Ianto looked around Toshiko's spare room with mild apprehension. It didn't look exactly threatening, but it was new to him, and strange. Very carefully he put his bag down on the floor, by the end of the double bed that was covered in some kind of silky throw. Ianto very slowly sat down and looked around, looking at his reddened hands. They stung from all the cleaning products he had used but he couldn't put the yellow gloves on, just the sight of them, never mind the feel, had made his stomach churn.

It was still churning a little now, at the thought of them, his mind running over the feel of them on his skin, when the soldiers had worn them, treating him like he was contaminated. He didn't like to think of them, and the tubes, and water and…. His breath hitched and Ianto closed his eyes trying to force the thoughts away. He hadn't worn the gloves, he rubbed his hands together to make them sting, the pain bringing him back to reality. He opened his eyes again and looked around the room. He was in Toshiko's house, she was there somewhere, Ianto could hear her moving around, he wasn't alone.

Very slowly he leant down and opened his bag, popping the plastic catches open and yanking on the drawstring. On the top was his sponge bag, which he lifted out and put on the bed. Next came his pyjamas, turning on the bed, he put them on the bedspread, near the pillows. He wouldn't need them until later.

There was a change of clothes in his bag, just some underwear for tomorrow and a change of tee-shirt. Ianto very carefully removed the clothes, laying the tee-shirt over his thighs and smoothed the material down to get out the creases. He looked around the room again. There was a large chest of drawers and slim wardrobe. It seemed relatively pointless to worry about putting just a few items of clothing away but Ianto got up and opened the wardrobe. There were a few hangers on the rail so he took one and carefully hung up his tee-shirt, smoothing the material down again, feeling it's softness. It was nice to have clean clothes, Ianto thought to himself, after months of being trapped in the same filthy rags.

They weren't very good for hiding behind, he continued to think, not like the suits had been. Jack had liked them, the suits, but he didn't seem to like them now. Ianto looked down at the plain, grey tracksuit he was currently wearing. All it needed was a few black stripes, or some arrows, and it would really get the point across.

Ianto carefully shut the wardrobe and put his clean underwear and socks into the top drawer, looking at the nice rose petal patterned paper that Toshiko had laid inside. It smelt nice, Ianto decided, and it showed that Toshiko cared about things. He closed the drawer and looked around, a little lost as to what to do next.

He felt a little strange, disconnected. It had been a very funny day, like he was there, at Torchwood, but not somehow. He had done every chore that he had been given, but nothing seemed relevant. All he was doing was cleaning up messes that no one really cared about. Ianto wondered if he was much the same. He wasn't sure still what Jack really intended to do. It was just as if he was keeping him, like a little stray puppy, because Jack didn't know what else to do. It was dawning on Ianto that Jack had no intention of killing him, or even retconning him, and Ianto wasn't entirely sure what to make of that.

Jack certainly didn't trust him. Ianto pondered the fact as he sat back down on the bed. He could hear Toshiko moving around and he wondered what she was doing. She had been nice today, trying to be kind and gentle to him, even when he had broken Jack's rule and gone down into the archive to find her. He hadn't wanted to go to Owen, who was making no secret of his animosity, despite his professionalism when treating Ianto as a patient. But also, in the end, Ianto hadn't been able to resist the lure of the archives, of those dark tunnels which Lisa had haunted for so long.

She was still there now, to him. They were probably just his imagination but he thought he could pick up traces of the smells he used to know; the static in the air, from the electricity on the conversion unit, down to the scent that came from Lisa. He was never entirely sure what that was, but it was distinctive, Ianto knew she was close when he picked up that scent. He thought he could smell it now, as he sat there in Toshiko's spare room, which did nothing more than add fuel to his theory that it was his imagination, probably his desire to smell it. Just so he could think that perhaps something was still there, something that wasn't, perhaps, made of death and destruction. In the end, that was all Lisa was really. All she was now was a ghost in his mind.

"Ianto?"

He looked up at Toshiko, who was frowning at him from the doorway. In her arms she carried some towels. She stepped into the room and put them down on the bed. Ianto looked at them. They were dark grey in colour, a bath towel, two hand towels and a matching flannel. Ianto guessed they were for him.

"I brought you some towels, you could get a shower while I start dinner. I've got a pasta bake sauce thing somewhere that should do us."

Ianto nodded. He didn't much care if he got a shower, or not, and he would just eat what was put in front of him. It didn't really have any taste, he just knew he had to have it.

"I'll show you how the shower works, it's not exactly complicated," Toshiko said. Ianto nodded again and stood up, looking around, trying to think of something to say.

"I put my clothes away," he said, pointing at the wardrobe. Toshiko nodded.

"Okay, well if you shower now, then I can get the dinner sorted, come on."

Ianto obediently followed and twenty minutes later he stood in Toshiko's bathroom drying himself off. The towel was soft against his skin, although sometimes it hurt, itching and stinging as if something was trying to get out of him. He hadn't really told anyone about that, unlike some of the other problems he had, sore skin did not come high on the list of priorities. He rubbed the towel over his ribs. They still looked prominent, and his hip bones jutted out unattractively. He had been weighed every day over the last week at the hospital but on those occasions he tried to avoid taking in the information. Looking up he paused as the blurred reflection in the mirror moved.

The steam from the shower almost concealed it, but for the first time in months Ianto paused to look in the mirror. He wiped the steam away using the towel, to clear the image a little.

What he saw there startled him, even though it was almost what he expected. He looked into his own blue eyes, he knew the colour and the shine in them well enough, but on a different level they were not his. He could hardly recognise himself. His face was thinner, unattractively so, and the shorn hair did nothing to improve matters. Ianto ran a hand over the stubble, he winced as he remembered Gordon very gently, but firmly, informing him that the best thing to do was to take what remained off. Gordon had, at the same time, removed the mirror from his room, and from the bathroom down the hall that he used. Ianto ran both hands over his head, also remembering Jack spending so long carefully and patiently combing out the mess.

Tim and Gordon had assumed Ianto's upset over the loss was simply because it was a traumatic thing to happen, but it was because of Jack that Ianto had been upset, because it occurred to him when he lost his hair, Jack had been trying to preserve it. Ianto wasn't entirely sure why. He was still baffled by what Jack was doing, and had done. Sometimes he seemed so concerned, and others he seemed like the leader of Torchwood, doing exactly what he needed to do, with a dispassionate air to him. Ianto stared at his reflection trying to work out what Jack saw, what he thought.

Ianto's train of thought crumbled as there was a gentle knock on the door.

"Ianto?" Toshiko's concerned voice drifted through, although she didn't attempt to open the door. It wasn't locked, but she was clearly respecting his privacy.

"I'm okay," Ianto said, thinking she was just checking up on what he was doing.

"Good," she answered, sounding mildly baffled. "Dinner's ready."

"Oh, okay, I'll just be a minute!"

He turned away from his reflection and reached for his clothes, pulling on the tracksuit and straightening himself up and then neatly folding the towels. He didn't look back into the mirror, there was no point. It didn't matter what he looked like anymore.

Instead he walked out to find Toshiko moving around her kitchen with quiet, calm confidence. Ianto watched her for the moment, as she moved naturally, unaware of his scrutiny. It was like the way she moved around the hub, dealing with the technology that came her way. There was sure, quick confidence to what she was doing. As he hesitantly stepped forward she looked up and smiled.

"Sit down, it's almost ready."

"Do you need any help?" Ianto asked tentatively, the shyness returning to him as he moved forward. Even with Toshiko he felt a little hesitant, although she had been nothing but kind today.

"No," she said brightly, picking up two plates. "All done."

Ianto gave a wan smile but obediently went to sit down at the table which Toshiko had laid. She paused for a moment, flicking the nearby television over to another channel.

"Oh, The Simpsons!" she said, again very brightly. Ianto glanced at the television and then down at the food and picking up the fork he very carefully started to eat. He didn't mind the noise of the television and Toshiko felt glad of it. Ianto clearly didn't want to talk much, and the silence wouldn't have bothered her, but the cartoon running in the background eased the situation. It made it more homely while Ianto slowly and steadily ate his pasta, taking slices of garlic bread when Toshiko offered them. By the end of the meal, it felt almost companionable.

Ianto carefully put the fork down on his plate and waited. Toshiko forked in the last few curls of her pasta and did the same. She got up and started to gather up the plates. Ianto followed her up.

"I should do that."

"Oh, you don't have to," Toshiko said, but she let Ianto take the plate she was holding out of her hand. He carried his plate, and hers, over to the kitchen area and put them in the sink. Then he started to fiddle with the taps and reached for the washing up liquid.

"You cooked, I should clear up."

He watched Toshiko pause for a second, a slight frown on her face, as if she wasn't entirely used to someone coming in and taking over her house. Ianto paused, shutting off the water, suddenly feeling very sensitive to her reaction.

"If that's… okay… I mean…"

Toshiko smiled. "No, that's all right. If you don't mind doing that I can go and soak in the bath."

Ianto nodded, he turned to smile at her, and she read in his face the desperation of wanting to be alone. She paused for a minute, eyes sliding to her front door, although she didn't think for one moment that Ianto would attempt anything. Plus she had deadlocked it when they came in, as per Jack's instructions. She flashed another smile, brighter this time, hoping that it didn't look as false as it suddenly felt.

"If you can't find where everything goes, just leave it on the side, I'll go and have a bath then. Thanks Ianto."

He gave her something of a wan smile and started to wash the plates up, slowly and carefully. Toshiko retreated, saying something about him being able to watch the television when he was done, if he wanted to. Ianto nodded and she beat a retreat.

She took an hour in the bathroom, which she rather enjoyed. It was always relaxing just soaking in the bath, with a few candles lit to soften the atmosphere. She always found it a good thing to do after a long, hard day. When she came out, she frowned as she couldn't immediately see Ianto.

"Ianto?"

She followed the slight sound to find Ianto on his hands and knees cleaning her kitchen floor, scrubbing at it. One glance around told her that he had done the entire kitchen, every surface scrubbed and gleaming, and again, he hadn't used gloves. His hands were red and sore again, and seemed to be bleeding in places.

"Ianto, you didn't need to do that. I don't think it was that dirty in the first place."

He sat back a little on his heels, putting the scrubbing brush he was using into the bucket of water for a minute, swirling it around.

"I know I just… I just thought I'd clean it… be useful, you know."

"Ianto, you're a guest, you don't need to clean my kitchen."

She watched him fiddle with the scrubbing brush, as if it was the most incredibly interesting thing in the world.

"Actually, I think it's more sort of house arrest."

Toshiko released a breath, there was mild shock at the way Ianto stated it, a fact which was probably not that far from the truth, and also a little relief. Ianto, this time, spoke a little more normally, more like himself. If that self was really him. It was hard to tell what was reality and what was façade with him now. But at least he was being honest, it made it easier for her.

"Whatever it is, you are not expected to scrub my kitchen floor, or anything for that matter," Toshiko said firmly, meaning it. "I'll help you finish up and then we should get some sleep."

Ianto nodded and he started to clear up the cleaning equipment he had been using. Toshiko stepped into help, catching another sight of Ianto's sore hands. Reaching out she took his wrist, making him jump a little, but he didn't resist her.

"We'd better find some anti-septic cream for you as well."

She ended up using half a tube of Savlon on his hands, a procedure which Ianto submitted to without comment. Toshiko then gave him his prescribed sleeping pill and got him to sleep in her spare room. Only then did she fully relax, going into her own room and snuggling down under the sheets. She felt exhausted, her body at least, her mind kept going over everything as she realised. Ianto's recovery was going to be a very long process.