Chapter Four

The following week was quiet and slow. The team still didn't talk to him much, though Tosh continued to make an effort. Nothing came through the Rift and there weren't many Weevil calls, which left them all with time to work on some projects. Ianto found solace in his never-ending work in the archives, cataloging and logging all the untagged artifacts and files, organizing the ones that had been identified but stored haphazardly. It meant he could work on his own, without his coworker's silence and stares.

Working downstairs also meant he didn't have to hide what he'd done with the case on the faeries. He'd once again kept secrets, and he felt like he had betrayed the team all over again. David Evans had given him a second chance in coming back to work, and the first thing Ianto had done was given classified information to a non-Torchwood civilian; he'd be fired and Retconned for sure if Evans ever found out Ianto's role in Jasmine's disappearance, even if Jack had saved the world.

He saw Jack at the pub most nights. He seemed to be doing better, and Ianto was glad that Jack seemed to be recovering from Estelle's loss. Yet in spite of their success with the faeries and their continuing friendship, Ianto found himself weighed down with his own grief and guilt. Perhaps it was too isolated in the archives; he spent all day with his thoughts, and they were not great company. He thought about Lisa, and the team; about Jack, and the day he'd leave with the Doctor; constantly mourning what he had lost and what he would never have.

Though he tried to hide it with Jack, the other man noticed and expressed his concern. Ianto assured Jack that he was fine, but deep down he suspected that the depression he'd fallen into after Lisa's death was returning in full force. He missed her terribly and still felt the shame and guilt of her death, as well as his survival. And his time with Jack was becoming less of a distraction; it was instead becoming something Ianto dreaded losing even more after the pain of losing Lisa.

And then the team was called out to the Brecon Beacons, to a series of disappearances that Evans wanted to make sure were not Rift-related, even so far out. After filling in the team and asking Ianto to pack the camping equipment, David ordered him to go home and change. Ianto was going into the field with the rest of them. It seemed even Evans had noticed how Ianto continued to isolate himself and was determined to bring him along.

It was a baptism by fire if there ever was one. By the time he returned to Cardiff twenty-four hours later, Ianto was broken, bleeding, and bruised. He hurt in places he didn't know could hurt so badly, and every time he closed his eyes, he pictured bodies hanging from the ceiling, a meat cleaver at his neck.

He did not go to the pub. He laid on the sofa, staring at the wall and trying not to fall apart. A glass of water was on the table beside him, next to a bottle of painkillers from Owen. He was contemplating how many to take—the recommended amount, enough to knock him out, or the whole lot—when Jack texted him.

Saw something on the news about the Beacons. That you guys?

Ianto laughed to himself. It shouldn't have been them. Cannibals had nothing to do with Torchwood. Only they'd been dragged into it anyway and forced to deal with it. Beaten and tenderized and almost strung up for dinner. His reply was short.

Yep. I hate the countryside.

He could almost picture Jack grinning, but he meant it. He'd loved camping in the outdoors with Lisa, but he would never try it again, not now.

That bad, huh?

We were kidnapped, shot, choked, kicked, and almost bled to death. So yes, that bad.

Ianto set down his phone, hoping that was the end of it. He was in pain, and so tired. Everything hurt, and all he could see when he closed his eyes was the mad face of the cannibal leader, brandishing a bat, laughing as he held up a silver knife. Ianto wanted to be stronger, but he wasn't, not then. He was still trying to make it through a normal day, yet alone a day filled with blood and bruises.

Are you all right?

I'm alive, Ianto replied, wondering if there was a way to convey bitterness over text message. He went for sarcasm instead. At least I'm not cannibal fodder.

I'm coming over.

Don't bother. I'm not good company.

You're hurt. I'm coming over anyway.

Ianto dropped the phone and laughed to himself. He reached blindly for the bottle of pills and popped several in his mouth, swallowing them with half the water before setting it down and closing his eyes. He squeezed them shut, refusing to cry, or scream, or shout. Instead, he simply drifted, feeling as if he were both trapped inside his bruised body and outside looking in. He was numb to everything and didn't care whether he ever woke up again. He didn't care about anything. It was suddenly all too much, like something within him had snapped in the wilderness.

And then he felt a hand slapping him his cheek, calling his name. He groaned, and it stopped only to caress his forehead, brushing dirty, matted hair from his forehead. He batted it away, opening one eye and then the other to find Jack hovering over him. With another groan, he let his arm fall over his eyes and tried to sink back into oblivion. Jack wouldn't let him.

"Ianto!" he said sharply. "Wake up. How many pills did you take?" Ianto shook his head. Jack took his face between his hands, forced him to open his eyes and look into Jack's worried face; it was slightly blurry.

"How many did you take?" he asked again. Ianto tried to turn and look at the bottle, only to see it had tipped over on the table and scattered pills everywhere. It certainly appeared as if he'd taken a lot. How many had he taken? Owen told him to take two…they were strong, after all…but he'd taken three, maybe four. He tried to tell Jack, but his lips didn't want to move, and his voice wouldn't work it was so dry now.

"Shit," Jack murmured. "We're going to the hospital."

"No!" Ianto said, his voice hoarse and low. He pushed Jack's hands away and struggled to sit up, feeling dizzy. "No, I'm fine, doctor even said so. I only took three or four. It's not …I'm not trying to…" He trailed off with half another bitter laugh. "Not really, anyway."

"Not really?" Jack demanded, sounding angry. "You're not really trying to kill yourself?"

"Fuck off," Ianto muttered, standing on unsteady legs. He took two steps and felt his legs buckle beneath him. Jack caught him, rucking up his dirty shirt. He must have seen the bruises on Ianto's side, because he swore loudly.

"What the hell happened?" he asked. "Never mind. You need to clean up first."

Ianto groaned as he walked, Jack practically carrying him. "No, I need a bed."

He could hear the grin in Jack's voice. "Well, I appreciate the thought, but I'm not sure you're up for it tonight."

"Up for what?" Ianto asked, looking at Jack in confusion. The other man shook his head and smiled, continuing to move them step by step toward Ianto's room and the bathroom. Staring at Jack's profile, Ianto was struck by his strong jawline, perfect hair and teeth, and bright blue eyes."Oh," he said, feeling his face flush as he realized Jack's unspoken implication.

Jack laughed softly and led him to the bathroom. Ianto, however, would not let Jack follow him in. "I can take care of myself," he muttered, shutting the door but not locking it just in case he did need assistance. He was still feeling dizzy, not to mention sore and exhausted. He peeled off his clothes and binned them, then stepped into the shower and sighed. The hot water falling against his skin was painful and yet felt glorious. It relaxed tense muscles and most importantly began to wash away the dirt and blood of the last twenty-four hours. He scrubbed his hair and body twice, then stood and let the water beat his shoulders, until Jack pounded on the door and shouted for him. With reluctance he turned off the shower and stepped out, belatedly remembering that he hadn't brought any clothing with him and would have to go back into his room clad in only a towel. Which wasn't usually a problem, except that normally he didn't have company waiting outside for him—especially male company.

Glancing at his reflection in the foggy mirror, Ianto grimaced. He looked terrible, from the lump on his head and the bruises on his torso, to the cut on his neck and the dark circles of pain and exhaustion under his eyes. Yet there was nothing to be done about his appearance, and he decided he couldn't be bothered to care, even in front of Jack. He'd been captured and beaten by cannibals; of course he wasn't looking his best.

Opening the door, he gingerly made his way to the bed, where he sat down for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next. Jack was beside him in an instant, his hands moving as if he wanted to reach out and touch Ianto, though he never did. Ianto stared at the floor, too tired to get up again.

"What do you need?" Jack asked quietly. Ianto blew out a breath.

"Clothes would be nice," he replied, his voice sounding more steady than it had earlier. "Clean, warm clothes." He pointed toward a few drawers and Jack gathered him a pair of boxers, flannel pants, a shirt, and warm socks. He brought them over and looked ready to help him into them. Ianto waved him away. "I can dress myself," he muttered. He almost asked Jack to turn around, then once again decided it didn't matter. He dropped his towel and began to pull on the boxers and pants, grimacing as he bent over. He felt Jack's eyes on him the entire time, radiating concern.

When he was finished, he moved toward his side of the bed and climbed in. To his surprise, he felt Jack sit down on the other side of the bed.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked quietly. Once again Ianto felt the tears behind his eyes, and once again he forced them back. He took a deep breath and began to tell Jack everything, from being ordered to join the team in the field, to losing the car, getting captured with Tosh, and helping her escape. Jack stopped him, reaching out to brush a hand against his head.

"So that's how you got the goose egg," he murmured. "Good instincts." His touch was gentle, but Ianto pulled away, feeling awkward. Why was Jack sitting on his bed touching his face again? Right. The camping trip from hell. He continued, but faltered quickly. Jack laid down beside him, leaning on his right elbow facing Ianto. He placed his other hand on Ianto's shoulder, his touch warm and welcoming.

"It's okay. You're safe now," he said quietly. "Whatever happened out there is over."

Another bitter laugh escaped, and Ianto scrubbed his face once more to regain his composure.

"I saw the worst nightmares you could imagine, come to life at Canary Wharf," Ianto said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Bodies ripped apart, blasted into dust. Friends and coworkers turned into mindless killing machines. Lisa, half converted—suffering and in pain." He let out a long breath, glanced sideways at Jack, taking strength from his care and concern, and continued. "But through it all, I knew it was alien—creatures from another planet, even another dimension. It was other, and that didn't make it easier, but it…" He trailed off.

"But it did," he finally said. "It was alien, it was evil, and it was so much easier to accept than…than what I saw out there. Today."

"You don't have to say anything else," Jack said. "You should get some rest."

"People have been disappearing for years," Ianto continued as if Jack hadn't spoken. "The villagers ate them. They ate them, Jack! And after Tosh escaped, they tied me up, took a baseball bat, and began to hit me—to tenderize me, so the meat was more tender."

"Oh my god," Jack whispered, his face pale and shocked.

"And then they put a knife to my neck to bleed me, like veal," Ianto said. As he spoke, he felt a spark of anger begin to grow, that this had happened, that he had this memory now. "I have scars from Torchwood One, from what happened at Canary Wharf. Reminders of an alien invasion." He turned his neck, showing Jack the cut there. "Now I have another scar, but this one will remind me of something worse: humanity turning on its own. Kidnapping and killing and eating one another, for decades out in the countryside." He shut his eyes and rolled over, hissing in pain when he landed on a particularly bad bruise.

"I shouldn't be here," he said. "I shouldn't have survived Canary Wharf, but I did. I shouldn't have survived the night Lisa died, but I did. I shouldn't have survived out there today, but I did. Honestly…I'm tired of surviving."

He felt an arm wrap around him. He froze, but Jack was murmuring soft words against his ear, nonsense, actually, but it was too much, and he couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Yet he cried silently, until his chest was so tight he could barely breathe and he forced himself to take deep breaths and calm down. When he could speak again, he apologized.

"I'm sorry," he said, wriggling out of Jack's grasp. "You should probably go."

"I'm not leaving," Jack said. He moved away, giving Ianto his space. "You've been through a major trauma. I'm surprised you didn't go to A & E. What did the doctor say?"

"No concussion, no internal injuries, and nothing broken, but a twisted knee, several contusions, and lots of bruising, especially the ribs."

"All right," said Jack, and he stood up. "I'm glad I don't have to keep waking you up to check on you. You can sleep straight through, and I'll be in the other room."

"No," Ianto said, struggling to sit. "You don't have to stay."

"I am anyway," Jack replied. "You have a nice couch and if you could spare that blanket and pillow from last time, I'd appreciate it." He held up a hand when Ianto started to protest. "Ianto, you're hurt. You shouldn't be alone. I won't bother you, but if you need me, I'll be in the other room. Okay?"

Ianto sighed. A part of him was mortified at the thought of Jack staying to take care of him like he was some sort of invalid; but the rest of him was glad that the other man would be in the next room. He needed time and space to heal away from Torchwood—something he hadn't had in the aftermath of Canary Wharf—but he didn't want to be alone. He trusted Jack, knowing he'd experienced his own share of trauma both with Torchwood and on his own.

"Thank you," he said. His body relaxed, and he closed his eyes. He heard Jack come around the bed and turn off the light. Then he felt soft lips against his forehead.

"You're safe," Jack murmured. "Get some sleep. I'll be in the other room."

Ianto nodded, a smile tugging at tired lips. He drifted into sleep thinking about, of all things, sharing a cup of coffee with Jack in the morning, like they had when Jack had stayed over the night Estelle had died. It had been nice, waking up to someone in his flat. He hoped the thought was enough to hold back any nightmares.


It wasn't.

He woke twice. The first time, he didn't even remember what he'd been dreaming and sat up with a gasp. His heart was racing, and he knew he wouldn't fall asleep right away, so he went to the bathroom, avoiding looking at his bruised and battered body, and returned to bed. Jack was standing there waiting for him, looking worried, and Ianto assured him he was fine before sending him back to the sofa and crawling into bed, feeling very alone.

The second time was much worse, and it had nothing to do with the trip to the Beacons. It was Canary Wharf, Cybermen rounding up his friends, coworkers being blown into dust, Lisa on the table, screaming in pain before reaching up to grab him by the neck and choke him while professing her love, then Jack rushing in to stop her, but being blasted by a bolt of electricity strong enough to kill him—

Ianto sat up with a shout, throwing off the blanket as if it were trying to smother him. He was soaked in sweat, but started shivering in the cool air of his bedroom. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he laid his head on top and tried to slow his racing heart with deep, slow breaths. Jack came bursting through the door, startling him even more.

"Are you okay?" he asked, hurrying over to the bedside. "What happened?"

"I'm fine," Ianto replied wearily. "Just another bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jack sat down opposite from him, laying a hand on his shoulder, which was when Ianto noticed the other man was wearing only his boxers and undershirt.

"Nope," said Ianto, jumping up. "Think I'll use the loo and try again. Eventually I'll pass out from exhaustion, right?" He left without waiting for Jack's answer, striding toward the bathroom as fast as he could. By the time he shut the door behind him, he was dizzy. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and let his head fall to his chest, breathing deeply. It was too much—his injuries, the nightmares, Jack in his flat.

Oddly enough, it was the last that was particularly unsettling. It wasn't that Ianto hadn't thought about Jack in that way before; he had, and had dismissed it as nothing more than loneliness and a bit of hero worship. Jack was charming and attractive, and Ianto enjoyed the time they spent together, whether it was at the pub, or solving the case with the fairies. Now Jack was in his flat, in his room, in his bed wearing nothing but boxers, and Ianto was finding it hard to dismiss anything about the way he was feeling. But he sensed that getting involved in any way with a man like Jack Harkness was probably very dangerous, especially when he was feeling vulnerable.

After using the toilet and splashing his face with water, Ianto returned to his room to find Jack still sitting on his bed, this time with his feet up and a book on his lap; apparently he'd raided Ianto's bookshelf and decided to start Foundation. Ianto couldn't help but stare, for Jack was exceptionally attractive in his shorts and undershirt. Shaking his head of such thoughts once more, Ianto made a motion with his hand.

"I feel much better," he said. "You don't have to stay and read me a story."

Jack grinned. "I wasn't going to read to you, although I certainly could. But I am going to stay. I'm worried you might aggravate your injuries if you have more nightmares."

"I can take care of myself," Ianto protested, climbing into bed feeling like a liar. He felt old and tired, stiff and sore. But there wasn't anything Jack could do about those things.

"I know you can, but I can help," Jack replied. He rolled his eyes when Ianto turned and gave him a skeptical look. "And I can be a perfect gentleman," he added with another grin.

"I wasn't worried about you being a gentleman," Ianto muttered under his breath. "I'm more worried about me."

There was a punctuated silence that let Ianto digest what he had let slip. It must have been the pills and his injuries and his exhaustion, because he was normally more careful about his words. Regretting it immediately, he rolled over to apologize, only to turn right into Jack, who was leaning over him as if to whisper something in his ear. Jack's eyes were wide, but he didn't move, and neither did Ianto, and they stared at one another, an electric tension flowing between them that Ianto felt settling low in his gut.

"Situation noted," Jack murmured back, eyeing Ianto's lips. "And filed away for another time."

"Jack, I—" Ianto started, but Jack closed the distance between them and kissed him, a short simple kiss that was nevertheless practically perfect. Ianto found himself relaxing almost immediately, and then Jack moved away, running a tender hand over Ianto's face.

"Get some rest," he said quietly. "I'll be right here."

Ianto gazed into his eyes, saw nothing there but honesty and affection, and nodded. He laid his head down on his pillow, still turned toward Jack, and fell asleep watching the other man read. He didn't dream of Cybermen, but of waking up with Jack next to him, and maybe another kiss.


When Ianto woke up the next morning, he was alone. He had a vague memory of falling asleep next to Jack reading, and of waking up at one point to find Jack asleep beside him, Jack's hand resting lightly on his hip. Yet now the bed was empty, and Ianto was surprised to find himself disappointed. He remembered a kiss from the night before, and tried not to think about Jack in his bed, and kissing him again.

He was startled from his reverie by a sound from the kitchen, which was when he noticed the smell of coffee and toast. Sitting gingerly, Ianto was surprised when his body didn't protest too much. He was still stiff and very sore, but the raging headache was only a dull throb, and the sharp burn of the cuts on his neck and wrists had faded as well. More than anything, he was thirsty.

Ianto walked slowly to the bathroom to clean up, then made his way to the kitchen, where he found Jack setting out eggs, toast, and cheese at the table. He inhaled deeply and smiled; it was a brilliant way to wake up.

"Good morning," Jack said when he noticed Ianto standing in the doorway. "Hungry?"

"Good morning," Ianto replied, unable to stop staring at Jack's lips. They had felt so good against his own when he'd woken in the middle of the night. "And yes."

Jack motioned him toward the table and poured him a cup of coffee. "I hope you don't mind that I made breakfast, but I've been up for a while and was starting to get hungry. Did you sleep all right?" he asked, sitting down across from Ianto. "You didn't seem to have any more problems."

"Yes, I slept much better. Thank you," Ianto replied, awkwardly clearing his throat. "For staying, that is."

Jack studied him and smiled, helping himself to some toast. "How do you feel?" he asked. "All things considered."

Ianto started with coffee; while it wasn't the same as his, it was quite good. "I feel better. Still like I was tenderized like a piece of meat—oh wait, I was," he replied. Jack frowned slightly, so Ianto set his mug down and continued. "But everything hurts less. Nothing some ibuprofen and rest won't fix."

"Good." Jack's free hand twitched, but stayed on the table. "Do you remember much about last night?"

"Oh god, I said all kinds of things, didn't I?" Ianto groaned, rubbing his hands across his face and trying to think of what he might have said that was embarrassing. "It was the medication, I—"

Jack leaned forward and touched his arm. "I hope it wasn't the medication," he said softly. "Because there was something you said that I'd really like to explore some more."

Ianto swallowed and met his gaze. "The bit about not being a gentleman?"

Jack nodded. "I hope that wasn't the pills talking."

"Maybe not," Ianto admitted. "Only I'm not the type to sleep around."

"Who said anything about sleeping around?" Jack murmured. "I was thinking…maybe when you feel better…dinner, a movie?"

Ianto knew he was wide-eyed and staring, but he couldn't help it. "Are you…are you asking me out on a date?"

"Interested?" Jack asked, trying to sound casual and failing. He sighed and set down his toast. "Never mind. I shouldn't have asked, not when you're still hurt."

"It's not that," Ianto replied, finding his voice. "But…you're leaving. With the Doctor. Someday." He shrugged. "And I'm Torchwood. A normal life, yet alone a long one, is hardly in the cards for me."

Now it was Jack's turn to stare, his eyes filled with sadness and desire. Ianto wanted to say yes, he really did – and that surprised him, the realization that he liked Jack and wanted to go on that date. Only how could he get involved with a man who was simply passing time on Earth before he left to travel back to his own century? Ianto was still getting over losing Lisa, and he already knew losing Jack as a friend would be hard; he couldn't make it harder by losing Jack as something more.

"You're right," Jack replied. "I could leave any day. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked, knowing that…only I'd really like to…if things were different. Just so you know." He offered a small smile, which Ianto returned.

"I would too," Ianto replied quietly. "If things were different."

There was an awkward silence before Jack cleared his throat. "So what are you going to do today? I hope Evans gave you the day off?"

"Yes, he did," Ianto replied. "He'll probably use it to figure out what the hell to do with me now that he knows I'm rubbish in the field."

Jack frowned. "That doesn't sound like what happened, you know."

Ianto rubbed the knot on his head. "I got captured, tortured, and almost killed. That's why I'm the archivist."

"No, you got ambushed, and you kept your wits long enough to give your teammate the opportunity to escape and get help. She's alive because of you." Jack seemed convinced, but Ianto knew he was wrong. He hadn't saved anyone, he'd failed and got himself beaten up.

"I'm alive because they saved my arse," Ianto replied bitterly. "There is no way they'll want a liability like me in the field."

Jack stared at him like he'd grown another head. "You're delusional," he offered conversationally. "And if you don't believe me, then let me train you."

"Train me?" Ianto exclaimed. "What the hell for?"

"Field duty," Jack replied. "Standard operating procedures, weapons training—"

"I had both in London and renewed my certification after coming to Three," Ianto told him.

"Then use it!" Jack told him. "You can do this!"

"Maybe I don't want to!" Ianto snapped back. He stood to take his plate to the sink. "Did it ever occur to you that I'm good at what I do around the Hub? Archiving, filing, organizing? I know that place better than anyone except maybe Evans. I know what's in the archives, I know what we need when we need it, and I know how to find it. I have contacts across the city, and I even have the Queen on speed dial! I don't need to shoot aliens to do my job."

He leaned forward to calm himself and heard rather than saw Jack bring his own plate over and stand beside him. "Did it ever occur to you that you're good at what you do before right now?" he asked quietly.

Ianto thought about it and started to laugh silently. "As a matter of fact, no," he said, standing straight.

"It's true, though," Jack said. "Even if they can't see it. I can see it, so make them see it!"

"It's not—"

Jack stepped forward and kissed him, and this time it was longer, more intense than the night before. It was amazing, and Ianto lost himself to it until he remembered that anything he started with Jack was doomed from the start. Reluctantly he pulled away, both of them breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry," Jack started, and Ianto stopped him.

"Don't be," Ianto replied. "I'm not."

Jack cocked his head, looking hopeful. "So that date…"

"I can't," Ianto whispered. Jack sighed and leaned his forehead against Ianto's.

"I know," he said. "I hate it, but I know." He kissed Ianto once more before stepping away. "I should go, let you rest now that I know you're okay. You'll be all right on your own?"

"Of course," Ianto replied, even though a part of him wanted Jack to stay. But then it would only get harder and harder to resist the thought of kissing him again…the thought of more…so it was probably better for Jack to go. "I'll most likely sleep all day," he offered with a wry smile. Jack nodded.

"Good. Call me if you need anything, all right?" Ianto opened his mouth to protest, but Jack stopped him. "I mean it. Call me, anytime, for anything. Do you want me to bring something to eat later?"

Ianto nodded. "Yes, that would be great, thank you. As long as it's not meat."

For a moment, Ianto thought Jack was going to kiss him again, but he simply smiled and nodded. "You're welcome. I'll come by later with dinner, then. Pasta, maybe."

Jack left shortly after that, and Ianto collapsed on his couch. He laid his hand over his eyes and sighed as he thought about how much had happened to him in the last forty-eight hours. Strangely enough, he felt better about the ordeal in the Beacons after a night of sleep. His wounds were healing, and he almost believed what Jack had said about his performance in the field. Instead, it was Jack himself that weighed on Ianto's mind now.

Jack had asked him out on a date. They had kissed, and Jack had asked him out on a date, and Ianto had said no, even though he'd wanted to say yes. He felt like an idiot and a heel for refusing, though he knew it couldn't happen: Jack was a time traveler, waiting to leave one day to travel back to his own time. Ianto couldn't bear the thought of starting something that could be over in a month; his heart couldn't take it. And then there was Torchwood, of course; even if Jack did stay, Ianto couldn't guarantee he'd be alive long, whether he went back in the field or not.

And yet, the memory of Jack's lips haunted him. It had felt so good, so right, kissing Jack. They could be amazing together…if only they could actually be together.


Author's Note:
I hope you enjoyed that look at Countrycide! What about the last chapter, with Small Worlds? Do let a girl know, as I would really like to hear what you think of this alternate look at the episodes.
If you know me on Tumblr, you know I'm not a big fan of Ianto being so traumatized in the Beacons that Jack has to shower and bathe him and put him to bed. My headcanon sees him as dealing with it on his own, probably rather poorly; and as a survivor of Canary Wharf, he recognizes there are actually worse things than cannibals in the world. However, I've written that before and it didn't fit with this storyline and the developing relationship between Jack and Ianto. So we get Jack rushing over to help Ianto after Countrycide (In Broken, he takes some pills and calls Mandy. In my mind, Jack is replacing Mandy in many ways. However, there will be no Savior storyline.) And it set up their kiss, which I hope you enjoyed. Poor, silly boys! Thank you for reading!