Jack had been in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich, when he heard it. It started as nothing more than a soft noise, niggling in the corner of his awareness, barely even catching his ear. As he stopped moving his knife across the piece of toast, though, and the scraping sounds it caused ceased, the sound wriggled to the front.

Sitting the knife down, Jack turned towards the kitchen door. The sound, seemed to be louder now, but maybe that was just because he was paying attention to it. Regardless, his interest was piqued. The noise sounded distinctly human, and since the only other humanoid in the flat was Ianto – so far as he knew, anyhow – his bedroom was where he headed.

He'd barely even started down the hall before the noises started to take form. They were soft groans, barely more than whispers, coupled with the rustling of sheets; and, he realized as he stepped into the younger man's bedroom, they were coming from Ianto.

It didn't take a genius to figure it out – Ianto was having a nightmare. A bad one, too, from the looks of it. The way he twisted in his sheets, his sweat-dampened face drawn tight into a scared grimace; the way he clenched his fists in the fabric swathing him; the way those supple lips parted around unspoken screams and a single word.

Jack didn't even have to hear the word to know what it was.

Lisa.

And if Jack had to take a guess about that nightmare of his, she wasn't happy to see him. Despite understanding Ianto's plight, though, he was conflicted as to how to deal with it. He could wake Ianto – save him from whatever terrors were causing him to whimper so pitifully – but then, sometimes nightmares were important. Sometimes they helped people work through things, and hell, Ianto wasn't exactly the type to appreciate someone creeping in on his privacy (and nightmares were very private things).

Torn, he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. He would watch for now, and if the nightmare abated, then he would just leave and Ianto would never have to know he was there. That was an all right compromise, wasn't it?

No, it's not.

And it wasn't. Not as more words began to join the name, not as the sounds became more desperate, and the twists grew nearly into thrashes.

"Please…I'm sorry." Ianto's words were nearly incomprehensible, and yet, to Jack's ears, they were crystal clear. He would've liked to think he always had an understanding of Ianto, but given recent events…he wasn't too sure about that. He'd known Ianto had wounds; he hadn't known they ran so deep. "Don't…Lisa…don't hurt them."

Definitely not a happy reunion. Jack wondered if he was reliving the events in the Hub.

God, he hoped not. Even he had nightmares about that day: about the tears in Ianto's eyes, the hurt in his face. About watching the man he loved be brutalized by the love of his life, and about watching him, finally, not rise to defend her anymore. Ianto had stopped breathing that night, and the sight of him lying still on the ground of the hub was horrific enough to worm its ways into even the darkest of Jack's nightmares and make them seem somehow less worrisome in comparison.

"It's not her," Ianto whispered, and the brokenness of the sound made Jack's heart clench painfully in his chest. He'd heard those words before, heard them spoken with the same desperate vindication – vindicated and pleading all at the same time. "She wouldn't…Lisa, you can't…." Christ, he sounded so hurt, so scared. And then he didn't speak at all, words stolen in favor of empty gasps. If he was reliving that day, then it seemed he had reached the part where she turned her fury on him. That had been the worst; after all he'd done for her, all he'd sacrificed, she'd turned on her. Jack would've liked to say he felt the same betrayal when Ianto turned on him, but he realized now…Ianto owed them, all of them, nothing. Because they'd never done for him the things he'd done for them, and Jack couldn't believe it had all been done with ulterior motives. A smile like Ianto's couldn't always have a double-edge.

But now there wasn't a smile. Now, there was only distress and sweat, and the pungent smell of pure, unbridled fear. Choked gasps breathed from Ianto's cracked lips, like he was struggling for air past the vise-grip of some invisible specter.

Jack couldn't take it anymore, pushing off the wall and striding towards the bed with the single-minded determination of one with a sole driving goal. And as he reached the side of the bed, something in his heart broke. There were tears, lonely drops sliding one by one down the sides of Ianto's face.

He had to wake Ianto up. Tosh and Owen always poked fun at him for his "hero complex" and right now, he had to save Ianto; he had to save him from himself and the nightmares that haunted him, and all those things he'd tried to hide from that had finally caught up with him.

"Ianto," he said softly, sitting down on the side of the bed and resting a careful hand on Ianto's shoulder, partly to still him a little, and partly to try to stir him. "It's okay, Yan. It's just a nightmare." He wasn't sure if he was trying to wake him up or just calm him down – he guessed he'd be happy with either, really, as long as he could get Ianto's pain to stop.

But he was too deep in the throes of it, and despite Jack's attempt to calm him, he was getting worse.

"Stop!" Ianto choked out, twisting his limbs this way and that like he was trying to escape a hold. Jack didn't remember Ianto putting up quite as much of a fight back when Lisa'd really been attacking them, but now here he was, squirming and thrashing.

He was going to hurt himself.

"Ianto!" Jack repeated. When Ianto didn't stir, he gave him a couple of light slaps on his cheek. "Ianto, wake up!" He hadn't meant to shout quite as loud as he did, but it seemed to do the trick. Ianto's eyes flew open, right as his arms lashed. Ianto's hands found his chest, trying to push him back, and when Jack tried to grab his wrists, he wrenched them back, panic flashing in his eyes as he tried once again to push Jack away. "Hey, Yan, it's me!" Jack told him as he finally managed to grab hold of those thin, flailing wrists. All the while, Ianto pulled and squirmed, until finally, Jack pulled rank. "Ianto Jones, stop!" He spat the words, wincing even as he did; he hated to be so harsh.

It worked, though. Ianto froze, and the last vestiges of sleep cleared from his fever bright, blue eyes, to be replaced by an almost equally painful mix of horror and relief. And confusion. Lots, and lots of confusion.

Since Ianto didn't seem quite capable of words just yet, Jack took over, forcing as calming a smile as he could. "You were having a nightmare," he said lamely, before quickly adding, "but I guess you probably knew that."

Good recovery.

Mercifully, Ianto was a little too stunned to call Jack on his little foot-in-mouth blooper. He just stared up at Jack, taking deep, measured breaths – in through his nose, out through his mouth – and blinking. Trying to get rid of the evidence, since Jack was still holding onto his wrists. And Jack would keep holding on, until he was sure Ianto wasn't going to flip out on him.

It seemed, though, that wouldn't be an issue. Whether it was the thrashing in his sleep, or the expiration of his pain medicine, but Ianto's face, once flushed from the nightmare, had paled drastically, and his hands were starting to shake in Jack's grasp.

"You okay there, Yan?" Jack asked. He looked about the same color as he had when he'd collapsed and hurled in the Hub, and if he was going for a repeat performance, Jack would like to be prepared.

Ianto nodded – still no words yet, then – still staring dumbly at Jack. No, not dumbly. That look, the one Ianto was wearing now, was one that Jack had seen far too many times in his life. It was the look of someone who'd just seen something. Someone who'd experienced a trauma they couldn't process, so they retreated back into their own heads. Yeah, Jack had seen that look plenty, mostly during the war.

It had never ended well.

He'd found, through far too much experience, that the best remedy for that look was actually quite simple in theory: talking. But then, a lot of things that were simple in theory proved to be a lot harder in practice, and this was certainly one of those things. All the same, he'd give it a try. There was far too much he didn't know about Ianto Jones, and now was as good a time to find it out. Maybe it was an asshole move – all right, it was definitely an asshole move – but Ianto's guard was down. Now would be his best shot, and, in all fairness, it would probably help Ianto out, too.

"Yan, what did you see? What were you dreaming?" he tried to keep his voice as soft as possible, as calm. Ianto needed calm now, more than anything.

Jack watched as Ianto's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, watched the questions whirl behind Ianto's eyes at mach speed. What should I tell him? What can I hide? What does he know? As the questions grew, that mask slowly fell back into place. Cold, calculating; Ianto was ever the practical one.

That wasn't what Jack wanted. "You were calling her name in her sleep," he said softly. "Lisa." Any color left in Ianto's face drained immediately, but Jack wouldn't – couldn't – leave it at that. "She was there, wasn't she? In your nightmare, she was there." He clenched his jaw, watching as Ianto's carefully-constructed mask started to crack and chip. "But it's more than that. She wasn't just in your nightmare, was she, Ianto?"

"Shut up, Jack…," Ianto warned. His voice was measured, but it held just the slightest waver to it. There was a plea in those words, unvoiced but roaring. Please don't make me say it.

But he had to. He had to open up, he had to let Jack in, or else he couldn't help him. Ianto had to admit he was breaking before Jack could start to pull him back together. "Lisa was your nightmare, wasn't she Ianto?"

And just like that, the mask exploded in a rush of fury. Ianto stopped trying to pull his hands back, instead grabbing Jack by the collar of his shirt with one shaking hand and using it to pull himself up. If the action hurt him – and Jack knew it had to – he didn't show it. "Shut the fuck up!" he screamed, and the obscenity seemed somehow dirtier spilling from the younger man's mouth. Ianto was always so proper; this wasn't like him at all.

What is like him? Do you even know?

The answer to that question, as much as it pained him to admit, was no. A big, heaping, miserable no that twisted his gut with equal parts guilt and frustration. He hated it when people hid things from him, but he hated himself for not noticing. Most of all, he hated that it was Ianto.

"Don't pretend you understand me, Jack-bloody-Harkness!" Ianto continued to seethe, unaware of Jack's inner turmoil. He had a war of his own raging behind those tear-filled eyes, and it wasn't one he was winning. "You have no idea! You never cared to! So what the hell gives you the right to make assumptions about me?"

Nothing. Absolutely nothing, and the truth of that realization hit him hard. He'd neglected him – all that time, he'd neglected him, not just before Lisa, but even after, when he needed him the most.

"I'm so sorry, Ianto," Jack whispered, his own voice cracking as moisture burned in his eyes. He had hurt this man before him so badly, scarred him just as much as those monstrous Cybermen, in his own way.

The punch that sailed into his cheek wasn't entirely unexpected, and there was surprising force behind it, but Jack let it hit him. He deserved it, and so much more. And if hitting him could take just a little of the weight of Ianto's shoulders, he could pummel him to hell and back again.

"You don't get to apologize now! It doesn't matter anymore! She's dead, Jack! She's dead and you and all the others killed her and you didn't even try to understand! Were you sorry for me then too, Jack?" he cried. "When you emptied a whole fucking clip in her body? When you made me watch as you fed her to the bloody pterodactyl?" There was no stopping it now. The words bubbled forth from Ianto's lips like the tears streaming down his face. Fury seemed to be the only thing keeping him upright, his whole body rigid with pain from the wounds he'd never even told them he'd had. "What about when that monster held a cleaver to my throat in the Beacons? When they beat me with sticks and bats and stuck me with knives like an animal in the slaughterhouse? Did you feel sorry for me then, Jack?

"What about them? You didn't kill them, Jack, and they killed more people than Lisa ever did!" Ianto was sobbing, his face twisted and agonized. "You want a monster? What about them? Or better yet, why don't you just look in a fucking mirror? How much blood do you have on your hands, Jack?" His voice cracked, and he seemed unable to speak through the tears anymore. But then, he did. "You killed her," he sobbed. It was so subdued now, so broken.

Jack did the only thing he could: he let go of Ianto's wrists and wrapped his arms around his slender shoulders, hugging him tight against his chest.

"You killed her!" Ianto shouted into his chest, pounding his fists into Jack's chest as his tears soaked through Jack's shirt. "You took her away from me! She was my everything!"

"I know," Jack choked out, rocking Ianto back and forth as he stroked his hands through his hair. "And I really am so, so sorry."

"That's not enough! She was all I had! Everything I did was for her! What do I have left if I don't have her? I'm alone now, Jack! She was the only one that ever cared about me as anything more than an errand boy or a quick shag, and now she's gone! There's no one left to care. I'm all alone, and it hurts." By the end, it seemed all the fight had left him, leaving in its place shaking shoulders and weak, desperate sobs.

And finally, they were at the route of the matter. Ianto didn't think anyone cared, didn't think he had anyone left for him in this world. He was letting himself waste away, because he didn't think anyone would miss him when he was gone.

Jack couldn't bring Lisa back to life, couldn't undo the atrocities that had been done to the broken young man at the hands of those monstrous cannibals, but loneliness…that was something he could help.

Ianto wouldn't believe him if he just told him he was there for him; he would have to show him, and that would take time. For now, he could only hope to soothe the pain a little, and maybe start to mend a few of the wounds Owen couldn't have fixed.

He pulled the weeping man closer, lacing his fingers through his tousled hair in that way he knew he liked, rocking him back and forth slowly. "Shh," he soothed, his voice low and soft as tears slipped down his own cheeks. "You're not alone, Yan. Not anymore, and never again, I swear."

"You say that now," Ianto said, with the most hollow, skeletal laugh Jack had ever heard. It hurt more than the tears.

"And I mean it," Jack said firmly. He would get through to him. He had to. "I'm here, Ianto, and I'll be here as long as you need me."

Ianto let out a weak little noise, like a mix between a whimper and a sob. "Please don't," he whispered, barely audible through Jack's clothing. "Don't make promises you won't keep."

A smile crept on Jack's face – not a happy one, but a smile all the same. It was nice to see that some things hadn't changed in the young archivist; he was still stubborn as a mule. Still, he was stubborn about the wrong then.

Jack pushed Ianto back just enough for him to be able to see Jack's face, to see the honesty there, in every fiber of his being. Tipping his finger under Ianto's chin, he forced those pained blue eyes to meet his.

"I don't."

Brief as they were, the words carried with them a weight that seemed to leave Ianto speechless as he searched. For hidden lies, for insincerity, for validation.

Whatever it was he was looking for, he seemed to find it, and for the briefest moment, surprise sparked across his features, and a sort of…hope. Just as quick as it came, though, it was gone, replaced by tension and strain that made the muscle in his jaw stand out and the veins in his neck pull taut.

"Jack," he whispered finally, his voice weak and reedy.

"What is it, Yan?" Jack asked, brushing his thumb along Ianto's lightly-bruised jaw.

A ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of Ianto's lips, even as fresh streams of stubborn tears dripped down his pale cheeks. "I don't suppose it's time for those drugs you promised."

And at that, Jack chuckled, because even though Ianto was in pain, at least this time, there was definitely something he could do about it. "All right, Yan," he chuckled, pressing a kiss to Ianto's forehead. "Let's get you medicated."