This was a Christmas gift for LJ user electro_club.

Andy's hand shook almost imperceptibly as he tried once, twice to get his key into the lock. Ianto let it go without comment. On the third attempt, it worked, and Andy swung open the door to his flat and went inside, leaving it open for Ianto to follow him. He deposited his keys on his kitchen counter and finally turned, and Ianto could see the brightness of his eyes, half panic and half excitement, the same expression that had adorned his face through the whole ride home, Ianto driving his police car ("Like a proper copper now, eh? None of that black van nonsense.") because of Andy's wounds.

"Are you going to be all right, PC Davidson?" Ianto let his eyes trail over the flat; nicely put together, surprising for someone like Andy; very neat. Equally surprising was the attempt at decoration. There were white Christmas lights strung around the windows, a very small tree on a table, blinking colors. Garland, tinsel.

Andy smiled, wide. "I'll be fine. I'll be brilliant, actually!" He leaned heavily against the kitchen counter. "An alien! A proper alien, in the middle of Cardiff, on Christmas night! It's totally mad, isn't it?"

Ianto sighed. "You'd be surprised."

"So that's what you lot do, is it?" Andy boggled at Ianto, as though seeing him for the first time. "You hunt – aliens? Things like that Weebil, or whatever?"

"Weevil. And yes. Among other things." Ianto fingered the small pill in his coat pocket. He watched Andy. Watched him taking all of it in, still reeling, still delighted to be part of something, something bigger than constabulary and football and beer. Ianto looked at the floor. "Andy," he said. "Do you have anyone you should be with tonight? Family?"

Andy shook his head, laughing a little, although there was sadness somewhere behind it, behind his eyes. "Nope. My mum fairly hates me, crazy bitch she is. Dad died years ago. Sister's an addict – tonnes of things, apparently. No clue where she is, but she's probably enjoying her Christmas under a bridge somewhere in Splott." Andy tapped his hand on the countertop, now himself looking at the floor. "I'll probably just head to bed. That sounds terrible, doesn't it?" He laughed again, nervous. He looked up. "You have anyone to go home to?"

Ianto thought of Jack, probably sitting in the Hub, listening to his very, very old Christmas records, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, waiting for Ianto to get back from dropping Andy off. "I have a sister," he said. "She lives on an estate near here, with her husband and kids." He smiled, a little sadly. "I haven't spoken to her in a while. Job's a bit difficult to work around. Easier not to try." Ianto paused. That sounded terrible.

Andy obviously thought so, too, because he frowned epically. "That's no excuse. If she can stand the sight of you, you should at least call her sometimes."

Rhiannon probably didn't even know what Ianto looked like anymore. Ianto frowned, thinking of that. Did he know what David and Mica looked like?

Andy shook his head, waving a hand. "Sorry, mate, it's just – long day. Normal Christmas troubles and then, you know, big alien clawing the hell out of my chest. My filter's off."

"S'all right." Ianto rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands in his coat pockets. "Is there anything else I can do for you, PC Davidson?"

Andy looked him up and down, and Ianto felt it coming before it was even out of Andy's mouth. "How can you take it?" he blurted. "The secrets, and everything? How can you keep yourself from just exploding and screaming in the middle of Roald Dahl Plass, 'I clean alien shite daily in my underground sci-fi base'? How the hell am I going to keep it secret? How can you trust me to?" His face darkened. "You're not going to kill me, are you? Gwen wouldn't stand for it – at least, God, I hope she wouldn't stand for it, I don't know after everything we-"

"Andy," Ianto interrupted, reaching out a hand and laying it on the other man's shoulder. He smiled. "We aren't going to kill you. We don't do that." Anymore. Often. "I can keep the secret because-" And he paused. He could keep the secret because. He let his hand fall off of Andy's shoulder, thinking about it.

He could keep the secret because the secret was his entire life. Torchwood, the Hub, Jack, the team, aliens and temporal anomalies, dinosaurs, amnesia pills. He could keep the secret because the secret was all he had. The secret wasn't a secret, because there was no one he spoke to regularly who didn't know exactly what he did for a living.

"I can keep the secret," he said, "because it's what I'm paid for. We can trust you to keep it because you care about Gwen, and Cardiff, and you wouldn't want to endanger anyone by letting it slip that there's a team of alien catchers working beneath the water tower."

And that was the truth, Ianto realized suddenly, watching Andy stand there and process his reasoning. They could trust Andy to keep Torchwood a secret. What's more, they could use Andy. He was bright, eager – hell, willing to let all of this become a part of his life. The only reason they kept having to do this, kept having to retcon him, pacify him, was because he was often bright enough to see through all of their bullshit and pull the truth out of the red-tape muck that Ianto dealt out to the police, the local government, the media. Andy regularly made their lives hell by realizing and then accepting that what they did was entirely possible and exciting and often glorious, often terrible.

And Ianto didn't want to have to make him do it again. But he had to. He sighed. "How's the pain, by the way?

Andy touched his chest and winced. "The painkiller is wearing off, yeah. It's gonna be hell in the morning."

Ianto nodded. "Sorry about that. You're lucky we got to you when we did. Weevils are one of the more dangerous creatures we deal with regularly." You're another one. "Here," he said, taking the small white pill out of his pocket and moving into the kitchen. He reached up into a cabinet and pulled down a glass, filled it with water, then turned and handed it and the pill to Andy. "This will help. With the pain, and with sleeping tonight."

Andy laughed, taking the pill and glass. "I don't think I'll sleep tonight anyway. Way too much going on in here." He tapped his forehead, then popped the pill into his mouth and chased it with the water. Ianto took the glass from his hand, rinsed it out, and put it in Andy's draining board. When he turned back, Andy was staring at him with sudden worry. "You knew," he said, "without asking me. Where I keep my glasses."

Ianto nodded. "I've been here before. Fairly often."

Andy was incredulous, but it was broken by a sudden sleepiness in his face, a distance in his voice. "What – what've you come here for?"

"For this," Ianto said, and he caught Andy as he lost his balance and fell. Ianto sighed and began to drag him toward the bedroom. At least most of the time he made it as far as the doorway.

When Andy was in his bed, shed of his uniform, white bandages on his chest gleaming, Ianto went through the flat turning off lights. He paused at the windows, where the white lights reflected all around him on the glass, making his own reflection glow like old paintings of saints or angels. He held the switch in his hand and stared down at it for a moment. Finally, he dropped it and moved on. The Christmas lights could stay on. Familiar things to wake up to in the night.

He locked the door behind him, took the elevator down and walked through the lobby with a light wave to the night guard, who barely looked up from his newspaper. Outside, it was freezing, and Ianto pulled his coat tighter around himself. He'd have to walk back to the hub – but that was all right. He could hear Christmas carols from somewhere down the street, someone's car radio or television. He looked up at the sky. Overcast, dark, beautiful. The air smelled like snow, but it wouldn't come. It hardly ever snowed in Cardiff. But that made it all the more beautiful when it did. Ianto started off down the street. At the corner, he paused. He looked back over his shoulder.

On the third floor of the building, two windows faced him, both ringed in white lights. He watched them for a moment, the only bright spot in the whole of the building. Then, coming to a decision, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. He dialed a number, pressed it to his ear, and continued down the road.

"Rhiannon? It's Ianto. Happy Christmas."