His home was haunted, he was sure of it. There was a constant presence around him in the small apartment, however it didn't seem malicious. Something like this might have scared someone else, but he was used to strange things happening.

After everything that happened is his long life, Captain Jack Harkness was trying to be normal, or as normal as an immortal being could be.

Torchwood Cardiff was gone, the bomb that had torn through it had destroyed the Hub under Roald Dahl Plass. U.N.I.T. had cleaned it up and taken everything that could have been salvaged. He hadn't been able to help because he was off in America facing death for the first time since he'd been shot by a Dalek.

Now that the world was safe – again – he had decided not to restart Torchwood. His last team had been one of the closest he worked with and he still felt their losses – Tosh, Owen, Ianto… Even Susie. At least he still had Gwen. And she was trying to go back to a normal life with her husband Rhys and their daughter.

But after chasing down aliens for centuries Jack wasn't sure he knew how to be normal. So he moved back to Cardiff and found a rather small place to live. But now his place had another inhabitant.

It had started as just feeling something otherworldly. But then odd things started happening. Clothes he tossed on the floor would be folded neatly on the bed and coffee would be waiting for him in the pot.

He brushed it off at first: being too tired to remember the rote movements of putting on the timer for his morning coffee or straightening the mess in his room. But then it happened again, and on a morning when he distinctly remembered coming come angry and not caring about housekeeping. He threw his clothing everywhere, even his long coat, and bypassed the coffee timer, he'd make it when he damned well felt like getting up in the morning.

He awoke to a piping hot mug of coffee, doctored the way he liked it, sitting on his bedside table. His coat was hanging in the closet and his other clothing was sitting, neatly folded, on a chair.

"And you're sure it's a ghost?" Gwen asked.

"Yes." Jack sighed into his phone. "Either that or I have a cleaning lady who came with the apartment and I didn't know about her. And believe me I-"

"You'd know if there was a woman in your apartment making coffee."

"Man, woman, anyone," Jack clarified. "And I feel something, like there's someone here with me."

"The job never goes away, does it?" Gwen asked. "Always looking over our shoulders, scrutinized every detail, looking for something alien."

"Once Torchwood is in your blood it doesn't go away."

"That is the truth of it," his ex-colleague said. "Alright… Logical answer is you're sleepwalking… I mean sleep housekeeping. And the lack of sleep means you're imaging a presence."

"It's not a lack of sleep," Jack said.

"Sure." Gwen sounded doubtful.

"And the Torchwood answer, Cooper?"

"Maybe… maybe someone has a ghost box in your building. You remember how much trouble Owen got into…"

The other side of the phone line went quiet and there was a moment of silence shared between the two friends for their lost colleagues.

Owen. Tosh. Suzie. Ianto.

A chill went through Jack. "I hope there's not another one of those floating around."

"All of our tech was destroyed, yeah?" Gwen asked.

"I'm certain of it," Jack said. "Either that or U.N.I.T. has it locked away. What else you got? Ghosts haunt what, cemeteries? Places where they died."

"There was this one show that talked about hauntings," Gwen said. "The investigators said spirits sometimes attach to objects. Is there anything in the house that belonged to a pervious tenant?"

"Not that I've found," Jack said. "Unless you count that voodoo shine in my closet."

"Jack!"

Jack…

"What was that?"

"What? I was admonishing you."

"No, I mean… Never mind." Jack scrubbed at his face. "I'm losing it, be it my sleep or my sanity."

"The great Captain Jack Harkness, leader of Torchwood scared off by a little ghost."

"Gwen…"

"Alright, seriously… If not something that was left in the house maybe it's something you have on you. Something that maybe belonged to an ex-lover."

"So many of them have passed," Jack whispered. "But I don't have anything…"

"Jack?"

Jack…

"I have to go, Gwen. Thank you." He hung up, not hearing her response.

He went to the bedroom, opened the dresser drawer and pulled out a box buried under his socks. He held it like it was sacred before opening it to reveal a pair of cufflinks. He had given them to his last lover, the one he was having trouble letting go off.

Jack closed his eyes and breathed deep, trying to center himself. The smell of strong coffee mixed with distinctive cologne filled the air.

"Why?" Jack asked. "Why now? After all this time you finally make an appearance! Is it really you folding my clothes and making my coffee? Am I imaging this or are you here?"

He was greeted with silence.

"Ianto?"

Again nothing. No presence. No smells. No voice in his ear.

"Is this a game now?" Jack yelled, putting the box on the dresser. "I'm sorry I didn't realize it was you, ok? I should have… the coffee and all. You could never stand my messed. I can't feel you… can't feel anything. I'm alone, I can't feel you. Ianto… Where are you?"

He spun around, eyes searching the room. His bracers came off first, tossed on the floor haphazardly. His shirt followed, then his pants. "I'm making a mess," Jack called as he pulled off his socks. He spread his arms, clad only in briefs and an undershirt. "I'll go there, you know I will."

Pressure built in the room, causing Jack to catch his breath. A whirlwind appeared out of nowhere. Jack's clothing was caught up in it and began spinning in the unnatural wind. It landed on the floor, all folded.

Jack…

"This is good service," Jack said in a shaky voice. "Ghostly cleaners. You could make a fortune that way."

He spun again, stopping when he was facing the bed. The shimmering form of a man was coming into focus, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I'm here because you need me," Ianto said, his form filling out. He wore a suit and his features were exactly how Jack remembered. "You'll alone Jack. Trying to start over. I figured you could use some help."

"From you, always." A tear slid down Jack's cheek.

Ianto pressed a hand to Jack's face, making physical contact but not at the same time. His hand was cold. Jack clasped Ianto's wrist and pulled away, eyes focused on his sleeve.

"No cufflinks?"

Ianto smiled. "On the dresser. Weren't you supposed to store all of my possessions?"

"When have I ever followed protocol?" Jack asked.

"True," Ianto replied. "So… did you really not know it was me? For years I was Torchwood's clean-up crew and your coffee boy."

"You were more than that," Jack whispered, touching Ianto's face. "So much more."

Jack leaned in and pressed his lips against Ianto's.

"Well this is new," Ianto whispered. "Not bad, just new…"

"Well, whatever it is, we'll figure it out together, like old times."

"Like old times," Ianto whispered. "Kiss me Jack, I've missed you."