Ianto sat back down at his computer, but found himself staring at the same screen, the same information he'd been staring at for hours, and he suddenly couldn't take any more. Normally he wouldn't mind being alone in a nice hotel room almost as big as his flat, but somehow the thought that he couldn't leave without possibly being killed made him restless, and he wanted to be out there with Jack, trying to figure out what was going on.

It still made no sense. Why would someone be carefully killing off the twenty-seven survivors of Torchwood One? Was it personal, professional? Part of a plot to cover-up something much bigger? If so, was Torchwood Three in danger? That particular thought made Ianto reach for his phone and quickly dial Tosh's number.

"Ianto, hi," she said. Again he heard her clicking away in the background; she sounded rushed.

"Everything all right there?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine." It didn't sound like it, though.

"Tosh, what's going on? Tell me."

"It's nothing, Ianto. We've just had a nasty Weevil sighting in Victoria Park, though, so I'm trying to cover it up while Gwen and Owen go after it."

"Usual story?" he asked, grateful for the distraction, however dangerous it might be for Gwen and Owen at the moment.

"Usual story," she said. "Just tweaking some CCTV footage right now. Again."

"All right, I'll leave you to it, then. Jack's gone out to try and find the woman who warned us, so we can—" He stopped as he heard a sound outside the door. "Hang on, I'll call you back."

"Ianto, is everything—" He cut her off, setting down his mobile and picking up his gun from next to his laptop. Slowly he walked over to the door and peered through the eyehole. There was a knock at exactly the same moment that made him jump.

"Room service," said a voice. Chancing another look, Ianto saw one of the hotel workers in the corridor. It was not the same woman who had brought their food earlier, but a man dressed in similar clothing. He was wearing a porter's hat, with large glasses and a beard that hid much of face. The problem was, Ianto hadn't called for room service, and the hat and glasses looked like a bad disguise if there ever was one.

"Wrong room," Ianto called through the door, pulling the safety on his gun. "I didn't order anything."

"I'm hear to pick up the dishes, sir," said the man. For some reason, his voice sounded familiar, though Ianto couldn't place it other than as from somewhere near Glasgow, and that made him even more nervous. "We usually collect a few hours later."

Ianto had assumed they'd simply set the tray outside. "Can I see your ID?" he asked. The man looked confused as he held up a badge.

"Of course, sir." It appeared normal, so slowly Ianto undid the deadbolt. Standing behind the door with his gun at his back, Ianto slowly pulled it open, his muscles tense and ready for an attack. He probably shouldn't be letting this man in, but some small, likely stupid part of his brain had decided that if the man were there to kill him, perhaps he could overpower the bastard first and get some answers.

The worker stepped in slowly, looking around with his hands raised. "Ianto Jones?" he said softly. Ianto's instincts flew into overdrive. He stepped forward and put his gun to the man's temple while slamming the door shut with his foot.

"Who wants to know?" he growled.

"Ewan MacDaniel," the man said, turning slowly toward Ianto with his hands still up. "I'm Torchwood." He reached slowly for his hat and glasses, and Ianto let his hands fall with a gasp as he recognized the man.

"Ewan?" he asked. "What the hell is going on? Don't tell me you're involved in all this?"

Ewan MacDaniel had been one of the eight who had gone for help at Canary Wharf, and one of six who had survived. Ianto had fought side by side with him as they had made their way downstairs, but had rarely given him a thought after finding Lisa and pouring all his energy into saving her. Now MacDaniel was standing here, in Ianto's hotel room, one of the few survivors who had gone to work in the government, with the Home Office.

Ewan held out his hand, yet Ianto was leery of taking it. Ewan looked different than he had a year ago, but then, Ianto was fairly sure he did as well. MacDaniel was in his thirties but looked older, early grey at his temples likely testament to the trauma of Canary Wharf. His eyes had the same haunted look Ianto saw in the mirror some mornings.

Letting his hand fall, Ewan nodded in understanding. "Right. You don't know whether you can trust me. You can."

"That's what you'd say if I could trust you," Ianto replied, and Ewan grinned. Ianto had a vivid memory of that same grin as they raced down a corridor, the last one they needed to clear to freedom. God, had it only been a year?

"Ianto Jones, dry and skeptical as ever," Ewan laughed. "But I assure you, I'm not here to kill you." Ianto didn't respond. "Because someone's already tried, haven't they?"

"How do you know?"

"Because we caught it on the CCTV before your team erased it." Ianto's eyes widened the slightest, and Ewan waved his hand. "Don't worry, we know they do. You've got good people in Cardiff."

"My people didn't erase it," Ianto said. "It was already gone."

Ewan stared at him. "Damn, then these bastards are even better than I thought."

"What bastards?" asked Ianto. "Ewan, what's going on? I saw Fiona Stewart, and she said half of the survivors of Canary Wharf are dead. Each one slightly different, but still suspicious."

"I know. I met her in June, that's when I found out. I would have expected the computers to flag it before then, but apparently—"

"—someone's been tampering with the records," Ianto finished. Ewan gave him a long look, as if contemplating how much he could say.

"Someone who knows Torchwood," he said softly, and Ianto felt his heart sink as he nodded in agreement. "Maybe even one of us."

"Do you know who?" asked Ianto.

Ewan shook his head. "There's only twelve of us left now, so that definitely narrows it down. I have my suspicions, but once I saw you were involved, I was hoping Torchwood Three might have some ideas. Figured that was why you were here."

"I just found out today. Why didn't you contact us sooner?" Ianto finally lowered his guard. His instincts told him Ewan was telling the truth, and right then he needed to trust someone. If Jack returned with Fiona, hopefully they would all be able to figure out what was going on and stop it.

"Didn't want to put you in danger," said Ewan. He glanced around the room—bit of a mess, really—then gazed at Ianto with something almost akin to fondness. They'd only really known each other casually, but shooting aliens off someone's back usually formed a bond of some sort. Ewan stepped forward and embraced Ianto, who returned it with a bit of surprised relief.

"It's good to see you, Jones. I always wondered how you were doing. Only one to actually go back to Torchwood." He paused and studied Ianto. "How did you manage it when Three hated us so much? And how can you stand it? I've heard Harkness is a real arsehole."

Ianto shrugged, hiding a smile at both the way Torchwood London had once viewed its Cardiff branch, as well as the generally accepted opinion of Jack. "It's a long story. I'll tell you if we survive this. Now, what do you know? Or what do you think you know?"

"Jackson and Domhall are dead," Ewan said. They were two of the men who had made it out with them. "Roberts and Finch are alive, but Roberts is out of the country so that probably saved her life. As for who's doing this…my best guess at this point is someone in U.N.I.T."

"From the tech they're using, I'd have to agree. Only U.N.I.T. would have access to it." Ianto frowned. "But why would U.N.I.T. want to kill people from at Canary Wharf? Especially if it's one of us?"

"Five went to U.N.I.T," replied Ewan, running a hand across his beard. "One of them is dead. That leaves four others from Torchwood London."

"One of whom is a glorified secretary, another of whom is on assignment on the Valiant," said Ianto, recalling all the records he had trolled that afternoon. "Which just leaves Katherine Young and Michael Ian Collins, and she's back in research and recovery, if I remember."

"Commander Collins isn't, though," Ewan replied. "He moved through officer training fast."

"He was a scientist," Ianto protested. "Not a soldier. He was lead scientist on the ghost shifts. He developed the technology to control the gateway, let them through." Ianto felt his lips curl into a slight sneer at the memory. He had always hated the ghost shifts. It had felt wrong, alien, threatening. Yet Michael Collins had been convinced the beings were not dangerous, and Yvonne Hartmann had been even more convinced that they could somehow harness the energy involved to make Britain an oil-independent world power.

How wrong they had been. How unjust that Collins had survived when so many others had died.

"He lost an arm, you know," Ewan said softly, as if reading Ianto's thoughts. Ianto focused his gaze back on the man in front of him.

"We all lost something that day, thanks to him. I'm not grieving for his bloody arm."

Ewan shrugged. "Me neither. I'm just saying. Maybe it drove him mad."

"And he's been hiding it from U.N.I.T. all this time?" asked Ianto skeptically. If Collins or Young were a part of whatever was happening, then U.N.I.T. had to be as well. And yet once more Ianto could not understand why they would want to kill so many people. Or why they hadn't killed Ianto on any number of occasions already since that horrible day. It was no secret he worked for Torchwood Three, after all…

"How did you get in here?" Ianto asked, suddenly curious about Ewan. He worked for the Home Office, but that didn't usually imply spy training and covert infiltration. The man grinned that same grin Ianto remembered from the battle.

"I was wondering when you'd ask about that. It was easy enough to track you down once we knew you were in town. My MI-5 contact got me the uniform and ID badge. She wanted to come up, but I knew you'd recognize me and figured I should be the one to talk to you." Which was exactly what Ianto had told Jack about speaking to Fiona.

"So MI-5 knows?" asked Ianto. The thought that the British security service was involved did not sit well with him, for some reason. He couldn't pinpoint why, other than as a member of Torchwood it had become increasingly difficult for him to trust the government—even more so after the events of that afternoon.

"When I first considered that U.N.I.T. might be involved, I went to Frobisher and asked to bring them in." Ewan shrugged. "Seemed better than going to my main suspect for help."

"Right," said Ianto. "So what—" He was interrupted when his mobile went off, followed by Ewan's. They looked at one another in surprise.

Ianto had a text from Jack; he'd found Fiona and was heading back to the hotel. When he glanced up, Ewan was white-faced as he glanced at his own screen.

"They're here," he whispered, pulling on his hat and glasses and grabbing Ianto by the arm. "They're here for you—or me. Both of us. We've got to get out."

Ianto saw panic in the man's eyes…there was a sharp ping as something shattered a hole in the glass of the window…and then Ewan's panic flared and died as a bullet flew straight through his upper chest and into Ianto's shoulder, sending both of them staggering. Before either man could react, a second bullet flew through the hole and hit Ewan in the back of the head, sending blood and gore all over Ianto. One former Torchwood survivor fell to the floor, dazed and wounded; the other collapsed in a puddle of his own blood, dead.

Author's Note:

I'm aware a shot like that is highly unlikely, or that any earthly weapon attempting it would probably cause more damage. Minimal research into sniper rifles only has me guessing that two gunmen could accomplish it with the right weapon. But I'm not trying to get published here, and if Ian Fleming can write it, then I'm going with it too.

Also, I really, really like cliffhangers. Sorry/not sorry.