CHAPTER NINE

Jack hovered behind Ianto as he carefully lowered his 'candle' into the first vat of hot wax, watching his every movement like a hawk.

Ianto dipped it into the cold water, before turning to look at Jack. "What colour next?"

"Red," Jack suggested. "It's your colour."

Ianto dunked it into the red vat, back into the cold water, then into the red again. "How many coats are there in total?" he asked the candle-maker.

The candle-maker shrugged, pushing his glasses back up his nose again. They seemed to have a habit of slipping down. "Sixty-four or so."

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "That's a lot."

"Tell me if you want a rest," Jack said immediately, "and I'll finish it for you."

"I'm fine, Jack," Ianto said, slightly irritated by his fussing. "Why don't you do your own?"

Jack blinked. "I'm meant to be helping you," he pointed out.

"I don't need any help," Ianto retorted. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"Sorry," Jack said quietly, "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"Just a little bit." Ianto dunked the candle into the vat again, more savagely that intended. Hot wax splashed across his hand.

Jack was instantly there, shoving his hand into the cold water vat. "Tell me when it stops hurting," he ordered, anxiety etched into his features as he watched him.

Ianto bit down on his bottom lip, tears having sprung to his eyes in pain. "It hurts."

"I know it does," Jack soothed. "Come on, don't cry on me."

"I'm not going to cry," Ianto snapped.

Jack said nothing, just drew Ianto's hand out the vat again and started pulling at the wax. He hissed as it burnt his fingers, but didn't stop until every scrap was off Ianto's hand.

The candle-maker handed him some burn cream. "Smooth this on, and then we'll see if it needs a bandage."

Jack brushed a gentle kiss across the sore, reddened skin, before dabbing on the cream with practiced fingers. "There we go. Let's get a bandage on this now."

Ianto snorted. "Great. Katie's going to kill me."

"She'll kill me, you mean," Jack said. "Very slowly, too." He unwound the bandage from its roll and carefully wrapped it around Ianto's burnt hand.

"That'll be interesting to explain when you wake up," Ianto said. He blinked back tears. "I'm not very good at taking care of myself, am I?"

"That's what I'm here for," Jack said, knotting the bandage. "There – that better?"

Ianto managed a tight smile. "Yeah. Can you finish off the candle?"

Jack raised an eyebrow. "I'm taking you straight home," he said.

"But—"

"No buts," Jack said sternly, "at least, not that sort." He grinned.

"Jack, please." Ianto tucked his hand in his jacket pocket. "I want this candle to be finished."

"Why is it so important?"

"It just is." Ianto pulled a face. "Please."

Jack hesitated. "If you're sure…"

"I am."

Jack shook his head. "Fine."

Ianto smiled, and leant back against the wall. "Thankyou."

Jack shook his head, rolled up his sleeves, and got down to work.

-T-

"I'm hungry," Ianto said as they emerged from the candle-workshop, blinking in the bright afternoon sunlight.

Jack checked his watch. "I'm not surprised – it's nearly half-one."

"Lunch seems to be in order, then," Ianto replied. "Shall we catch the bus back into St Peter Port and have something to eat there?"

"Sounds like an idea," Jack agreed, putting a hand in the small of Ianto's back and steering him down the lane to where the bus was, luckily, already waiting. "Chips?"

Ianto considered. "I actually want a salad," he admitted, "if that's okay?"

Jack stood back to let him on the bus. "No problem."

The driver, a spotty youth in his early twenties with mousy-coloured hair gelled into spikes, held out his hand. "Money, please," he said, sounding infinitely bored.

Jack rooted around in the pockets of his greatcoat and handed him a five-pound-note. "Keep the change," he said, already following Ianto to the back of the bus.

"Hello again," a delighted voice said.

Ianto turned around, eyebrows rising in surprise when recognized the mother from before, this time minus children. "Hello," he responded.

"Looks like you took my advice, then," she said. "Sitting at the back."

Ianto blushed, and gestured at Jack. "We're just going to get some lunch back in St Peter Port," he said.

She narrowed his eyes at his bandaged hand. "What have you done to your other hand?"

"Candle making," Ianto said with a grimace.

She shook her head. "Bad?"

"No," Ianto shook his head, "Jack looked after me."

She smiled at Jack, who grinned back in his usual mega-watt way. "That's good to know."

They fell into an awkward silence, unsure of what to say. Jack cleared his throat uncomfortably a few times, as if he was about to speak, then thought better of it and stayed silent.

Ianto shifted in his seat. Beneath the cast, his left arm was itching, and his burnt hand had begun to throb.

Without saying anything, Jack put a hand on his knee and gave it a comforting squeeze. His face was unusually open; Ianto felt a warm glow in his veins, tingling up his spine and pooling in his stomach. Without really thinking about it, he shifted in his seat so that he could lean against Jack, despite the bulky cast making things difficult.

"You okay?" Jack murmured, breath warm against the side of Ianto's cheek. He slid his arm around Ianto so that his hand rested on Ianto's stomach.

The bundle of warmth inside Ianto grew just that little bit and the pain in his hand lessened slightly.

"Fine," Ianto said, his voice just as low as Jack's. Despite the fact that they were sitting in a bus full of people, this position felt strangely intimate and private. It was, Ianto thought, like the sort of thing you'd see in a (bad) romantic film, with the beautiful guy falling for the beautiful girl and love triumphing over all at the end.

Ianto knew that life wasn't like that and he most certainly disliked comparing what he and Jack had with a (bad) romantic film, but, as he sat at the back of the bus with Jack close beside him, he couldn't help but hope that they might somehow get part of that happy ending. As far-fetched as that hope might be, it was the one thing that kept him going.

Well, that and the fact that once he was gone Jack and the team would have to get by on the substandard coffee from Starbucks. That wasn't a thought Ianto liked to entertain.

The bus slowed, drawing to a halt at their stop. Jack didn't seem to be planning on standing up and getting off, so Ianto elbowed him.

"What?"

"This is our stop, Jack." Ianto rolled his eyes and stood up, staggering slightly as the bus stopped. Jack muttered something under his breath and followed him off the bus, his hand in the small of Ianto's back.

As they started along the waterfront, the sunshine of earlier transformed into menacing grey clouds above their heads, Ianto recognized the warm feeling for what it was: Happiness.

-T-

The restaurant was a small, family-run one by the waterfront. It had numerous photographs of racing boats up on the red-brick walls, and was relatively quiet. The only other customers were a family of five seated at the largest table in the centre, laughing and chattering over a card game of some sort.

The waiter, a young man with curly black hair and an abundance of freckles sprayed across his olive skin, showed them to a small table in the corner.

Ianto sat down with a sigh, rolling his neck to ease the stiffness as he did so. Jack shrugged out of his coat and flopped into his chair.

"Can I get you any drinks, sirs?" the waiter asked, notepad and pen poised.

"Just still water, please," Ianto said, polite as ever.

"Same for me," Jack added.

"Very good, sirs," the waiter said. "Can I interest you in the special of the day, Mussels in a red wine sauce?"

"No, thanks," Ianto said, paling slightly.

"Can we have the normal menu?" Jack asked.

"Of course, sir." The waiter picked up a couple of faux-leather menus from a stack on a nearby shelf, and handed them to Jack. "Anything else I can get you?"

"Not at the moment, thanks," Ianto said.

"I'll be back shortly," the waiter promised, before heading back through a white swing-door that, presumably, led into the kitchens.

Ianto went to pick up one of the menus, only to realise that he couldn't. "Uh, Jack? I think I may have a bit of a problem."

Jack cocked an eyebrow, not understanding. Ianto held up his hand. "I can't use a knife and fork."

Jack grinned. "Looks like I'll just have to feed you, then," he said. "We can get a platter, or something."

Ianto didn't seem at all encouraged by this suggestion. "This is hopeless," he said, his face drawn and upset. "I can't do anything right, can I?"

"Hey, hey," Jack said reassuringly, "you can do plenty of things right. It's hardly your fault that you got hurt."

"But it is!" Ianto retorted, not at all pacified. "If I hadn't jumped off that cliff—"

"What?" Jack interrupted, frowning in surprise. "What d'you mean, 'jumped off that cliff'?"

Ianto froze, eyes widening. He hadn't meant to say that. "I…"

"Ianto?"

He licked his lips nervously, looking down at the table. "I jumped off the cliff so that you would wake up," he said softly. "I figured that if you were using up all your life energy to keep me alive, then if I—"

"Wait a minute – have I got this right? You tried to kill yourself so that I would wake up?"

Ianto swallowed. This was the tone of voice Jack used whenever he was trying not to shout. "Yeah."

Jack remained quiet for a moment. Then, "Why?"

Ianto kept his head down as he answered. "I'm meant to be dead. Not you. You've got to save the world. That's more important than keeping me alive."

Again, Jack didn't say anything. Cautiously, unsure of what he would see, Ianto lifted his head; he was startled to see tears glistening in the corners of Jack's eyes.

He was about to ask, then thought better of it. So he kept quiet, waiting for Jack to talk to him.

Jack shook his head, biting his lip hard in an attempt to stop the tears that were threatening to fall. A single, fat tear escaping and rolled down his cheek, leaving a wet trail in its wake. Ianto wanted nothing more than to reach out and wipe it away like he had done earlier, to hold Jack tight and comfort him like Jack did so often for him.

Jack dashed the tear away almost angrily. "God, Ianto. Why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?" Ianto asked, bewildered.

Jack half-smiled. "Make me cry like a baby," he said thickly. "I never used to cry this much in a single day."

Unsure of what to say, Ianto just settled for an apology. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about." Jack chuckled, a wet-sounding attempt at amusement. "Have you decided what you want? To eat, I mean?"

"Maybe a pasta?" Ianto suggested.

"I thought that you wanted salad?"

Ianto shrugged as much as his sling would allow. "Changed my mind."

"Fickle boy," Jack teased. He opened the menu and quickly scanned the options. "Pasta carbonara suit you?"

"Penne, not tagliatele," Ianto reminded him.

Jack pulled a mock-sad face. "But tagliatele would be so much more fun," he objected.

"And messy."

Jack shrugged, an easy grin slipping over his face. "I like messy."

"I gathered," Ianto said dryly. "So carbonara it is?"

"Yep." Jack twisted around in his seat to scan the restaurant. "Where's the waiter got to?"

"Have you decided on your food yet, gentlemen?" the waiter said, suddenly standing beside their table, notepad and pen now tucked into his belt. He was balancing a round black tray with their drinks on, which he set down in front of them.

Ianto frowned at him. How had he got there so fast? "Penne carbonara, please," he said.

"That's a shared platter," Jack added.

The waiter nodded, scribbling down the order so fast he almost tore the paper. "Very good, sirs. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"I think that's it, thankyou," Jack said. He flashed a winning smile at the waiter.

"Very good, sirs," the waiter repeated, backing away and vanishing through the kitchen door again.

Ianto looked at Jack, who was frowning after the waiter. "Creepy kid," he commented.

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "Makes me wonder a bit, about the food."

"Give it a scan," Ianto said, nodding at Jack's wrist.

"How did—?" Jack started, then shook his head. "Never mind." He pulled up his shirt-sleeve, and flipped open his Vortex Manipulator.

He surreptitiously held it out in front of him, squinting at the read-out. "Seems okay…" he said, regarding the jug of water doubtfully.

"Then stop fussing," Ianto said pragmatically. "Just relax."

Jack chuckled and reached across the table to touch Ianto's face affectionately. "That's my Ianto."

Ianto blushed, ducking his head and staring at the table. "Stop it."

"What?" Jack sounded anxious. "Did I do something wrong?"

Ianto shook his head, peeping up at Jack through his lashes. "It's just a bit embarrassing," he said, "and makes me feel about five years old."

"That reminds me, I ought to get you an early birthday present," Jack said.

"There's no need—"

"It's just my excuse for spoiling you, okay?" Jack grinned. "I don't get to spoil you nearly often enough."

"I don't need to be spoiled," Ianto said. "It's unprofessional."

Jack quirked an eyebrow, amused. "And since when have I cared about being professional?"

"I care about being professional," Ianto said stubbornly.

Jack blinked, sitting back and folding his arms, his normal defence reaction. "Is that a way of saying that you're embarrassed by me?" he asked quietly.

Ianto's eyes widened in shock. "No! No, of course not. I just don't particularly like public shows of affection like that."

"You were fine with it on the bus."

"At first." Ianto shook his head. "It just isn't like me, Jack."

"Okay…" Jack unfolded his arms. "So when is it too much?"

"I…" Ianto cast around desperately. "It depends."

"Well, that helps."

"Sorry." Ianto glanced over at the family. The youngest girl, who couldn't have been more than six, was watching them with wide baby blues, a strand of ginger-blonde hair twisted around her fingers.

Beside her, her brother had his head down, concentrating intently on his Nintendo DS, and her sister was chatting away with their parents.

Ianto bit his lip as it finally came home to him that a family like that was another thing he wasn't going to have. He managed a small smile for the girl and looked away, back at Jack.

Jack smiled at him, trying to be as comforting as he could. "Cheer up," he said. "We've got time yet."

"Not that long."

Jack paused. "No," he acknowledged, "but it's still our time. That's why I want to make the most of it."

His eyes were over-bright, his smile too forced. It made something inside Ianto feel like it was tearing apart.

"Maybe we could watch a film back at the hospital?" Ianto suggested tentatively. "Just sit and watch something together. If you don't have to be anywhere else, that is," he amended quickly. "I understand if you need to—"

Jack's finger on his lips forestalled anything he might have been about to say. He removed it a millisecond later, but Ianto could still feel the tingle from his touch. "Ianto – today is your day. Nobody else's. It's just for you and me."

Ianto smiled. "So that's a yes?"

"And then a picnic at the castle this evening," Jack said.

"Maybe it would be better to ask Gwen if she'd help with the food," Ianto suggested.

"Are you saying that you doubt my skills in the food department?" Jack mock-frowned. "They are nothing less than exemplary, I'll have you know."

"Considering the fact that you'd probably pack all the wine and cake, forgetting all the fruit and juice, I think that my fears are reasonably founded," Ianto said, falling back easily into the light-hearted banter he enjoyed so much with Jack.

"Who needs healthy stuff?"

"People who wish to keep themselves healthy," Ianto responded. "Even immortal captains need to keep in shape."

"Are you suggesting that I'm putting on weight?" Jack's voice squeaked slightly in indignation.

"Well, all that take-away and pizza can't help," Ianto pointed out. "Nor the coffee."

"But I like your coffee!" Jack protested. "I'm not giving that up."

"I'm not suggesting that you do," Ianto said. "Can I have a drink of water, please?"

Jack carefully poured some of the ice-cold water into Ianto's glass, before holding it up to the Welshman's lips so he could take a sip.

"That's horribly demeaning," Ianto muttered as Jack wiped away a dribble of water that had escaping down his chin.

"Having an incredibly dashing and handsome captain like me help you drink?"

"Needing anybody to help me at all."

Jack poured himself a glass and took a casual swallow. "Think of it like an honour," he suggested. "You're so amazing that you get somebody to hand-feed you."

Ianto couldn't help but laugh at the earnest expression of Jack's face.

"I mean it," Jack said seriously, sitting forward on his seat. "Another sip?"

Ianto shrugged, this time managing to get all of the water in his mouth without mishap. "Thanks."

"It's my pleasure," Jack said in an attempt at a posh London accent.

"That's terrible," Ianto told him, though he was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"What is?"

"That accent." Ianto shook his head. "Promise me that you'll never, ever become an actor."

"Hey, I'm a fantastic actor," Jack said.

"Modest, too."

"Why should I be modest when I have you?"

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Sappy, too."

"I was being romantic," Jack informed him haughtily.

Ianto snorted. "Please, spare me."

"You don't like me being romantic?" Jack looked hurt.

"I don't like you being sappy," Ianto corrected. "There's a difference."

"I don't see how there's a difference," Jack said, frowning into his drink.

Ianto was saved from having to attempt to explain romance to his confused lover by the arrival of the platter-bearing waiter.

"Penne carbonara platter," he announced, setting it down in the middle of the table. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No, thankyou," Ianto replied.

"Enjoy your meal, gentlemen," the waiter said, adding in a half-bow, before slipping off to the family's table.

"You wanna have the first mouthful?" Jack offered, holding it up.

Ianto shook his head. "You tell me what it's like."

Jack shrugged. "Your loss." He popped it in and almost immediately spat it out again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand whilst glaring at the platter in disgust.

"What is it?" Ianto asked curiously.

"Salt," Jack announced. "Far too much salt – like chewing a mouthful of seaweed."

Ianto peered at it. "It looks fine."

"Believe me, it isn't." Jack pushed his chair back, making an ugly scraping noise on the brick floor. "Where's the waiter gone?"

"He was by the other table a second ago," Ianto said, frowning in confusion at the disappearance of the young man.

"Screw this," Jack growled, storming over to the white swing doors and throwing them open.

Only to stare in shock at the inside of an empty store-cupboard.

"Now that's a little freaky," Ianto said, getting up to stand by Jack. "Not many people can make a kitchen turn into a cleaning-cupboard."

"This stinks of a trap," Jack said softly, turning around to scan the restaurant.

And was confronted by a row of angry fish-people, the happy family now morphed into snarling, shark-toothed, scaly-skinned selkies.

-T-

Ianto opened his eyes, and then promptly closed them again.

The wall he was propped against was cold and uncomfortably hard. The floor was slightly slick beneath him, though with what he had no way of telling.

He forced himself to open his eyes, to examine his surroundings in the impassive way he had been taught. Ianto took a deep breath, and realised that there was a gas-mask attached to his face. A long tube extended from the front of it and snaked across the floor, like the shed skin of a gargantuan serpent, to a box fixed to the wall in the corner.

With mounting panic, Ianto realised that there was no way of him removing the mask from his face; he couldn't use either of his hands.

Where was Jack? The small room – cell – was empty, save for Ianto himself. He could feel his mouth drying, his hair prickling uncomfortably with fear. All he could think of was Jack – where was he? What happened? Why couldn't he remember anything? Jack?

Maybe, if he could remove this mask, he would be able to think clearly. He moved to pull it away, then thought better of it: the air had a strange feel to it, heavy and close. Maybe the mask was feeding him oxygen, because there was none in this room.

Or…

Ianto quickly cut off that line of thought. No point going there, he told himself sternly, just focus on getting out.

He checked the walls again. Like he had suspected earlier, there was no door.

Ianto jumped as a sharp knock echoed throughout the room. He swallowed, hearing footsteps outside, and wished that he had use of at least one of his hands.

Then part of the wall swung inwards, operating on an invisible hinge, and Jack tottered through.

Ianto stifled a cry at the state of him; his clothes were ragged and ripped, his face bloodied and his hands tied behind his back.

As soon as he saw Ianto, Jack's face relaxed with relief. He bit his lip, falling forward onto his knees and crawling close.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a rough whisper, blue eyes anxious. "Have they hurt you at all?"

Ianto shook his head. "I'm fine," he said, his voice distorted by the mask. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, the usual," Jack said with a crooked smile. "Torture, threatening, displays of violence – you get my drift."

Ianto's gut clenched, a heady sense of anger flooding his veins. How dare they… "Bad?"

Jack shrugged. "Not particularly. They didn't kill me, at any rate."

"Small mercies."

"But mercies all the same." Jack smiled, his eyes sad. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," Ianto replied, "a few minutes." He considered, head tipped to one side. "Less, maybe."

"So you don't know what's happened?" Jack's face was taut, his eyes searching what he could see of Ianto's face, behind the mask, with increasing anxiety.

Ianto shook his head. "What has happened?"

Jack pulled a face. "Well, it's been enlightening to say the least." He nodded at the gas-mask. "You collapsed a couple of hours ago. The mask's for oxygen, as far as I can tell."

"I collapsed?" Ianto frowned. "Why?"

Jack looked away. "No idea."

Ianto didn't say anything, waiting for Jack to tell him the truth.

Jack locked his eyes with Ianto's, his expression raw. "They shocked us, when we arrived."

"Shocked? As in—"

"Electric shocks," Jack said. "Mind probes."

Ianto cocked an eyebrow. "How come our heads didn't explode?"

Jack chuckled. "Our mind-probe's very crude. They have a much more up-to-date model."

"Again, small mercies," Ianto said softly.

Jack frowned. "Sorry, didn't catch that."

Ianto raised his voice, "I said, 'Again, small mercies'."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "That's one way of looking at it." He shifted to sit on Ianto's right, so that their arms were brushing. Ianto knew that Jack took comfort from the contact, that it reassured him that Ianto really was there, alive and speaking to him. "But they found out about Torchwood."

"Everything?"

"A good deal of it," Jack said grimly. He let his head fall back against the wall and sighed. "Not good."

"Not particularly," Ianto agreed. "Do you know who they are?"

Jack grimaced. "No."

"Well, that's helpful," Ianto quipped, before seeing Jack's face fall. "I didn't meant it like that. It's not your fault."

"I can see the report: 'Sorry, I was too busy splayed out screaming to discover anything useful'," Jack joked weakly.

Ianto reached up with his bandaged hand to touch Jack's face, ignoring the sparks of pain that shot up his arm as he traced Jack's lips with a forefinger. "So it was bad."

Jack closed his eyes. "Yeah," he admitted. "But you didn't need to know."

"Did you die?"

"I think so."

"You think so?"

Jack smiled, though without any trace of humour. "It kinda got hard to tell, after a couple of hours."

Ianto said nothing, just kept his hand against Jack's cheek instead of a verbal apology, which he knew Jack would rebuff.

"They did keep on mentioning the 'other group'," Jack said suddenly. "I did hear that."

"What did they say about them?"

Jack's brow creased as he tried to remember. "I don't know," he said finally, brokenly. "It's just a blank space."

Pain dissociation. Ianto had questioned enough witnesses in his time at Torchwood to know that there was no way Jack would be able to break through that gap in his memory.

"It's…" Jack trailed off, shaking his head. He looked at Ianto, the expression in his eyes lost. "Why can't I remember?"

Ianto's heart seemed to break a little bit further at the scared and confused tone in Jack's voice. He dearly wanted to pull Jack close, to chase away the monsters and make everything right again. "It's just something that happens when there's too much pain for the brain to cope with," he explained. "It's happens all the time."

"I know that," Jack said. "But I can usually remember if I try hard enough."

Ianto blinked. "You can break through pain dissociation after it's actually happened?"

Jack shrugged. "I guess. Like you can break through retcon."

"But this time you can't?"

The crease between Jack's eyes reappeared. "No."

They fell silent. Ianto's ass was starting to go numb. He wriggled, trying to get a bit more comfortable. "They could at least stick us in a nice cell," he muttered.

"What were you expecting, Buckingham Palace?" Jack nodded at the gas mask on Ianto's face. "You're lucky you got that at all. I thought—" He stopped, evidently thinking better of what he was about to say, though Ianto could read it in his face.

I thought I was going to lose you again.

"Can I take it off now?" Ianto asked.

"Is your hand up to it?"

"Anything to get this off." Ianto reached up, and slowly, excruciatingly, unbuckled the clasp and let the mask fall to the floor. He breathed out slowly, his skin tingling where the mask had dug in. "That feels better."

Jack was staring at the mask, his eyes narrowed. "Can you pass me that?"

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I've got a hunch," Jack admitted. "Just pass it."

Ianto picked it up, his hand screaming with pain, and dropped it into Jack's lap.

Jack bent his head, peering at the inside of the mask. "Ianto…" he said slowly, after a couple of minutes inspection, "do you feel any better?"

"Bettter?" Ianto echoed, baffled. "What sort of 'better'?"

"Better better. Do you feel ill?"

"Not particularly. What's that got to do with the gas-mask?"

Jack didn't reply for a moment, seemingly fascinated by the mask. "Because I think that they weren't just feeding you oxygen…"

Ianto felt a tight flutter of panic in his chest. He swallowed, unconsciously pressing himself closer to Jack.

"…I think that they were also feeding you nanogenes," Jack said, an edge of excitement to his voice.

"Like those little healing robots?"

"Like those little healing robots," Jack confirmed. "Which means—"

He was interrupted by the wall-but-actually-a-door opening again. A burly fish-man marched through, a handgun clutched with webbed hands. "Torchwood!" he said, his voice low and croaky, like he was unaccustomed to using it. "You come with me."

Jack had automatically shifted in front of Ianto when he had seen the gun, and now he stood up. Ianto got to his feet as well, unsure of what was happening.

"Where are you taking us?" Jack asked, his voice cautious. "What do you want?"

The fish-man paused, as if holding an inner debate. "We do not answer prisoners' questions," he finally announced, gesturing with the gun through the door. "You come with me. The weak one as well."

Ianto felt himself puffing up with indignation, but kept his mouth shut. It would only make things difficult if he put his foot in it now.

"I'm warning you," Jack said, voice low and deadly, "you touch one hair on his head and you'll have me to answer to."

Again, the fish-man appeared to hold a mental conversation with himself. "We have no answer," he said after a moment. "You come with us."

Jack looked around at Ianto, who nodded. They didn't really have a choice, whatever Jack might think.

With a small smile in Ianto's direction, Jack stepped through the door, only to yell in shock as an icy deluge of water cascaded onto him.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped, blinking water out of his eyes.

"All prisoners must be cleaned before exiting their containment pods," the fish-man said, his expression close to what Ianto suspected was amusement.

Ianto rolled his eyes and stepped through the doorway, a small whimper escaping his lips as he was subjected to the same treatment.

His clothes were stuck uncomfortably to his body as he walked beside Jack, following their captor along wide, low-ceilinged corridors.

Jack cast him an appreciative side-ways look out of the corner of his eye. "I've always wanted to see you in wet clothes," he murmured.

"Maybe not in these conditions, though," Ianto said, suppressing a shiver.

Jack noticed. "They haven't exactly cottoned onto the idea of central heating, have they?"

Ianto was prevented from answering by a throaty order from the fish-man: "Prisoners will remain silent!"

"Yes, sir," Ianto muttered, just loud enough for Jack to hear.

Jack shuddered. "Don't do that," he whispered. "It was bad enough when you did it to Owen."

"You have a filthy mind," Ianto informed him in an undertone, "really, sir."

"Please don't do that now," Jack begged, still taking care to ensure that they weren't heard. "You know what it does to me – I really need a clear head at the moment."

"You're always thinking like that," Ianto accused.

"Prisoners will remain silent!" the fish-man repeated, adding in an emphatic arm gesture for effect.

They kept quiet, sensing that they were pushing their luck. The temperature seemed to be getting colder and colder, the further they went. Ianto had a sudden realisation. He nudged Jack in the ribs. "We're under the Channel," he breathed.

Jack's eyes widened, and he nodded. "Makes sense," he mouthed back.

Then they rounded a corner and were confronted by a large glass tank.

Floating inside it were masses and masses of brains.