A/N - Check me out with the updates. This is to make up for taking so long with the last one.

Ianto was HARD to write. I don't particularly like him anyway, so writing him was hard... lol!

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Ianto said his goodbyes to Tosh before putting the phone down on his bedside table. He'd been laid on bed at least two hours, now, and had yet to close his eyes and actually attempt to get to sleep. He had a book in front of him, but he wasn't really paying attention to the words as his eyes scanned over. He read one paragraph four times before realising that he'd reread it, and even then couldn't remember the content of the paragraph.

He sighed and abandoned his attempt to read, lodging a bookmark into the page before closing the book and placing it on his bedside table. Everything was organised; the book sat on the edge, his phone next to it, and an alarm clock in the corner next to a lamp. Tomorrow's suit was folded neatly over a chair, today's clothes were nowhere to be seen, for they were already in the wash basket.

The one thing that Ianto had made sure remained constant. It was the same in the hub; despite the fact it was like an underground cave, nobody saw it but the team, he made sure everything went where it was supposed to, papers were filed neatly, the archive kept orderly. He worked behind the scenes, making sure everything was right and correct. He knew he was needed - a lot - but sometimes it felt like he was ignored, not counted as one of the team because he didn't work the same way they did.

Today, though, he'd seen the other side. The way they worked, and he'd been part of it. Part of the team.

And he hated it.

The way they'd all been so… comfortable. It probably wasn't the right word, but it was the only one he could think of. Owen hadn't stopped to feel sorry for the body in the wood; he'd quickly got to work, prodding and poking with his instruments. Tosh got on with trying to escape quickly, just… got on with the present. She didn't stop and think about the blood, the body parts. Gwen wasn't as bad as the others; it affected her. She wanted to know why. But she was still new, compared to them; give her a few months, and Ianto knew already that she wouldn't be quite the same anymore. It wouldn't show much, but she would change. And Jack, who'd saved the day, had jumped out the tractor and just fired. It was the look on Jack's face that had scared him more than anything. As if it didn't matter. They were only lives.

Ianto shook his head in a disturbed way. He couldn't get the thoughts that he'd almost died out of his mind, either. He raised a hand to feel his fingers across the soft skin of his neck; another movement, any pressure, and he'd have been split open, his blood spurting across the floor. All because of Torchwood. He could have a different job, a safer job; he could get it quite easily.

Yet he kept on going back. Ianto's eyes looked to the folded suit on his chair, waiting for morning to come when he'd slip it on and make his way to work, despite being told to have time off. He loved his job and he hated it. And because of that, he couldn't leave. It was his life now, the path he'd chosen.

Ianto slumped down and laid his head against the pillow. Some things, he just shouldn't think about.

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Sitting upright, the Welshman pressed his fists into his eyes before opening them slowly. His room, his bed. Perfectly safe.

He pulled the cover from over his body, shivering slightly as the cold air hit him. A glance at the clock told him he'd only been asleep three hours. So he padded to the cupboard, opening it and locating the sleeping pills somewhere near the front.

He always kept a supply at the ready. Not that he usually needed them; it was just best to be prepared.

Gulping down two pills, he closed the cupboard and went back to his bed, curling up under the still warm covers and awaiting the bliss of a dreamless sleep. No blood, no bits of bodies - quite plainly; sweet nothing.

And Ianto awaited it eagerly.