Author's Notes: I'm spoiling you all with chapters this week. :-) Enjoy! Thanks as always to the wonderfully talented Prothrombintime for encouragement and feedback.

Chapter Nine

January 13th, 2004 (continued)

Ianto sat silently in the passenger seat of the SUV, his head resting against the cool glass of the window as the dark Welsh countryside sped past. He had some fond memories of trips to the Brecon Beacons as a child, but he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to see the rugged landscape again. After the events of the past twelve hours, he was physically exhausted and emotionally shattered. Now they were safe and the nightmare was finally over, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and banish his memories of the day to the furthest corner of his mind.

He glanced over at Jack. The older man had his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of them, his pale, drawn face set in a grim, steely mask. Jack had contacted the Cardiff police, succinctly explained the situation, including the involvement of at least one police officer, and organised for the villagers to be rounded up and dealt with. Meanwhile, Ianto had done the best he could to clean up Jack's blood from himself, Jack, and the SUV's interior. With Torchwood's involvement in the matter at an end, Jack had wasted no time in steering the SUV southwards and beginning their journey home.

Ianto's weary mind was a confused maelstrom of thoughts and emotions. He had so many questions, he didn't know where to even begin. He wasn't sure if Jack would answer any of them anyway. The Captain had been withdrawn and silent since his startling revelation, and like Ianto, he was clearly shaken and shell-shocked by the horror of the day's events. Jack's complete lack of bravado seemed to be testament to how deeply unsettled he really was.

For Ianto, Jack's death and subsequent resurrection had shaken him to his very core. As impossible as it still seemed, he'd witnessed it with his own eyes, and the discovery was beginning to bring together the pieces of the puzzle that was Jack Harkness. Jack was literally the man who couldn't die. It was inconceivable, fascinating, and horrifying all at once.

The rest of the journey was a confused blur. It was only when they'd arrived back in Cardiff, and Jack had stopped the SUV outside of the apartment building, that Ianto finally broke out of his troubled reverie.

"Get some rest, Ianto," Jack said quietly, turning to face him. "Take the morning off, the whole day if you like... whatever you want. And call me if you need anything."

Ianto nodded absently in response as he unfastened his seatbelt. "Are you... are you okay?" he asked Jack tentatively.

"I'm okay." Jack's voice was detached and devoid of emotion. "I'm always okay."

Not knowing what to say, Ianto just nodded again. He felt a deep desire to somehow offer comfort to the other man, but he didn't know how to go about doing it, or if it would be well received. Resigned for the time being, he turned to open the door, but Jack rested a hand on his knee, causing him to pause and look back at the other man curiously.

"You did a good job today, Ianto, and under very difficult circumstances. I'm proud of you." Regret flashed across Jack's features as he looked at Ianto with what seemed like a mixture of sadness and apology. "And I'm sorry you had to find out about me like that. I'm sorry for what you had to go through."

"Not your fault," Ianto said gently, resting his hand over Jack's for a moment. He felt the warmth and strength of Jack's hand beneath his own, and still found it difficult to believe that only hours earlier the same hand had been cold and lifeless. "I don't suppose it's the easiest conversation to have... telling someone about your..." He paused, unsure of how to describe Jack's unique ability. "Your... um... condition."

"No," Jack agreed, his eyes lowering. He looked more uncertain and vulnerable than Ianto had ever seen him before. "No, it's not."

Ianto nodded once more, giving Jack a small smile, and hoping it offered some tiny amount of reassurance. Reaching to grab his rucksack from where he'd thrown it onto the back seat, he climbed out of the SUV and closed the door. He stood at the building's entrance and watched as the SUV moved off down the darkened street, eventually disappearing from sight.

Entering his apartment, Ianto immediately dumped his rucksack on the floor beside the door and kicked off his shoes. He retrieved an empty garbage bag from the kitchen and threw the shoes into it. Moving through the apartment, flicking on lights as he went to banish the gloom, he reached the bathroom and turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until the water was almost scalding. He roughly stripped off the rest of his clothes, emptying his pockets onto the vanity bench-top before throwing the garments into the garbage bag. The stomach churning stench of that awful place seemed to permeate every fibre of the fabrics and he just wanted to be rid of them. Tying off the bag, he tossed it out the bathroom door, intending to dispose of it in the morning.

Standing naked in front of the narrow mirror, steam quickly filling the small space, he stared at his reflection, noting the lifeless, haunted look in his usually expressive blue-grey eyes. His face was unnaturally pale, almost white, and the skin was stained with a layer of tears, dirt, and sweat. He turned his head to the side and saw a broad smear of red down the side of his neck. It was blood... Jack's blood.

He felt physically ill as he thought about what Jack had endured, of how Jack had sacrificed himself in order to give him a chance to escape. Jack had been beaten to within an inch of his life, brutally stabbed, and had then died a slow, painful death. Then he'd come back to life, healed and seemingly whole once more. Although Jack was physically healed, Ianto couldn't begin to imagine the toll that degree of trauma took on a person's psyche. He still felt responsible, and the guilt gnawed at him for leaving Jack behind, even though he'd been following orders. It might have been the necessary thing to do, but it had still been an unconscionable choice he'd had to make. Pressing his eyes closed, he began to tremble uncontrollably.

He spent the next half-hour in the shower, washing his hair repeatedly, cleaning every inch of skin over and over until it was pink and sore. Drying himself off roughly, he crawled into his bed and curled himself into a tight ball under the covers.

Sobbing quietly, he eventually drifted into a restless sleep.

###

Ianto stood just beyond the door of the Millennium Centre's roof access as he observed the solitary, shadowy figure standing at the south-east edge of the massive curved roof, the familiar coattails billowing gently in the chilly morning breeze. Shivering, Ianto turned up the collar of his wool overcoat and slowly made his way across the copper-coloured steel cladding, his leather shoes echoing dully with each step. It was nearly eight a.m., only minutes before daybreak, and the veil of darkness was slowly receding from the sky as the sun edged closer to the horizon.

He'd slept fitfully, his mind haunted by visions of the horrors of the day before. He was certain it would be quite some time before he'd sleep peacefully again. After waking early, he'd showered again, dressed in a blue shirt and tie and one of his more sombre suits, and readied himself to face the day. The silent emptiness of the apartment had felt stifling, and he'd decided he needed his familiar routine to keep his mind distracted. He'd walked briskly to the Hub since his car was still parked there from the morning before. There had been no sign of Jack when he'd arrived, so he'd phoned the older man, ostensibly to check if everything was all right. To his surprise, he'd received succinct instructions on accessing the rooftop of the nearby Millennium Centre.

He came to a stop several metres behind Jack. The older man was standing perilously close to the edge and given the steep downward slope, Ianto didn't feel safe going any further. He'd never been particularly fond of heights.

After a minute or so, Jack turned and walked back to stand beside him, much to Ianto's relief. He certainly wasn't in any hurry to see Jack die again, especially from an accident that could have been easily avoided. He found himself wondering if Jack had ever willingly taken his own life, perhaps in a moment of weakness or overwhelming loneliness. He shuddered inwardly at the thought, not sure if he wanted to know. Although he didn't understand how Jack's condition worked and if there were limits to his ability to revive from death, he wondered what it would feel like to know that no matter how bad things became, there was no escape and no way out.

"Didn't think I'd see you this early," Jack said, looking at him with dull, troubled eyes which Ianto was sure matched his own.

Ianto sighed and stuck his hands deep into his pockets. "Had trouble sleeping."

"Me too," Jack murmured, returning his gaze to the horizon. "I don't sleep very much. With what I've seen, maybe that's a good thing."

Ianto thought about the clues he'd discovered in the archives, hinting that Jack had been working with Torchwood for at least a hundred years. "Do you come up here often?" he asked after a moment.

Jack shrugged. "I suppose. It helps to give me some perspective, focus my thoughts... reminds me what we're fighting for. Especially after a day like yesterday."

"I keep thinking about those people," Ianto began tentatively, also feeling desperately in need of some perspective. "No, they weren't people... they were monsters. They weren't aliens following their instinctual nature, like Weevils... they were human... just like us." He shook his head in frustration. "I'm trying to understand it, but I... Jack, I can't."

"I don't think we're meant to understand it. That's what makes us different." Jack's voice was quiet and pensive. "There's great evil in the world, Ianto. There always has been, and there always will be. It's one of the constants of the universe. That's what we saw yesterday... pure, unadulterated evil. But there's great good out there too. It can be easy to forget that with this job. We have to remember that the good outweighs the evil. That's what we fight for."

Ianto nodded thoughtfully. "I won't forget," he said with determination he wasn't sure he felt. "You've been doing this a long time, haven't you?"

Jack turned his head and looked at him appraisingly. "You've spent a lot of time working in the archives. I assumed you'd find something sooner or later. How much do you know?"

It was Ianto's turn to shrug. "Not much. Just that you've been involved with Torchwood for at least a hundred years."

Jack turned away again. "I was recruited in 1899. I've done some other things along the way, fought in some wars, taken a few sabbaticals, but I've always come back." He drew in a deep breath. "Something happened to me a while back. It's a long story, and it happened far away from here. I was killed, and then I was brought back to life, and ever since then... well, you saw it for yourself last night."

With his suspicions about Jack's exceptionally long life confirmed, Ianto tried to comprehend how much Jack had seen and experienced, the countless horrors Jack must have witnessed, and how many people he'd known and lost. His heart ached for the pain and loneliness Jack had undoubtedly endured, and would continue to endure. While many people feared and fought against the ruthless inevitability of death, it seemed to him that life without an endpoint was infinitely worse. He couldn't see it as anything other than a terrible curse.

"How does it work?" he asked softly, wanting to understand how Jack's ability to cheat death was possible.

"Honestly, I don't know. There's someone who might be able to explain it. Maybe he can fix me. I'll find him one day, but until then..." Jack's voice trailed off as his eyes shifted upwards, gazing to the heavens.

"How... uh..." Ianto paused awkwardly. He had so many questions he wanted to ask Jack, but he didn't want to push too hard. He hoped that Jack was beginning to see him more as a useful colleague, and less as an unwelcome annoyance, and he didn't want to jeopardise that. The fact that he was standing beside Jack with his memories intact suggested that Jack actually did trust him, at least to a point. Jack could have easily retconned him, removing the last twenty-four hours of his memories, if he'd thought Ianto was a threat to him. Ianto was under no illusions that Jack could be ruthless enough to do it if necessary. "How many times have you died?" he asked hesitantly.

"I lost count after a while." The tone of detachment had returned to Jack's voice. "Dozens of times... sixty or seventy, maybe... probably more. Kind of freaks people out. Working for Torchwood isn't the safest of professions."

"No, it's not," Ianto agreed, an awful coldness twisting at his stomach as he struggled not to imagine the ways Jack might have died while working for Torchwood. He recalled how painful it had seemed when Jack came back to life. "Does it hurt? When you come back?"

Jack nodded. "Like being hauled over broken glass."

A shiver ran down Ianto's spine from Jack's succinct but graphic description. He didn't want to keep pushing Jack for details, but there was one more question he was too curious about to let go. "So, um... Jack... how old are you then? I mean, if you've worked for Torchwood for a hundred and four years..."

To Ianto's surprise, Jack smiled at him. It was a small, weary sort of smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I was thirty-six, almost thirty-seven when I died the first time. I've been this way since 1869."

Ianto nodded, surprising himself by his ready acceptance of the astonishing fact. There was obviously a lot more to Jack's story, but he doubted he'd find out much more for the moment. That would take time, and more trust than they'd built thus far. "Well, you seem to be holding up pretty well for a one-hundred and seventy year old," he said jokingly, hoping to lighten the mood. "You don't look a day over forty."

"Hey!" Jack abruptly turned to him, scowling in outrage. "I can easily pass for thirty-five."

Ianto smirked, amused by Jack's vanity. "Whatever you say, sir."

Silence settled between them as they both stared out into the distance, the sky slowly brightening as the blanket of deep purple became tinged with fiery red and orange.

"I understand why you didn't tell me," Ianto said a few moments later, becoming serious again. "But I want you to know, your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you," Jack murmured. "I should have told you. I suppose I just didn't want you to look at me differently."

"Why would I do that?" Ianto asked, looking at Jack in surprise and wondering why Jack would care what he thought of him.

"Most people who have found out do," Jack replied, a trace of bitterness in his voice. "They think I'm wrong... a freak... a travesty of nature."

Ianto felt his eyes widen in shock. Jack was a lot of things, and he could be a right pain in the arse at times, but Ianto could never imagine thinking of him as being wrong. He edged closer to Jack, feeling strangely protective of the older man. "You're not wrong, Jack," he said firmly. "This terrible thing happened to you, but it wasn't your fault. Besides, I'm not most people."

"No, Ianto." Jack smiled at him with what almost seemed like affection in his blue eyes. "No, you're not."

Ianto returned Jack's smile, and silence settled between them again as they gazed out to the skyline, now awash with a brilliant orange glow.

"Sun's coming up," Jack murmured as the sun finally began to peek above the horizon. Ianto felt the older man's hand rest gently on his shoulder.

"It's beautiful," Ianto whispered.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed standing on the rooftop together, admiring the spectacular beginning of the new day. Despite what they'd just been through, and everything he'd learned about Jack, it was a brief but perfect moment. It was one he suspected he'd look back on during other difficult times that were undoubtedly ahead.

Jack sighed, dropping his hand from Ianto's shoulder as he turned away from the captivating view. "Come on then, Mr. Jones. Work to do." His features seemed to relax and a hopeful glimmer reawakened in his eyes. "Any chance of some of your fabulous coffee?"

Ianto nodded, feeling a little more ready to face the day, and comforted by the simplicity and familiarity of Jack's request. "I think that can be arranged, sir."