Ianto stepped back slowly, releasing Fiona's hand as her eyes darted anxiously around the area, like she was searching for someone nearby who might be watching.

"Why shouldn't I be here?" he asked quietly, following her restless gaze. "Am I in danger? Are you?"

She nodded her head as she twisted her hands. "You're in danger because you're one of them."

"One of the survivors of Canary Wharf?" asked Jack, stepping up beside him. Fiona seemed to notice Jack for the first time, but she ignored him, eyes only for Ianto.

"I try to warn anyone who comes here, but no one believes me. They are dying, the survivors. There are less than half of us now."

Ianto exchanged a startled look with Jack; this was news to both of them. "What do you mean, half? What's happened to them?"

She glanced around again and leaned closer. "One or two didn't survive their injuries, a few suicides since the battle. But the others…the others were killed. Even the ones who took the Retcon. Murdered."

"How do you know this?" asked Ianto, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. She could be insane, but his instincts told him otherwise; she was broken, yes, but not quite mad, not yet. He did not want to believe that what she said could be true.

"Because I live here," she said, gesturing around them and apparently referring to the streets of Canary Wharf. "I watch them come and stare at the empty sky with their sad eyes, just like you, and then they go off and die. Sometimes they don't even have to come here to die. They just wash up on the shore or show up in the morgue. You are not safe, Ianto Jones."

"Who's killing them?" asked Jack. "And why?"

She shook her head, as if she either couldn't bear to look at him or was hiding something. "I don't know. I just know you're in danger. You have to leave." She glanced over her shoulder and with a gasp pushed Ianto away. "Now! Run!"

And without another word she dashed away. Ianto thought that he saw a man in a dark suit turn to follow her, and he moved to go after the strange, troubled woman, but Jack pulled him back and turned him around, leading him away by the elbow.

"There's more than one of them," he said under his breath, "so let's do what she suggested and take a walk."

Ianto tried very hard not to look behind him for other suspicious men in suits. "You believe her?" he asked quietly. "She didn't seem quite right. I don't remember her that way."

Jack gave him a pointed look "That doesn't mean she's not telling the truth." They continued to walk toward the river, back toward the car park, all thoughts of lunch at the Thai restaurant lost. Jack was looking sideways and toward the rooftops, and Ianto finally glanced over his shoulder to see if they were being followed; the area was crowded with midday workers, almost impossible to tell one man in a suit from another.

"She's clearly upset about something," Jack continued. "You brought your laptop, right?" When Ianto nodded, Jack went on. "Then we just nip into a café somewhere, log in to the Torchwood servers, and see if what she's saying might be true."

"You really suppose it's possible?" Ianto asked, not wanting to think about it, about someone taking out the survivors of Torchwood One. "That someone would try to kill us, those of us who survived?" Jack just answered with a look, and Ianto shook his head in return. "I can't imagine why. We're not a threat."

"That depends on the endgame," Jack said in that enigmatic way he had that more often than not annoyed Ianto.

They had to cut through a short passageway between buildings to get to the car park. Ianto glanced behind them again; it looked clear, and he nodded at Jack to continue. Yet the area was strangely empty now, perfect for an ambush. Both men put their hands to their weapons as they continued walking faster, but it was too late: everything happened so fast.

A man appeared in front of them, blocking the last several meters to the car park. He was holding some sort of strange gun. Jack raised his Webley and Ianto whirled with his weapon raised, but two more men appeared there, blocking the way with semi-automatics. They all wore black suits, non-descript in appearance in every way. Ianto did not recognize them, but knew instantly that Fiona had been right: they were in danger.

"Who are you?" Jack demanded, weapon still trained on the man in front of them, while Ianto covered the two in the back.

"We are no one you need to know. We are just here to clean up."

Ianto turned, and Jack automatically turned with him, so they continued to stand back to back while Ianto faced the man in front, the man with the unusual gun.

"Clean up what? Canary Wharf? Is that what you're doing then?"

The man cocked his head slightly to the left and Ianto saw a long scar down the side of his neck, from his ear down. His face did not contain any expression whatsoever as he raised the gun, and his voice was flat when he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jones. That is exactly what we are doing."

And he fired straight at Ianto.

Ianto heard Jack shout and was violently pushed out of the way, landing hard on the pavement. Some sort of dart seemed to fly in slow motion toward Jack's back as he took down the men who had followed them with two quick shots to the chest. Then it was Ianto's turn to shout and scramble to his feet as Jack spun, faced the last man…and the dart hit right him in the upper arm before he could fire.

It hit him hard enough to jerk him backward and drop the Webley. Ianto got off a shot at the man with the dart gun, catching him in the right shoulder before he turned and dashed around the corner. Ianto's instinct was to run after him—he expected Jack to yell at him to go—but a quick glance over his shoulder told him something else was very wrong: Jack was on his hands and knees, frowning with a surprised look on his face.

"My arm's numb," he said. Ianto leaned down and helped him stand; Jack slipped with a nervous laugh. "And there goes my leg."

"Must have been some sort of poison dart," Ianto murmured. "We need to get you to the car. I've got an anti-toxin kit in the boot."

Jack's head lolled with a grin. "You do?"

Ianto rolled his eyes. "And this surprises you because?"

Jack didn't answer. He tried to step forward but lurched awkwardly instead, and Ianto grabbed him around the waist to keep him up, one arm still raised with gun ready in case more men in suits showed up to finish what the others had started.

"Just a bit farther, Jack," Ianto murmured as they stumbled toward the car park. "Hang in there."

Jack mumbled something unintelligible.

They made it through the car park without incident. As soon as Ianto unlocked the car, Jack fell into the back seat, breathing fast with his eyes closed. Ianto immediately dialed Owen's mobile as he hurried to the boot to get the anti-toxin kit…except it wasn't there, he'd taken it out the week before to have his car serviced and must have left it in his flat, and Owen wasn't answering his phone.

"Dammit, Owen, pick up!"

The phone went to voice mail, and Ianto threw it down angrily in the front seat as he started the car and sped out of the car park, gun still in hand. He could hear Jack mumbling in the back.

"We're going to the A&E," Ianto said. "Don't argue."

"No hospitals," Jack muttered, his eyes fluttering open with a weak grin. "Try the Four Seasons instead. It's your birthday, after all."

"The Four Seasons?" Ianto asked, turning toward Westferry Circus. "That's a hotel."

"Not the hospital," Jack repeated. "I don't do A&E, too complicated." It sounded like it was taking every bit of effort for him to talk. "Standing account at Four Seasons for Torchwood meetings. Nice place. Happy birthday." He stopped abruptly, and Ianto turned to glance back at him.

"Dammit Jack, stay awake. We're almost there. I'll try Owen again and everything will be fine."

Jack murmured something unintelligible once more, and Ianto sped up.

The hotel was only minutes away, but those minutes felt like hours to Ianto. Pulling up to the front, Ianto cleared his gun and stowed it behind him as he slung his laptop bag over his shoulder. He literally tossed the valet the keys to his car as he leapt out of the door and began to help Jack out of the back, hoping the man was still conscious. It would certainly not look good to be checking into a posh hotel with an attractive but unconscious male partner.

Jack lifted his head as if it weighed too much to carry on his shoulders. He opened his eyes, pupils blown wide, and took a deep breath. He appeared to be thinking exactly what Ianto was thinking, for he struggled to stand up straighter, even though Ianto could feel him shaking with the effort, and he still held onto Ianto's arm for support.

They limped into the hotel and made their way to the front desk. A pretty blond woman gazed at them in concern. "Is everything all right, sir?" she asked solicitously.

"Captain Jack Harkness, Torchwood. I have an account here," Jack just barely managed to get the words out. "And as I am really not feeling well, I would adore a king suite, as fast as possible."

"Of course, sir," she said. "Could I see—"

Ianto pulled Jack's badge from his pocket and slapped it on the counter. "Quickly, if you please," he said. "Unless you'd like vomit all over your Jimmy Choos. London drivers are bloody awful." He played up his Welsh accent to emphasize that he was from out of town and not enjoying it.

"Yes, sir, they can be," the clerk sympathized. She quickly pulled up a set of electronic keys for them. "Here you go, sir—eighth floor, room 816. Is there anything I can do for you, sir? To help?"

Jack just gave her a wide grin. "You've done great. Bit of jet lag, I just need sleep it off."

"You must get it bad, sir," she said, frowning in continued concern.

"I'll survive." Jack winked at her as Ianto tightened his hold on Jack's arm and pulled him toward the elevator. As soon as they stepped inside and the doors closed, Jack collapsed.

"No, no, no," Ianto said, leaning down next to him. "Don't do this to me, Jack. We're not there yet." The elevator wasn't moving fast enough, and Ianto swore as he felt Jack's pulse: it was weak, desperately weak.

With a loud ding, the doors opened onto the eighth floor, and Ianto literally dragged Jack to their room, thankful that there was no one in the corridor to see them. It was somewhat difficult to open the door with the unconscious man wrapped around him, but he managed, slamming it shut behind them and locking the deadbolt. Then he dragged Jack over to the king size bed—of course Jack would request a king, even half conscious—and laid him down before dropping his bag and dialing Owen's mobile again.

"Oi, teaboy," said the doctor when he finally answered. "I'm in the middle of something important and without any decent coffee, so what do you want?"

"Jack's been poisoned," Ianto said. He started searching around the room for something, anything, he could use to help Jack. There was nothing: it was a hotel. What could he possibly find in a hotel? He should have gone to the hospital.

"Tosh said he was Weevil hunting all day," said Owen, sounding both peevish and surprised. "What the hell happened?"

"We're in London," said Ianto, speaking quickly and quietly as he gazed out the window and then shut the blinds. "We were ambushed by three men in dark suits who shot some sort of dart into his arm. Poison, most likely."

"Shit." Ianto could almost imagine Owen sitting up straighter on the other end of the line. "All right, take a look at the wound. What do you see?"

Ianto pulled back Jack's shirts. "Nothing—there's nothing. There's barely a puncture wound. But whatever it was, it was strong and fast—quick paralysis, and his breathing is getting shallower and shallower."

"Bollocks! And you probably don't have an anti-toxin kit on you, do you?"

"Not today, no."

"A&E, then?" Owen asked.

"He wouldn't go," Ianto replied. Jack coughed then, and Ianto leaned closer. "Hang on."

"It's too late," Jack said, eyes closed. His hand somehow found Ianto's and squeezed with the barest amount of pressure. "I'm sorry, but it's too late."

"Too late?" came Owen's voice over the phone. "What does he mean, it's too late?"

Jack let out a long, shuddering breath. Ianto saw Jack's chest stop moving, felt his hand go slack on the bed. He stared, too shocked to even move.

"He's dead," Ianto finally told Owen. "Jack's dead."

Author's Note

I feel like I should apologize when I kill a main character, but I won't. It's Torchwood, it's Jack. Hope you're hooked, though. I'm having a lot of fun ruining Ianto's birthday. I feel like I should really make it up to him sometime with some fluffy smut or something. Or smutty fluff. Anything can I happen, I suppose. Thank you for reading, I really appreciate all the comments! :)