Ianto/Jacque fic.

Part 7.

A week passes and you two make great use of his present to you. Apparently the cabinet is a hidden entertainment system. It has every game and game console available (and some that aren't) and flash drives of movies from past, present, and other. So whenever they aren't reading, the pair end up on the consoles, leaving the rest of the crew wondering where they vanish to for practically days at a time: something Owen can't help but rip on them for every chance he can get.

What neither of you let on to the fact that you aren't really sleeping. Both of you are awake for different reasons... But you're both awake at night. And it's something your dad notices when he comes back from his trip.

"You look like hell," he says, ruffling your hair, "Rough week?"

You smile wearily and nod, pulling out of the hug you gave your dad when he first walked in. "Tell you about it at home," you say simply. Since dying, you and Ianto have been much closer, but neither of you really want to talk about that day. At least not in front of each other.

That night, you stay in the hub after Jack sends Ianto home, telling him he really does need his rest and is therefore on leave until he's needed. Part of it is the fact that he looks just as wiped out as you do, but the other is that your dad wants some time alone with you to talk.

So when he comes over and hands you tea, you're not surprised to see the file and report from the sewer in his hand.

"So. Rough week doesn't even begin to cover it, huh?" he asks softly.

You just shake your head. "I was dead. By all rights, I /shouldn't/ be alive. Even if I somehow missed the giant whirling blades of death, I drowned. /Drowned/, dad." You huff out a breath and run a hand through your hair, tugging on it as you follow the same frustrating train of thought that's been plaguing you each night, "Five to ten minutes. I went without air for at least five minutes /after/ being pulled out of the water." You frown, almost missing your father's sigh while lost in thought.

"There's something you should know," he says softly, "I should have told you this a while ago, but I figured that I wouldn't have to." He just looks at you, suddenly seeming much older than anyone should. "I can't die."

"You /what/!" You just gape at him, everything clicking into place in your head. "You /can't die/ and it doesn't occur to you to tell your kid?"

"Hey, I never said that," he says, cutting you off before you can get too upset, "I had planned on telling you once you had your future set up. I was thinking either just out of university or once you got your first promotion."

He's frowning, but you can tell he's sincere. And that's enough to calm you back down. "Yeah, but-but... Dad," you tug at your hair again, trying to figure out how to phrase this, "What if I had died and come back? How would you have handled it, then? What if it was before torchwood? Have I died before and you just, I don't know... Didn't tell me?"

He shakes his head, answering, in order, "You didn't until now, so there's no point in speculating. And no, you haven't died before. I probably would have tried to explain it away, but..." He shrugs, saying, "I wanted to protect you from something I knew I couldn't. Everyone screws up, but this isn't that big of one."

You just raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms.

"Hey," he says with a grin, "I could have locked you in a cupboard until your eleventh birthday."

That gets you smile reluctantly, shaking your head. "As far as dads go," you say honestly, "You're pretty damn awesome."