Ianto knew from the first kiss that they were doomed. The stopwatch, the very thing that had ignited it all, was his worst enemy. It was the thief, stealing each second, each minute, each hour that they spent together. Worst still, was not knowing when it would happen. Because he knew that it would happen. Whether it would be for Gwen, or for some faceless future body who could offer more than Ianto ever could, it didn't matter.

Because Jack Harkness would leave him in the end.

He knew it from the first caress. He knew it, even as Jack's hands unbuttoned his shirt and peeled away each piece of fabric as though unwrapping a present. Even as his stomach jumped and his muscles twitched under the pressure of Jack's kisses. Even as Jack whispered words into his ears, words that sounded like forever. Ianto knew Jack, had learned all about Jack in the months before Lisa's discovery—he knew more about Jack than Jack would ever realize. So even as Jack panted and gasped Ianto's name in a way that no one but Lisa had, Ianto knew.

Ianto knew from the first glance, the first smirk that lit up those electric blue eyes. And he should have stopped there. He could have kept it exactly where it was—a bit of light office flirting, a couple of sideways glances, an awkward touch on the shoulder. But instead he encouraged it further—instigated it even.

This was going to kill him. He knew it even as he lay in Jack's arms, their hearts beating in frantic tandem, and their scents mingling on the scratchy couch cover. Torchwood was a death sentence to anyone foolish enough to work there. But Ianto knew how to survive, had survived, would continue to survive Torchwood because he didn't know how to do anything else. Until Jack. Jack would kill him, would manage to do what Torchwood couldn't. He knew it; just as surely as he knew that he could never leave Jack.

Because Jack had seen something in him, seen something that not even Lisa had seen. Lisa had accepted him for the weak-willed office worker she'd thought he was. Jack had seen something more in him, had seen the darkness that had been eating away at him. He'd accepted it, better yet, he'd actually sought him out for it.

But why? Ianto didn't know that. He couldn't begin to fathom why. Even as he brushed Jack's matted bangs from his forehead, and caught the smile that flitted across those lips. All he knew was that it wouldn't last.

Because Jack would leave him. In the end, Ianto wouldn't be enough. His loyalty, his sarcasm, all of his memories, his life, wouldn't be enough. How could it be enough? How could Ianto be anything to a man who had eternity?

Ianto knew all this, even as he felt Jack's breath even out, felt the rhythmic heat of it against his forehead. He heard the stopwatch, long since abandoned, still ticking away; could feel the metal pressing against his thigh. He knew that there was nothing to hope for in the future, that each second marked was a second closer to the end of it all. Ianto knew better than to hope—he also knew better than to get involved with Jack Harkness.

Ianto knew a lot of things. And Ianto knew that none of those things mattered.

And so, with the sound of Jack's sighs echoing in his ears, Ianto prayed to a god that he'd never put much stock in. Yes, Ianto Jones knew a lot of things.

But he prayed to forget.