Timeline: The night before Day 1, CoE.
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The wind shrieked across the bay, tugging at the hems of their coats and biting through to the skin beneath. Gwen had encouraged them both to go home early, insisting that Rhys was working overtime. Actually bullied was probably a better word than encouraged. Gwen and Ianto had become close friends since the evening they'd spent locked in the Hub with Daleks outside. And she'd become as protective of his 'real life' as Jack was of hers. She made sure they had time out of the Hub together. And it helped.
"Lousy night," Jack commented. "Do you want to grab something to eat, or just go straight home?"
"Home," Ianto decided. "We could get takeaway though, if you want."
"Nah," Jack said, with an attempt at casualness. "If we're eating in, I'll cook."
Ianto tried not to smile. Ever since Jack had worked out how to produce a good cup of coffee from the machine at home, he'd become a tad obsessed about mastering the rest of the kitchen. His culinary style was wildly experimental, frequently successful, but always incredibly messy. And, as at the Hub, he didn't seem to consider it necessary to clean up after himself.
"You cooked last time," Ianto answered, hoping to save himself a few hours of cleaning. "Must be my turn."
"It's OK," Jack said, obviously thinking he was being generous. "I don't mind."
"But Jack…" only he'd run out of excuses that wouldn't be offensive.
"Don't you like my cooking?" Jack asked in an injured tone.
"Your cooking's fine," Ianto answered. "You can cook every night, as far as I'm concerned, if you'd just consider cleaning up afterwards." There, it was out.
And of course Jack was offended. The SUV roared as he took his injured feelings out on the accelerator.
"I'd be happy to clean up," Jack said grumpily. "But what's the point when I know you'll only sneak back in and do it all again anyway?"
"I don't!" Ianto exclaimed.
Jack laughed, injured feelings soothed by the knowledge he'd the point. "Oh yes you do. The first time I cooked, you snuck out of bed when you thought I was asleep and redid all the bench-tops. I saw you."
"You used the wrong cleanser," Ianto protested weakly. But he knew he'd lost.
"Gotcha," Jack said smugly. "But," he added, as the SUV pulled into its space under their building. "Since you're feeling competitive…First one through the door cooks dinner." And with that, he vaulted out of the SUV and sped towards the lift.
"You're such a child, Jack," Ianto snapped at the retreating figure. But he ran after him anyway, unable to resist the challenge. Unable to resist any of Jack's games, to be honest, however hard he tried to fake disapproval. And he was in luck, because although Jack reached the lift well first, his elevator must have had to stop at other floors. Ianto arrived on their floor first and charged towards their door, feeling triumphant and ridiculous at the same time. Which he had to admit was becoming a fairly usual state of mind since Jack had moved in. And he wouldn't change a minute of it.
But of course Jack cheated. The other lift chimed as it opened, a long leg flew forward and tripped him, and they rolled along the hallway in a struggling tangle of limbs.
Ianto grasped the door handle, shoved his key in and twisted. "I win," he announced, victoriously. Jack was still hanging off his legs. "I don't care about winning," Jack said, a wicked grin on his face. "As long as I get a chance to grapple with you in public." He swept his own legs around, knocking Ianto off his feet. Ianto landed solidly on top of him and Jack proceeded to make the most of it. At which point there was the sound of someone clearing his throat. Loudly.
"You're home then, boys? And you nearly made it all the way through the door tonight. You're improving." Their elderly neighbor was standing in his doorway, watching them with a smile that creased his wrinkled face further.
"Good evening, Mr Williams," Ianto said, getting hurriedly to his feet.
Jack rose in a much more leisurely fashion. "I lost again, Bob," he said cheerfully.
"And he cheated," Ianto added. "He tripped me."
"I saw, lads, I saw. Highlight of my evening, you boys coming home. When you come home. Always something entertaining. Have you got plans for tonight?" He chuckled. "Apart from the obvious."
"Nothing that can't wait," Ianto assured him, ordering himself not to blush.
Bob sighed, the smile dropping from his face. "I cooked twice again," he told them. "You know how I get sometimes. Forgot I'd done it and started over. Would you both come and help me eat it all?"
"We'd love to," Jack agreed. He'd grown very fond of the old man who lived next door. Ianto had always kept an eye on him, but prior to Jack moving in it had been more out of a sense of duty that friendship. Torchwood duty. The old man had picked up an alien hitchhiker, which was living happily in his abdomen. It would have to be retrieved one day. No rush. It was a benevolent parasite, more helpful than harmful. It fed off intestinal flora and excreted endorphins. It made Bob Williams a happy man. When he remembered to be.
Unfortunately, he was also a victim of early stage Alzheimer', which accounted for his habit of cooking multiple meals through the day. On the other hand, he was a good cook, so it was no hardship helping him deal with the results. They ate at Bob's place at least once a week. Ianto had learnt to treasure these evenings, because they were one of the rare occasions outside of Torchwood when Jack was able to relax the guard he kept on his tongue. It never occurred to Bob's wandering mind to question how his young friend could remember events from sixty years ago. And no one would have believed him if he repeated Jack's stories anyway.
Ianto left the two of them to reminisce about times before he'd been born. He smiled contentedly at the soft laughter that followed him as he prowled through the flat. As he did whenever they visited, he searched for extra meals or anything else out of place, discreetly addressing anything that could prove hazardous to the health. He carefully timed his searches to end when the conversation flagged.
"What was the tally tonight?" Jack asked, as they let themselves back into their own flat.
"Casserole under the bed. Milk in the cupboard. Electric razor left on," Ianto responded. "It's been worse. How was he tonight?"
"A bit odd," Jack said thoughtfully. "He seemed to want to dwell on the darker places tonight. He got upset a time or two, a bit stressed."
"I noticed," Ianto agreed. He hesitated, not sure whether to mention the rest. "Um, you too, I thought."
"Yeah," Jack admitted. No point denying it. Ianto always picked up on it when he was uneasy. "Some of the stuff he brought up reminded me of…things I don't want to remember."
Ianto waited, giving him the chance to elaborate. The shadows of Jack's past drifted through their lives regularly, and it was easier on both of them if Jack volunteered information instead of having Ianto try to drag it out of him. The silence stretched on. Not this time, then.
"I switched Bob's bedroom monitor on," Ianto said finally, as if there'd been no delay. "We'll know if anything happens." Bob's security system sent a feed through to the terminal in their flat. Torchwood's CCTV extended beyond the Hub. Just in case Bob's hitchhiker got restless.
"It's an amazing co-incidence," Jack commented. "How you always manage to finish cleaning up after Bob just when we run out of things to talk about. Never while we're still talking."
Ianto smiled. "He's good for you," he said simply. "You relax when we're at his place. Usually."
"I like him," Jack agreed. He noticed the winking light on their landline. "Messages."
Ianto scrolled through the display. "Rhiannon," he announced. "I had to cancel dinner again. She'll want to reschedule." He picked up the handset, frowning in thought. "You've got that phone conference with the Prime Minister one night this week, haven't you? I could go and see her then."
"Wednesday," Jack confirmed. "But I thought you were sitting in."
"Priorities, Jack," Ianto said absently.
"Dinner with your sister is more important than the Prime Minister, is it?" Jack teased.
Ianto looked up at him. "It is to me. You know I want a chance to talk to her before she meets you." He looked away. "I thought it was important to you too. Guess I was wrong."
"I didn't mean it like that," Jack protested. "I hate phone conferences when you aren't there. I get bored. And my notes never make as much sense as yours. Oh, all right, Wednesday then. Go on, call her. Tell her the boss says Hi."
Ianto punched in her number. "Why don't you say Hi yourself?" he asked innocently.
"No," Jack said, a note of panic in his voice. "Not yet. She doesn't know who I am yet."
"Gotcha," Ianto said gleefully. Jack was eager to meet his sister and nervous about it, in approximately equal proportions.
Jack glowered briefly. "You're gonna regret that," he warned, and proceeded to make the phone call rather awkward via a series of unexpected gropes that lasted until Ianto slammed the handset down. Which led to an extended shower and an early bedtime.
Ianto was sleeping the sleep of the exhausted. Jack liked watching him sleep, even though it earned him a scolding when Ianto caught him watching. 'Sleep stalking' he called it. Wonder what he'd say if he knew the rest? Jack leaned down to break his promise – again. He pressed his lips against his lover's temple and whispered the "I love you," Ianto never allowed him to say. You're a sap, Harkness.
Ianto hadn't so much as twitched in his sleep. I really wore him out, Jack thought with amusement. But as much as they'd both enjoyed the process, Jack knew he'd kept his lover awake for the most selfish of reasons. He could feel nightmares waiting tonight. Torchwood's Captain was afraid to go to sleep. Talking with Bob Williams had taken Jack back to years he didn't want to remember. To one year. With twelve children.
No, he didn't want to sleep tonight. Those memories, those nightmares could wait. Wait for ever. The past couldn't be undone. Jack slid out of the bed, taking care not to disturb Ianto, and prowled into the lounge room, searching the DVD collection for a distraction.
Ianto had become used to Jack leaving the bed during the night and moving around in the flat. Jack really didn't need much sleep and Ianto much preferred to have him out there keeping himself occupied. He'd lost count of the times he'd woken to the sense of being watched, only to find Jack's face inches from his. Watching his nostrils move, had been one excuse. Or counting how many times his eyes moved beneath their lids. Stalker. Sleep stalker.
So the sounds of someone moving around in their flat no longer triggered any alarms in his subconscious. But tonight his mind swam groggily to the surface. These noises were different. Wrong. They were the sounds of pain. Ianto woke and followed the cries to the couch, sympathy and concern warring with annoyance. Because Jack must have known there was a nightmare coming, and crept away to hide it from him. Again. And he'd fallen asleep sitting up on the sofa. With the TV on. Infomercials. Jangling noise that wouldn't help matters in the least. Ianto turned the TV off and tried to break Jack out of the grip of the nightmare.
This was bad. Nothing was working. He couldn't wake him up.
"Come back," Jack muttered, thrashing in his sleep. Ianto dodged another blow from Jack's fists and tried once again to shake him awake. He'd already been hit twice.
"Jack? Jack? Wake up. It's me. I'm here."
Usually the sound of Ianto's voice was enough to bring Jack out of his nightmares, or at least calm him. But this time it actually seemed to make things worse. Jack flinched away, still asleep, face twisted with grief. "Forgive me," he mumbled.
Ianto seriously considered the 'glass of water in the face' option. Even though Jack had sulked for two days the first and only time he'd used that one. But he was running out of ideas. Talking was making it worse, shaking was having no effect. He'd even tried tickling, for goodness sake.
"Please come back," Jack moaned again. Arms windmilling, as if he was running. Running after something, or running away? One flailing arm connected with Ianto's shoulder, knocking him backwards. Third time lucky. He'd have a bruise tomorrow. But he didn't even consider trying to pin down Jack's arms. He knew from experience that would only trigger more nightmares. Take him straight back to the year hanging from handcuffs in the Valiant.
Ianto listened for a while as he considered his options. Definitely not the Valiant tonight. He never asked his torturers to come back, or begged for their forgiveness.
"Come back. Don't go. I'm sorry…I'm sorry. Forgive me." His voice was increasing in volume.
Desperate measures, Ianto thought. Could earn me a black eye, but I can't bear to listen to this anymore. He dived under the flailing arms and grabbed Jack tightly, getting his own arms as far around him as he could. Jack's arms thumped into his back painfully a time or two, fell limp, then closed around him in a desperate grip. Ianto sighed with relief. He was awake.
"Hey," he said softly, pulling back just enough to look into Jack's face. "That was a bad one."
"I noticed," Jack answered shakily.
"Why'd you come out here?"
"Didn't want to wake you," Jack answered.
"Didn't work," Ianto responded. "Now I'm awake and cold too. It's bloody freezing out here." He sighed. "Water?" Their usual post-nightmare routine. He wasn't really offering to get Jack a drink. He was offering him a chance to be alone. And something in him broke whenever Jack chose the alone.
"Stay with me." Jack said, answering the real question. He moved his head along Ianto's chest until he could feel the reassuring thud of a heartbeat beneath his ear. Somehow that sound helped bring his breathing back under control, helped calm his mind. Ianto tugged a blanket free from the back of the couch and draped it over both of them. Better.
"Not the Valiant," Ianto commented, running a gentle hand through Jack's hair.
"Not the Valiant," Jack agreed. The children. Twelve children. I sent them into hell.
"Do you want to tell me?" An offer, not a demand. Ianto never pushed. Sometimes talking helped, sometimes it didn't. His choice. No pressure. Why did that make it harder to keep the secrets inside?
"I want to," Jack answered, "But I….I don't know if I can."
"I might be able to help," Ianto said softly. "You used to say I helped. That I kept the nightmares away. Guess that was just pillow talk, huh?"
"No," Jack pushed himself upright so that he could see Ianto's face. "You do help. But maybe not with these ones." He paused, fighting to get the words out. "You're in them."
"Don't like the sound of that," Ianto said calmly. "I don't mind being in your dreams, of course," which earned him a weak smile. "But exactly what am I doing in your nightmares?"
Jack rubbed a hand over his face. "Watching…..Watching me…..and leaving…."
"Whatever it is," Ianto said firmly. "I will forgive you. I will."
"You offering blanket forgiveness?" Jack asked, trying to get his normal tone back. "That could be handy." But it was helping. Giving him hope. Ianto might once have seen Jack the same way Gwen did, the hero, the enigma. But the façade was gone now. He didn't need it, didn't want it. Ianto knew that Jack was as weak and human as anyone else. He'd held him through nightmares and death and resurrection. Maybe he would understand, after all. Maybe he would forgive. And if he forgives me, maybe then I'll be able to forgive myself.
"You forgave me," Ianto responded. He choked over the next sentence. So hard to talk about, still. "You forgave me for hiding a cyberwoman in the basement." The words felt like razors dragging along his throat. It still hurt. Brought back the rats. His stomach clenched. "Seems like I owe you a large chunk of forgiveness. If you trust me enough to tell me what I'm supposed to forgive you for."
"You know I trust you," Jack told him. "But…I'm….I wasn't always the way I am now. And I….." He broke off. How do I even say this? I brokered an alien abduction, but it was OK because it was just kids no-one wanted. It was OK, because I was just a heartless bastard then?
He stopped again. And tried again. "I did things. Things I wouldn't do now…." His heart hammered. The Ianto in his nightmare had looked at him with such disgust, turned away…..and gone after the children. Gone to the 456. They'd taken him, too. "I'm different now…."
"Stop," Ianto said calmly. "Breathe. You don't have to tell me anything. Or you can tell me everything. Except that," he cautioned, brushing an admonitory finger over Jack's mouth.
Jack smiled. "You're getting the don'ts out before I even get to say it. Unfair tactics." He was being managed, and he was grateful.
"Can we go back to bed though? I'm bloody freezing out here."
Jack smiled. He's not cold. He's giving me the chance to get my head straight. He's amazing. I can tell him. I will tell him.
And with faultless Torchwood timing, an alarm rang.
Jack leapt up. Ianto swore. Lousy bloody timing. But there was only one thing it could be. He snatched for the phone before Jack had even reached the monitor.
"It's Bob," Jack said. "I knew he wasn't right tonight."
Ianto was already talking to the emergency operator.
"I'll go to him," Jack announced, heading for the door. Wearing only the boxers he'd slept in.
Ianto covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Clothes!" he hissed. Jack looked back, startled, then laughed shakily and headed for the bedroom. Still too shaken from the nightmare to notice a minor detail like being undressed. Concern for their neighbor warred with frustration. Whatever had triggered that dream, it was bad, and Jack had been so close to talking about it.
The ambulance was on its way. Ianto dressed hurriedly gathered some items from the kitchen. He hoped Bob would be all right, but it was best to be prepared. He looked at the items in his hands. Lazer saw, tongs and Tupperware. Hope they weren't needed.
They started resuscitation while waiting for the ambulance. Ianto on heart massage, Jack on respiration. Intent on helping their neighbor, their friend. All thoughts of nightmares and secrets and revelations gone from their minds.
Torchwood wins over real life. Again.