It was unseasonably chilly for fall, and when the wind was right, the evening air in Cardiff was seasoned with the smell of far-off fires and the tang of decaying leaves. Whoever was in charge of building maintenance, however, seemed not to have noticed the change of season, for it was nearly as cold inside as outside.

Ianto sat hunched in his coat for several minutes before he felt warm enough to take it off and drape it over the back of his folding chair. He thought it would be rude to pull the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, so he settled on arranging it so that it pooled around his shoulders, where it could keep his ears warm and partially obscure his face. At his feet sat a styrofoam cup of alarmingly bad coffee. Tasting of burnt grounds and a filter that desperately needed changing, it had been good only for warming his hands and quickly abandoned once it had cooled.

Ianto nibbled on a biscuit and waited for something to happen. The biscuit was dry, and he wished he had something to wash it down with, but not enough to drink the concoction on the floor. More for the need for something to do than hunger, he took another bite and then looked around the room.

With its beige tile floors, institutional-gray walls, and fluorescent tubes lining the ceiling, the most remarkable thing about it was how unremarkable it was.

'Not nearly as fancy as the outside would lead you to expect,' he thought.

It could have been the basement of any school, church or hospital in the world. The dozen or so people huddled on folding chairs around the room were equally uninspiring, wrapped in their dark winter gear and studiously avoiding eye-contact.

Finding nothing to hold his attention, Ianto turned his gaze to the street-level windows high overhead. From the right angle he could just make out some trees, decked out in a kaleidoscope of fall colors; spots of color on a dreary landscape. Dusk was fast approaching, however, and already the bright reds, oranges and yellows were fading to a featureless gray.

"Right, then, let's get started, shall we?"

Ianto directed his attention to the front of the room, where a woman stood before them. Perhaps it was her bright red sweater or the way she wore her dark hair pulled back from her face, but Ianto thought she bore more than passing resemblance to his sister. Rhiannon! He'd been meaning to phone her, but he'd been so busy...

"Welcome, everyone," the woman said. "My name is Grace. Now, who wants to go first?"

A chair scraped the floor a couple of meters away from Ianto and a woman stood up. With a start, he realized that he knew her.

"Hello, I'm Gwen. And, yeah, well, I've been having... a t-time of it," she stammered, her eyes fixed on the floor and her right hand twisting the ring on her left around and around.

"That's alright, luv, take your time," a man called from behind Ianto. Ianto was too busy staring at Gwen to turn around to see who it was.

"I... I know it's wrong." Gwen continued. "I'm a happily married woman. I love Rh-my husband. But at night, sometimes I think about him. Sometimes I even..." here Gwen broke off, her cheeks going bright pink. Ianto was fairly certain that he'd never seen Gwen blush before. To be honest, he wouldn't have been sure she had it in her.

"Sometimes at night... I pretend that Rh-that my husband is... well... him. Yeah. That's all."

Gwen sat down hastily and ducked her head, allowing her hair to fall around her face

'I KNEW it,' Ianto thought. Something sharp dug into his palm, and he glanced down to see that his hand had clenched into a fist of its own volition. He forced his fingers to uncurl and stared in surprise at the broken biscuit, now in several pieces. He had forgotten that he was holding it.

An older woman was standing, and Ianto realized the he knew her as well.

"My name is Stella," she began, then turned to address Gwen. "That's alright, dear. You'll be alright. You found yourself a good man and you married him. Hang on to that and you'll be alright."

She chuckled. "Listen to me, saying those things. I sound like my grandmother. Oh, I'm sure I look like an old Nain to some of you but there was time when I was a bit wild. Oh yes, I managed to have a lot of fun in my day, and forged a fairly decent career for myself as well."

Ianto recalled that "Stella" was Professor Stella Courtney, an esteemed neuroscientist, and smiled at the understatement.

"But I never did marry. I've always told myself that I was married to my work, and indeed I was. Neurology is a demanding mistress-or master, in my case-and most of the time I didn't need or want a serious relationship when I had my job. But some nights I start thinking of him too-like you, Gwen-and I wonder if I never bothered to get married because I knew I'd never find anyone to measure up."

She nodded to indicate that she was done, then headed to the table along the far wall where the refreshments were laid. Perhaps it was the cold, but she was moving more slowly than when Ianto had seen last seen her, during that horrible business when Jack was trapped in a coma-like trance. Watching her slow shuffle, Ianto wondered if he should offer to help, but then he thought of the miserable coffee and stale biscuits and wondered if helping her obtain such sub-standard fare might be a worse offense than remaining seated.

An man approximately Stella's age rose and went to her aid, letting Ianto off the hook. He couldn't help but smile, however, when Stella waved him away and proceeded on her own.

A silence fell over the room, broken only by the occasional cough or creak of a chair. They all seemed to be waiting for something. Ianto busied himself by wrapping the biscuit pieces in his handkerchief and then tucking it in his pocket.

"Well," prompted Grace, just as the silence was veering into the "awkward" territory. "Does anyone else have anything to share?" She looked around the room.

Ianto studied his shoes. There was a smudge on the toe of the left one that hadn't been there when he'd put them on. A speck of mud, most like, or a bit of leaf. Fall could be so messy.

"John?" Grace inquired. "Have you got something to say?"

A loud snort came from the corner. "I've always got something to say. But you lot won't like it much. You never do."

Ianto froze. He recognized that voice.

"You can say anything in this room, John. That's what we're here for."

Ianto took a deep breath and turned in his chair to face the speaker.

His appearance hadn't changed a bit. He still dressed like an understudy for Michael Jackson in the "Thriller" video and his peroxide-blond hair was reminiscent of that musical era as well.

Ianto's hand automatically strayed inside his jacket where his gun was holstered-and then he remembered. He had left it in his car. Weapons were prohibited at this meeting, and Ianto had dutifully followed the rules, though he doubted that Captain John Hart had. None were visible, but Ianto would have bet a week's wages that there were plenty concealed on the Captain's person.

Lazily, John stood, favoring the room with an devil-may-care grin that was probably supposed to be sexy but turned Ianto's stomach.

"You're all idiots," John began. "Every bleedin' one of you-except you." He pointed at Stella, who had succeeded in pouring herself a cup of coffee. She lifted it to John in an ironic toast. "You at least knew enough to get out."

Grace interrupted him. "Remember, John. Focus on your feelings, not your opinions"

"Sorry. I FEEL like you're all idiots. Look at you all, pining after him like you have a chance. After all, he wouldn't stay with me." John spread his arms wide, affording them all a good look. "And we had something." His voice shook a little on the last word and he looked down for a moment.

It didn't last long. "He certainly won't stay with you," John continued with renewed vehemence, jerking his head up to stare directly at Ianto."Especially you, Eye-Candy,"

Ianto started to get up from his chair, but Grace interrupted again, this time with a bit of edge in her voice.

"No personal attacks, John. You know the rules."

John plastered on a contrite expression. Grace turned her gaze to Ianto and with an effort, he made himself sit down.

"In my experience," John resumed, "Eye-Candy - I mean Ianto - here is just one in a long line of pretty shags that stretches back centuries. Or forward. Depends on how you look at it. Time's tricky like that."

Ianto ground his teeth and it looked like Grace was about to interrupt again.

"Wouldn't want to see him get hurt," John continued quickly. "Any of you. Just trying to help." He gave a magnanimous wave to the room and sat back down.

"Thank you, John. Just a reminder to everyone present to watch their language," Grace said.

Ianto rolled his eyes. Language? John's language was the least of his problems. Ianto wanted nothing more than to wipe the insufferably arrogant look off John's face but supposed that now wasn't the time or place.

Ianto was debating the merits of cornering John after the meeting when a sneering voice came from the far corner of the room.

"You're being nice. You don't have to be," the voice drawled, derision evident in every syllable. "They're worse than idiots and you know it."

Ianto's eyes widened, the chills coursing down his spine alerting him to the fact that something was terribly wrong before he could consciously work out what it was. That voice...

"He doesn't deserve all this adulation, like he's some sort of god. He may be immortal, but he's no god. We should be working together to destroy him, not coming together to praise him."

Ianto slowly turned his head, knowing full well who he would see, though it shouldn't have been possible. The last time he'd been in a room with Jack's brother Gray, he was affixing a label to Gray's drawer in the cryo chamber and the man had been well and truly frozen.

Ianto caught a glimpse of a dark-haired man in charcoal clothes that were barely distinguishable from the shadows behind him, and turned away again, his mind racing. This was wrong, really wrong. He had to get out of here immediately and call...

"Jack?" Ianto gasped, face-to-face with the man himself.

Less than a meter away, Captain Jack Harkness was straddling a folding chair, backwards. His arms were draped over the top and he beamed at Ianto like he'd just encountered him at a party he hadn't expected him to attend.

Ianto was not relieved to see him. In fact, the feeling of "wrongness" intensified. Ianto didn't understand everything that was going on, but he knew this:

"You're not supposed to be here, Jack," he said.

Jack nodded ruefully, looking a schoolboy caught in the act of doing something wrong that he wasn't really sorry for. "I know. But how else will I find out what people are saying about me?"

'No, no,' Ianto thought. Everything was wrong. Gray shouldn't be here because he was frozen and Jack shouldn't be here because they wouldn't be able to speak freely if he was present.

"You're not supposed to be here," Ianto repeated, voice rising, and opened his eyes.

Beside him, Jack propped himself on one elbow and peered down at him.

"But this is my room. Where else would I be?"

Ianto lifted his head and looked around. The familiar outlines of Jack's spartan furnishings, just visible in the dim light thrown by the clock-radio, suggested that they were indeed in Jack's bunker below his office. His hipbone digging into Ianto's side, as it always did when they wedged themselves into Jack's too-small bed, confirmed it.

"You..." Ianto began, then shook his head. "Dream."

"Bad?"

Already it was difficult to remember why he'd been so alarmed.

"More like... weird.

"And I was in it?"

"Of course."

"Oh no. *I* wasn't weird, was I?"

Trust Jack to make it all about him. Ianto scooped up a pillow and hit him with it. "No. You were the dashing hero, as always. Feel better now?"

"You're just saying that because it's true," Jack said fending off the pillow. They both laughed, then lay back down.

"I can help you relax. Forget the weird stuff," Jack suggested, sliding his hand to the waistband of Ianto's pajama bottoms, leaving little doubt as to the nature of the aid intended.

Ianto smiled. It was tempting, but his limbs were growing languorous and the pull of sleep was so strong it felt like he was sinking into the mattress.

"Then neither of us will get any sleep, Jack," he murmured. Once they got started, it was next to impossible to stop. He should know. That very night, they'd "gone to bed" quite a while before they'd fallen asleep.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"'S' not, but..." Sometimes Jack seemed to forget that for normal people, sleep was more than a hobby that they could pick up and put down at will.

"How about a raincheck?" Ianto suggested. A compromise.

"Anytime. Your loss, though," Jack replied with mock nonchalance and exaggerated shrug. He brushed his lips lightly against Ianto's, then rolled onto his side,

"Mmm. A tragedy," Ianto agreed. He nestled against Jack's back, slung his arm over Jack's shoulders, and closed his eyes.

Colors and patterns danced behind his lids, on the verge of becoming new dreams. The other one seemed absurd now. Ianto wasn't afraid of Gray, or John Hart, or anything they had to say about Jack. As for Stella and Gwen, well, they had their own paths to follow. Their decisions were not his.

'He might leave me, but there's no way I'm leaving him,' Ianto thought to all of them.

Just before sleep claimed him, he remembered Rhiannon. Her daughter Mica had a birthday around this time and he'd been meaning to phone to find out what the little girl was into so that he could buy her something nice. He would do it tomorrow morning, he told himself, before things got too busy.

The next morning, however, all the children in the world simultaneously froze in their tracks, and things got hectic again.

A/N: Written for the LiveJournal community "Redisourcolor's" Challenge 26. As per the challenge, I used the words, "broken", "shuffle", "kaleidoscope" and "automatic"; and the sentences, "You're being nice. You don't have to be."