat on the couch behind Tosh's desk and shook violently, barely able to hold the cup of tea that had been pressed into her hands by a woman with long dark hair.

"There you go pet. Try to drink some it'll help."

"Will Ianto be alright?" She was reeling, spinning, what the hell had she done?

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, fortunately you're a lousy shot. It's just his shoulder. You're Lisa's sister right?"

Patricia nodded.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine."

The woman moved away only to be replaced by a tall man in braces. The one who had tackled her to the floor and disarmed her.

"Come with me." It was an order that left no room for doubt.

Patricia rose to unsteady feet but the man with the American accent made no effort to steady her. Patricia followed, head down keeping her eyes on her feet, still numb from what she had done. She was lead into a strange cavernous room, the walls lined with little doors.

"This is our morgue. I have something to show you."

She heard the click of a lock and the sound of a draw being pulled out. Then she felt strong hands guide her none to gently round to a…….

It was Lisa, only not.

Patricia's hands went straight to her mouth as she gasped at the sight of her half converted sister lying before her.

"Ianto pulled her out of a conversion unit and hooked her up to a life support. Somehow he managed to bring her here to Cardiff and set her up here in our basement. He was trying to save her. For seven months he hid her here. He betrayed us to protect her. He sacrificed everything in the hopes of making her human again. After he failed, he begged me to kill him because he couldn't live with out her and when I refused, he tried to take his own life. He risked the end of life on earth for her. He wakes up from nightmares every night and he believes that he was not good enough for her because he failed."

The American's words slid over Patricia like a shroud. She touched her sister's cold cheek, revolted by the metal that still framed her dead face.

"She didn't die in London then?"

"She did die in London, at least her soul did. What made Lisa who she was was destroyed in the moment she was first plugged into the converter. Ianto refused to believe that, wouldn't give up on her."

"Its why he never came to the funeral isn't it? Because he thought she was still alive?"

"Probably. I can't answer that for sure."

Patricia finally turned away from the body and looked up at the blue- eyed American.

"You're Torchwood?"

"What's left of it."

"And Ianto?"

"Ianto never left the institute, he came here for Lisa. I think if she had died outright at Canary Wharf he would've killed himself soon after. The memories of the battle alone would be more than enough for most men to bear. Ianto was just a boy really. I don't know how he managed to cope the way that he did."

"You sound like you care about him."

The man avoided her look for moment. "We take care of each other. He's important to me. I do not want to see him hurt again."

A silence that was both stifling and refreshing fell between them and Patricia turned back to her sister's body.

"Can I take her? Bury her properly?"

"No. I'm afraid not. I'm sorry but she has to stay here for a number of reasons that you really don't want to know about."

Patricia took a moment to take in her surroundings; realisation dawned. "How many?"

She heard a heavy sigh. "Too many."

"What will happen to me?"

"I'm going to let Ianto make that decision. Either way, your memories of today will have to be removed, security reasons. Somehow I don't think Ianto will press assault charges against you."

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Ianto awoke with his familiar start of fright as the nightmare hauled him into consciousness. He rolled onto his back and winced at the pain in his shoulder only to be greeted by a concerned look from Jack in the dim light.

"You ok?"

Ianto nodded. "Yep. What time is it?"

"Early."

Ianto smiled at the typically Jack vagueness. Jack's arms found their way around him and Ianto smiled enjoying the comforting contact.

"Thanks for yesterday Jack."

Jack carefully pulled Ianto to his chest. "What did I do?"

"Looking out for me, for not Retconning Patricia. I know it's a risk and how many rules that breaks. I appreciate that you did it for me."

"That's ok. Lisa must've been something pretty amazing. If what happened yesterday helps you and Patricia gain some closure." Jack kissed his head and absently traced his fingers down Ianto's back.

"I feel like I've finally buried her. Time to move on now." And it was too. Ianto felt overwhelming relief with the realisation.

"I'm glad to hear it." Jack responded equally relieved.