Frighteningly lonely
By JK Fie'r
Setting: The year that never was
Summary: Jack had a whole year imprisoned, and his team had a whole year without him.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or anything associated thus: Those belong to the BBC. I'm merely torturing the poor characters.
Warnings/spoliers: I spell like a New Zealander. Angst. Slash. Character deaths. Deliberately messy POVs. Implied better control on Jack's part over telepathy et al than is currently strictly canon. Written in ten minutes, and unbeta-ed. Enjoy.
Be not afraid to comment and/or correct.

Jack's eyes were closed, his head bowed to slightly hide the small smile on his face.
Ianto…
His psychic signature was there. Frightened yes, lonely – oh Time, but so lonely – but there.
He was still alive.
The Master, for all his power over the Earth, had not found him.
It was tricky to maintain this sort of contact, but if there was one thing that Jack had plenty of time to do here, it was work on his mental powers.
In his darker moments, he wondered if it might be his imagination that he could feel Ianto's presence brush against his, but then he'd dismiss it.
This time, though…
This time it was different.
This time Ianto was more afraid, more frightened. He was shaken, shaking, and Jack could only reach out…
Toshiko was dead. The last member of his team, Jack's team, their team, Jack's and Ianto's team, gone, and now there was only Ianto and it was so frighteningly lonely and-
Ianto shivered, his own hope and imagination turning on him again, letting him hear Jack's voice telling him that everything would be all right, telling him to hold on, telling him that he'd be safe soon, whispering those words in his ear. Not-there arms made of hope and desperation and Ianto's own imagination – funny; he'd only had an imagination for names before, and nothing else, but now that he had nothing he had an imagination for everything – wrapped around his battered body, pulling him close, rocking him slowly.
Imagination, his mother had once said, would prove the death of him, and thus he had been given little creative outlet. Far better to know how to make the tea and coffee just exactly right for his employers. Far better to know precisely how to anticipate their reactions, their wants, their needs…
He was imagining again, and this time there was nobody to pull him out of this little world, safe, safe little world, safe little world that condensed down to Jack holding him tightly…
He didn't feel the zap of electricity, he didn't notice anything but that he was safe and warm and right where he should be.
Jack opened his eyes and snapped his head up, sudden pain echoing through his body.
So frighteningly lonely…