Early post this week. This chapter takes a darker turn towards the end, just a warning that it might be disturbing to read. Please review and let me know what you think. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. And thanks as always to my fantastic beta Prothrombintime.

Chapter 7

Jack unlocked the front door and entered his apartment, with Ianto following behind. He hadn't specifically invited Ianto to join him, and under different circumstances he might have been annoyed by the younger man's presumptuousness. However, for the moment, he was simply grateful for the company. Jack toed off his shoes, leaving them haphazardly by the door, and shrugged off his jacket. Ianto did the same, albeit removing and arranging his shoes in a far more fastidious manner. Jack hung both of their jackets up on the coat rack.

They moved silently down the hallway and into the combined kitchen and living area. It was late afternoon, and with the natural light fading, the space was dim and shadowy. The room felt eerily foreboding, and Jack shivered despite the warmth of the surrounding air. He quickly flicked on some lights to help banish the gloom.

After parting ways during their earlier walk back from the coffee shop, Jack had tried to pull himself together to face the remainder of the day. He'd shaved, and then changed into a clean shirt and suit, taking more time than was necessary to sort out his hair. Feeling a little more like his usual self, he'd paced nervously, a sick feeling of dread pooling in his stomach. Ianto had eventually phoned to confirm that they had an appointment for two-thirty that afternoon.

The trip to the funeral home had been painful for Jack. They'd met with the owner, a stocky Welshman in his thirties named Rhys Williams, who, while professional and sincere, had been nothing like the austere and dispassionate undertaker Jack had been expecting. They'd also discovered that, coincidentally, Rhys was the husband of Gwen Cooper. Jack had tried not to ponder on that strange irony.

The man's easy going and down to earth nature had set Jack on edge, and he'd ended up sitting numbly as Ianto took charge, carefully going through the arrangements for the service and burial. Ianto had kept a close eye on Jack the entire time, obviously watching for any sign of undue distress. The details were quickly worked out with minimal input from Jack, and the service was set to take place at eleven o'clock on Saturday morning, followed immediately by the burial. John was to be buried in a plot next to his sister, Sarah, in accordance with John's wishes. Jack had known that John had been close to his sister and had visited Sarah's grave on each anniversary of her death. It had given Jack a small measure of peace knowing that John's wishes were being carried out.

But Jack had felt the tenuous threads of his resolve failing as they'd chosen John's casket. As if sensing Jack's distress, Ianto had silently reached for Jack's hand and intertwined their fingers, giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Ianto had quickly made a selection, and with Jack's approval, and the arrangements finalised, they'd said goodbye to Rhys and promptly departed.

With Jack visibly upset, Ianto had settled him into the passenger seat and driven the car back to the apartment, parking in Jack's allocated space in the building's underground car park. Then they'd made their way upstairs.

Jack took a steadying breath as he came back to the present. He filled the kettle as Ianto gazed around the space. "Very nice," the younger man commented.

Jack flicked the kettle on as he turned to look at Ianto. "It's not very big," he said, thinking that it probably seemed small in comparison to John's much larger apartment. "But the living area and main bedroom are good sizes, and I use the second, smaller bedroom as an office." Jack shrugged. "It's enough for what I need."

"I like it," Ianto added, continuing to look around at the fairly minimal but tasteful, contemporary furnishings.

"Coffee?" Jack suggested, but then looked at Ianto doubtfully. "Um… I only have instant though."

Ianto pulled a face and looked vaguely horrified. Jack couldn't help but be a little amused by Ianto's exacting standards. "Er, how about tea, then?" Ianto countered.

"Sure," Jack agreed.

He pulled out two mugs from a cupboard; his usual blue and white striped one for himself, and a plum coloured one for Ianto. Then he hunted for some teabags. He wasn't much of a tea drinker, but he usually kept some decent teabags on hand for when he felt he'd exceeded his coffee quota for the day. "Have a look around if you like," he suggested. "Just ignore any mess you find along the way."

Ianto nodded and wandered off towards the other rooms.

Finding the teabags, Jack stared at the dome-shaped kettle, lost in his thoughts as he waited for it to boil. A couple of minutes later it began howling, and a dense cloud of steam surged upwards, hitting the glass splashback along the kitchen wall and condensing into tiny droplets. A moment later, the orange light at the base of the kettle blinked off accompanied by a loud click as the switch jumped back to its off position.

Jack was filling their mugs when Ianto reappeared at his side. "Milk or sugar?" he asked, glancing up at Ianto before dumping a spoonful of sugar into his own mug and giving it a quick stir.

"Neither, thanks."

Jack nodded distractedly. He jiggled the teabags up and down for a minute or so, then squeezed them out and tossed them into the bin under the sink. Picking up the mugs, Jack retreated to the sofa and placing them down on the elliptical glass coffee table, he slumped down onto the soft leather with a weary sigh.

Ianto followed after a moment and sat down next to him, looking somewhat ill at ease. They sat in silence for several minutes as they sipped their tea.

"Thanks for being there today," Jack murmured, turning his gaze to Ianto's face and meeting his eyes briefly before looking down into his drink again. "I don't think I could have handled that on my own."

Ianto edged closer and gently rested his hand on Jack's knee. "We're in this together, Jack. Whatever happens, you're not alone."

Closing his eyes, Jack wished that was true. He could never remember feeling more lost and alone. Without thinking, he rested his own hand on top of Ianto's and relished the warmth of Ianto's skin as it radiated against his leg and up into his hand. Ianto's touch gave him something tangible to cling to, and he felt the last vestiges of his resolve fall away. It felt like Ianto was giving him permission to openly grieve. It was several minutes later before he opened his eyes and realised that he was crying.

"Jack?" Ianto said, his voice low and filled with concern.

Putting down his mug, he moved closer to Jack and, extracting his hand, wrapped his arm tightly around Jack's shoulder. With his other hand, he took Jack's once again and meshed their fingers together.

"Sorry," Jack mumbled and wiped roughly at his face. "After today… I suppose it all just seems more real now. It's finally hit me that I'll never see him again."

"It's okay, Jack," Ianto continued softly, and Jack instinctively leaned into the Welshman's embrace. "It's okay to let go."

Jack wasn't sure how long they sat huddled together. His tears continued unabated for what seemed like hours. In reality it was probably only fifteen minutes or so. Part of him recognised that he needed this. He needed to purge his pent up emotions if he was going to make it through the next few days. Ianto simply held him and allowed his emotional outpouring without excessive worry or fuss. He seemed to understand that there were no words to be said, and that Jack didn't want to hear trite platitudes. While John wasn't the first loved one for whom Jack had grieved in his life, he suddenly realised that John would very probably be the last.

Feeling more cognisant, Jack gave his eyes a final wipe and eased himself from Ianto's embrace. He gave the Welshman a hesitant half-smile. He wasn't sure what to say. "Thanks, Ianto," he settled on, feeling awkward and vulnerable.

Ianto seemed to sense that Jack needed some space and he rose to his feet. Jack also stood, his legs momentarily shaky at first, but he quickly collected himself. "Are you sure you'll be all right?" Ianto asked him.

"I'll be fine," Jack replied, deciding that he sounded far more confident than he felt.

Ianto nodded and made his way to the door. He slipped on his shoes and jacket and then turned back to look at Jack, his eyes steady and searching. "I'll see you again soon, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jack confirmed, attempting a forced smile.

Ianto looked at Jack uncertainly for a moment, and then seeming to make a decision, he moved forward and pulled Jack into a firm hug. Jack tensed with surprise but quickly relaxed into the embrace and clung unashamedly to the other man. They stayed that way for a minute or so. Jack knew he couldn't have done this with any of the others. He was the boss, their leader, and he had to be strong when he was with them. It was different with Ianto. He could be broken, vulnerable, and honest. He still wasn't certain if he could trust Ianto, and yet he felt inexplicably safe with him. It didn't make sense, and Jack wasn't sure if it was because Ianto was a stranger, or because Ianto was connected to John, or if it was something else entirely. Regardless of the reason, it felt good to simply be comforted by someone who seemed to genuinely care.

Ianto eased away, and with a final ghost of a smile, he nodded to Jack and slipped out through the door. Jack took a deep breath and stood there for a long moment, imagining Ianto's warmth still surrounding and soothing him.

It was several hours later when Jack retreated to his bedroom, feeling exhausted and emotionally shattered. He slipped out of his clothes, leaving them in an untidy pile on the floor, pulled on some pyjama bottoms, and crawled into bed. He'd managed to eat a pre-made meal from his freezer earlier, followed by his medications and a couple of drinks before zoning out in front of the television for a few hours. As his thoughts had wandered, Jack had decided that his next step was to go back to the Hub and review the logs of John's trips into the simulation. It would have to wait until the morning though. First, he needed some rest.

With a deep sigh, Jack pulled the covers tightly around him and buried his head in the thick pillows. Jack closed his eyes and sleep soon claimed him.

He walked silently down the dark side street, a cold smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He flexed his fingers, and the soft leather of his black gloves stretched sensuously across the backs of his hands. His long, dark wool coat wrapped around his body, while its tails flapped gently in the cool night air. The collar was pulled up high, cradling his neck and obscuring his face from the harsh glow of the irregularly spaced street lamps.

This was his playground, his world. The only rules that mattered were his own. Shrouded in darkness, he could allow his true self to emerge, free and unencumbered. All pretence slipped away. He was untouchable, and completely without mercy or compassion.

He picked up his pace, moving closer to the evening's first prey. His excitement grew, and his heart pounded in his chest as adrenaline surged through his body. The rush was intoxicating; better than alcohol, sex, or drugs. She was close, so very close now. He lengthened his strides. She'd seen him and had started to run, but the combination of a little too much alcohol, stiletto heels, and a tight skirt gave him a distinctly unfair advantage. His smile widened.

She stumbled on the uneven paving, and before she could recover, he was upon her. He pushed her roughly up against the nearby brick wall, pressing his body hard against hers, easily fending off her feeble attempts to escape. He was strong… he was always stronger and faster. Once he'd selected his prey, they never escaped… except when his desire was to play and torment… but that was only when his hunger wasn't quite so desperate.

He wrapped his gloved fingers around her throat, his face almost touching hers, leering at her with a malignant smile. His breath mingled with hers, and he could smell her fear – almost tasting the terror as it rippled through her body. He shivered with anticipation. She tried to scream, but he tightened his grip, squeezing just hard enough to prevent the sound from reaching her mouth. He looked into her terrified, tear-filled eyes, and revelled in her realisation that these were the final moments of her worthless existence.

He squeezed harder, and she began to choke, her eyes going wide as she frantically tried to draw air into her lungs. He leaned in closer, and his smile grew. Her fingers scraped uselessly against his gloved hands as he slowly wrung the life from her. He took his time. He knew exactly how to extract the maximum amount of pleasure out of each kill. He laughed in delight as the inevitable moment approached.

Then it abruptly happened… with a final weak shudder as her lips moved silently in a futile plea for mercy, her eyes went dull and her body slumped lifelessly in his arms.

He sighed as he lowered the body to the ground. Pausing, he looked down with appreciation at her frozen, contorted features, and blank, unseeing eyes. He turned, and swiftly moved away. Flexing his fingers again, he resumed stalking along the narrow street. He felt satisfied, but not completely sated. He'd need to find at least one more victim before the night was over.

He reached an abandoned shopfront and paused. A street lamp opposite illuminated the area. He turned and looked into the window and saw the reflection of a tall, handsome, dark haired man. Grinning at his image, his blue eyes dancing with malevolence, he turned away and continued forward into the darkness again, searching for new prey…

Jack woke abruptly, a scream tearing from his throat as he sat up and frantically reached to turn on the bedside lamp. He was drenched in sweat. Breathing rapidly, he tumbled off the bed and onto the floor, scrambling across the room and into the corner. He pulled his legs up against his chest and looked desperately around the room with wide, fearful eyes.

The room was empty, but he could still hear the echo of maniacal laughter ringing in his ears.