Day Seventeen

The alien attacks me from behind, the force expelling the breath from my lungs and knocking me to the ground. I twist as fast as I can, but only quickly enough to see death rushing towards me.

Again.

Body feels pressure, pushed downward and trapped. Eyes see teeth and tentacles and slime. Ears hear groans and grunts that shouldn't be heard on this planet. Nostrils fill with a rancid seaweed stench. I yell and wrench my neck away from dripping teeth. But it's no good, Jack is gone, there will be no rescue. Another sensation fills me as time slows to a halt. That eerie familiar calm, that knowing.

This is it.

That was the life of Ianto Jones.

Teeth pierce the skin of my neck.

A shot rings through the silence of the end of my life and time picks up pace as two hundred pounds of dead alien goo collapses over my still living corpse. A hand reaches through the mess and grasps mine pulling me to my feet.

The Glock makes a different sound from the Webley, fuller, deeper. The Webley, sharper, stronger. Never knew I'd be able to distinguish the sounds of different guns.

"You alright?" Cool fingers reach up to touch my neck. "Ianto, mate, are you alright?"

"Yes." My voice speaks but I'm not sure if it tells the truth. His fingers touch the spot where the teeth have pierced and I wince.

"I need to wash it out and it might need a stitch, but I think you'll be ok."

I expect a quip about my carelessness, but he just grabs my gun from the slime and hands it to me.

"At least this one doesn't need much clean up," he says. I look at the dark green gelatinous mess that was my attacker. And then a truly strange thing happens. Owen Harper reaches over a garden fence and grabs a hose. Death washes down the drain while Ianto Jones looks on.

Once I'm cleaned up - three stiches and a new suit - I pour two scotches from Jack's supply. It's been a habit for so long it seems strange not to do it, even if Jack isn't here. I sit on Jack's desk and Owen on his spare chair. Not on Jack's seat, not yet.

Owen looks at the brown liquid before taking a sip. I almost regret pouring it, I'm not sure what we're supposed to talk about, sitting here. I don't think Owen knows either. The silence is not comfortable.

There were two shots after the first one. Two shots when he was already dead. It was the first thing I did when we brought Jack's body back to the hub after the end of days - cleaned the blood off the hub floor. I can get blood out of any surface.

"Did you know he couldn't die?" I ask when I pour the second glass of scotch. I didn't mean to ask but the alcohol has loosened my tongue.

The old Owen would have hit back with a sarcastic comment, or an outright attack. This Owen I'm not so sure, all the fight is gone.

I'm surprised when he looks up at me, looks me directly in the eyes, "I suspected something," he says. His voice gruff and halting but his gaze is steady. "There's been times, lots of times, when he should have died, should have at least been hurt... With the cyber... I mean your girlfriend... With Lisa. You were out, but she electrocuted him Ianto. She did it twice. He should have died. And there were injuries - weevil bites… he just bounced back. Never even needed a stitch."

"But did you know?" I ask and it's suddenly very important. Is the man who saved my life today a murderer? I know he's done questionable things, I know he's not... right. But with that gun in his hand, did he know it wasn't forever?

And now he doesn't look at me, will not look at me and I know even before he says, "No, not for sure." His hands start to shake; I can see the liquid in the glass trembling. "He forgave me," Owen says and he looks at me again, eyes black, "He forgave me."

He forgave me too - doesn't make it right.

"I guess you got lucky," I say. I guess we all did.