Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. That honour belongs to RTD (the TW arm at least – Miracle Day, what were you thinking?), Steven Moffat (I am not worthy) and the mighty and glorious BBC. I merely play here occasionally and try to set right the terrible wrongs inflicted on Jack and Ianto...

Author's Note: This is a little something written for Ravenja70. It's a year late (I'm really sorry) but hopefully suitably fluffy and Janto filled to make up for the wait. Thank you, as always, to my wonderful beta Orion.

Thank you to everyone for reading and, as always, feedback is very welcome.

BTW, the M rating is for safety and you can judge for yourself if it's really required in Chapter 2...

The blow caught him from behind, a cannonball of pure energy slamming between the shoulder blades, sending him sprawling into an oily slick of water pooled on the floor. The Webley skittered from his fingers, vanishing beneath a crate with the harsh grating sound of metal on concrete. If Jack had any air in his lungs he would have sworn, long and loud; as it was he merely coughed weakly as his weapon disappeared from sight. Somewhere to his left he heard the sickening crack of breaking bone and a muffled grunt of pain sending his heart lurching into his mouth, the owner of the voice unmistakable.

Ignoring the vicious darts of pain shooting down his spine, and somewhat surprised that his backbone didn't appear to be shattered into a thousand puzzle pieces he rolled over, unwilling to rise until he had some idea of the enemy he was facing. The abandoned factory was in semi-darkness, lit only by weak daylight filtering through dirty overhead skylights stained green with algae. The towering skeletons of defunct machinery and overhead metal girders cast a curious criss-cross maze of shadows in which any number of aggressors could hide. Jack scanned the shadows carefully, his piercing blue eyes searching out even the merest hint of movement.

Suddenly from somewhere close by in the darkness there was the sound of a scuffle, feet and bodies struggling against one another, the hollow crack of a wooden crate being hit, another grunt of pain and then silence. Jack was on his feet in an instant, his body crouched low. Keeping to the shadows, he crept between the towering machines, his rubber-soled boots silent on the oil stained floor, moving in the direction the sounds had come from. The factory was still now, only the faint rumble of far away traffic and a slow drip of water from the leaking roof breaking the silence. As he approached the end of the row of machines he could make out two figures a few feet away down the intersecting aisle. One sprawled face down, features hidden by the shadows, unmoving. The second man, his back to Jack and wreathed in shadow, was crouched low over the first. Cradled in his arms was a blaster which, even in this dim light, Jack recognised as being a couple of centuries and at least half a dozen solar systems out of place.

Jack silently cursed the loss of his Webley, his eyes scanning the area once more, this time in search of something he could use as a makeshift weapon. Normally factories such as these were full of useful things, he thought in growing frustration, as his search brought up nothing in the least bit suitable. A bit of loose pipe, a plank of wood, Christ, even a length of mouldy old rope would do. All he could see were expanses of solid metal housing the machinery which would only come apart with a lot of effort and a shitload of noise. He looked again at the two men. Ianto was clearly unconscious or... Jack rapidly pushed the thought away. If Ianto was dead then the other man wouldn't need to keep guard. The man clearly hadn't thought that he, Jack, was worth troubling about, probably figuring that a blast like the one the alien gun had delivered would kill a human. Hell, it might have done; there were a few seconds back there that were still a bit fuzzy, Jack conceded. If Ianto was injured he needed to get him out of there fast. It was time for the direct approach, 51st century pheromones and charm.

Jack stood up, smoothing down the lines of his now somewhat damp and stained greatcoat, and shoved his hands deep into the pockets. Then with an air of studied nonchalance he stepped out of the shadows into the subdued light of the aisle, and began to approach the two men. There was an almost imperceptible crunch of Jack's boots on a smattering of sand, obviously thrown across the floor to mop up some ancient oil spill, and the crouching man spun round, levelling the blaster ready to fire. Jack stopped mid-step and moistened his lips...

"You took your bloody time, Jack. Can you call Martha? I think I've broken this git's arm. And get her here quickly, I don't really want to waste our anniversary weekend guarding this arsehole."

Captain Jack Harkness-Jones grinned at his husband and did as he was told.

An hour later

"No, Jack. I'm not telling you where we're going. You asked for a surprise and that's what you're going to get." Ianto smirked at the sight of the momentary sulky expression which crossed his husband's face. He flicked the indicator switch, pulling out smoothly into the outside lane of the motorway, joining the faster moving cars heading out of Cardiff. "All I will tell you is it's not in Wales and according to every record I've been able to dig up on you, you've never been there before, which, you have to concede, is quite an achievement."

In the passenger seat Jack harrumphed. Ianto darted a look across to him.

"Please don't tell me you're still mad about the factory," he said incredulously. "It wasn't like I was going after some big bad alien. It was a spotty teen looking for scrap who thought he'd found a rare type of antique NERF gun. It's hardly surprising with all that flashy orange and red going on – I though weapons of the future were supposed to be all matt black and silver. Anyway he was so damn terrified after he took a shot at you he bolted. I was just trying to retrieve the gun and barrelled into him to bring him down. He'd never have fired it at me." He glanced again at Jack's still somewhat stony face and took one hand off the steering wheel to lay it on his knee.

After a second Jack covered Ianto's hand with his own. "When I heard you cry out... I thought you'd been hurt." He sighed. "I hate that feeling."

Ianto manoeuvred his hand on top to circle the back of Jack's hand with his thumb, an almost impersonal caress he knew Jack adored. "Me too, cariad," he said softly. "Me, too."

An hour and a half passed in companionable silence, Ianto's hand returning to Jack's waiting one whenever he wasn't using it to change gear or indicate. The M4 gave way to the M5 and then the M42, the traffic light thanks to the relatively late hour.

"Well, we're heading north," Jack commented as a large blue sign pronounced the junction for M1 North.

"A very astute deduction, Mr Holmes," Ianto said drily. "That leaves you half of England and all of Scotland to choose from."

"Ah, but you said we were going somewhere I'd never been before, so that rules out quite a large part of Scotland. A hell of a lot has gone down in the Highlands over the years. You'd be surprised. It's a shame though, Scotland would be great. I look spectacular in a kilt."

Ianto let his eyes slide to Jack's canvas covered legs, picturing the muscular limbs beneath, covered with a dusting of dark brown hair, and swallowed.

"Of that I have absolutely no doubt," he commented, mentally making himself a note to look up kilt makers as soon as they returned to Cardiff.

Jack leered at Ianto, slowly closing one eye in a lascivious wink as he read Ianto's thoughts, clearly visible on his face, and deliberately slid his hand across from his knee to Ianto's thigh. At his touch he felt a tiny shudder under his hand and he smiled broadly, but Ianto batted his hand away.

"Not while I'm driving, Jack," he scolded, softening the rejection by lifting his hand to stroke Jack's cheek before returning it to the steering wheel.

Jack settled back in his seat with a soft sigh of disappointment.

"We could stop..." Jack's tone was wheedling.

"It'll be going on midnight before we get there as it is," Ianto said apologetically. "Patience Jack, we've got six whole days off."

"Six?" Jack frowned. "I thought we were going away for the weekend. Gwen'll..."

"Be fine," Ianto interrupted with an expression of pure mischief. "It's all sorted. Gwen, Martha and Mickey can hold the fort and there are a couple of UNIT guys on standby just in case. I have Gwen's word she won't call us back for anything less than a condition mauve alert." He looked at Jack's somewhat dumbstruck expression and chuckled.

"What? You think you're the only one capable of being sneaky? Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Jack." With a smirk he leant forward and turned on the stereo, filling the SUV with soft music piped from his music player, then hiked up the volume.

"All right, I'll play ball, but just because it's you." Jack grinned and laid his head back on the headrest, closing his eyes.

The miles fell away as Ianto drove through the darkness, enjoying the empty roads and the sound of his favourite tracks blasting from the speakers, an eclectic mix of songs from a dozen different genres and decades, mostly from before his run in with the 456. Relaxed and content, he began to sing along with the music, his voice surprisingly deep and melodious, reminding Jack of Ianto's brief stint as an opera singer. For a time he let the soothing sound of Ianto's voice wash over him, lulling him almost to sleep.

Sing, bird of prey;
Beauty begins at the foot of you. Do you believe the manner?
Gold stainless nail,
Torn through the distance of man
As they regard the summit.

"So, you never did explain the fascination for prog rock, Yan" Jack said suddenly, the seemingly incomprehensible lyrics resurrecting an age old curiosity in Ianto's listening habits. "It seems a bit, well, new age for you, not to mention two decades too early."

Ianto flushed slightly, and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road.

"It was Mam's favourite. When I was growing up, she'd play this stuff for hours on end – whenever Dad was out of the house. He hated it, said it was hippy nonsense. She said whenever she listened to it she could let her mind soar free, leave behind the humdrum realities of life. I didn't understand what she really meant then, but the only time I ever saw her really content was when she was sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea, eyes closed, with prog rock belting out full blast from the stereo."

Jack watched Ianto's lips curve in a soft smile as he remembered and found himself smiling at the image Ianto's words set against the soaring music, still emanating from the car's stereo, had created.

"When I hit my teens there came that moment, the one where you embrace the music of your parents or reject it totally. I embraced it, Rhiannon rejected it in favour of Take That. I think part of the reason I love it is because Mam did. After she died I always felt comforted when I listened to it, I still do if I'm honest. And I understand what she meant about it freeing your mind – I listened to it a lot when I was stranded in your mind, Jack. I know that sound's crazy but I honestly believe it helped to keep me sane."

The last sentence was a whisper, almost lost under the closing bars of the track, and Ianto's expression was far away.

The track changed to something upbeat and disco, and also firmly set in the 70s. Jack coughed, trying to break Ianto out of his reverie.

"So you've explained the 70s prog rock, but Chic?"

"LeFreak," Ianto countered, in time to the music, his face breaking into a wicked grin as he met Jack's eyes. "I have to confess this is another daydream track for me. You, tight-arsed in white flares, strutting your stuff on the dance floor. Stella Courtney has a lot to answer for. Freakout..."

With a mischievous wink he turned his eyes back to the road, his fingers tapping out the rhythm on the steering wheel, his deep voice once more echoing the lyrics.

Half an hour later a motorway sign proclaimed that they were passing Sheffield.

"We're not going to Leeds, are we?" Jack blurted out abruptly, sitting upright so quickly it made Ianto jump in his seat.

Ianto shot him a puzzled look but shook his head, "No, just passing through. Why? What hideous alien menace did you encounter in Leeds? Or was it another ex-lover of ours?" This last enquiry was accompanied by an innocently raised eyebrow.

Jack's brow creased in a tiny frown. "No, nothing like that, in fact Leeds holds some very entertaining memories. No, it was Donna. She had this irrational hatred of the place, wouldn't go near it. When I took Sîan to the Royal Armouries, Donna made us stay in York and wouldn't come with us round the museum. She said the place gave her the creeps." Jack gave a shrug. "Women - Donna especially – the most alien species in existence."

"If she heard you saying that, you'd be recovering from another gruesome death," Ianto chuckled.

Jack gave a mock shudder. "Don't remind me, the last one was bad enough." He settled back in his seat, looking at the illuminated clock display which proclaimed it was after ten. "So have we far to go?"

"Another three-quarters of an hour. I said we'd be there about eleven."

Jack's eyes flared with interest. "So someone's expecting us," he said thoughtfully.

"Yes, Jack," Ianto said with as much condescension as he could manage. "We are staying somewhere where someone has to let us into our room. You've just narrowed it down to every hotel and B&B in the North of England. Do you have any more gems of insight?" With a smug smile he turned his attention back to the road.

"Why do I put up with you?" Jack muttered, fighting the reluctant smile which was aching to curve his lips.

"Because you love me," Ianto replied loftily, "and despite all the mock sulks, I think you're rather enjoying the fact that I've arranged something which is a genuine surprise for you."

Jack wisely chose to remain silent, instead closing his eyes and leaning back as though their final destination was of no importance to him.

Ten minutes later soft snores from the passenger seat told Ianto that his husband's feigned sleep had transformed into the real thing. With an amused smile he turned down the music volume until it was little more than a low murmur and hummed softly, the sound a gentle lullaby.

After another ten minutes, Ianto pulled off the motorway, looping down into Leeds city centre, the darkness giving way to the soft white glow of the street lamps. He had no need of the SUV's satnav, the route etched firmly in his memory. He was pleased to see that the city centre had not changed a great deal in the last twenty-four years. There were new skyscrapers jutting up above the carefully preserved ornate Victorian architecture which graced the centre of the city. Leeds' first skyscraper, which he'd privately christened the 'Dalek' building on his last trip over twenty years earlier, due to its hauntingly familiar profile, was now dwarfed by taller structures around it. The SUV pulled past the railway station, emerging from the 'Dark Arches', a warren of Victorian tunnels formed by the arching structures of red brick viaducts carrying the railway tracks of Leeds station above the river Aire, into the bright modern expanse of City Square, still bearing the familiar statue of the Black Prince. The world Ianto knew had changed so much while he had been in suspended animation and he felt a wave of comforting nostalgia sweep over him at the familiar surroundings. With a smile of remembrance he took the A65 out of the city centre heading towards the Yorkshire Dales. The suburbs of Leeds extended further than Ianto remembered, hardly surprising given the amount of time that had elapsed since he was last up this way, but eventually he reached the turning that took him away from the houses and street lights and up onto dark moorland.

The road snaked away into the darkness, the headlights picking out the cats eyes marking the centre of the road, and Ianto dropped his speed, negotiating the sudden twists and turns of the road with ease. He loved this, driving in the inky blackness, the only lights his own headlights on the road and the smattering of stars visible through the windscreen. It gave him a sense of being both alone and a part of the wide universe at the same time. Usually, when he'd made this trip in the past, he had been alone. He'd never brought anyone with him, not even Lisa. This had always been his escape and he'd cherished the privacy and solitude it brought him, but this past year he'd found himself longing to share his retreat with Jack. Now there was somewhere they could retreat to together... assuming Jack didn't hate it of course. At the thought of what was waiting for them he gave a low chuckle which roused his husband from his slumber with a loud yawn.

With sleepy, blinking eyes, Jack looked with some confusion at the featureless black landscape around them.

"Where the hell are we? Have we fallen off the edge of the world?"

Ianto grinned, his teeth orange in the glow from the illuminated dashboard. "Not quite. We'll be there in five minutes."

As he spoke the SUV began to drop down into a valley, the occasional street light coming once more into view. Just before the SUV reached the valley floor Ianto slowed and indicated, pulling into a wide gravel car park. A long low house, a single outside light above the door, lay at one end. Ianto parked the SUV at the furthest end of the car park and killed the engine. Leaning back in his seat he stretched, his limbs awkward in the confined space.

"So where are we?" Jack asked, looking about the dark car park. "As surprises go this is pretty..." He searched for a word that wouldn't upset his partner. "Underwhelming," he finished, wincing at his choice. To his relief Ianto merely repeated the mysterious smile he'd been affecting for the last week every time Jack had mentioned their anniversary plans.

"Snaygill," he said softly. "Near Skipton. My second favourite place in the whole world."

Jack unbuckled his seat belt and leaned across, pulling Ianto in for a chaste, gentle kiss. "I hope I'm right in thinking where your favourite place is," he said huskily. Ianto looked thoughtful, as though deliberating his answer, but his slate blue eyes, intently boring into Jack's, told Jack everything he needed to know.

After holding Jack's gaze for a full minute Ianto pulled away, unfastening his own seat belt and opening the car door. A stiff, cool breeze immediately swept into the SUV's interior, robbing it of the heat which had cocooned them for the drive. Ianto gave a single sharp shiver and dragged the coat he had stuffed into the footwell behind the driver's seat out, hurriedly pulling it on over his T-shirt.

Jack climbed out to join him, looking in dismay at the low red brick building. A cute country cottage it wasn't, looking more like a seventies council bungalow than a romantic country retreat. Ianto saw his look and smirked.

"We're not staying there," he assured him. "Come on." As he spoke he opened the SUV's boot and pulled out a holdall which he handed to Jack before reaching in and pulling out a second. Closing the boot and locking the doors he turned and vanished into the darkness across the car park towards the building. Jack followed, noticing that Ianto was not aiming for the building itself but instead towards a dark flight of stairs to its right which descended into blackness down the hill. It was only as Jack began to make his way carefully down the stairs, his eyes still not quite accustomed to the darkness, that he saw a welcoming glow of light a few feet below him reflecting off a still, dark body of water.

As he and Ianto reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a clack and a few meters off to his right a hatchway opened, a figure emerging silhouetted against soft lamplight.

"Mr Thwaite?" Ianto offered a hand to the figure, who Jack could now see was an old man in his eighties. The old man stepped forward up and out of the hatchway, allowing the light from within to fall across the distinctive wooden planks of a deck and onto the river bank on which Jack stood.

In the darkness Jack grinned. A boat. Of course, he should have guessed.

"Aye. Mr Jones?" the old man said gruffly, his weathered face split in a wide grin. "Why, if y'ain't spittin' image of yer fa'ther. Aye w'reet sorry t'hear e'd died. A young 'un like 'at. E'ry year h'come, reg'lar as clockwork. Practic'ly a Tyke h'wer." The old man shook his head sorrowfully. "Fancy leavin' you an' yer Ma alone. Not tha' I ever met yer Ma. Allus came alone, he did. Anyhows, I reckon e'd be reet med up that yus picked up where h'left off."

Mr Thwaite beamed at the two men. "An' yull be?" he asked, looking Jack up and down appraisingly.

"My husband, Jack," Ianto said smoothly without a trace of self consciousness.

The old man's smile grew broader. "Well, ain't tha' grand. I allus said it wer a reet shame yer fa'ther allus came on his tod, no'ons to share 't wi. Here's t'keys, lad. I tek it tha knows how t'drive 'er?"

Ianto nodded and took the proffered keys with a smile almost as broad as the old man's. "I'm an old hand, Tom," he assured him.

Mr Thwaite blinked in surprise. For a moment the young man before him had not only looked eerily like his father of twenty five years ago but had sounded exactly like him as well. If he hadn't known it was impossible, at that instant he could have sworn it was the same man. Bah, he was getting old, he berated himself. The Ianto Jones he knew would have been pushing fifty by now and this young lad was only in his mid-twenties at most.

"Aye, well. I'll sa' good nite." He ducked his head in a gesture of farewell. "Sh'is all fuelled up an' ready f'morning. Oh, 'an Ellen go t'supplies th'ordered. Ay'll see thee ina few days." Without waiting for a reply he trudged up the steps towards the low red brick house.

Ianto turned to Jack, the grin now distinctly mischievous.

"So, a boat on the river," Jack said raising one eyebrow. "Is this your sailor fetish finally coming to the surface?"

"It's a barge on a canal," Ianto corrected. "And as I recall it's you that had the thing for sailors."

"Before you," Jack assured him, only half-joking. He wanted Ianto to know that from now on there would only ever be him.

"Before me," Ianto agreed. "So, do you want to see our barge?"

"Lead on, Cap'n," Jack said bowing low.

A short flight of three steep steps led down from the hatchway into the narrow interior of the barge. It wasn't the first time Jack had been on a narrowboat; he'd once done a stint as a bargeman on the canals back in the 1890s, not long after he'd arrived back on Earth, but he'd never seen a barge like this. Whilst the idea of a canal barge was quaint and olde-worldy the interior of this barge was outfitted more like a New York loft apartment, albeit on a much more compact scale. The sleek lines of a galley kitchen ran along one wall, minimalist but functional in pale wood and black granite. Beyond the kitchen lay a dark leather couch, L-shaped to create a cozy nook around a wood burning stove. A partitioning door gave way into a single bedroom, filled almost wall to wall with a king sized bed and beyond that a contemporary wet room filled the remaining space.

Jack gave a low whistle as he walked down the length of the boat and back again.

"Very nice," he said appreciatively. "Narrowboats have certainly come on some. I'm surprised you can hire something like this."

There was a deafening silence from Ianto who was still stood in the galley kitchen, now shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking a good deal younger than his years. Jack raised an eyebrow at him.

"Ianto?"

Ianto coughed and gave a sheepish grin. "I didn't hire it," he said hesitatingly. "I... We own it."

Jack gave an abrupt laugh. "You bought a barge?"

For a split second Ianto's face flickered with hurt at Jack's incredulous tone, but eventually it settled into a reluctant smile.

"Twenty two years of back pay kind of adds up. I had to spend it on something. This seemed as good as anything. It was a shell when I bought it. All this," he waved his arm about the interior, "is Mr Thwaite's work."

Jack dropped his holdall onto the couch and crossed back to Ianto, pulling him into a bruising kiss. Ianto relaxed into Jack's hold, parting his lips to allow Jack access, savouring the sensation of his husband's warm lips on his own, his breath releasing in a long contented sigh.

At the sound Jack raised his head. His eyes, dark with desire met Ianto's and saw his own longing mirrored there.

"What do you say we try out that bed Mr Thwaite installed?" As he spoke he ran his thumb along the length of Ianto's jaw, eliciting a shiver of need from the younger man.

Ianto nodded, deliberately reaching behind him and switching off the lights in the main cabin, leaving only the flickering orange glow from the wood burning stove and the soft lighting filtering through from the bedroom. Then with a smile that was pure wickedness he pushed past Jack, ensuring that his husband was in no doubt as to just how much he wanted him, and vanished into the bedroom with Jack hot on his heels.