A/N: Longer chapter this time. I warn you, it's pretty grim, but I think you'll be happy with its end. I'm so tired right now, it's 1.05 am, but I needed to get this out. I think I'm better with emotion-based stuff - I didn't feel so confident writing action last time. Thank you to all who have reviewed thus far and who have stuck with the story. You guys who've got this on alert, but haven't reviewed - do review. I'd love to hear from you. Anyways, enough of me. Enjoy.


Anxiety tugged at her body as she watched the CCTV feed of the door.

It was a fairly standard door for the Basement – steel, heavy-duty, dead-locked, on a swinging-outward hinge. Typical, really. She walked past, through, and out of many exact replicas every day. She slept behind one, when they found time to be quiet and still, curled around Learner's cold body. Peaceful.

No, it was not the door which made her anxious.

It was the fact that Learner had password-protected the CCTV feeds behind the door, leaving her with one grainy view of the outside. It was the strange sounds she could just barely hear coming from the room – too quiet to distinguish as any emotion, but too loud to ignore – and it was the very constant, unchanging nature of the door itself. Not the door.

The way the door just stood there, staring at her.

Cath sighed, swinging her legs up onto the desk and staring at the thick black bands she'd had tattooed around them. And they were so close to getting Ianto, too. Time just had to run in this god-forsaken manner so that this would be a turning point. A turning point – a point at which, in time, an important decision, or event, occurs, which has the ability to change the path of the future.

Rubbing her eyes, she blinked a few times, vision blurring. She couldn't sleep, not yet. She had to see them come out. She had to be here – and awake – when Learner let her see what he was seeing inside that room.

Catharine felt a cold hand on her shoulder, smoothing out the tension balled up in her shoulders effortlessly. She sighed gratefully, not needing to open her eyes to know it was Learner. He hummed as he typed with his free hand; Cath opened one eye to see him typing in a password to the CCTV feeds.

He looked at her stoically, with a hint of sadness.

She quirked an eyebrow, "That bad?"

Now it was his turn to sigh, and he nodded, "The password was 'password', by the way."

Cath and Learner linked hands, and watched.


Some time earlier…

How had his life been reduced to such a colossal sack of shit?

He was Learner. This was meant to be a human problem; he could deal with death, and blood, and loss, and cold, hard metal. He was an expert on all of the above.

But jealously was foreign to Learner, and he couldn't help thinking maybe he needed to stop changing himself into a human for a nice solid while. Somewhere along the line, something must have gone awry – had some of his genes remained human, or had the line between human and Umbreyta blurred so much that his body couldn't tell the difference?

He didn't know. All he knew was that he was nursing a killer headache and really needed to get some sleep.

The Basement hadn't always been this busy. Most of the time he could just tinker about with the heavy machinery, check on the semi-failed resurrection attempts, fool around with his semi-human girlfriend and maybe deflect some serious alien threats. Or at least, direct them Torchwood's way if he couldn't be bothered.

But no. They just had to get greedy and wish for Ianto Jones' death. Then they got him, and he was there and alive and alien, and just had to test it earlier than they had with any other successful candidates.

Potential Officials generally broke down at their first test – and generally their first test was much later than this. Months later than the injection. Here they were, casually throwing a raw Official into a locked room with their ex-lover, expecting him not to rip him in two.

This was where the Rift liked to give them the wrong instructions. The damn thing was just like the TARDIS, always talking. Yes, that's right, Learner thought bitterly, the Officials take orders not from the Government, or the Queen; they take orders from the Rift. Time-space energy

which talks. Well, not talks, so to speak. Officials could hear it, and anyone with base-level psychic training or a natural flair. The Rift operated on a different plane to others, and Officials – existing on two planes, Learner thought smugly, thanks to his ingenious injection – had their minds opened to this plane, for ease of instruction.

Not that it wasn't annoying. Learner's head slumped for a second and there the Rift was, prodding at his consciousness. Oi, it said. Not yet. Watch.

He winced as he wrenched his head back upright and looked at the screen. Brutal. He'd long muted the sound – some things Learner could deal with; the strange ability of humans to attack one another with such ferocity was one thing he could not.

Soon he'd have to let Cath see the outcome of the first test. He scowled. She was always leching over new recruits, always leaving him behind – until the next time one failed, and she'd slink back, all warm body and warmer apologies.

Again, Learner wondered how his life had been reduced to such a colossal sack of shit, and came up with no answer.


The darkness in the room was insistent, and the floor was wet, and Jack was all too conscious of why.

This creature was not – could not be – Ianto. This creature had happily spent its time picking Jack apart, piece by piece, spilling his blood to and fro. This creature had cocked its head at his screams of agony and looked at him with Ianto's face and smiled in that lopsided way that made it that. much. worse.

He noted that it was quite cold, and that his skin was healing up quite nicely. He'd managed to pull his ripped shirt back on, and his broken arm lay limply at his side, where he'd set the bones – it was no use it healing up quickly if it healed up wrong and he had to break it again.

Jack spat to his side, and smiled. No blood this time. That explained why he didn't have teeth missing anymore, thrown out of his skull by fists of iron.

He'd known there would be necessary sacrifice. He'd known it would be hard.

He'd not known it'd be this damn hard and just how much he'd have to sacrifice. If he'd known he was going to be bathed in darkness for what felt like days, be tortured by someone in the body of his lover, and then sit for yet more days afterwards healing up in the cold, well…

…he probably still would have bothered, honestly.

Some would say he was a glutton for punishment, and Jack would have to agree most enthusiastically – and the other kind of punishment, actually, he thought smugly – that they were certainly correct. He wondered whether this was his punishment for hundreds of years of not caring, or thinking, or loving. And if it was, he was glad for it. It was like his mind was open again.

No, fuck that – Jack Harkness was enlightened, baby.

Because lying in that insistently dark room, on the wet floor, in the cold, he had a sleeping Welshman clutched to his battered and bruised chest, his breath whistling quietly in and out, face peaceful, if spattered with…well, not the best thing to be spattered with, in Jack's opinion.

This sleeping Welshman was oh-so-warm, and oh-so-responsive to Jack's tiny kisses and squeezes, that he felt that all the punishment, all the pain, and all the mental anguish had all been worth it.

Because when you're lying in an insistently dark room, on a wet floor, in the cold…

…the person clutched to your chest is somehow (rightly) the whole world.


God, Cath thought. That is grim.

"How did we end up getting mixed up with their fucked-up love-lives, Learner? I thought the Officials were meant to be saviors of the world, or something like that."

Learner snorted, staring at Cath snidely, "Cath, this – and by 'this', I mean 'they' – are pretty much the prerequisite of what we do. The Rift thinks it's important, so does the Doctor – that's who we take orders from."

Cath sunk into a chair, staring at the screen in front of her, upon which she'd watched Learner's playback of Jack and Ianto's…reunion, and was now watching their silence. She openly wished Learner had not shown her what Ianto had done – it felt like trespassing on something private. She hoped no-one watched footage of her when she was like that; it was not a conscious state, it was instinct, adrenaline; not a real decision; she had no choice. Only when Ianto had tired out, ran out of adrenaline and keeled over, onto the healing Jack, was he really himself. The monster who had tortured his lover for entertainment was not Ianto Jones – it was the other part of him the Officials had created.

"I think maybe we went wrong here, Learner. Maybe we should have left him alone."

Suddenly, Learner's hands were around her wrists, gripping them painfully, and his alien face was right in front of hers, eyes angry. He hissed angrily, his nails biting into her flesh.

"Agent Catharine. We have worked too damn hard on Ianto Jones to let him go after this display. This was the first test and he passed – he only stopped the attack when he ran out of energy, which was far later than any other agent we've ever had. Including you. Now, love you as I do, I accept you may think that we went wrong, but you are human and soft. Don't lose your ruthlessness now – we have a fight on our hands."

Cath barely dared breathe as he moved closer, pressing his body to hers. She half expected an attack – at the very least a slap – and she tensed her body in preparation, but suddenly Learner was kissing her softer than he ever had before, hands relaxing their grasp on her wrists and coming up to cup her face gently. He pulled away, and swiped a thumb over her lips; she could feel her pulse there, pounding a hundred miles an hour.

"You're mine, Cath. No matter how many times you think you've found someone else, remember you're mine, and I'm yours."

And somehow, as he pushed off her and walked out, Cath couldn't help thinking that even when he had her backed against a cold, hard wall, there was always something gentle in the way he looked at her.


Ianto stirred, eventually.

Jack wondered at how long Ianto had managed to keep hurting him before collapsing onto his aching, bleeding body, and wondered yet more at how long Ianto had slept for afterwards.

He enjoyed the sensation of Ianto lying on his chest more than he'd like to let on. He tried to tell himself that it was just happiness at having one of his own back to the fold; that it was just joy at not having to find a new Torchwood member. It wasn't and he knew it. His feelings for Ianto were damn complicated and truth be told they frightened him. The fact that the Welshman was so capable of ripping him to shreds didn't change them, or lessen them at all.

And suddenly Jack was wrenched out of his musings by Ianto pushing himself up and off Jack and backing away so quickly Jack's eyes could barely track him. There was fear in the other man's eyes as he looked at the blood staining the walls and floor, and realized it wasn't his. Jack was expecting him to faint, or something, but Ianto merely backed right up against the wall furthest from Jack, and spoke.

"…you…didn't fight me. You didn't even try to defend yourself."

"No. I didn't."

Ianto slid down the wall with a strange humph! of breath exiting his body. Jack made to move towards him, but Ianto held up a hand.

"Jack…keep your distance, okay? I…don't want to do something I regret."

The double meaning of Ianto's words did not escape Jack, and so he slumped down the wall opposite Ianto and stared at him.

"Ianto. What did they do to you?"

A shrug, "I guess a lot. But I'm alive, aren't I?"

The casual despondency brought a wry smile to Jack's lips, and he laughed easily, folding his arms, "That you are. And I'm glad."

Ianto chose to ignore that statement and focus on the warm laugh and quiet smile; that he could hold onto, could use as a speck of light in all his darkness. He tried desperately not to look at Jack's blood on his hands. Here was a man who had held him through his last moments and died with him. He hadn't stayed dead; then again, neither had Ianto. But Ianto had spent his last breaths thinking of what he could say that would matter, that would count, and he'd spilt his heart – only to hear no real reply.

All he'd wanted were three little words, in the end. But clearly Jack couldn't give them to him. He wanted to ask why, but couldn't find any words that didn't make him sound like a twat. Here he was, upset about not hearing 'I love you' when he'd just spent hours upon hours torturing Jack, making him scream in the worst way possible. He could remember the feel of Jack's tense flesh under his nails, the sound of roars ripped from the older man's throat…he shuddered, curled inwards against the wall, clasping his arms around his legs for warmth. He noticed Jack getting up to come and put an arm around him, and stared at him until he halted. Jack looked disbelieving.

"Oh, come on Ianto…It's freezing in here."

"I'm telling you no. You know I can't."

With a sigh and a gritting of his teeth, Jack sat back down, arms folded and legs outstretched, "Can't what? Can't get close again?"

"Can't trust myself not to hurt you again. I don't know if I've got myself under wraps."

The hairs on the back of Jack's neck stood up at that calm, resigned tone, and the matter-of-fact way Ianto could refer to his torture. A memory of it sparked in his mind, and he winced. The worst part of it was that he hadn't died. Dying he could cope with, but the torture was just pain for hours and hours.

He preferred blackness to the blinding red pain of his memories.

"I meant it, you know. What I said in Thames House. That was what I wanted you to remember about me."

Jack raised an eyebrow, "Sorry, you caught me off guard there. What?"

Ianto sighed, releasing his hold on his legs and letting them stretch out like Jack's.

"I was thinking, while I was lying there looking at you, what I could say to make you remember all of Ianto Jones. What would count the most? I guess the fact that I love you was the thing that stuck, that I thought you would remember. Not the coffee, not the suits, not even Lisa – I didn't want you to remember those. I wanted you to remember just me."

Jack inwardly winced. Well, as they had nothing to do here, he may as well express his feelings. His heart leapt at Ianto's precise, measured words, and the cool way he delivered them, and yet his mind was still so damn confused and he just wanted to get all the stuff in it out in the open air.

"I meant to say it back, you know," Jack blurted out. He was met by an eyebrow quirked in the way only Ianto could, and smiled a little, "But I couldn't. Not until I was sure. Not until I'd saved the world for you."

"Look, Jack, I'm not looking for it back – well, yes, I am, because that's what most people want when they confess things like that – but I guess I'm not expecting it from Captain Jack Harkness. You're bloody superhuman, aren't you?" Towards the end Ianto began to spit his words out, and his body shook with anger. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth until it was under control, and said in the smallest whisper, "Sorry."

Jack raised a hand to placate him, but felt himself bristle indignantly at Ianto's words, "So you think I'm not capable of love? That I couldn't love you? Jones, Ianto Jones, I could love you ten times over and that's what I'm scared of! You're so easy for me to love that I have to keep myself in check constantly! My mind is screaming at me not to get attached to people because Torchwood is so dangerous, but I'm in love with you and I'm afraid of you at the same time because you don't even realize the effect you have on me!"

"Jack, I---"

"No, no, let me finish!" He was on his feet, walking towards Ianto, who had gotten to his feet too and backed against the wall, staring at him, "I've lived too damn long to say those three words unless there was no hope! I guess why I didn't tell you, Ianto Jones, was because in the back of my mind, I was still hoping that somehow I'd wake up and you'd have woken up with me. That somehow, you'd be like me for once and survive. When you didn't…it broke my heart. Ianto…I…I lost Stephen. I killed him to kill the 456. And now my own daughter won't talk to me. I didn't tell you I loved you because I knew that deep down, I'm not good for you. I'm not good for anyone."

And now Jack was choking on his own words, and the tears were falling freely now because he could remember his grandson's face as he died, white and red all over, eyes wide and staring blankly as his spirit fled his body.

But there were strong arms supporting him now, stronger than they'd ever been before, and he could hear a heartbeat thudding just under the skin at the person's chest, and he let himself go, slumping with Ianto down to the floor and wetting Ianto's shirt with his tears. Then a soft voice was whispering in his ear in Welsh, and he could recognize one word, the one word he'd learned in Welsh from the man whose arms were wound around him.

Cariad.

Jack gasped out, "I…love…you…."

He felt a nod, and clutched at Ianto, solid in his arms, breathing in the marred but familiar scent of home.