The two men were snuggled together under the duvet. For one of them, it was his usual bed, and where he slept most nights, other than when he stayed over at work. For the other, lying in his lover's bed after a long, passion-filled evening was the best feeling he'd had in ages.
Jack had been away for what to him was over a year, but to everyone else was only a few weeks. And in that year, he had seen and experienced things that were far worse than anything he'd ever dreamed possible. He'd hated it, and the only thing that got him through it was the possibility of returning to his Welsh lover once it was over.
It was the first night Jack had spent away from the Hub since he'd returned. He hated to leave it completely unattended: aliens didn't shy away from invading when most people were asleep. In fact, as Jack recalled, it tended to be at night when rift activity was strongest.
But the date with Ianto had led from one thing to another, and he'd wound up in bed in Ianto's house with no alternative other than to spend the night. Jack had insisted on going back to monitor the Rift, but Ianto had persuaded him to stay.
It wasn't the Rift activity that made Jack want to leave Ianto's house. It was the fact that he'd never spent the night with anyone since he'd returned, and for good reason. Every night, his dreams were plagued with horrific recollections from the Year That Never Was, causing him to wake, sweating and shaking. Jack had never experienced anything like it before, but he was desperate for it to end. He'd committed suicide in a bid to try and get rid of the nightmares, but it was no good.
So he'd tried to keep himself awake. After all, there'd be no nightmares if he wasn't asleep. But even that was difficult, so Jack reluctantly succumbed to sleep.
He was tied up, starving, with bullets shooting through his body and the laughter of the Master suggesting this was all his idea of fun. Knowing that Jack could never die, he had ordered that the man would never be fed, except on stuff that would kill him once it was digested.
The Master approached him. "They're gone. They're dead."
"Who are?" Jack asked, but he knew the answer.
"Torchwood." The Master laughed, and Jack screamed out.
"Ianto!"
"I'm here," Ianto whispered, sitting up and turning on his bedside light. He looked at Jack's traumatised face and stroked it softly. "Bad dream?"
Jack nodded, tears rolling down his face. "You were dead. All of you were, and I couldn't do anything to save you."
Ianto pulled him into a hug. "It was only a dream."
"But it wasn't, though," Jack insisted. "It was real."
"It wasn't," Ianto reassured him.
Jack knew he couldn't explain what had happened; after all, in Ianto's timeline, the year had never happened. Harold Saxon had never been Prime Minister. So he nodded dumbly.
Ianto stroked Jack's hair softly as the two men laid back down and the light was turned out.
"I keep having the same dream," Jack confessed. "It's worse when I'm alone; I think you're dead even when I wake up. I have to wait until you all come into work to prove myself wrong."
Ianto clung tightly to Jack. "It'll be alright," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not intending on dying any time soon. Is the nightmare the reason you didn't want to stay over?"
Jack nodded. "I didn't want to wake you. When you sleep you look so peaceful."
Ianto rolled back the duvet and swung his bare legs out. "I don't think either of us will be sleeping any more tonight. How about I make us both some coffee?"
Jack nodded. As Ianto reached the door, he called out, "Thanks."
Ianto turned around. "Anything for you, Jack."