And I Wake Up

by Doodled93

The 456 are Junkies. Highly intelligent Junkies, with lots of blissed out time in which to think up more ways to get their fix. Why would they gas a building full of people who may live to create more children? The gas is more than anyone knows, and it's reaction to one Ianto Jones is more than anyone, even the 456, could have thought. CoE Fix-it, swearing, full summary inside

3. Blind by Florence and the Machine

Chapter 3—Blinding by Florence and the Machine

On his way, Ianto managed to stop by a place that sold handkerchiefs, and bought half a dozen of them with some of the cash in his knapsack.

They weren't particularly well made, and certainly not what he would buy to go with his suits, but they'd make knots just as well.

If he ran into the Fae again (and he had a bad feeling he would), perhaps he'd pay his debt by showing them a few different ways of tying a knot.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto sat on a bench facing the Thames, secure in the Dead Zone, and smiled at a dog walker as she walked past him with a small pack on leash. His Trust Me face was firmly in place. He'd already directed a concerned woman away when she asked him if he was lost

("No ma'am, I'm waiting for my Mom to come back. She went to go get drinks to go with the snacks," He gestured vaguely behind him, half-eaten apple in hand. "Don't worry, she'll be here in a moment.")

And were other adults always so easy to convince? Yes, his memory supplied the number of times he'd been able to explain away various alien occurrences without having to use a full dose of Retcon. Always, his memory continued on with half-recalled instances when he was actually younger, when adults could be convinced that bruises were gained innocently, that he hadn't meant to knock that thing over to distract them from being stolen from, that he'd honestly hurt himself, and yeah, he's alright and walking away with them none the wiser that their wallets were in his pockets, that…

(So many memories. )

But, a good Trust Me face works wonders, it seems, but a good suit made it infallible.

Gods did he miss his suits.

Jeans were all well and good, but he missed the feeling of a good fabric on his skin, a waistcoat pressing his torso, the rich fabrics and colours luxuriating.

Getting through the early morning rush of businessmen and woman had been easy enough (you could get so many places if you looked like you were on a job, heading somewhere, busy), and now it was a waiting game.

The tide would be low enough at about 10, when the morning rush dried up, and hopefully he would get where he was going.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

When Gwen unlocked her door, and saw Tosh and Owen, she threw herself at them, eyes watering.

That was the only moment that she forgot what she was thinking when she was driving back home, and a moment later, she was pulling her gun out to aim at them, placing herself between them and the door, inching between them and Rhys.

"Bloody hell woman!"

"Gwen!" Rhys was severely confused and alarmed.

"Gwen, what are you doing?"

"Until I know that you are who you bloody well look like you are I'm not taking chances!"

"You bring me back again and you're wondering if I'm an imposter? Fuckin' hell!" Owen threw his hands in the air and started pacing.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

There was an entire level of Torchwood One that had very limited amount of people able to get there. Limited amount of people allowed there.

Ianto was one of the few from the Archives that were allowed there, his results on the cognitive and memory tests getting him there much earlier than would be usual for a junior Archivist, but then, nothing about Torchwood is ever really 'usual'.

(And Ianto is unusual even by Torchwood standards.)

He'd had the Dead Zone explained to him early on, when he'd been shown where the off-site entrance to the Lower Fifth Level:

It was an area where Torchwood One had complete control over the CCTV cameras, the footage once going through the Torchwood servers before making their way to the police. The servers, which incidentally ran through the Lower Fifth Level first, had certain programs in place to redirect the cameras when one needed to get to the doorway leading to the Lower Fifth.

Ianto was hoping that the program that would redirect the cameras was still running… hoped that when low tide came around his continued presence at the bench would be enough.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

They stared at Gwen for a long, uncomprehending moment, the panic of the situation dissipating slightly when Tosh and Owen took in the image Gwen presented.

"You're pregnant?"

Tosh felt a bit dim for being the one to say it aloud, but it was a startling thing to see. She looked about ready to explode… should she really be bursting into her own apartment, gun at the ready in her state?

(Obviously they'd missed quite a bit more than they'd thought. The Hub was blown up and Gwen looked fit to do so herself.)

She thought it might be a bit more startling if she hadn't seen something like it before, and Owen apparently had the same thought.

"You didn't get bitten by an alien again, did you? Because that would be fucking typical."

It was a wonderfully typical reaction for Gwen to lower the gun to smack Owen on the back of his head, a gloriously familiar thing in a world of strange.

It would be the most comforting thing she'd see for a long time.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

A little after 10 the Cameras posted around the area turned away as one.

Ianto smiled, and moved towards the metal railing that stood between the Thames and the public and, when there was a lull in the few people still out at this time, leapt over the edge.

He had a moment of panic just before his feet hit the invisible catwalk—literally invisible, rather than unnoticeable like the invisible lift (two entirely different pieces of alien tech)—with a clang.

There was a moment when his stomach rolled, looking at his feet braced on nothing, before he settled himself.

"Ianto Jones, Arch-IJ67234 Alpha Beta Applesauce-32."

There was a moment where Ianto worried that his name, code, and clearance passcode wouldn't work, but then a metal door seemed to melt forward through the slime-and-lichen covered cement, and slid to the side to reveal darkness.

Lights started flickering to life far into the darkness, lines of light flickering on closer and closer until sterile white walls made blinding greeted him.

Ianto snorted as he walked forward.

Torchwood One and Three were as different as day and night; the sterility of One compared to the comfortable dark of Three, and it was almost surprising how unsurprised Ianto was that he didn't miss this.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

There was a drawn out bout of awkward silence after Gwen had made sure that Tosh and Owen were who they said they were.

(As sure as she could be, considering this was probably the best example of conflicted interests, the kind that would have had her taken off of a job on the force)

Gwen fought down the flush that wanted to rise in her cheeks, since being sure meant quite a lot of shouting and ridiculously personal questions, some of which had come perilously close to revealing her bout of infidelity to Rhys… She had had to pull Owen aside once she was more certain that Owen wasn't a disguised alien, to confirm, and had nearly had a heart attack when Rhys had walked in to see if she was alright.

But now she was more than fairly certain that maybe they were who they said they were, or at least were as much of who they said they were to be able to be trusted.

Maybe. She was fairly certain.

"So..."

"Why haven't you called Jack yet?" Tosh had a familiar look on her face, one that Gwen knew she had on her own face occasionally, same as everyone else on Torchwood. The look said that if Jack was here, he'd explain things and Everything Would Be Okay.

Gwen shared a look with Rhys, her lips pursing when Rhys frowned.

"Well…"

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

The place didn't smell nearly as much like a hospital as he remembered, the air stale and recycled but not nearly as sterile. He's reassured by the low hum of fans as air is filtered from miles upwards, the generators still working strong.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Tosh stared at Gwen, not believing it. Jack was gone?

"He left? Well that's bloody great! Off with his Doctor again? I can't bloody well believe this…" Owen threw his hands in the air and stood to pace, and Tosh shook her head.

"Wh-why? What happened? Why did he…" she trailed off when she saw Gwen's face turn darker.

"It… might be a bit easier to understand if you saw the news first…"

Rhys pulled the clips up on their now much quicker computer, someone having posted a collaboration of all the footage of that short and horrifying time, and they sat in to watch.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

If she didn't know it was impossible, she might think that even her tear ducts were in shock, because no tears fell even after video-Jack collapses and the next part of the video shows, desperately calm looking officials with darting eyes and small flinches telling the public that oops, perhaps they made a hasty decision in taking the children for 'vaccinations'.

That no, they weren't planning on giving up anyone's children, and everyone should disregard the incriminating videos that have managed to make their way to the internet, blah, blah, blah, and trust in your government.

She felt increasingly detached as Gwen explained that Jack stayed long enough to start up the recovery of Torchwood before leaving, but gets that right now the focus is on recovery.

She's gotten UNIT to help with rounding up the Weevils that escaped, and there's a few teams on standby here to make sure nothing goes horribly wrong while Torchwood is recovering, and any and all alien tech found amongst the rubble is being stored.

She agrees that they're in luck that the Archives were built to be able to handle the kind of blast it did, or else there would be significantly more work to do.

Tears sting the backs of her eyes at the thought of the Archives, but stay locked behind the iron bars of shock, and she agreed rather numbly that they should try to relax.

Its not likely that they'll be able to figure things out that day, at least, and Tosh knows that as soon as she can shake off the numbness, she'd want to see what she'd missed when she'd been… Well.

Later, it gets a bit awkward when it becomes obvious that despite Gwen's earnest generosity in offering them a place to stay, there would definitely not be enough room.

They were looking for a new place to stay, and that sparked the possibility of Owen and Tosh finding an apartment to rent, but the lack of papers and money puts a dampener on that idea.

They put a hold on brainstorming where Tosh and Owen would stay when a call comes in from UNIT about a feral colony of Weevils, but the problem remains even after Tosh and Owen assist the UNIT team assigned to the problem.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

It was, at once, a long and short walk to get to the main area, with no stops to get through more doors, no areas to stop to re-confirm his identity, and nothing to distinguish one hallway from the next.

Ianto had gotten lost a number of times in the beginning, and counting his memory for things and sense of direction had him wondering at if there wasn't something sentient about the walls…

Well.

He still had no proof as to the walls and corridors, but there, the plain-yet-blinding white of the walls giving way to a large dome of a room, at it's center was something that was more than a little sentient.

The entire room was filled with monitoring equipment and screens; several were set up around the center of the room surrounding the mass of wires and metal that jutted to the ceiling.

As he walked nearer, dormant screens lit up in welcome, and there at what he'd considered his own monitor, several blue wires the exact shade of his eyes dropped down.

For the moment, he ignored it, and ran a hand through the dust on the tabletop. It pulsed for a moment before forming into keys, each square with rounded edges and familiar like a keyboard with three times too many buttons.

In that moment, he forced down the shudders in his insides at the thoughts reawakened at seeing organic matter and technology so seamlessly working together. He still remembered his horror at seeing the similarities between the Cybermen and what seemed like an old friend.

This was, rather uncreatively he'd thought, called the Mainframe.

It was mostly organic, partly mechanical, a great deal digital, and entirely adaptive.

Certainly adaptive to other technologies, but also adaptive to situations.

The information on the Mainframe Ianto had found (the only paper file that had more information in it than on the digital database) said that it was found on a shredded space ship not long after humans were starting to get the hang of computers and their practical uses, and when they'd worked on scanning it, it's hard outside shell of tech had adapted, read probably much more from the device than they'd gotten on it, and had promptly learned how to communicate.

The old Torchwood members had stared, transfixed, as in the next ten minutes the Mainframe had pulled up letter by letter onto a screen to spell out

It had taken much longer for them to understand enough about it to understand that it was very much so a rather large and complicated computer.

It had taken them just a bit longer than that to recognize that they wouldn't be able to take it apart, the shell of the thing more sturdy and complicated in design for them to even begin to contemplate.

It was nearly a decade after that that they realized that no, the oddest thing about it wasn't the fact that it could tell them just about anything they needed to know about just about anything that they encountered (as soon as they figured out the right way of asking, anyway) and yet took ten minutes to get out a nine-letter word.

No it was the fact that it, a computer, was communicating with them at all outside of a search parameter.

Now, the idea of an AI wasn't so far fetched, and it had been brought up as a possibility about, oh, fifty years ago, but no AI, no program, really, could replicate emotions or form opinions outside of it's programming. It could calculate figures and probabilities, but it wouldn't hold a personal opinion of any of the people using the program

Ianto was certain that, had Torchwood One stayed around long enough, in another hundred years there would have been more debate about Mainframe being an AI, but as it was he was happy with knowing Mainframe as an organic creature.

One with nothing even remotely resembling morals or a conventional sense of what is right and wrong, but an organic creature.

It had thoughts in its head/self/entity, and seemingly the one purpose in its life was getting more of them.

It lived off of the electrical charges from information, and was always looking for more.

It had opinions, to a degree, and a way of processing information and situations to form logical outcomes and even some ideas that wouldn't be possible without an understanding of emotions and the flaws in logic that resulted from emotional responses.

There was no noted point where the old Torchwood members figured out how to 'log in' with the Mainframe, but it was one of the first things that Torchwood One's Lower Fifth had taught him about, considering that he would be cross referencing that way.

Ianto picked up the three chords that had dropped down, feeling the strange rush just below his fingertips that had always put him in mind of holding a live wire, and carefully pulled the largest strand towards him to rest the tapered just against his collarbone at the base of his throat.

A shiver tickled at his ribs when a feeling crossed somewhere between a lover's kiss, a friendly flick, and a tiny tongue licking him touched skin before subsiding and feeling like nothing at all.

He picked the other two and placed them lightly against his temples before pulling back slightly, and the wires connecting to Mainframe stiffened to keep the ends floating just off of his skin.

"Confirm connection?" he asked, voice sounding horribly light and childish when repeating protocol, and a brief feeling of warmth heated his skin, a shiver running up his spine.

That was Mainframe's feeling for him, a sensation like someone turned a heater on over his body, and a separate sensation of someone running their finger down the back of his neck. It wasn't altogether pleasant, but it certainly wasn't unpleasant.

He'd heard others describe Mainframe's feelings for them differently, some whom Ianto thought that Mainframe didn't much like (because she certainly had favorites) avoided 'hooking up' because of the chills they got, pinches and shocks, clammy feelings as Mainframe connected with them and registered who they were.

He thought Mainframe rather liked him, from the warmth, and had a couple of ideas of what her secondary thought of him was.

When it was 'discovered' that Mainframe had feelings at all, let alone thoughts and feelings on those who 'hooked up' some of the stuffier scientists had tried to look into what the sensations Mainframe greeted each person with meant.

(That was, he thought, one of those inescapable things about scientists: their urge to figure out the why's, what something meant and what made it so as they tripped somewhat over the line between scientists and philosopher)

There was a rather dead end conclusion that had basically spiraled down to "Mainframe likes some people and likes other people less and chooses your own remembered sensations to make you feel how Mainframe sees you when being greeted. Just because."

Ianto thought Mainframe took the idea of greeting someone 'warmly' or 'coolly' a bit literally, and thought rather favorably on his first greening being the feeling of coming out of the cold; of feeling like he was coming inside after playing in snow; laying in sun-warmed sand after swimming in cold water, dozens of variants of the thought "and now I'm warm again" even if it was followed by a shiver up the spine.

He'd thought enough on it on his own, and the feeling was too general for him to get a good idea of it.

It was playful, watchful, teasing, irritating, familiar, creepy, and uncomfortable…

Mainframe could be greeting him any number of ways:

"Hey, I like you, but I know you're hiding something…"

"Hey, you're fun but I'm still going to poke you annoyingly…"

"Hey, you're a great guy, but I'm going to bug you like a sibling would…"

"Hey, you're my friend, but I'm watching you…"

So many things, and Ianto thought it might just be a bit of everything

(because he was always hiding something, whether it was his less than sparkling past, his dislike for a coworker, his half-converted girlfriend, his crush on Jack while trying to cure his girlfriend, his desire to be a 'couple' or 'boyfriends' or something with Jack, and because he did find the sensation a bit annoying, and familiar, and a bit sibling-ey in that love smack kind of way, and it did feel a bit like he was being watched, but maybe by someone he knows…)

but it could just as easily be none of those things.

He'd once tried asking Mainframe, but in response he'd gotten a couple of question marks and that tingly light sensation behind his eyes that felt quite a bit like curiosity, which Ianto translated to 'just because'.

But for all that Mainframe was brilliant in a way that he could only vaguely understand, there was so much that got lost in translation.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

"Well why don't you stay at Ianto's old place?"

"You haven't unpacked it?"

"Well… Ianto had it paid out for the rest of the year, and with everything else happening…"

"Of course he had, what? Seven months of rent paid out in advance?"

Tosh nodded, smiling a bit. That did seem like the kind of thing Ianto would do.

She doesn't know if she'll be able to handle it so soon after finding out he was dead, but she could be practical.

Being practical in the face of Ianto's death would be something he'd appreciate, after all.

Now she just had to see if she could remember that.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Posing a question to Mainframe was easy enough so long as you knew what to focus on and how.

Now, he focused on the 456, on Torchwood Cardiff, on Jack Harkness, putting his mind firmly in the non-recent past, and the screen filled with information, some scanned papers, and what was obviously supposed to be a secure government document.

He read through the lot, bits he thought were important being highlighted as he read, and he wondered at the fact that there was very little he didn't already know.

Jack had filled in quite a few blanks, but Ianto had been able to figure out much of it himself.

Mainframe did identify what the chemical was that had been introduced to the population that allowed for the seeming mind control. And, because Mainframe knew Ianto and knew he would want to know the original name, showed him what it looked like written in the Natives script.

It was one he didn't know, and in the native script it was significantly shorter than the technical earthly text, a series of small doodles making it up.

(This fact led him to believe that perhaps the species had a better sense of dimension to their limb-to-hand coordination, to have detailed pictures the local written dialect, and he filed that thought away to look into later)

The first character looked something like the infinity symbol but bent, the second a cube that Ianto thought might be a sort of dice from the suggestion of a picture, and the third and fourth a spiral and an inverted version of itself.

The only other thing he didn't know in what was presented was the information on the other officials who were with Jack in making the exchange.

He thought they might not like to be remembered as the people who helped the 456, and read over their personal information without any guilt.

He could see why they had been chosen for the assignment, and could see in the reports on them after the fact that they, like Jack, hadn't been as unaffected as it had been hoped they would be.

In al cases a note in increased drinking had been made, and one lieutenant had died of heart failure, doctors' notes on stress and increased paranoia suggesting more than the proposed survivor's guilt and PTSD.

His next query was of Torchwood Cardiff, recovery after the 456's show (pulling up the memory of the exact date wasn't a problem), and the reparations being made to the Hub.

Several videos were brought up, a number of them coming from YouTube, and Ianto watched the ones new to him.

(He didn't much want to see himself die again, thank you. It was embarrassing. And honestly, to think it'd gone viral…)

As he watched the government officials try to cover their arses, of the news on Bridget Spears (Frobishers secretary, he'd had a number of pleasant conversations with her, before she'd assisted in the plan to have him blown up) and her rising popularity in political spheres as she sheds her unnoticeable secretary skin to show her competence (and Ianto is happy for her, really, despite blowing-him-up plans which he wasn't in the least bit sulking over, even if he had thought they'd been getting on).

He sees reports of deaths and sees Frobisher and his family on the list, Frobisher having killed his family and them himself to avoid having his children given up as Alien dope.

It's no surprise that Mr. Prime Minister is being voted out.

He smirks as Denise Riley's attempted rise up crashes and burns when it's revealed that it was her idea to use the 'lower class' children, her career spiraling down faster and faster even as she desperately tried to climb out the hole she dug herself, and finds a video of his sister Rhi of all people slapping her across the face on national television.

At his amusement, a number of gifs were brought up showing the smack, and a number of pictures and freeze-frames of the moment.

(He's honestly a bit jealous: she gets internet stardom by slapping the bitch willing to give off children she thought were useless, he got his by dying and saying the most embarrassing things in his last moments.)

He reads over the rest of the information even as he rolls over the thought that his sister has managed to become a meme.

He's reeeally kind of jealous, actually.

He shoves the thought aside, and brings up a new search.

Looking for mention of coming back to life brings up Jack's file and the reports Ianto himself had written on Suzie and Owen and references that would have been bloody useful for when it seemed there was Death at the hospital, and searching for what sort of solution would produce de-aging like he was experiencing provided quite a lot of information.

Not wanting to dismiss anything, and not knowing what would narrow his search without giving the possibility of missing something important, Ianto settled himself in for the long haul.

It wasn't the first time he's done this here, or done something similar elsewhere, and he enjoys the fact that anything he thinks of as important information automatically gets saved.

It didn't make it any less time consuming, though, which just goes to show that alien tech doesn't solve everything.

It was still bloody useful though.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Rhys offers to help them get their things from storage, but the only thing they really need is clothing; they'd been dead (dead!) long enough that their apartments had already been rented out and they didn't need to bring out the furniture.

They stopped at Owen's first, as his clothing had already been brought out once before, and so the boxes were closer to the front of the storage unit.

"Second bloody time I've had to do this…"

She stopped paying attention, and he came from the area with a large duffle bag, expression stiff, and they headed off to find Tosh's things.

Tosh stared at her own storage unit for a little longer than was strictly necessary before opening it; she didn't want to see her whole life packed away into one space.

She did eventually open it, and was surprised that Owen didn't say anything snarky about her delay.

Then again, he'd had to do this once already.

Tosh wondered if he'd felt as numb as she did, looking at her sofa, chair stacked upside down on top of it, at the boxes she knew were full of clothing and electronics.

Her life, all of it outside of Torchwood, had been stacked up into this little space.

Here was all she'd kept in life, here was the sum of all her parts, what she'd lived with for more than four years…

She knew everything had been put away neatly; everything was in exact Ianto standard stacks (and oh, wasn't that a raw thought, Ianto packing up her things…), and it only took her a moment to suss out a thought as to how things might have been organized.

Furniture filling the back and the right half, several boxes stacked on top where they could be, and when she shone a light she could make out a familiar neat scrawl the words "CPTEC. LvRm 3/3." She knew LvRm was Living Room, and Ianto only ever shortened things to three letters or two to a sound, and assumed CPTEC was computer tech.

A small twist of a smile came to her mouth, remembering one morose conversation that if she were to die, she wanted her computer and hard drive easily accessible, since it seemed like Torchwood Three staff had the habit of not staying dead.

(Ianto had wanted his suits properly pressed and stored, and the little shoebox he'd kept under his bed to be easily found.)

To the right, there were neat stacks of boxes, each with a label, and there: tucked into a corner was the sort of bag she'd always associated with hitchhikers anticipating rain. It was stuffed full, and when she unclipped buckles and unzipped the top, she wiped a small tear away.

"Tea-Bo—Ianto make you up a bag too? Didn't think he was that optimistic…"

Tosh sniffled and nodded, shouldering the pack and only feeling a bit silly that she was wearing dinner-hitchhiker chic clothing and accessories.

She'd do better with steel-toe boots or sneakers, though, she smiled, even Ianto can't think of everything.

(He very nearly did, though, and it broke her heart that he wasn't here to see it.)

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

He knows he can't stay here; for one, he had to figure out what was happening in Cardiff, and to do that it seemed that he would need to actually BE there, but he knew he'd need more information.

Information of the kind that only Mainframe can give.

He's pondering on this—how's he going to be able to deal with getting back and forth between Cardiff and London? And it was hardly an easy or covert thing, jumping over a safety barrier seemingly into the Thames—when a warm feeling washes over him paired with the sensation of having his hair ruffled.

It was an eerie sensation to have forced on him, as his hair wasn't actually moved, confusing in ways he couldn't begin to extrapolate on, so he focused on what it could mean instead.

He doesn't have long to figure it out, as movement from above grabs his attention, and a lump of wiring and metal is lowered from the upper rafters.

It's about the size of his hand; large as it is, and when it gets closer, he can see that amongst the wires there's a flat screen. It gets to his eye-level, and he has a moment of confusion—what, exactly, is he supposed to do with that?—when his eyes unfocus and a flurry of pictures and ideas flood through his mind.

An iPod, a phone, a blackberry, the internet, a computer, convenience, travel-sized, connect to wireless, USB port, hard drive, earphones, Mainframe, Hub, motion, take it with you, flexibility, compatibility, travel…

And Ianto smiled.

He's got his own little Mainframe, travel-sized! He carefully held the device in his hands, feeling the weight of it and looking it over.

His very own baby Mainframe. A miniaturized Hub…

It was so very cute, and he sent as much affection and gratitude towards Mainframe as he could as he cradled his little Mini Hub to his chest.

He only needed access to a computer once he'd gathered more intel, and having a mobile Hub would make finding out about what was happening with Jack and the rest of Torchwood that much easier.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Owen follows Tosh into Ianto's building, waiting with her for the elevator to arrive, a woman with a decent rack and amazing hips smiles at Tosh in recognition.

He looks around the main area while the two talk, and doesn't say anything about Tosh saying that Ianto was "out of town" but shakes his head when the elevator doors close in the woman's face. Acted so friendly, but didn't notice that Tosh was moments away form another breakdown.

Fucking blind is what 'normal' people were.

Tosh only stumbled for a moment with the keys, but they were soon inside and settling their duffle bags down, and Owen looked about in interest. Sniffed, and frowned. Well that was weird.

He'd been over once before, but that was to do a check-up on his health midway through Ianto's little vacation (and fuck if he didn't take advantage of Jonesey's previously unmentioned medical knowledge once he got back—made the worse bits of clean up much easier), but at the time there wasn't much sightseeing.

It was smaller than his was (had been, because after he died the first time he practically lived at Torchwood) (not an option now), but had a similar floor plan.

The kitchen was separated from a living/dining area by an open counter-top, what looked to be sliding panels making it possible to block the two areas off. Looking down a hall showed three doors and a wall of shelving. One door opened to a bathroom, fair sized with a bath and shower combo (which was fantastic; he hadn't had a bath he could feel for ages), and another was a closet with a couple of coats hung inside. All were ridiculously neatly put away, and Owen took some pleasure in rumpling them when he flipped through them, hangers rattling. He took a quick glance in the last room, Ianto's bedroom (also outlandishly neat, with what looked to be a suit jacket folded carefully over a chair the only thing even remotely out of place), before heading back into the main area.

Everything was ridiculously neat in a way that only ever happened in his flat when he was anticipating a pull. The only thing even remotely rumpled was the living room area; an old lumpy couch with a number of mismatched quilts and knit blankets covering the green upholstery, a few equally mismatched pillows scattered on the furniture in the room, one low maple table, and a wingback chair.

When he flopped down on the couch, he found it was disgustingly comfortable, and groaned.

He heard a small huff of a laugh from Tosh, and relaxed a bit more.

(She was laughing; a bit, that was good. That was good.)

She wasn't anywhere close to fine, but then, she'd been much closer to Ianto Jones than he had.

He and Tea-Boy had a sort of snark-to-sarcasm kind of relationship, him providing more than enough snark, Tea-Boy the sarcasm (most times with the sort of blank-face delivery that would have made a mint at poker), and while he could tell a bit about the guy he hadn't been anywhere near as close as Tosh and Jonesey had been.

He could certainly tell a bit more about his mindset now, after he was dead, than he could when they'd both been alive.

The packs of clothing set in the Storage Units said quite a bit about the amount of practicality and optimism he had.

He'd known about the anal-retentive practicality, the neatness and order, and being in his apartment had solidified it.

Considering he'd been at Torchwood Three before Ianto had made it there, he'd seen what the Archives had been like before he'd gotten his OCD little hands on it, had known before and after he'd been around that he was a slob and having the guy around to clean up everything had been just one more thing made easier.

As a Doctor, he could appreciate cleanliness, but Ianto must've had some sort of Magpie kink for having everything just about glittering with cleanliness.

(A nasty, and almost hopeful, part of him thought that Jack had certainly taken advantage of Tea-Boy's polishing skills, and still expected somewhat for there to be a dry but barbed response)

He'd known about the optimism… to an extent. He'd thought a great deal of it had been squashed when his optimistic hopes for his maybe-not-entirely-converted-at-the-time-girlfriend had turned out to be shit, but there Ianto'd left a just-in-case-you-come-back-to-life-again-and-need-clothing duffle bag in both of their Units, and while there was certainly proof that some in Torchwood staff had trouble staying dead (or rather letting other staff to remain dead), leaving the bags of clothing and toiletries screamed of a bit more optimism than practicality.

Well, the toiletries included were entirely practical.

Tosh was looking around the apartment with a wistful look on her face, the expression sad, and Owen took a breath to say something.

Whatever he was going to say was lost, however, when he caught that scent again.

This time, he recognized it.

"Hey, d'you know why it smells like a florists around here?"

He didn't know what he was going to say before recognizing the smell, but it likely wouldn't have had Tosh's face crumpling like wet newspaper and turning away to lock herself in the bathroom.

He wondered what it was he'd said.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

He spends some time fiddling with the Mini-Hub, getting information from Mainframe at the same time, and knows that he will be able to hook this up to any computer and be able to connect to Mainframe.

He thought this was at once a gift for him and a gift for Mainframe itself, as this would be a direct connection, and Mainframe would get more and more information, hungry thing that it is, but he was touched all the same.

How many others had thought about being able to access Mainframe from outside of the office, and she was letting him in on this little ability?

Again, probably done for selfish reasons as well, but he was touched all the same.

Mainframe directs him to one of the larger food stores when he inquires, and he logs off to find himself more food, carefully placing the miniaturized Mainframe amongst his things.

He might be able to make himself up a stew if he could find what he had in mind…

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Tosh is a genius in the truest sense of the word.

Working with technology comes as naturally as blinking, hacking into what most would call a tough firewall was as distracting and time consuming as a yawn, making and integrating programs needed as much attention as braiding her own hair.

It just wasn't a hard thing for her. Hadn't ever been, not when her second year computer science teacher refused to teach her any longer if she kept interrupting to correct and question him. Not when she was rebuilding her home computer, not when she was making her own programs, not when she was immersing herself in the possibilities that were open to her with technology had she ever thought that there might be a disadvantage.

When her mother had been kidnapped, and she'd been blackmailed and threatened into committing treason, she'd had hope that her flair for technology would help her until the end. Until the end, she had never once thought of her talent with anything like despair.

In a similar way, she had never considered her habit of digging up as much information on something that interested her before as a problem, especially since it was one she'd developed while in Torchwood.

Especially since no one would have or could have caught her out, and the only people who knew she'd told it to as part of a report.

Or as a friend and fellow member of Torchwood.

But here she was, thinking 'Why? Why did I have to find this now?'

"Well," came the voice of her best friend, "seems as though I'm dead if you're watching this—"

Tosh managed to pause it, closing her eyes for a moment, pursing her lips at the sight of her friend.

When she thought she had her voice under control, she called out for Owen.

"Owen!" Her voice cracked midway through.

"Yeah?" He was in the kitchen—Ianto's kitchen, god why did she think it would be okay to stay in Ianto's old apartment?—enjoying the fact that he had bodily functions and needs.

She wanted to think that it was insensitive, but she didn't actually remember being dead, only a dark numbness when the hurt was too much, and this was the second time around for Owen.

The second one, and the one that allowed him to "eat, sleep, have sex, drink, piss and shit, and I'm gonna enjoy the fuck out of it."

And she knew he wasn't as close to Ianto as she was. Had been.

"Come see this."

She pulled the box of tissues towards her when Owen came up from behind to look over her shoulder at the desktop.

She made it replay from the beginning.

"Well, seems as though I'm dead if you're watching this, and I hope that Gwen Cooper is still alive, and I know that Jack Harkness is, and as much as I hope that I die doing something for the grater good, it's also likely a Weevil got me.

(In an Undertone) Gods, I hope I didn't get taken down by a Weevil.

I got this idea from Tosh's video, ["You have a video?" "Shush Owen."] –how Tosh got brought back to life (Pause to wave awkwardly at the camera) well, Hi. And Goodbye. Again. I hope we managed to get in that Matrix Marathon. (Pause, Ianto looks away from the camera, lips pursed.)

[Tears were running down her face, tissue scrunched at her lips. "We didn't…"]

I hope we did.

["Oh god, Ianto…"]

I don't think it's possible for Owen to be brought back again [Owen snorted], but if you are, you're an arse, and if Tosh is brought back as well, go on a date already. If she isn't, then go put a tub of S'mores Fudge ice cream at her grave, because body there or no, you need to do that. ["He's not serious." "Oh god…" Tosh felt her face heat, and a trembling smile come to her face. Oh Ianto…] I'm serious.

[They listened to Ianto say his goodbyes to Gwen, and both smiled a bit when Ianto started in on the possible new members of Torchwood. When he started to talk about inadvertently causing the end of the world by not talking about their problems, Tosh couldn't keep in the sob at Ianto cocking a familiar eyebrow at the camera. It was a horribly familiar smile hovering about the edges of his mouth, the corners of his eyes. It usually precluded a little joke, something a bit sarcastic and possibly condescending, delivered so evenly, in such a dry tone, you couldn't get insulted.]

… if it inadvertently causes it, won't you feel silly?

(Meaningful stare)

(Clears throat) Jack… [Tosh wondered if they should turn it off, or skip ahead, it might be too personal] In the Archives you'll find a file with my name on it in the cabinet labeled "S.H.T.F Death/Other Log"… there ARE other files in there, one on Lisa, one on Owen's deceased Fiancée, one on Tosh's mother and the people who held her hostage, one on the previous members of Torchwood Three, and one on the people from Suzie's group and on Max, the man she Retcon'd and programmed. So in case you didn't catch on, "S.H.T.F" stands for "Shit Hit The Fan". [Owen had winced at the mention of his fiancée, Tosh at the mention of her mother's kidnappers, but both couldn't help smiling a bit at Ianto's creative use of abbreviation. "Always knew the sod made up his labels in the archives…"]

But my file… well, in it, you'll find (pulls out folder and pulls out one small stack of papers and holds one up) Information that whoever you get to replace me should know, including Myfanwy's feeding schedule and exact instructions on how to use the coffee maker. And Jack I know that there'll be a replacement. (wry smile) I know I don't have a huge job, but someone needs to look after the Archives and keep the residents of Torchwood Three fed and watered. [Tosh wanted to hit Ianto. He was so much more than that, and here he was listing all the things that would be needed to replace him!]

Which brings me to the next part of this. (Holds up a small stack of papers). This right here is a guide to the present Archive system, so you'll know how to find things and you'll know where things go. Don't rely on Jack for this. Don't let him deal with anything in the Archives, or else it'll be lost forever. [Tosh remembered some drunken rants about Jack, about the impossibility of Jack having lived so long and still being unable to follow the alphabet]

(Another sheet held up)

I know that my stuff will likely go into storage, but this is a list of things I'd like to go elsewhere. Mostly to the Members of Torchwood who I know, but there it is. As a side note, Tosh, if you're alive, you get the couch, and all the blankets, pillows, and all of my movies, and have a Movie Night for me, won't you?

[Tosh couldn't hold in her sobs anymore, and Owen rubbed her shoulders]

Jack, and this is important, you need to get this (Reaches off camera and pulls out a leather bound book [Tosh purses her lips]) from my apartment. It'll be in my bedside table, but you need to get this. I know that there'll be so much I wish I could tell you, or things I wish I had told you, and I'll have written it here. This is my personal Diary. [Tosh elbowed Owen when he snorted lightly at that and gave him a baleful look through her tears] There's significantly more in it than my Torchwood one. You need to get this. Please. There are also files in my desk you should probably see, or at least make sure they get put where they need to go, but please Jack, please do this. I'm probably going to regret this, but please.

The rest of the things in the file are various pictures I've managed to cobble together of the team, and there are copies in this file and in the one at my apartment. The Archives room is built to last through a Nuclear blast, so even if you set off an explosive directly in the Hub, it'll stand. (Shrugs) Don't ask why there would be an explosion in the Hub, but in our line of work, it could happen. In the bottom of the cabinet there'll be a USB drive or two or three depending on how much later I survive after this will have all files and programs from the main computer on them. Before you think I've been silly for this, know its password protected.

(Eyebrow raises, and smile)

74RD15

[Tosh chocked on a laugh. One movie night they'd spent a couple of hours turning significant words into numerical form.]

Yes, Jack, it is that with the appropriate letter-to-number changes. The Doctor is someone you'll likely always remember, so there's no fear of the information being lost.

[Owen shook his head, because of course Tea Boy would put all the important things needed to rebuild Torchwood 3's systems into the safest place. AND pose what actually happened as a hypothetical situation…]

(Pause, and Ianto takes a deep breath)

Really, Jack… Please get my diary from my apartment. If… If for some reason you don't… Know I love you. I do. If I haven't already told you, know that. That, and that I don't regret any of it. Before you go on to thinking to blame yourself for my death, know that that's ridiculous. Don't tell me you forgot that I worked at Torchwood One before I came to work for you. I went through Cybermen and Daleks, and my girlfriend being half-converted, and I came back for more. You shot the monster my girlfriend became; you let a little girl go happily with faeries to save the world; you sent a shell-shocked soldier back to his own time in 1918, back to his death, and I didn't leave. You make the hard decisions that other can't make, and I love you all the more for it. If you somehow led me to where I was going to die, don't you dare try to think that you can in any way order me to follow you without my having chosen to follow you. If you were there with me when I died, then all I have to say about it is thank you. Thank you for making sure I don't die alone. [Tosh sobs, because she may not remember dying, but she remembered being surrounded by friends when things went dark.]

(Ianto tilts his head, considering)

If you manage to find a different way to convince yourself it was your fault I died, Gwen, if you're there, I give you leave to smack him. If not, then as a senior Torchwood member, someone, give him a good slap, will you?

Well, this goodbye is significantly longer than Tosh's, but I couldn't leave the file to being found too late—seriously, don't mess up my Archives—and I wanted to be able to cover all the bases. So. Just think about what I said.

(smile)

Bye."

The screen went blank, and Tosh lasted for a full minute, counting her breaths out evenly, before those even breaths turned into hiccups and shuddering breaths.

She didn't resist when Owen turned her and pulled her up into a hug, only held onto his shirt and did her hardest to cry out all the grief. Tried not to think about how it would never be her best friend holding her like this ever again, how she would never again get ragingly drunk and giggle over faeries and their redecorating failures, never complain about the early hours Ianto kept to keep running in the mornings, never barter over which movie to watch when work becomes a bit too much, never cuddle Ianto Jones when the anniversary of Lisa's death comes up, never be cuddled when a drunken nightmare of Mary wakes her up…

Never again, so many things.

She'd certainly imagined that she would die in Torchwood.

She never thought about whether she would die before Ianto, or vice versa, and the thought that Ianto had to go through this suddenly hit her, making her cry harder.

He obviously made his video after she died, and he looked fine enough, but she didn't let that sooth her into believing that he was alright; Ianto was much better at staying composed than she was. Much better at hiding things, much better at keeping any hurts close and hidden.

The only times she'd ever seen the even a bit of his problems was when they were getting drunk on his or her own couch, more often his, and even then it was always them taking comfort in each other.

Who did Ianto have to mourn her?

Jack, certainly, but Ianto had told her things were always different with Jack.

It wasn't always easy to talk about emotions with Jack, and Ianto had admitted that Jack had told him he didn't like the word 'couple'…

Owen didn't resist when she pulled him to Ianto's bedroom, didn't protest when she pulled him down to the sheets that no longer smelled like flowers and cedar, no longer smelled like Ianto or his shampoo, and went still when she arranged him for a cuddle.

She needed one, and damn the embarrassment that was creeping through her grief, she was getting a cuddle.

She only wished she had ice cream…

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto settled into the cot in one of the nearby break rooms, exhausted, and thankful that this time he would be passing out in a familiar place. Somewhere he didn't have to worry about Faeries or thugs, somewhere he didn't have nightmares about save for worries about what could have been rather than what had been, and lets darkness overtake him.

He doesn't dream that night.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

When Tosh woke up, Owen was still asleep, (Ianto would have already been up, glass of water by the bedside to deal with dehydration from a good cry, and breakfast getting ready on the stove), and her heart squeezed from the sense of loss.

Her best friend was dead.

She'd heard it, learned it, and had thought she'd been dealing with it, and it was only now that it was really sinking in.

It'd taken her best friend saying he was dead through a video that had made her actually start to process the information, rather than letting it float at the back of her mind, and all she wanted was a drink and a tub of ice cream.

Maybe two.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

It was very hard to wake up, and Ianto remembered that, as a child, he could happily sleep in until after noon if someone didn't come wake him. Happily he still had a number of habits that reassured him that his life had actually happened (it was a worry, being in his childhood body, even while surrounded by Torchwood), and he was awake early enough that he would, had he been waking to go to work, have enough time to get a jog and a shower in.

He has to wait until the monitors say that it's low tide again, when the only cameras set up to watch the Dead Zone said that things were clear, and in that time he repacks his bag and adding the few extra shirts he'd found in the break rooms to his small wardrobe. They'd be huge on him, but while he could wear a pair of jeans a few days in a row and not feel horrible, he wasn't in the least bit comfortable wearing shirts for more than two days.

He'd spent more than enough time in his actual youth smelling unwashed and unlaundered, and he really didn't want to repeat it.

He chewed on the dried provisions that were stored down here, jerky and dried fruit never being more appreciated, and half-heartedly searched for coffee grounds in the shelves.

He didn't find any, even when standing on the countertops to search through cupboards, and gave more than a half-hearted glare at the deceitful coffeemaker that prompted the search.

If ever there was a situation that called for a good cup of coffee, it was this one.

He settled for a cup of tea, and thought that perhaps it was just as well that he was getting a good cup of tea than a cup of I-did-my-best-but-it's-still-not-great coffee.

(He didn't much like tea, though.)

He checked his bag once again, and rerolled a pair of jeans tighter to make more room. He wrapped the little bit of Mainframe (he'd thought of it as his Mini-Hub when he woke up, but knew he could come up with a better name) in one of the shirts to make it a bit more protected from any sort of jostling or possible theft, taking a deep breath when a small chime sounded low tide.

It would certainly be an adventure, making his way back to Cardiff, and he didn't half-wish he could feel a bit more childish delight at the thought of such an adventure.

He shouldered his pack and headed down the sterile hallways, glad to have a plan in any case.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Feeling confident (he knew he shouldn't have, because timing is everything in Torchwood, and part of that is tied into confidence), Ianto felt for the invisible ladder at the end of the catwalk (and wasn't that a terrifying thing to climb), and pulled himself up and over the railing before getting out of the area and away from the people giving him concerned and alarmed looks.

He headed away from the area, features set into an expression of purposeful nonchalance, and the murmurings and wide-eyed looks faded. Obviously it wasn't such a big deal, and he was on his way anyway, best not to dwell really, especially since there was nothing down there. Just another mystery, better move along with the rest of the civilians.

He had what he was calling his Mini Hub (for now, he could think up a better name later), he was rested, fed, watered; all those things you generally worried about with children, and he would be his efficient and vaguely workaholic self and get things done.

He would get himself a computer (and there's a thought, what if he went to that one place… He'd had them placed inside, he was sure of it), hack into the servers of Torchwood's database, and figure what the hell was going on.

He had the goal, he had the tools, he just needed to stay positive, keep from focusing that he was in the body of his 8-10 year old self, and stay pumped and positive.

He could do this.

He was thinking this when he caught sight of three leather-jacket clad men heading his way, large and thick necked and armed, and while there was more to their descriptions, labeling them as 'Goons' and/or 'Thugs' would convey the same message. They seemed pretty familiar, and from the look of things, they thought the same of him.

"Fuck."

And Ianto ran.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

He heard a shout behind him, and sprinted as fast as he could. If he could reach an alleyway, he might be able to find a place to lose them. If he could make it, he could escape like he did last time (assuming that these gun-toting Goons are from the same stock, and Ianto assumes so because he hadn't had reason to think the word 'Goon' so many times in a very long time).

Hope rears it's head when he reaches a crossroads, and nearly gets himself run over by a blacked out van. This close, he can see more Goons inside.

But there's still hope, and Ianto runs the way the van came (it'll take time to turn around, and Hope peeks it's head up once more as an alleyway gets closer, closer…

A gunshot rings out and hits Hope right between the eyes.

On Ianto, the bullet rips through his side and into his stomach, and his legs give out.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

There's pain in his stomach and his heart feels like it's in his throat, because gods it hurts, it hurt it hurt it hurt so much, please make it stop, stop, there were hands on him, it hurt so much more, pressure on his abdomen, stop it, stop it, and weightlessness and dizzying heights until he is jarred some indeterminable time later when he lands on the hard-padded seat.

"Ffyc…" swearing in Welsh was always so much more rewarding, but he did it now because it required less concentration to say than 'fuck', and didn't sound like anything else when said through clenched teeth.

He bellows when more pressure is put on his abdomen, and there's so much pain, so much…

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Years pass, eons, and the pain is still there, and big hands keep pressing down, he can't feel his legs, and isn't that a laugh? Can't feel his legs but his stomach feels like its dissolving one cell at a time, and he can hear his heartbeat over the man next to him swearing, stuttering…

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

In the starkness of the day, Tosh remembers Ianto, his dry humor, his perfect coffee, the sound of his laugh, the comfort of cuddling up to him, of liquor in hot chocolate, of staring into his frightened eyes as a monster holds a cleaver to his throat, of crying in his arms and having him cry into hers, of knowing that at the end of a rough day she could cuddle up to him on his ugly couch, and she tied a knot.

She sets the handkerchief on the windowsill, starkly red in the grey light through the window, and decides to look up Welsh mythology and superstitions.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Ianto wonders if his worst nightmares as a teen lives up to this horror story, and has a moment to wonder if he was happy or not that he didn't find Jack.

He wonders if his death would have affected Jack a second time.

He wonders if Jack had ever died from a gut wound, and if he'd ever had nightmares about the possibility.

And then Ianto Jones stops wondering.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

And there you have it, a (very) long awaited chapter. Just so you know I have part of chapter 5, and ALL of chapter 4 written, because my mind went into Time Lord Mode and skipped ahead to what was at the time more interesting bits. Yes, I'm one of those people who thinks ahead so far that I have to write things down or else I'll forget what I had been thinking when I actually GET to that part in the story. So, chapter 4 will be up shortly (have to edit like hell, because I wrote a great deal of it when I was feeling dramatic, and that means lots of run on sentences and a lot of parts where I was pretty obviously over emotional over my own writing.)

Thank you for your patience, and thank you to all the lovely reviewers/commenters and I hope you continue to enjoy.

The bit with Mainframe was hard to write btw, and hopefully it doesn't come out as awkwardly as I fear. (Had to write it TWICE since I forgot to save it when I was on a roll, and ended up writing it differently since I made it sound creepy and manipulative as hell.)

Tell me what you think, and look forward to the next chapter since hopefully it will shed some light, and maybe cast some more confusion, but will probably be interesting at least.

Also there will not be as huge a gap.

Thank you to everyone, you've all been so supportive and patient!