Note From The Author—So this developed out of the thoughts racing through my head after hearing Ianto's monologue from the radio play Deadline. I just couldn't stop myself. Spoilers for Children of Earth.

Disclaimer—I don't own the characters of Torchwood. Would that I did.

There would be no sanctuary for Captain Jack Harkness. The people he had killed, the people he had lost and abandoned were always with him. No matter how far he ran he could not escape from the pain that haunted him. He carried it with him always, knowing it was his cross to bear as punishment for all that he had done. It didn't matter that he missed Gwen or that he wanted to see her and Rhys with their baby. It didn't matter that he wanted to see his daughter; she could never forgive him. But then he couldn't forgive himself, so how could he expect her to? It certainly didn't matter that he wanted to speak to Ianto's family, to try and explain. There was too much pain there to possibly make it through.

When all was said and done, Jack didn't know if he would ever return to Earth. Each time he tried, when he approached that planet with all of its bright and shining humanity, it felt as if a knife twisted deep in his gut. The closer he got to the site where everything had been lost the more he felt the oppressive weight of guilt and anguish press down on him. He always turned away to live alone in his pain.

Only in dreams could he find some brief respite, and even then there was always something lingering in the back of his mind like a shadow. Sometimes he dreamed of the Doctor, as he always had. Sometimes his dreams featured his daughter and grandson, and sometimes Gwen and her little one. But most often, he dreamed of Ianto; young and handsome forever.

The dream was always the same. They were lying in each others' arms in a bed somewhere, but the where didn't matter. Each time Ianto was sleeping deeply, his face angelic in dreams. Once when Jack had been in some sort of mystical coma, he had told him that he would often watch him sleep. What Ianto had never known was that Jack had very often done the same. In the dream it was always the case; Jack watching Ianto, his hand stroking through the other man's hair and over smooth skin as he breathed him in. Jack would always try to hide away the sound of Ianto's heartbeat, strong and slow, in his soul; but it could never be done. Nor could he keep the warmth of the other man's skin on his fingertips or the brush of a kiss on his lips.

Each time the dream came he sensed the end coming seemingly before it began. His young love's breathing changed, and he would begin to stir. Before long, baby blue eyes open as a smile drifted across his face before Jack stole a desperate kiss, knowing he would be pulled away in only moments.

Always, as they pulled apart Ianto's breath whispered over his skin, just before he brushed a hand down his back and told him, 'I love you.' He tried so hard each time, but what hadn't been said in life could not be said in dreams and death.

He always woke sobbing, those three pure and true words he had never offered to Ianto falling like water from his lips. He had never told Ianto what he felt for him, had never told him he loved him because of some fear he had never really sussed out. So now all he had were the dreams. And though they brought agony, sharp and deep in their wake, Jack Harkness had long since decided that he would take them every time.

Because the pain was worth it, night after night. If he could hold Ianto again for those few brief moments, he would bear it all.