3.

Strong hands grasped his wrists as he flailed, a deep voice cutting through the terror with calming tones, though he had no idea what the words were. Blind panic filled his thoughts: get up, get air. Breathe. With one great push and a curse, he shoved the body above him away, gratified to hear a heavy thump on the floor as he gasped for life-affirming air.

"Ianto?" asked Jack. " What the hell happened? What's wrong?"

Ianto slowly opened his eyes to find Jack standing next to the bed, rubbing his shoulder. Jack looked upset and scared, nothing like the dark vision who'd been strangling him moments earlier with a cold and distant smile on his face. Ianto stared at him, confused. Was it real? Had it happened?

His hands flew to his throat, feeling for bruises. Yet of course there was nothing; it had been another dream. Still, that didn't stop his body or his mind from reacting on instinct.

"Ianto?" Jack asked again, reaching out to touch him. Ianto stopped him, ignoring the look of hurt that crossed Jack's face. The other man held up his hands and stepped backward to give him space.

"Another nightmare?" Jack asked quietly.

Ianto nodded, letting his head fall into his hands. He couldn't talk about it yet.

"It was me, wasn't it?" Jack asked. "It was something to do with me."

Ianto nodded again, but didn't say anything more. The silence stretched long and uncomfortable between them. He heard Jack take a deep breath.

"I should go," he said, though his voice betrayed him, and it was clear he didn't want to leave. "I'll head to the Hub. You can come in when you're ready."

Ianto's head whipped up. "What? Why? I'm fine."

"You're not," Jack said gently, stepping closer. Ianto couldn't help but flinch again, and saw the flash of pain on Jack's face once more. "Get some more sleep. Come in for lunch if you feel up to it."

Ianto threw off the covers and stood up, angry at being patronized even though he knew Jack only meant well. "It's five in the morning, Jack," he snapped. "You're not going to work at five in the morning!"

If he had expected Jack to react with anger, he was surprised when Jack simply raised an eyebrow. "Why not? I have before. The Rift waits for no man," he offered with an attempt at a smile that fell flat. Ianto shook his head.

"I'm not going back to sleep," he said. It was true. There was no way he was going back to sleep after that dream. He needed a distraction more than anything, and lying in bed thinking about it was the worst thing he could do right now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Jack. "You were gasping and flailing like you were being smothered or something."

Ianto shuddered as he remembered the dream. He nodded as he began to pull on a pair of flannel pants and a long sleeve shirt. "I was," he replied. Jack began to get dressed as well.

"And yesterday morning?" he asked. "Same thing?"

Ianto stopped and stared at the floor. "Stabbed," he finally replied shortly. He couldn't meet Jack's eyes, but Jack came over anyway and very carefully touched his arm.

"Was it me then too?" he asked. Ianto couldn't reply, and knew his silence answered for him. Jack dropped his hand and blew out a long breath.

"Oh hell, I'm sorry," he started, and Ianto finally looked at him, saw the pain and regret in his face. "No wonder you pushed me away so hard."

"Sorry about that," Ianto murmured. "But yeah. Had to breathe."

"It wasn't real," Jack pointed out, almost sounding desperate. He was keeping his distance, but Ianto sensed how badly Jack wanted to touch him. "It wasn't me."

"I know that," Ianto said flatly. "At least, I think I do. But it felt so real." He let his eyes slip closed. "And absolutely terrifying."

"I would never hurt you," Jack insisted, his voice stronger. "You must believe me, I would never do those things!"

Ianto nodded but did not reply, and Jack's shoulders sagged.

"I should go, I'm only making this harder," he said, and turned to leave the room. Ianto forced himself to reach out and grab Jack's hand, because he knew if Jack left like this, it would only continue to get worse. They had to try and work through it now.

"Don't go," he said, his voice catching. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Please stay. I don't want it to…to be like this."

Jack nodded slowly. "Okay. How about some coffee, then? Unless you want to shower first?"

Ianto felt the same flare of panic as he had the previous morning and shook his head. He walked past Jack and toward the kitchen of his small flat, retreating into the familiar routine of the coffee ritual: setting the kettle to boil, grinding the beans. He waited in silence until the water was hot enough, then added it to the French press before finally turning to Jack.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Jack shook his head in surprise.

"What for?" he asked.

Ianto sighed and waved his hand in the air. "For making things so awkward."

Jack moved forward, paused just outside his personal boundaries and raised an eyebrow, as if asking permission. Ianto smiled and nodded, feeling slightly better out of his bedroom, and Jack wrapped his arms around Ianto's waist in a gesture that was familiar and comfortable.

"It was a bad dream," he said. "There's no reason to feel awkward about having a nightmare."

Ianto laughed nervously. "I keep dreaming that you're trying to kill me, Jack. That's definitely awkward in my book."

"Not in mine," Jack replied firmly. "We'll figure it out. Did it start yesterday?" he asked. Ianto nodded. "Did anything happen that might have triggered it?"

"Nothing that I can think of," Ianto replied. "I woke up yesterday convinced I'd been stabbed to death in the shower."

Jack nodded in understanding. "Which was why you left my room and avoided me all morning. And this time?"

"I was being strangled," Ianto whispered. "In bed." Closing his eyes, he laid his head on Jack's shoulder, hating the show of weakness but needing the comfort. He tensed and then relaxed as Jack rubbed slow circles across his back.

"I'm sorry," Jack whispered again. "It will never happen, I promise."

"I know," Ianto said, even though he doubted everything right now.

"Is it something…something I did?" Jack asked hesitantly. "That made you upset, maybe?"

Ianto laughed again, this time with a bitter touch. No, Jack hadn't done anything to hurt him, of course not. He'd been over protective and unusually affectionate over the last two weeks. After the wonderful dinner Jack had cooked for him, followed by a relaxing night at his flat, Ianto knew without question that his dreams were manifesting his fear of the future, not of something from the past. Jack would hurt him one day, there was little doubt. Not by stabbing him in the heart or choking him to death, but whatever happened would hurt him none-the-less.

"It's nothing like that," Ianto said. "For once."

It got a small smile from Jack, but a sad one. They were silent for a moment, and Ianto checked on the coffee, finding it almost ready. He took out two mugs and added some cream to Jack's, sugar to his own; they both drank it differently in the morning than during the day, when straight up black got them through long hours at Torchwood. Mornings were for enjoying a slow cup, though this morning had turned out anything but enjoyable.

Jack took his mug with a smile of thanks, then inclined his head toward the small table in Ianto's kitchen. They sat down, and though Ianto felt self-conscious, the other man looked thoughtful. Ianto wanted to reopen the conversation, but wasn't sure how to start.

"Are you afraid of me?" Jack asked abruptly, catching Ianto so completely off guard that he sipped too much too fast and gasped. When he'd cleared his throat, he answered honestly.

"I'm not, no. That's not it." Of course he wasn't going to admit the real issue to Jack, but then Jack surprised him yet again by seeing toward the heart of it himself.

"It represents something else," Jack suggested. "Maybe you're afraid that I might hurt you. And that's why you dreamed I was killing you."

Ianto shrugged. "Maybe," he said, then tried to diffuse the seriousness of it. "Or maybe it's all the late night eating we've been doing."

Jack stared at him until Ianto began to feel uncomfortable. Finally the other man set down his mug and leaned closer toward Ianto.

"When I was sent to Hell by the matchbox, it wasn't fire and brimstone, like the stories," he started. He glanced down at his hands and swallowed. "It was almost like real life, only the most terrible life possible. I saw things, and did things, that I never thought I'd see or do in my life, things so twisted and horrible—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "I know it wasn't real, but it felt like it. It was my own personal version of everything that could possibly go wrong. But even then, it was so strange and bizarre, that looking back I can see it wasn't really about who I killed or who you—" He stopped again. "It was about something else, other things I worry about, even fear."

Ianto was confused. Jack had not talked about what had happened after the matchbox had whipped him away. He'd only said it had felt like he'd been gone for years, that he'd been alone for most of them, and—in his typical deflective fashion—that it had been harder than the typical day at the office. It had taken Jack several days to settle back into his own life and into their sort-of relationship, tentative at first, then affectionate and almost clingy. Ianto assumed something had happened that had rattled Jack, and that being Jack, he would probably never share what it was. Which Ianto understood, because things like that were sometimes far too personal, and Ianto wasn't big on sharing either.

That Jack had shared something about his experience meant a lot to Ianto, though he wasn't sure he understood why Jack had told him now.

"So you think," he started slowly, "that maybe I'm in my own personal version of Hell? That none of this is real?"

"No!" Jack exclaimed, reaching for his hand. "Of course not. It only happens when you're asleep, right?"

"Right. And I'm assuming the matchbox is locked up in the Secure Archive," Ianto replied, but now that the idea was out there, he found that he was worried about it being possible. The lines between dreams and reality felt suddenly blurred and uncertain.

"Yes," said Jack with certainty. "And I'll double check when I go in. What I'm trying to say is…my subconscious cooked up some strange stuff, things I don't want to think about, but I know that it was a reflection of other things that I…well, things that I probably need to work through."

"The meaning in the metaphor," Ianto sighed, letting his head fall forward. It was embarrassing, really, to be having this conversation with Jack of all people. He was the one involved, after all, and Ianto did not like the feeling of exposure or vulnerability admitting such things created. And on top of it all, it reignited his fear that if Jack knew anything about how Ianto felt regarding their relationship, it would be over almost immediately.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Jack said earnestly. "In any way. And I wish I could convince you so you don't have another one of these dreams."

"I'm not sure you could if you tried," Ianto said without thinking. It was as if he'd slapped Jack in the face. He sat back in his chair, his face closed and sad. Ianto tried to backtrack, hoping it wasn't too late. "But I don't mean it like it sounds. As the cliché goes, it's not you, but me. It's the things I think about and worry about and need to…well, as you said, need to work on."

Jack was gazing down into his coffee mug with a funny smile on his face. "Jack?" Ianto asked, wondering what was going through the other man's mind, but knowing Jack would probably keep it to himself, as Ianto was leaving so much unsaid.

"Sorry," said Jack, looking back up. "I was thinking about the things I saw in Hell, wondering if maybe we need to work on similar issues."

"Oh." Ianto didn't know what to say; it was more than he'd ever expected as far as admissions went from Jack, though he wasn't entirely sure he knew what Jack was admitting. If Ianto was struggling with these dreams because of his feelings for Jack and his innermost fears of the future, did that mean Jack had gone through something similar in Hell? Was that why he'd come back rattled but attentive?

Ianto's first thought was that it was selfish to think that Jack's issues had anything to do with him. Jack had lived for decades, had probably been in dozens of relationships. He could be struggling with his feelings for any of them; it could even be Gwen that Jack was indirectly referring to, although Ianto hoped that even Jack wasn't so insensitive, in spite of his very public confrontation with Gwen after her fiancé had been shot.

Whatever Jack was referring to, the rare admission meant he too was working through things, and Ianto could understand that. In his own way, Jack was offering support, and Ianto would always offer his in return. The problem was that neither one of them tended to talk much, which made supporting one another a challenge. Still, they had to try.

Ianto reached across the table and clasped Jack's hand. He felt the pressure returned and offered a tentative smile. "Maybe we do," Ianto replied.

Jack smiled back. "And maybe together would make it easier."

Together. It was a word that was terrifying in all its various connotations, but Ianto pushed the fear aside and nodded. They were together, for now, and he would treasure that for as long as he had.


They were obviously the first ones at the Hub that morning, and would be for a while. Ianto checked the computers for any unusual readings, noting another small Riftquake. No Weevils, though, and no odd calls to local law enforcement. After making some coffee and this time taking it to Jack, which earned him a long and deep kiss, Ianto decided he couldn't put it off any longer: he needed to finish the cleanup in the Archives.

He wasn't even sure why he was no nervous about it. It wasn't as if either of his dreams had taken place in the Archives, nor had any other traumatic events. He needed to get over his nerves and get the job done.

Tosh called down midmorning and asked if he wouldn't mind making some coffee, as well as helping with more tests on the cube he'd found in the Archives the other night. When he got upstairs, he saw that more squares were lit up, all pulsating a deep purple color. The problem was that Tosh couldn't find any readings whatsoever indicating whether it was dangerous.

"I can't tell you whether it's going to explode or start playing show tunes," she said, sounding frustrated. "It's obviously doing something, and the scanners are telling me there's some sort of activity in there, but either we can't read what it is, or it's too heavily shielded."

"It was tagged as a weapon," Ianto pointed out. "So shielding would make sense. Have you tried taking it apart?"

She gave him a withering look, and he held up his hands with a grin. "Of course you have. What's the problem? Radiation?"

"Not at all," she said. "I can't get in."

"What?" asked Ianto. Nothing ever stumped Tosh.

"I've tried everything I can think of short of smashing it with a hammer to get inside, and I can't. It's very frustrating," she added, though it was obvious how she felt about it. He patted her on the shoulder.

"It's the nature of the job," he told her, and they shared a smile. "So how can I help?"

"I know it's a long shot, but I was wondering if there was any other information you could dig up in the archives on it," she said. "On Xrillians, on how it was found, anything, even artifacts that look remotely similar. I'm stuck, Ianto, and I want to be sure it's not dangerous considering how it keeps changing."

Ianto nodded. "I'll do my best. There was nothing with it other than the tag, and I don't recall seeing anything on Xrillians since I started here, but maybe if I dig around in the files from when it was found I'll find something."

"Brilliant," she said, clapping her hands. "And I'm going to take a look at some Rift data from the quakes that I've been meaning to run through. I'll come back to it later with fresh eyes and anything you come up with."

Ianto turned to leave, then stopped as he had a thought. "Tosh, I found it cleaning up the archives after the Riftquake on Monday. That's when I noticed it had changed color. Could the Rift itself have had something to do with it, as opposed to the fall?"

She glanced up from her computer and pushed her glasses on her head. "Ianto! That's brilliant! Of course it could have. I assumed it was triggered falling off the shelf."

"So did I," Ianto admitted. "But maybe looking at the Rift data will give you some ideas for something else to look for."

"You're amazing," she said, eagerly turning back to her computers, then glanced over her shoulder and winked. "No wonder Jack likes you so much."

Ianto stared at her for a moment, wondering where that statement had come from, then abruptly turned on his heel and left, hoping she hadn't seen him blush. He had no idea what Tosh was thinking about him and Jack, but knowing she was thinking anything left him slightly flustered. Yes, she was his friend, but this thing with Jack was still so new, and rather confusing, and definitely something he wanted to keep to himself. Bad enough Gwen and Owen had both given him a hard time about it (playing for both teams? Really?) but for Tosh to start seeing something Ianto wasn't even sure existed made it that much harder.

Heading toward the basement, he decided he'd finish with the rest of the fallen artifacts, then get started on the research for Tosh after lunch. Maybe the cube would provide him with the distraction he needed, a puzzle for his jumbled thoughts.


Author's Note:

Thank you for reading! I'm hoping to post another update this weekend, but real life may get in the way, we'll see. As the next few chapters are mostly complete, it won't be that long, never fear!