A.N.: As per, I own nothing. All credit and rights belong to RTD, the BBC, and probably various other entities. I make no money. I do, however, LOVE reviews!

Blood and bruises covered Ianto's body, and it made Jack feel queasy, something that hadn't happened to him in a long time. It wasn't just the sight of the boy that made him ill, but the smell. Ianto smelled of copper and old wells and the sweet yet putrid stench of decomposing meat. Jack had seen and smelled much worse in his life, but this was different. This was Ianto.

It was at times like this that Jack remembered how young Ianto was, and it always shocked him that some one that young could also be so brave. 23 years old, and Ianto had almost sacrificed his life to save Tosh. 23, and he would have died if Jack had been a second slower. 23, barely out of his teens, and he'd all ready been through more than enough for one lifetime. He'd been through enough for a hundred.

When Jack was 23, so long ago he could barely remember it, he'd been out on the pull every night; his bruises had come from bar fights and childish duels. He'd seen war and death and destruction, and he'd dealt with it with sex and drinks and outbursts. Ianto had been through much the same, but he'd become a hero, so much faster than Jack had done.

There was something kindred between them, a kismet energy born from the tragedy and torment of their respective pasts. Jack had felt it almost from the moment they'd met, but the bond was made ever stronger once Ianto's secret was revealed. It was ironic that Ianto had lied to him, used him, betrayed his trust, and it only made Jack feel closer to the boy. Once the anger had subsided, and Jack had had time to think it through, he'd realized he would have done exactly the same thing, if it had been Grey in Lisa's position. And that made him ache for Ianto, in the same way he ached for himself.

Owen had checked him over and given the okay for him to go home, but Jack couldn't bear the idea of him being that far from the hub and its medical supplies. So, he'd dropped the rest of the team off at there homes, and taken Ianto with him. Jack had been helping Ianto remove his clothes when the nausea hit him. Seeing Ianto covered in all sorts of viscous fluids and smelling of old death made him sick.

"Let's get you into the shower," he said, fighting back the bile in his throat. Ianto complied readily enough, climbing into the stall with Jack's help, but he stayed quiet throughout. He hadn't said a word all the way home, and he silent as Jack gently washed the blood and stench from his body.

That was pretty normal, Jack assumed, after what Ianto had been through, although Jack couldn't really imagine what it had been like. From Tosh's account, Ianto had been brave, he'd been damned heroic, and he'd sacrificed himself to let Tosh escape. Then he'd been put through hell; he'd been beaten, cut, bitten, basically tortured, and he'd endured it alone. That was the part that sickened Jack the most; that Ianto had gone through all of that tied and gagged, with a bag over his head, and he'd been alone.

Jack simply couldn't imagine what kind evil fuckery could live inside a human being for that to happen, and he really couldn't imagine what living through something like that would do to a person.

As the water washed away the filth and the blood, and the true extent of Ianto's injuries became visible, Jack felt his nausea turning to rage. He'd seen Ianto naked before, back before Lisa, and he'd always thought that he was beautiful. He had smooth skin overlaying tight, young muscles, with a few scars that added character. Scars that Ianto always refused to talk about. Jack had assumed that a lot of them had come from Canary Wharf, though there were others that seemed older than that. The wounds he saw now were deep and ugly, sure to scar worse than some of the others, and Jack wished he didn't know where they'd come from. It made the anger worse, because it was directed at himself.

"I should have killed them," Jack said, as he wrapped a towel around Ianto's waist. "I shouldn't have listened to Gwen, I shouldn't have given a damn about her need to know. They deserved to die for what they did to you. They deserved to be brought back here where I could have tortured them slowly."

"No," Ianto said, surprising Jack both because he hadn't expected Ianto to speak, and because he'd been unaware that he'd spoken himself.

"No," Ianto said again, filling the silence. "You're better than they are. They're monsters, and you're better than that." He started shaking then, and he began to weep, something Jack knew he never would have done if Owen hadn't loaded him up on morphine. Jack held him, and whispered nonsense words into his hair, hoping against hope that Ianto wasn't hurting himself more with his wracking sobs.

When Ianto was finished, and a bit calmer, Jack helped him dress, and then moved him down to Jack's private room. He tucked Ianto into bed, and then climbed in after him, pulling the younger man onto his chest.

" Why are you staying with me, sir?" Ianto asked. "Owen-"

"Owen's a great doctor, but right now, you need a friend."

"We're friends, sir?"

"Of course," Jack said, the pain in Ianto's eyes breaking his heart. Ianto simply nodded, and Jack couldn't tell if he was agreeing or just acknowledging what Jack had said. Jack knew Ianto was still hurt and angry over Lisa, but he hoped that would pass in time.

There was something between them, a kismet energy forged from common catastrophe, and as Jack lie next to him, listening to Ianto's breathing, he hoped it was something they could build on. Ianto needed a friend, and, quite frankly, so did Jack.

He was almost asleep, these thoughts tripping through his head when Ianto said, "I wish I'd died today, Jack. At least then I would have died a hero."

Jack pulled him tighter, but he didn't answer. For the first time in a long while, Jack found himself speechless