A/N: So here it is, the last chapter in this arc where anything happens. It's a long one, and an epilogue will follow. Thanks for the lovely reviews last chapter, I've replied to them all because they mean so much to me, really. This one was very difficult to write right, because it's quite dark (I know, what else is new?) but I think I got it right eventually. I'd say the song for it is probably 'Buildings' by General Fiasco, a great band that a close friend introduced me to, and I've been listening to them non-stop since. I hope you'll give the song a listen, because it really fits. Anyways, I digress. I promise the epilogue will be more cheerful. Also, I'd love to break 150 reviews by the end of arc 2, so please do review! Enjoy!


Ianto left early, as usual. Now that he was working at the Basement, it was a little obnoxious of him to have stayed at Charlton's at all.

Strolling into the darkened corridors of the base, he headed directly to the room they had given him, shut the door, and sighed.

It was a very nice room, by all accounts. White walls, wood floors, a double bed and a desk and chair. A wardrobe, where he was keeping his suits now. He idly thought of his own flat, abandoned and cold, apart from that last time Charlton had been there.

Funny how a guy dressed all in black could brighten a place up.

He sat down at the desk and opened his laptop, turning it on and waiting for it to warm up. Immediately the CCTV feed for Cath and Learner (and their baby) came up, and he saw they were all asleep, baby included. Minimizing it, he checked the news, then his email.

Well, one new mail message. The sender's email address was blocked, and there was no subject heading, but Ianto went right ahead and opened it, rubbing a hand over his lips in puzzlement:

'You know you have to do it soon. You can't leave him like this for much longer. Ianto, until you do this, things cannot get better for you. So let me do my damn job. You humans and your interfering – sometimes I really wish I didn't need consent from you.'

There was no doubting who it was from, which made Ianto frown. He knew exactly what the Doctor was talking about – sure, his thoughts seemed jumbled, and a little incoherent, but that was his way. Timelords and their time fetishes, etcetera.

It was true he was probably being selfish, holding all of it back. Putting it off, so to speak. But all he could see in his future was a freight-train of misery hurtling towards him, and longed to hold it back a little longer.

All he could think of was Charlton's future, and how he wasn't in it.


He woke up that morning feeling angry and happy all at once. Being with Ianto was a real thrill, but the context of it…well, Ianto had been playing dirty.

Charlton was not surprised, however, to see the Doctor seated in the armchair, reading one of Charlton's own books, pulled from the bookcase. He could see the gap in the regular arrangement of the books, and recalled which book it must be.

"A Doll's House?" he questioned, pushing himself into a sitting position, and looking inquisitively at the Doctor, "Never took you for an Ibsen fan, really."

Turning a page, the Doctor murmured, as if to himself, "Oh, well, I'm just a fan of human literature, really…" Looking up, he said loudly, "Your ribs. They've healed, haven't they? They've healed, but you didn't even notice. How do you suppose that happened, Charlton? You'd think you'd realize your ribs healed too quickly, but no, you didn't." The young man was frowning now, a childlike fear shining in his eyes as he looked into Charlton's.

Dimly, Charlton recalled his ribs being broken. They were meant to have been that way for a long time, a very long time considering how many he'd broken, but how long had it been? A month, five weeks?

"I…" he began, faltering, "I…I guess I'm just a fast healer."

"No," the Doctor emphasized, "that's the funny thing. You're not. You're not meant to be. And yet somehow, you are. This is the start of a big journey for you, Charlton, and you will remember eventually. You will."

Then he got up, and left, leaving Charlton with a mind bursting with dim memories just resurfacing, and no answers to any of the questions he'd wanted to ask. Tutting, he noticed the Doctor had left the book open, its spine cracking, and he picked it up.

Almost by accident, he glanced at the page.

'Something glorious is going to happen.'

It was then that Charlton realized he had not heard the front door's light click, signalling its closure. And it was then he heard the faint breathing in the room with him.

Then, darkness.


It took him all of five minutes watching the feed of Cath and Learner to know it was fake.

Running down the halls, he eventually skidded to a halt and peered through the small window put in the door.

Cath, and baby, but no Learner. For a fleeting second she thought of asking Cath if she knew where Learner had gone, but the scene before him, of sleeping mother and child, was too beautiful to disturb. He moved on.

He found himself on autopilot to the main CCTV room for the Basement, and slid into the chair, studying all of the screens carefully. Reviewing the past few hours, he saw Learner leaving the Basement furtively, and heading towards the main city centre.

Thinking back to his meeting with Learner, Ianto frowned, and felt he knew just where Learner was headed.

"Ianto…one other thing. We have a list of prospective Officials, in order of preference. I think…I think you need to see it."

Ianto took note of the extremely human hesitance present in Learner's voice, "Getting soft are we, Learner? Here, let me see it."

With a moment's reluctance, Learner handed him the printed sheet of paper, and folded his arms.

It couldn't be true. Looking at the list of names, there was no way.

"No."

"Ianto, these people are the ones best matched to our lifestyle. We can eliminate number 3, because of her current condition, but the rest…they all fit. Especially number 1."

"Learner, I am telling you no. This is madness."

"Is it? We're in a new age, Ianto. We didn't take Torchwood's people ever before because they were living in an easier time. But now…"

The next thing Learner knew, Ianto had him by the throat, and had pushed him hard against the wall. He could hear his spines creaking in protest as they were mashed against the damp steel, could feel the roughness scratching at his fingertips from their place on Learner's neck. He ignored the pulse of thick blood beneath the alien's skin, and growled.

In those wide, white eyes, Ianto could see the terrible expression on his face. He barely looked human as he pressed his face close to Learner's and said, "No."

He threw the paper back at Learner, releasing his throat, and punched the wall, leaving a deep dent in it. "Why?" he whispered, harshly, "Tell me why him."

"His ribs, Ianto. He's practically made for this life. The Doctor took him from his time all those years ago to make sure he would be here for us now."

Strangely, he could feel tears in his eyes, but ignored them, "We are not doing anything about this until I figure out if there's an alternative. That's it."

Here, to his surprise, Learner had switched to his human form, and walked towards Ianto, backing him up against the wall until he could feel the dampness spreading through his jacket into his shirt. Learner leant closely to his face, studying him like a specimen for dissection, before going straight for the thorax.

"You're not the senior Official here, Ianto Jones," he whispered, before shoving him and going back into the nursery.


He was in a car, that much he could tell. Despite the heavy blindfold, he could sense movement, hear the engine and the wheels against the road, could reach out and touch the tasteless plastic interior of the car.

The window on his side was open, and blowing warm, summer air into his face. It was simultaneously pleasant and nauseating. Presumably someone was driving, so he asked, after clearing his throat, "Can I ask where we're going?"

A beat, then, "No."

It was a pleasant voice, normal, but he could tell from the way he could feel no body heat coming from the individual, despite their close proximity, that this person was not all that they seemed.

"I can tell you we don't usually take people alive. You're lucky."

Charlton nodded, turning towards the warm air, because it was better than wondering if the mystery person was right.


"Jack!"

The immortal turned at the call, seeing Ianto skidding into the Hub. Daria and Gwen had not yet arrived, as Gwen was at an appointment with her obstetrician, and Daria was stuck in traffic. Ianto's absence had hit him pretty hard, but somehow, seeing him now didn't cheer him up as he expected.

It was the look of horror on his face that he couldn't stand. Ianto hurried to him and said, "Jack, the Basement's taken Charlton. I've been trying to find a way they wouldn't need to, a way to save him from what they're going to do to him, but Learner…he just went and took him. Jack, I don't know what to do."

Well, damn. It was the day of the exes, for Jack, as he turned at the sound of the lift descending, and saw the Doctor on it.

Holy shit.

There he was, some strange avenging angel, that new, young face catching the shadows and light in a frightening way. He stared at them both, and jumped off of the platform before it had even reached the ground.

"Stop, Ianto," the quiet musical voice said, and Jack still felt that familiar twinge when he listened to him speak. There was time in that voice, and space, and all those things Jack had seen, back when he wasn't broken and wrong.

"Why? Why can't I stop this?" The sound of Ianto's voice brought Jack back from his musings, and he turned to see a heartbreaking expression on the Welshman's face. Frowning, he asked, "You…don't love him, do you?"

Ianto's gaze softened, "He loves me. I've got to help him."

And somehow Jack knew then that they'd slept together. That it had come to mean something to Ianto, even if it wasn't love.

And suddenly, he wanted to help, even if it killed him.

"Doctor, there's gotta be something we can do," Jack said, opening his hands, "I can't lose another team member already."

"Jack, you know perfectly well that your team is already slightly bigger than necessary. I can't let you interfere – this is one of my biggest projects, and I won't let you ruin it. I missed 12 years for this," the Doctor said, folding his arms, "and the little Scottish girl I let down still won't let me forget it."

Ignoring the last nonsensical statement, Jack pressed, "There has to be a way."

A shake of the head, definitive, "No. There doesn't."

Sirens wailed behind them, and Jack turned just in time to see Ianto leaving through the Hub door. He rubbed his eyes, and felt the Doctor pat him on the shoulder, "He still can't fix it, Jack."

Turning back to the Doctor, Jack looked up, "You're taller this time, I keep forgetting. Doctor, what are you doing here?"

"Fixing a crack in a wall, Jack. It's what I always do."


The blindfold was off. He blinked a few times, then found himself faced with wide, white eyes, and cold radiating from the body they were attached to.

Indigo skin, shimmering faintly in the dim light, and spines sprouting from his back, legs and arms – Charlton's captor was definitely dangerous. Swallowing, he asked awkwardly, "So you're the one who kidnapped me."

A low chuckle resonated in the alien's throat, and he smiled, revealing three rows of pointed, razor-sharp teeth. Charlton felt the blood drain from his face, but then the creature said, "My name is Learner, Charlton Harrison. I'm here to save you from your life, and make things better."

A thought fluttered through Charlton's mind. Things will get better for you – I promise, they will.

"What makes you think I need saving?" Charlton asked, more like a plea than anything. It was then that he noticed the huge, hulking bit of machinery to his side, like a primitive computer, and the equally large screen before him. Learner pushed a button, and the screen came to life.

It was his life. All the little moments, all the memories. His family, his first family, happiness, the Georgian era, then his new family, his new life. Working some bland desk job while hacking things at night, then Torchwood. Then Ianto. Then now.

"Tell me, Mr. Harrison. Tell me when there you weren't performing tricks for someone. That's how you've survived, isn't it? It's because of all these people that you've made nothing of your life."

The paraphrasing of 'A Doll's House' was not lost on Charlton. Rendered mute for a moment, he looked up at Learner, eyes honest, "Ianto. I never performed tricks for him."

"Ah, yes," Learner said, grinning again, "Ianto. The exception who proves the rule. You love him deeply, don't you? Is the feeling mutual?"

Thinking only of Ianto, Charlton shook his head, and listened as footsteps entered the room, followed by ragged breathing.

"Learner," the Welsh voice said, "Learner, what are you doing to him?"

"I am freeing him of you. Isn't that what you want, Ianto? All the guilt, that you've been going behind Harkness' back, that you don't love him back, to be gone, along with his memories of it?" Learner turned back to Charlton, "You'd like to forget your life, I'm sure."

Charlton turned his head, and stared at Ianto carefully. Ianto ducked his head, undoing the ropes binding Charlton to the chair, and then looked back at him.

He could feel a strange hopefulness building in his chest when he thought of what Learner had said; the past year had been such a blur he'd not had time to process what it all really meant. See how he really felt - which was, in essence, miserable, save for the few fleeting, sun-bleached moment he'd had with Ianto. He knew those moments had happened for different reasons to why he wanted them to happen, and he felt his heart clench; he knew what he had to do.

"I wondered, once, where we'd go. You know, once we'd slept together. I think I knew in the back of my mind that it would be nowhere. You know the feeling I got when I saved Gwen?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"I have that feeling right now. Like this is the thing I was made to do."

"Your memory," Ianto said, "Your memory is what made me realize what Learner had been telling me was true. You don't remember, do you? You've met Learner before, in his human form, and he injected you with a dilute form of the injection when you were just a kid. Gave you that incredible memory, fixed your ribs. That vaccine is the thing that made you save Gwen. Made you remember everything you've ever learned. Made you love a monster like me."

The memory flickered into life then, bright and burning, and he could remember when he was stranded in the future, the man coming out of the shadows. Perfectly normal looking, until he pulled the syringe out and plunged it into the young Charlton Harrison's neck. Learner's eyes sparked in recognition, "Very good, Ianto, very good indeed."

"I looked in the archives, Learner. It was easy, for me."

"Learner," Charlton started, no shake left in his voice, "What is going to happen now?"

"We'll give you the injection again, the full one. We'll put a memory block in your brain. You won't remember your life – well, you'll remember the Doctor, and Torchwood, but only the people, not that you worked there, or your relation to any of them. You'll remember your families, but only dimly. You won't remember being dumped in the future, or the past, or who you were beforehand…"

Ianto's face looked parched and empty of colour as he stared at Charlton, who kept his eyes on him while Learner spoke. There was a horrible, sad look in the Welshman's eyes that he wished would just go - maybe now it would. He knew Ianto didn't love him; he'd hoped, since he met him, that one day he would. But now he realized, one hundred captured moments running through his brain, that there was only one person for Ianto - and it just wasn't him.

"I won't remember you," Charlton said, simply, looking at Ianto. He turned to Learner, who had the syringe in his hands, and then back to Ianto, "I won't remember what you mean to me. Ianto, I think I need to forget. For you. You need to live your life. Be with Jack, get out of the Basement and back into Torchwood. I've done nothing with my life, let me do this. Let me forget you."

He turned to Learner, and stood, holding his hand out for the syringe, and quietly asked, "Where do I inject it?"

"Just into your tissue, neck would be best. The trial run went there," Learner pressed a cool finger to Charlton's neck, and he dimly remembered there had always been a small, round scar there, though until now he'd never bothered to remember why.

The syringe was cool in his hands, full of a sinister green solution that burned his retinas with the fierceness of its colour. Charlton watched Ianto wet his lips and say helplessly, "Charlton, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Ianto Jones," Ianto stopped, and Charlton smiled, raising the syringe to his neck and pushing it in with barely a wince, "I loved you."

And he depressed the syringe, dropping like dead weight to the ground.


Ianto still helped Learner move Charlton to the resting chamber. They didn't usually take Officials alive, but Charlton was 'made for this', apparently.

God, he was tired. Maybe now, he could sleep.

"You don't need to be an Official for now, Ianto. When Charlton wakes up, he'll be fine, almost ready made. The dilute solution already did a lot for us."

Learner's voice was almost sympathetic, and that was somehow worse. Just like how he hadn't loved Charlton, and that made seeing him pale under his tan and sweating from the injection so much worse.

"Okay. I'll go home, then."

As he left he saw Cath and her baby standing in a doorway. The baby raised her tiny hand and waved. In spite of everything, Ianto waved back.

And then his feet were carrying him home; not to his apartment, but to the place that knew him best.


"Ianto?" Jack questioned, raising his eyebrows. Ianto said nothing, just went straight down to Jack's rooms and went to sleep.

Hours later, half-conscious, Ianto felt arms around him, and smelt a familiar smell. Jack had joined him. His heart fluttered limply in his chest, despite the weight bearing down on it.

It was hope. Not a lot, but enough. Ianto pulled Jack's arms tighter around him and went back to sleep, not caring that his suit would be creased beyond recognition. It seemed like an important part of his life was over, though he knew in his heart more would come - it was only natural, being near-immortal, that a lot of bad stuff would happen. He only hoped a lot of good stuff would happen, too.

Later, he noticed a rip in his suit jacket, and wondered how it got there. Shrugging, he ignored it, putting the suit into a black bin liner. He was going to burn it anyways.


A/N: I do not intend any copyright infringement when I use quotations, paraphrased or otherwise, from 'A Doll's House', the play by Henrik Ibsen. Charlton's book collection is researched carefully, and 'A Doll's House' is referenced as its subject matter - as I view it - enhances the character of Charlton, and for no other reason is it used. Ibsen is awesome, give the play a read while you're listening to General Fiasco. :)