A/N: Because I'm too impatient, and don't like making people wait when I have new chapters ready to go. There are another three chapters ready to be posted after this one. Review nicely, and I might be talked into posting them today...


The days thereafter fell into a pattern, and though he had no way of being absolutely sure, Ianto honestly believed that Joe was coming to look forward to seeing him. He took Gage's advice to heart, and though he continued to carry the stun stick, he deliberately avoided using it, even when Joe startled him with his growls and snarls. Little by little, Ianto saw the fear fading from Joe's eyes as he began to comprehend that here was someone who didn't want to hurt him; and as the fear dissipated, so too did the growls that Joe uttered whenever Ianto appeared.

Ianto didn't forget about his promise to try and improve Joe's diet, but it wasn't until approximately two weeks later that he was finally successful in sneaking a little something extra in with the usual bowl of slop at lunch time. That day, when time came for Ianto to take care of Joe's midday feeding, he put the bowl on a tray, and next to the bowl he placed several pieces of carefully sliced apple.

He'd tried this several times before, only to be caught by Spence, who seemed to be watching him like a hawk. Today, though, everyone from Secure Archives was busy testing some new alien tech that had been delivered the day before from Glasgow.

After setting the tray down, Ianto stood back and watched with an amusement that also held a touch of sadness as Joe poked uncertainly at the apple. It was as though he honestly didn't know what to do with them.

"It's just apple, Joe," Ianto told him gently, when Joe showed no sign of trying the fruit. "It's fruit. It's good."

When Joe looked up at him, Ianto simulated eating. After a moment's hesitation, Joe picked up a piece of apple and cautiously sniffed at it, and then ventured a tiny lick. A moment later, a look of delight lit up his face, and he began to gobble down the pieces, one after another, until they were all gone. Then, ignoring the bowl, Joe looked hopefully at Ianto.

Ianto smiled in understanding. He'd anticipated such a reaction, and he had no intention of forcing his charge to eat what was in the bowl; not after getting a taste of fresh fruit. Reaching inside his jacket, he drew out a bag which held a single sandwich, and a second apple. It was his own lunch, and he'd already decided that going without was a small price to pay for a sight like this.

Joe had seen the apple, made the connection, and was whimpering eagerly.

"Just a second," Ianto murmured. He was just in the process of unwrapping the sandwich when the door opened and Spence stormed in.

"Jones, out. Now!"

Ianto's heart pounded in his chest, but he maintained an admirably calm exterior.

"Just one moment, sir. I haven't finished feeding Joe."

"Oh yes, you have. Move it!"

And then Spence was dragging him by his jacket collar again. Unable to stop the undignified treatment, Ianto did the only thing he could. He tossed the sandwich and apple to Joe just before Spence hauled him out of the room.

"Now, Robin, don't manhandle the boy. He didn't mean any harm."

Ianto looked around in shock at the familiar voice, and sure enough he found himself face to face with Torchwood Director Yvonne Hartman. Spence scowled, clearly in a less than forgiving mood.

"I don't care what he meant. The little bastard's just fucked up all our research!"

"Research on what?" Ianto exploded, deciding that if he was going to be fired and ret-conned, then he wasn't going to go quietly. "Keeping him docile through crappy food?"

Hartman laughed, much to Ianto's irritation.

"Oh, I like him, Robin. Not to mention, he's quite right. Whatever research you think you're conducting has been thoroughly negated by the fact that your treatment has turned it into a feral beast. We haven't been able to conduct any tests on it for over five years as a result."

"Him," Ianto protested. "He's not an 'it'!"

Hartman regarded him with obvious amusement.

"Yes. Well, I think it's time for a change in procedures. Jones here is the first person in thirty years to be able to walk into that room without getting snarled at. He's made more progress in two weeks that you've made in five years, Robin. I want you to give him a free hand with it... sorry, with him."

"What!?"

"You heard me. Whatever he wants for the... for our guest, you make sure he gets it. Am I understood? This is your next stage of research, Robin. To see how far you can progress with this new form of treatment."

Spence shot Ianto a sour look before nodding.

"Yes, Ma'am."

Hartman then turned her scrutinising stare on Ianto, who suddenly found himself wishing that he hadn't brought the attention to himself.

"And you, Jones, have a chance to prove yourself. I'm giving you six months to get it... him to a level of comprehension so that we can start up a new program of tests." She smirked at him. "Good luck."

Ianto watched her leave, with the simpering Robin Spence in tow, and felt his heart sink. Six months to prepare Joe for a fresh battery of abuse? What the hell had he done...?


He walked back into the room to a sight that brought a tired smile to his lips. Joe had crawled back into his corner, and was gnawing away at the apple, the juice from it running messily down his face. The sandwich had been abandoned, and a closer inspection told Ianto that Joe had attempted to eat it, only to be foiled by the plastic wrapping. There were teeth marks, and the sandwich was a mangled mess. By all appearances, Joe had tried to eat through the plastic before giving up and settling for the apple.

Ianto crouched down to pick it up, and became aware that Joe was watching him as he continued to devour the apple. They would have had to shoot him to get the fruit off him, Ianto reflected, and found himself grudgingly grateful for Yvonne Hartman's uncharacteristic consideration. Spence would have shot Joe, purely out of spite, just to deprive him of the treat.

"It's all right," Ianto reassured him wearily. "It's yours. No one's going to take it off you. Just go ahead and enjoy it."

He figured that Joe must have comprehended the nuance of his words, if not the literal meaning, for he returned his full attention to devouring the apple, core and all.

"Tomorrow, you're going to start getting proper meals," Ianto promised. "No, not tomorrow. Tonight." He eyed the untouched bowl with distaste. "You'll not have to eat that slop anymore. Not while I have anything to do with it. I promise."


That afternoon, Ianto left Torchwood Tower and, equipped with a special credit card supplied to him by the Director's office, he went on a shopping spree for all the foods that he thought Joe would enjoy. He was just on his way back when he passed a camping store, with a simple camp bed displayed in the window. It wasn't anything fancy, Ianto mused, but it had to be more comfortable than the concrete floor.

His mind made up, Ianto hefted the bags of groceries up and went inside.

"You're out of your fucking mind, Jones," Spence said bluntly that afternoon, watching with ill-concealed disapproval as Ianto emptied the multiple pots of stored gruel down the drain.

"Director Hartman doesn't seem to think so, sir."

"That's what you think. She's laughing at you, Jones. We all are. You're a joke, boy. Not to mention, you're throwing out perfectly good food!"

Ianto paused in his task, glaring at the doctor in disgust and rapidly losing his patience.

"Would you eat it?"

"Don't be stupid, boy…"

"Then I suggest you shut up, sir. I will not be feeding this poison to Joe any longer. And that brings me to a couple of other issues. I have a camp bed that I plan to set up for him, and I want him released from those chains."

Spence gaped at him incredulously.

"You really are mad. It'll kill you!"

"Then your problems will all be solved, won't they? You'll get me out of your hair and be able to go back to treating Joe the same as before. But until then, I believe the phrase Director Hartman used was a 'free hand', wasn't it?"

Slowly, a cold smile spread over Spence's face.

"Fine. Go ahead, do whatever you want." He tossed a key at Ianto, who caught it in surprisingly nimble fingers, and turned to walk away. "But you do it on your own. I won't risk anyone else on your idiotic ideas."

Ianto looked down at the key, unable to help the uneasy twist in his gut. Maybe, he thought with a deep flush of shame, he would have Joe mildly sedated before setting up the camp bed and loosing him from his chains. After all, what good with it do Joe if he killed him, or even just injured him? It wasn't worth the risk. Not yet.


In the end, Ianto reluctantly decided to leave Joe chained by one ankle. It was for the safety of both of them, he insisted to himself. Deep down, though, he knew the real reason. As much as he wanted to, Ianto couldn't yet bring himself to trust Joe not to attack him.

He saw the way Joe's eyes watched the door every time it opened, and the way that Joe's muscles tensed briefly, as though he was getting ready to spring. The desire for freedom would surely override any sort of fragile bond that they'd established.

And so, that evening Ianto added just a small amount of muscle relaxants to Joe's food — a meal that consisted of fresh sandwiches, minus the plastic wrap; apple pieces, grapes, strawberries and fresh milk that Ianto presented to Joe in a tall, plastic cup with a spouted lid. Joe demolished it all, blissfully unaware of the drugs that had been mixed in carefully with the sandwich fillings.

Ianto felt a touch of guilt over that as he watched Joe succumb to the effects, but found it almost disturbingly easy to reconcile his tactics within his own mind. It was an undesirable, but ultimately necessary tactic in order to achieve something that was for Joe's benefit.

Once the bed was set up, Ianto unlocked all of the manacles, bar the one around Joe's left ankle. He also removed the collar from around Joe's neck, lamenting the severely chafed skin and cursing his own thoughtlessness for failing to bring any sort of ointment with him.

That done, he set about dragging the deadweight of Joe's drugged form up onto the camp bed. It was just long enough to accommodate the man's body length, and Ianto thanked Heaven that he'd had the foresight to buy the largest bed available. He then slipped a pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket — both items purchased from the same store as the camp bed.

"There," Ianto murmured, satisfied with his work. "No more sleeping on the floor for you. I'm just sorry that I can't do more for you yet... but I have six months. We'll see how we go."

He crouched down, taking advantage of the opportunity to get a closer look at his charge. Joe's pale blue eyes peered back at him blearily, and Ianto wondered at the history that was hidden behind those eyes. This man must have had an identity once, however long ago. There must have been people who knew him, who loved him. Where were they, and how could they possibly have abandoned him to this hellish fate?

"I'm going to help you," Ianto whispered, his fingers ghosting over Joe's matted and dirty hair, and his pale and gaunt features. "One way or another, I'm going to get you out of here."


tbc...