A/N A long time coming I know, half written when the snows of December cloaked the countryside, but now at Easter, a final update to the Christmas interlude. Althought the season is wrong, there's still been plenty of snow this week in the UK and it's still icy cold outside. Maybe this chapter will provide some warmth.

Apologies for lateness of update - and thanks to all those who have patiently waited.

Chapter 13

Jack woke up to find an arm that wasn't his draped across his bulging abdomen. He could feel warm breath against his neck – the steady pattern indicating that his companion was yet to wake up. He took hold of Ianto's hand and pressed it gently against the smooth skin and waited. Even though Ianto was still asleep, his hand automatically began to move down, instinctively reaching towards Jack's groin. Suppressing the urge to laugh, Jack dragged the errant hand back to where it had been before and held it in place.

"What?" Ianto's question was muffled and sleep-slurred, but the confusion was down to more than the fact that he was barely awake. He was aware of Jack's large hand covering his, but there was something else he was feeling and he couldn't work out what it was.

"Shh," hushed Jack. "Keep it there and wait."

Then it happened again, a disturbance beneath the skin and muscle of Jack's abdomen.

"Is that what I think it is?" whispered Ianto.

"Yeah – that's our boy, kicking up a storm. He's been waking me up like that for the past week."

"Bloody hell."

Uncoordinated and dishevelled, Ianto scrambled clumsily around the bed until he was on the other side of Jack. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he leant forward, pressing his hand gently against the curve of his distended abdomen.

"Whoa … he's definitely getting a work out in there." Ianto sat back on his haunches, grinning sappily.

Jack could have wept at the sight of Ianto with all of his guards down. His hair was sticking out messily and there was a scattering of love bites visible on the fair skin of his throat – reminders of their enthusiastic love making the previous night. For one precious moment in time, he wasn't 'Ianto Jones, Torchwood operative', he was just Jack's lover, and the father of his unborn son. Tears welled up in Jack's eyes.

"Ianto, I –"

"No." Ianto shook his head quickly as he moved his hand to cover Jack's mouth, keeping the words from spilling free. "Don't say it. Please. Not like this."

Ianto's face had fallen as he realised what Jack was about to confess. He didn't want to hear Jack say that to him while he was pregnant. It would just be the hormones talking. If Jack ever told him how he felt about him, he wanted it to be just between the two of them. He knew it was selfish, but he didn't want Jack to profess his love for him while he was pregnant, because he'd never know if that was the only reason Jack felt that way.

"Hey, what's up?" Jack reached out and pulled Ianto down to lie next to him. "What's upsetting you?"

"This, I guess." Ianto admitted openly, unable to evade the truth when Jack was looking at him with such a hurt expression on his face. "You, me … the baby. It's not as if we were in that sort of relationship before this happened … and now… now, it's like it's the only reason we are."

"Just because I never allowed myself to tell you how I felt, or even admit it to myself, doesn't mean I didn't have those feelings. You do know that, don't you?"

"I… to be honest with you, Jack, no. I don't know that. You never … we never…" Ianto stuttered, trying to think of how to explain what was going through his head. "Come on, it's not like we were together like Gwen and Rhys."

"And for that I'm profoundly grateful - I'm not sure I could've forgiven you if you'd slept with Owen."

"Hang on there – what makes you think I'd be the one to sleep around?" Ianto turned his head sharply and glared at Jack. "I think you'll find that's your track record, not mine!"

"Not with Owen, though-" Jack shrugged, unable to deny the fact that he'd done more than his fair share of bed hopping in the past, especially as he'd not hidden the truth from Ianto in the early days of their relationship. After all Ianto had been the one to deal with the assorted stains on his dirty laundry.

"OK – spit it out, what you mean is that it would've been Gwen," Ianto swallowed hard. "You'd have slept with Gwen."

"You do know that if we were Gwen and Rhys, that wouldn't make sense-"

"You know what I'm getting at."

"Yeah, but we're not like them. We're not a –"

"Couple?" Ianto sighed, ready for what was coming. This was precisely the reason he didn't want to hear Jack make admissions of love brought on by sentimental moments.

Jack picked up on the dejection in Ianto's voice and cursed himself silently as he rolled over onto his side and looked Ianto straight in the eye.

"No, we're not a couple, we're more than that. Couples like Gwen and Rhys see each other outside of working hours, they may go out for meals together and even take vacations – but they don't spend every working hour alongside one another. Regular couples don't fight side by side, facing possible death every day. You've always been more than that to me."

Ianto blinked, partly to clear his eyes and partly to make sure he wasn't still asleep and dreaming this conversation. But with Jack gripping hold of his shoulders as if to stop him from escaping, it was evidently happening.

"What exists between us is more than Gwen and Rhys will ever have. Don't you ever forget that, Ianto Jones."

Before Ianto could summon up a suitable response, a hammering at the front door shattered the moment.

"What the hell?" muttered Jack, frustrated at not having found out if he'd got through to Ianto.

"Oh shit – that'd be Megan. I asked her to do some shopping for me."

Ianto scrambled out of the bed and pulled a t-shirt on over his head. As he bent over to search for his jeans, Jack automatically took the opportunity to admire the view, although his pleasure was tempered by the sight of the scars running down the backs of Ianto's legs. The jagged white lines, from where the tree branches had ripped at his flesh, when he'd come close to falling from that cliff, were ugly reminders of yet another occasion when Jack had almost lost him.

"Shopping?" asked Jack, nonplussed by the mundane response he'd received after opening up his heart to Ianto.

"Food – I've got a Christmas lunch to cook." Ianto said as he hopped from one foot to another getting into the crumpled pair of jeans he'd hastily removed the night before.

"You've planned this all out haven't you?"

"You know me, Jack. I live for arranging catering supplies." Ianto leant down to kiss Jack full on the mouth. "I won't be long – keep the bed warm."

Ianto slipped out of the bedroom quickly and, before opening the front door to Megan, he rubbed his hand over his face and took a deep breath. He felt guilty at the relief of having an opportunity to gather his thoughts and feelings. But he was almost wishing he'd allowed Jack to admit his love for him in the trite three word declaration, he could have put that down to hormones, but what he'd heard instead went far deeper and, truth be told, it scared him.

It was a few hours later when Jack eventually woke up, having fallen asleep after having thoroughly enjoyed both breakfast and Ianto in bed. There was a note on the unoccupied pillow next to his head, which made his heart clench momentarily until he read it.

'Get a shower and get dressed, I.'

It made a change having someone issue him with orders and a quick sniff under the covers was enough to convince him that it was good advice.

The damp towels in the hamper indicated that Ianto had already showered whilst he'd been fast asleep. He frowned at the missed opportunity and the fact that he was sleeping more heavily as the pregnancy developed. He'd have to increase levels of security once Ianto returned to Cardiff.

On emerging from the bathroom, Jack frowned at the packages that had been left on the bed – which he noted with amusement had been re-made with fresh sheets. Ianto really was the master of stealth housekeeping. The Christmas presents, because that was exactly what they appeared to be, wrapped in paper decorated with cute penguins, bore gift tags each bearing the same instruction:

'To be opened before lunch, I x'

Tearing the paper off of the larger package revealed two pairs of trousers, not unlike the ones he used to wear, although as his waist had expanded he'd had to resort to loose fitting jogging bottoms, along with baggy t-shirts, a look he detested. However, as he unfolded the dark blue fabric, he could see that the seams had been let out, extra panels had been meticulously stitched into the sides and the waistbands had hidden elasticated sections. He couldn't help but grin as he sat on the edge of the bed and tugged a pair comfortably up and over his hips. Inside the other package were two pale blue shirts, similarly adjusted to accommodate his changing body shape.

Only Ianto could, and would have, given him the gift of his identity back to him. The others were aware of how attached he was to his dated style of clothing, although they mostly thought it was an affectation, especially Owen. However, Ianto knew that it went deeper than that and signified an ideal that Jack tried to live up to – if the suit he wore was a shield that he hid behind, Jack's clothes were the standard he tried to live by.

By the time Jack emerged from the bedroom, his eyes wiped dry of the emotional tears he'd shed, he felt much more like his old self, even though he'd had to abandon the idea of wearing braces.

As soon as he opened the door into the cosy inner sanctum of the cottage he was taken aback by the transformation wrought by Ianto. He inhaled deeply, revelling in the atmosphere that was imbued with the scents of Christmas – pine needles and spices, roasting meat and vegetables.

The fire had been rekindled and was gently roaring. Draped across the mantelpiece were sprigs of holly laden with berries, along with cuttings of pine heavy with cones. A glance at the damp boots by the door confirmed his suspicion that Ianto had trudged through snow drifts to collect them.

Turning around he noticed a small heap of packages on the coffee table, all immaculately wrapped in the same paper that had been wrapped around the clothes he wore. Then he saw Ianto leaning in the doorway to the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up and a satisfied smile on his lips.

"Thank you for the clothes, they're perfect. But … I haven't got you anything," Jack blurted out, feeling guilty.

"Oh, I don't know about that. You've given me something I never thought I'd have – not after losing Lisa."

"A child?" Jack frowned uncertainly.

"A reason for wanting to stay alive," Ianto said quietly as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jack.

Neither man spoke for a few moments, realising that the Christmas spirit that Ianto had crafted so skilfully was making them both more open and candid than they'd usually allow themselves to be.

"Drink?" Ianto tilted his head in the direction of the pan that was simmering away on top of the stove.

"I'm not sure Owen would approve of mulled wine, but you go ahead." Jack sighed, he'd not missed alcohol as he rarely touched it, but he'd thought Ianto would have realised he couldn't drink.

"It's not alcoholic – it's that spiced berry cordial. I added a few sticks of cinnamon, cloves and some slices of orange and lemon – tastes just like the real thing, but safe for the baby."

Shaking his head at the ridiculous notion of ever doubting Ianto's attention to detail, Jack followed him into the kitchen. He watched on as Ianto carefully dipped the ladle into the pan and transferred a serving with slices of fruit into a large white mug. The rich red colour of the liquid appeared to glow as it sloshed against the sides of the mug.

"Sorry about the lack of appropriate glasses, but at least these won't crack."

Jack tentatively took a sip of the hot liquid and licked his lips with pleasure.

"Thank you, it's delicious. You've been busy I see …. and smell. What's cooking?"

"Christmas lunch, more or less. Chicken instead of a turkey, but with all the trimmings. I've got root vegetable roasting in the oven, carrots and parsnips with honey, potatoes with garlic and rosemary. There should be enough food here to keep you going for the rest of the week."

The realisation that he'd be eating the leftovers on his own, saddened Jack. It had almost been possible to imagine that this was their life together, in this cottage, miles away from the cares of the world and the reality of Torchwood. But within twenty four hours, Ianto would be gone again.

"Hey there, come on – it's meant to be a feast, not a last meal." Ianto smiled as he took a drink from his own cup.

"It better not be," mumbled Jack.

Ianto sighed as he took both of their cups and set them on the table. He knew words wouldn't make Jack feel any better, but the kiss they shared, warm and spice flavoured made for an excellent distraction.

Jack looked out of the kitchen window as the robins fed on the scraps he'd put outside on a stone bench cleared of snow. They'd been drawn to the light spilling out from the cottage onto the pristine white landscape beyond. The sun had yet to rise and the moon was still clearly visible in the early morning sky.

He took a sip of the decaffeinated coffee that Ianto had made for him – he'd sourced some that almost tasted as good as the real stuff. It had gone cold, but he'd tried to make it last as long as possible. Despite the lingering scents of the meal they'd shared, and the pine needles and cinnamon, the cottage seemed bereft, as lonely as he felt.

The previous night, he'd not wanted to go to sleep, knowing that Ianto had to set off early in the morning. Although he knew Ianto would say goodbye before leaving, he wanted to make the most of every single minute he had with the man he'd grown to love so dearly.

Jack could have cursed the damn endorphins that conspired to pull him into the realm of sleep, waking up to hear Ianto trying to pack quietly by the light of the table lamp in the living room. There hadn't been enough time to persuade him to return to bed for one last cuddle. Of course, Ianto had been the sensible one, pointing out that Jack's idea of a cuddle would involve losing all of his clothes and his sense of time.

A sharp pain in his abdomen drew Jack's attention back to the present, but didn't prevent him reminiscing of the hand that had rested against his stomach the previous morning, or the smile on Ianto's face as he'd felt their son kicking for the first time.

"Hush there, he'll be back. He promised me."

In a train clattering through the silent valleys, Ianto pressed his face to the window, looking our over the darkened hillsides. He'd tried to be positive for Jack, optimistically planning his next visit as he tied the laces on his boots, avoiding looking Jack in the eye. He'd kept his fears to himself and tried to be strong, for Jack. But now there was nothing to keep the tears from tracking their way down his cheeks.

He'd made promises he didn't know if he'd be able to keep.

Although his heart was Jack's and had been from the moment they'd met, his fate belonged to Torchwood and in all its history it had never had any qualms about the lives it took.

As he watched the long shadows of the leafless trees, touched by moonlight, crawl out across the blanket of snow, he swore that he would do whatever it took to make sure that the life Jack was carrying stayed out of the reach of Torchwood.