Things slowly got back to normal. Tosh came back to work and to Ianto's disappointment she didn't seem interested in deepening their friendship. She was quite happy to chat, smile and accept his coffee. She put one her own version of a mask and although they all knew she wasn't really all right they let her pretend that she was. That seemed to be the Torchwood way. Tosh even came to his flat to eat, seemed happy to see him when he invited himself to her place, but without anything being said she made it obvious that there was nothing more between them. He maintained a hope that maybe when she'd got over what had happened with Mary, she might think differently. I mean, he thought, you couldn't blame her for not wanting to trust people right now. And he supposed, he didn't exactly have a very good track record in the trustworthy department.

The high point of his day was his low point. He still needed his afternoon rest and for reasons he couldn't even begin to understand Jack's bed was a place of peace and comfort. Sometimes he slept and sometimes he didn't. His fixation with the crack on the wall eased and he started to become more aware of the rest of the strange little room, the vaulted ceiling, the near total lack of décor or personality. He really couldn't fathom why with all the empty rooms and spaces in this underground complex Jack should choose to make his bedroom down here. Yet the bed was comfortable and it smelt of Jack. He started to dread the days when he would no longer need to come down here and recharge.

When he was resting Jack stayed in his office. He could hear him moving around sometimes, at other times was just aware that he was there, at his desk working, or pretending to. If someone tried to come in Jack shooed them away. No one bothered trying any more. Ianto couldn't work out what he'd done to deserve such loyalty but he was grateful.

He needed his day time sleeps to cope with his night times. Exhaustion meant that nine o'clock was the latest he could put off going to bed but he usually woke around 2.30 sick, shaking and crying with nightmares. He tried not sleeping but his injured brain wouldn't let him. Just one night was all he managed. The result was messy and had Owen and Jack very alarmed. He nearly got sent to hospital for an urgent brain scan. He gave up and tried to learn to live with it.

The trick he decided was to have something to do, to occupy him when he did wake up, and to stop him fretting and dwelling on the dreams that had woken him. Driving out to a storage locker in the suburbs he liberated his father's sewing machine, and tools. He set them all up in his lounge, handling the scissors, tape measures, tailors chalk and other things with reverence. Memories of his Dad were imbedded in the tools. Dad working late in the back room, teaching and explaining, talking as he worked, showing him the way to cut and drape, feel the quality, the feeling of being precious and loved, it was all there and it was all very welcome.

Now, when the nightmares woke him, as soon as he'd gotten himself under control he went out to the lounge and worked on whatever project he'd set himself. It was fanciful to think Dad was there with him but practising his craft certainly helped soothe him and keep him from fragmenting.

The first thing he did was carefully take apart his favourite suit. He had lost so much weight that the pants had been in danger of sliding to his ankles every time he coughed. He started with the pants, carefully picked the seams apart and trimmed out the excess fabric. He practised sewing on an old tablecloth that he found in one of Dad's boxes and when he was happy that he could do so safely he sewed the pants back together. They sat beautifully and looked good. His arse looked good. He was very pleased with himself.

The next night he started on the jacket, it was harder because it was lined. The alterations to change the size went smoothly but it was harder to put the lining back in neatly with the tucks for ease moving place with the size change. Working at three or four in the morning probably wasn't ideal.

He sewed and unpicked for three nights. During the day he was the near invisible coffee maker, archive keeper and general goffer of Torchwood. No one could have guessed that his mind was full of sewing techniques. His nap was taken up with running through variations on his lining problem. He wished he knew a real tailor he could ask. He missed his Dad.

He went to bed at night, fixated on his sewing and woke up amid Lisa's blood and guts or a fridge of body parts in a cellar. How could that be?

He finally decided the lining was the best it was going to get and anyway no one else would ever see it. The jacket looked great from the outside. When he put the pants on too he was delighted with the look. When he wore the suit to work the next day he noticed Jack scoping out his butt on more than one occasion. He guessed that was a good result.

Gwen complimented him on how well he was looking. It was amazing how well fitting clothes hid pain, lack of sleep and anorexia.

On Saturday he took himself to a draper's shop and bought patterns and fabric. He was going to make himself some shirts.

At 3.30am Sunday morning he had the pattern pinned to the fabric and was just about to start cutting when he heard a key turning in his front door. What?! No one should have his key. Fighting down panic he grabbed the scissors. Holding them like a knife he slunk back against the wall next to the living room door heart in his throat. The front door was quietly closed. He couldn't believe this. What the fuck was happening now?

His head was roaring. Christ he couldn't do this, couldn't get hurt again. No damn it, he wasn't going to let it happen. He wasn't going to let some bastard break into his home and hurt him. He was strong enough to look after himself. Footsteps moved furtively in the hallway. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? A figure came through the door and furious he leapt, scissors outstretched. He went for the neck. It was a spur of the moment thing. The scissors weren't designed for stabbing but he thought he might have a chance.

The man cried out, fell to the floor and he followed him down ready to strike again before he realised who was under him. It was Jack.

With a sob Ianto dropped the scissors. Jack wrenched around ready to defend himself before he too realised what was happening and they lay in a tangle on the floor breathing hard. Reaction hit Ianto like a truck and he flung himself away and was sick in the doorway.

It was disgusting. Vomit shot up his nose, bile and drool dribbled from his lip. He spat. Blinked back tears. He huddled there shaking as the adrenaline left him. He could barely breathe. Christ he'd been scared. He'd nearly killed Jack. Shit Jack… was he all right?

Then Jack sank down the wall and sat beside him. 'Ianto?'

What-are-you-doing-here-fuck-christ-you-scared-me-I'm-so-sorry-are-you-all-right? He managed a large inward gasp of air but couldn't say anything.

'Yan?' Tentatively Jack placed his hand on his shoulder. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought you'd be asleep. I've still got a key from when I was looking after you.' He patted him awkwardly. 'When I saw the light on I just thought you must have left it on. I didn't mean to scare you.'

Ianto was starting to pull himself together although he still felt like he wanted to cry. He fumbled in the pocket of his robe for a handkerchief and blew his nose, wiped his mouth. Jack pulled him against him and he leant in gratefully, until he felt Jack wince.

'Are you all right?'

'Lucky I was wearing my coat. I think the collar took the force.' He grimaced and put his hand up to his left shoulder. 'What did you hit me with? My whole arm's gone numb.'

'Scissors,' Ianto said. 'Let me see.' He got to his knees and investigated Jack's shoulder. He had actually punched a hole right through his great coat collar and the fabric layer underneath. The woollen fabric was wet with blood. Shit. Carefully he eased the garment off him, right arm first before sliding it off the left side. Jack held himself rigid, it hurt. His shirt was red with blood, a lot of blood. 'Shit.'

He quickly discarded the idea of his used hanky as a suitable dressing, likewise his new shirt fabric was not going to do, it wouldn't be absorbent enough. 'Stay here.' He shot into the kitchen and grabbed a pile of clean tea towels out of the drawer. Racing back he grabbed the scissors, alarming Jack and quickly cut the collar of the shirt and the tee underneath it right along to the shoulder on the injured side to allow access to the wound. The blood was coming from right at the base of Jack's neck and soaking down his front. He shoved a tea towel against his neck and pressed it tight. Jack jerked and groaned. His eyes were shut.

The injury didn't seem to be life threatening, thank God although Jack was quite pale. It certainly wasn't pumping blood. He hadn't hit the jugular. Ianto felt for a pulse at the wrist with his free hand and found it fast but steady. Probably not too different to how his own was behaving. He took Jack's right hand and placed it on the tea towel. 'Here. Apply pressure. Okay?' He untangled the coat and wrapped it back around him; he needed to keep him warm. 'We'll just sit here a few minutes. See if it stops bleeding or if we need to get it seen to. Okay?'

'Yeah. Okay.'

'Do you need to lie down?'

'Maybe. No,' his eyes opened briefly, 'I'm all right like this.'

'Okay.' He sat down close on Jack's right, and now Jack leant against him. 'I'm sorry I hurt you.' He put one arm around his shoulders and the other hand over Jack's hand on the towel.

Jack gave a snort. 'Think that was probably my own fault, don't you?'

'Yeah. Maybe you should have knocked. What are you doing here?'

Jack snuggled a little closer and made a strange sad noise. 'Sorry.' His breath hitched and to Ianto's utter shock he realised Jack was crying. He slid his hand out from under Ianto's and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes.

Jack's tears threw Ianto into panic. 'Jack, what is it? What's wrong?' He envisaged all sorts of disasters. His heart started to thump again. 'Is someone hurt? Is it Tosh? What's happened?'

'Nothing,' Jack said firmly. He took several deep breaths, sniffed. 'Nothing's wrong. Sorry. I keep scaring you. I just…' his lip trembled. 'I shouldn't have come. It was silly.'

'What was?'

'I just…' Jack let his head thunk back against the wall. He was desperately trying not to cry.

'It's all right Jack.' Although he'd said there was nothing wrong Ianto felt something twist in his gut. He was frightened. He tightened his grip. This was just so not Jack. 'Tell me. Please.'

The words when they came were so soft he could hardly hear them. 'I had a bad dream.'

'Aww sweetheart.' It was a huge relief. He gently kissed him on the temple. Jack was crying openly now.

'I don't know why. I just thought… I don't know what I thought. I hadn't worked it through.' Jack was sinking further and further down the wall. 'I just wanted… was going to let myself in and then… I was going to get into bed with you.'

'And feel safe?' Ianto understood completely. It had just never occurred to him that Jack might ever feel that need.

'Yeah. And feel safe.'

Ianto held him tight. He was crying himself. Jack was mirroring his own pain and loneliness. He didn't know which of them he was crying for.

After a few minutes he carefully got to his knees and checked under the towel. To his relief the bleeding seemed to have nearly stopped. He probed the wound slightly, Jack flinched. It was a deep little puncture into the base of the neck. 'I must have hit your collar bone. No wonder your arm went numb. How is it now?'

Jack tried raising his arm and shuddered. 'It feels tingly. My whole shoulder is sore.'

'Can you feel your fingers?'

The fingers flexed. 'Yeah. It'll be all right.'

'I'm just going to go out to my car for my good first aid kit. Okay.' He got up grimacing as he stepped around the mess in the doorway.

'I'll help you tidy up soon,' Jack said.

'Yes, well. Least you can do.'

When he came back in Jack was standing at the table looking at his pattern. 'What are you doing?' Ianto was pleased to see he was standing back so he wouldn't get blood on the fabric.

'I'm making myself a shirt.'

Jack smiled. 'Good for you.' Awkwardly he sat down on one of the chairs. 'Do you usually do it in the middle of the night?'

Ianto looked at him. 'I do. Yes.' He went into the bathroom and washed his hands. When he came back he carefully folded the fabric and removed it to the sofa out of potential harm's way. He laid out a dressing pack and a towel. Jack just watched him. This shy, tear stained Jack was a stranger and Ianto didn't know what to say to him. He retrieved the scissors from the floor and held them up. 'My Dad's. They were his pride and joy. They're Italian.' He cut the rest of the sleeve of Jack's shirt from the cuff to the shoulder and then cut up from the waist so that it peeled off. 'Sorry. It was already ruined.'

'Do you sleep at all?' Jack asked

'The early part of the night.'

'Nightmares?'

'Yes.' He peeled the towel away from Jack's neck. Spectacular bruising was already starting to show on his shoulder. The puncture wound was still seeping slightly but it would be all right. It didn't need stitches. 'You should probably have some antibiotics. That's quite deep.'

'No. It will be all right. I heal quickly. It will be fine in a week. You'll see.'

He cleaned the wound with saline and cotton wool and taped a dressing in place. Then he fetched a bowl of water and a wash cloth and cleaned the blood off Jack's chest. Jack kept his eyes closed the whole time. His breathing was slightly irregular. His face was still pale.

Ianto gave Jack two paracetamol and fetched a clean tee shirt, an old Welsh rugby supporter's shirt that Lisa had given him once. He didn't know quite why he chose that shirt except that it comforted him. He helped Jack slide his left arm into it and eased it over his head. It sat snugly on him emphasising his neat torso.

Jack showed no signs of moving so with a sigh Ianto disposed of the water and dressing waste and fetched a bucket. He did get up then and came over and watched while Ianto cleaned the sick off the floor. Jack took the bucket off him, changed the water and then had a go at sponging blood off the wall. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's all right,' Ianto said stopping him. 'I've got some magic cleaner stuff at work. I'll fix it tomorrow.' He pulled him up. 'Why don't you go and lie down. Come on.' Hardly knowing what he meant by it he led Jack across the hallway to his room.

The bedding was in a tangled heap from his hurried exit earlier and he pulled it up and straightened it out before turning the bed down. He plumped the pillows and turned back to face Jack overcome with shyness. Jack was just standing there looking at him. 'Isn't this what you came for,' he asked.

'With you?' Jack swallowed.

Ianto nodded. The idea of more sleep was suddenly quite appealing. He was also quite nervous about what else might be wanted.

Jack toed off his shoes and one handed undid his belt and trousers. 'I just came to not be alone,' he said carefully.

'Good,' Ianto felt relieved, he really wasn't quite sure what he was offering but if that's all Jack wanted then they should be fine. It was fairly obvious that what they both needed was companionship with someone to chase away the nightmares. He hung his robe on the hook on the wardrobe door and got into his side of the bed, the right side. Jack carefully climbed in beside him. When they turned to face each other it meant Jack was lying on his good side. 'Thank you,' he said.

Ianto kissed him on the forehead, turned back and put out the light. The LED on the clock said 4.44. It was Sunday tomorrow with no reason to get up. He suddenly felt overwhelmed with tiredness. It was the most natural thing in the world to move back against Jack, lying just as they had during the nights after Breacon Beacons when Ianto was so ill. Jack's body wrapped around him, his arm came over his chest, and carefully because he knew it might hurt Ianto placed his own arms on top, hugging him tight. This time although the position was the same, Ianto knew implicitly that it was Jack who was receiving the comfort. Surprisingly for all the emotional upheaval of the past hour and the oddness of the situation, they did go to sleep.