A/N: About a year ago I agreed to do a request-fic for gillian gutfright; unfortunately I got a bit perfectionist on it and then proceeded to fear I wouldn't be able to make a believable and interesting enough plot. But here I am, having a go.

Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood… that's about all that can be said, really.

Imprint

Chapter One: Hallucinations

"Rhys!" Gwen called as she hung up her coat. "Rhys?" She repeated when she received no answer, throwing her keys on the table and her bag on the sofa. "I'm home!"

She barely had to glance around the small flat she and Rhys shared before he appeared from an adjoining room, smiling tentavely at her with oven gloves on his hands. Gwen grinned at him, and drew closer to give him a kiss, but he paused, hesitant.

"What?" Gwen asked, frowning. She touched her mouth. "Is there something on my face?"

Rhys' brow furrowed. "No, but I just thought…" Gwen's questioning look encouraged him to continue. "You're feeling better, then?"

"Better?" Gwen pulled back a little, as if to survey Rhys as a whole.

"You know…" Rhys prompted, "your memories? Don't tell me it's happened again? Don't tell me you've forgotten?"

Gwen backed up and sat on the sofa, throwing Rhys a sceptical look. "What do you mean - what about my memories? What have I forgotten? Rhys, what do you mean?"

A concerned look flittered across Rhys' face, quickly followed by a scowl. "Bloody Torchwood," he muttered, turning back towards the kitchen to retrieve the food he'd been cooking. Gwen wasn't far behind.

"Rhys… talk to me, sweetheart." She stood on the other side of the counter and watched him retrieve the risotto, playing absently with the seam of her t-shirt as she did. Eventually Rhys sighed, placed the risotto on a cooling rack and turned his full attention to her.

"Gwen, honey; the day before yesterday you went to work as usual. Then you came back…" Rhys looked uncomfortable. "You didn't recognise me…" His voice was soft and reluctant to continue. "You thought I was stalking you – me! A stalker!" Rhys seemed to struggle with his next words. "You called Jack, told him someone was pretending to be your fiancée, and then he and some ginger-haired smartass came round to sort me out!"

"Wait," Gwen interrupted, disturbed; "ginger-haired…?"

"Yeah!" Rhys shot her a 'are you mad' look. "You remembered him alright."

"But…" Gwen persisted, "none of us have ginger-hair. Or ever have had. Or ever will, for that matter."

"Yeah, well, I didn't recognise him either," Rhys grumbled. "You said his name was Adam. First Jack, now Adam! Who next, mmm? That doctor bloke?"

"What doctor bloke?" Gwen frowned, "the Doctor or Owen?"

Rhys gestured in such a way as if to indicate that matter's unimportance. "Black hair, sarky grin."

"Owen."

Rhys paused, "you sure? Not that other guy, erm; Ianto was it?"

Gwen shook her head. "Nope, definitely Owen."

Rhys looked thoughtful for a moment, and then up at Gwen. "What I was trying to say, was that you forgot me, Gwen. Forgot us." There was a hurt look in his eyes that Gwen struggled to remember causing.

"I… oh, Rhys. I'm sorry…" Gwen drew Rhys close to her and tucked her face into the crook of his neck possessively. "But it's all sorted now, right? Everything's back to normal." She smiled a little into his neck, her voice slightly muffled.

"Torchwood? Normal?" Rhys huffed in disbelief. "I'm sorry; I don't think you're speaking English."

"No," Gwen grinned, the beautiful Welsh language coating her voice; "I'm speaking Welsh."

The Torchwood Hub was beginning to delve into that strange, eerie silence it seemed to hold when everyone had departed for the night. Soon after the Team had awoken to find themselves - minus Jack - gathered around the Conference Table they'd slowly begun to head home. They didn't find it particularly strange that they were all simultaneously asleep, as after a quick systems check by Toshiko (which came up with obviously deleted files of the last few days and a Torchwood block that Tosh recognised they weren't supposed to bypass), they determined that it was better if they just labelled it 'Torchwood' and left it at that. Jack (coming from the direction of the Cells, although no-one commented on this) dismissed them all and told them they could come in a little later tomorrow if they so wished (no-one except Gwen looked particularly enthusiastic about this, so Jack merely shrugged and told them the option was there).

Gwen was the first to have headed home, frowning as she checked her phone messages and mumbling something like 'oh, bollocks' and 'Rhys'. Soon after Owen - of whom Tosh had been idly waiting for, although he didn't pick up on this - declared that he was going now, and would probably just be here as usual, as he had nothing better to do. They left together, Owen and Tosh, though she looked slightly more interested in their casual conversation than Owen did.

That only left Ianto and Jack, who - as per usual - slept and lived in Torchwood; so all that was left was for Ianto to go home, but he seemed to be lingering between a mix of reluctance and something Jack wasn't quite sure he could name.

"Waiting to get the correct measurements for your diary?" Jack grinned cheekily, scooting up beside Ianto on the worn couch.

Ianto's cheeks visibly darkened for a moment, his fingers gripping his diary protectively; "I don't have a tape measure, " he substituted in place of a proper reason why he was still hanging about - but since when did he need to give a reason to want to be with Jack?

"That can be amended," Jack's voice lowered and he leaned a little closer to Ianto. "But are you sure that's the only reason why you're here…?"

Resisting Jack-induced-seduction was one of Ianto's many quirks, and although he didn't use this one in particular with very much frequency, in this moment it was most definitely needed.

"Jack, I…" Ianto trailed off, unsure, and Jack's expression changed to serious as he noted Ianto's solemn tones.

"What is it?" He asked; worry flickering across his face at Ianto's frowning brow.

"I don't know. Something's been niggling at me ever since we woke up."

"Whatever the reasons for us being asleep, they're better left alone," Jack warned, fearing the curiosity of his team-mates.

"That's not it," Ianto muttered, intently focused on the cover of his diary. "It's like I've forgotten something… and not how it might be with retcon, when a couple of days or hours are missing and you wonder how you can't remember… it's different. Like I've forgotten a part of myself."

A dark look crossed Jack's face, but then it was gone, and he was smiling again. "You just need to relax, Ianto. Go home, have some coffee, sleep. It can't have been very comfortable on that table."

Ianto was obviously not reassured. "Can't I stay here, with you?"

Jack shook his head and helped Ianto to his feet, flashing him a purely 'Jack' grin. "You'd never get any sleep that way."

And with that the last of Jack's team was heading home.

Ianto Jones' method of getting to and from Torchwood was - like other things he did - organised. However, he did not currently own a car, and for two perfectly good reasons. The first was that the SUV was far too much trouble by itself, what with Owen's off-roading and frequented uses of duct tape. The second was the inconvenience it caused. Whenever Torchwood needed to get anywhere, they used the SUV. Gwen had a car, but he obviously wasn't Gwen; he also didn't live particularly far from the Hub, having moved closer when he had Lisa (in her Cyber-form) to take care of. He'd later moved closer still, if only to rid himself of the memories associated loosely with the place.

A house seemed inconvenient somehow, as if owning a property you only visit when necessary or when ordered to by Jack would just been irresponsible and pointless. So he had a flat, and he walked to it.

The direct route to his flat was long and - although potentially relaxing - rather tedious unless your thoughts were preoccupied. Ianto was in a thought-delving state of mind, but as such was the depth and intensity, he wanted nothing more than to do exactly as Jack had suggested before doing more self-searching. Rest, coffee, think. So he took the indirect route, which was usually best avoided as sometimes the 'trail', as it were, led down some rather run-down streets (or alleys, for want of accuracy). Ianto, being clad in suit and tie, did not look the sort to be hanging about alley-ways. But he was in a hurry, and did not rightly care. He fought aliens; and although humans possessed twice the capacity to do evil he wasn't really concerned about them, at least not for the time being.

Ianto usually travelled without luggage, for example - a bag. He left his diary concealed at the Hub most days, preferring to write in it within the spare moments he caught there, with his immediate thoughts, than pass a potentially-incriminating (of Torchwood) book around with him back and fro. It would almost be the same as if someone made a collective file of Torchwood's personnel and cases, labelled it 'Archive' and sold it to all good retailers. Ianto inwardly scoffed to himself. Like Torchwood wouldn't notice if that happened.

He was most of the way home when he noticed that there was another pair of footsteps joining his own. They were almost in sync, which explained why his musing mind hadn't picked up on them until now, but there they were - distinct; click, clack. Heels. A woman's. Tilting his head to the side a little, as if to glance down the alley to his left, Ianto saw the slightly nervous form of a young woman - barely past adolescence - out of the corner of his eye. She was shooting wary glances at him, occasionally turning to look back or fiddling with her bag anxiously. The two of them were alone in the alley, and she was nervous because there was no-one around and no-where to run.

'An easy target,' Ianto's mind provided before he could check his thoughts. What? Why'd he thought that? He wasn't like that, he wouldn't… 'Really? Don't be so sure.'

Without realising, Ianto had stopped to a dead halt, breathing deeply. He could hear the frantic breaths of the woman behind him. He wanted to be able to comfort her, but his treacherous thoughts and his common sense devised otherwise.

Part of him wanted to turn around. Part of him wanted to walk away. Part of him wanted to stalk up to her. Part of him wanted to be out of this alley, right now. Part of him wanted to ask her if she was alright. Was she lost? She was going the wrong way to the high street. Maybe she would follow him, so he might show her the way? Slowly, calmly, begin walking, towards the high street. Polite smile. Fake ID. Security card from last undercover work. Offer to leave if she's uncomfortable. Look at watch. 'I have to get back to my wife. Do you have anyone you can call?' Go. Now. She smiles. Follows. Smile. Follow. Smile. Follow. GO NOW. Right into his-RUN NOW!

He can't think. It's dark in his flat, and he's out of breath.

He ran all the way.

Ran from her.

Because part of him wanted to hurt her.

This wasn't like him.

This wasn't… Ianto Jones.

Or was it?

Was that the part of him he's forgotten?

That disgusting, twisted… that was him?

"No."

Ianto's eyes flickered open. That was Jack's voice. Was he here? Ianto got up from the floor unsteadily (when did he get down there?), reaching up to deftly flip the switch for the lights.

"Jack?"

No answer. Ianto frowned, and then looked down at his right hand, which was clutching something. It was… his diary. Ianto dropped it as if burnt. No. He'd left that behind. He hadn't had it when he left the Hub, or in the alley. So why was it here?

Ianto closed his eyes, pressing fingers to the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. One, two, three. He opened his eyes.

The diary… was gone.

'Maybe Jack was right,' Ianto's mind murmured to himself. 'Maybe I do need rest. Maybe I'm just… hallucinating.'

That feeling of absence he'd had since he last awoke had dulled now, but it was like an itch. Or scarabs, devouring his mind from the inside… Shaking off the thought, Ianto made his way into the kitchen, intending to make coffee. Maybe he'd consult Jack tomorrow, or maybe he'd just forget the situation overnight… whatever he did, Ianto blocked the events of the alley from his mind and began to concoct his special coffee blend.

A/N: So, what did you think? I'd really like to hear your opinions : ) I've got a basic plan outlined :D

gillian gutfright, I hope this was somewhat near what you were hoping for. Sorry it took so long for me to begin… :/

The 'Archive' thing Ianto scoffs at is the Torchwood Archive book : ) I love it, and would find it hilarious if Jack found this blatant security risk :D Scarabs in refernce to the Mummy. I don't own that, either.

So, evil!Ianto. Mwahahaha. Where will this take us, I wonder…? *ponders*