Three days later, Hart was still unconscious in the pulmonary intensive care ward. He was finally breathing on his own, but there was an oxygen tube underneath his nose. Miranda was sitting in her usual chair, her head resting on Hart's bed as she drew small circles across the back of his hand with her fingertips. At first she had been furious with Jack for suspending her but it afforded her more time to be at Hart's bedside and it had given her time to think. Jack had been right, she'd needed to get her head on straight. She'd made things personal with that prisoner. Her fear for Hart's safety and her desire to swiftly resolve the situation had caused her to become enraged. She had let the leash on her darkness slip and that, in and of itself, made her feelings clear.

The others had been making rounds in and out. Even Rhys had dropped some pastries at the nurses' station and had sat next to the Captain, thanking the man who couldn't hear him for his wife's life. Each one of them had laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder as they had come and gone. Henry and Fish had stopped in briefly this morning on their way to the train station to pick up Tom, Alice and Steven. Every one of them could see what Miranda hadn't. Even the Colonel who hadn't even seen the two of them together had realised something. She'd somehow managed to fall in love with John Hart.

These hours at Hart's bedside had given her a great deal of time to think. The man was infuriating. He stood in her path, went nose to nose with her. It wasn't just the strength of character that had drawn her in. It was also the flaws. Looking at him was often like looking at a mirror that reflected everything she hated about herself. At first, that mirror had made her uncomfortable but now she was finding camaraderie and companionship in it. She was surprised at how deep her feelings ran.

But now that she realised those feelings what was she supposed to do? He did seem to feel something for her though she had no idea what. Whether it was love or lust didn't much matter to her. She'd stayed halfway around the world in Italy so she could glimpse a young woman's face and feel her fingers on a cup that passed between them. He already had her heart but if all he wanted from her was her body, she would give it to him too. She would hope for more, but with any happiness, she took what she could get. Even these moments beside his sickbed were carefully filed away in her memory. It was entirely possibly they would be all she had.

As time had stretched on, the hope that Hart would awaken diminished. Jack had told Miranda that Hart had no advanced directive as such things didn't exist in their time. In the fifty first century, euthanasia was commonplace and part of the law but medical technology was vastly different and advanced. Fifty first century technology would be able to tell the doctors immediately if Hart would ever awaken, and what sort of brain function he would have. Fifty first century doctors would put a peaceful end to Hart's life, if they found that he would never wake, or if he would have no meaningful quality of life after he woke. But this wasn't the fifty first century. There was no such medical technology in this time, even if the vast hallways of Torchwood's archive. The only way to determine whether or not Hart would wake or what kind of quality of life he would have afterwards was to wait and see.

The fact that Hart wasn't entirely human could work for or against them. Miranda was helpless. Not only had she no way of knowing the status of his brain health, she had no way of knowing if the medications or procedures of this century meant for pure human beings would help or hinder his recovery. She had seen it before with resident aliens Torchwood had integrated into the population. Well intentioned and ignorant medical professionals could easily kill a patient unknowingly as they attempted to save. It was one of the reasons Miranda had rarely left Hart's bedside. After each medication was administered, she waited and watched so that any change wasn't misinterpreted. The problem was that, most of the time, Miranda had no idea how to interpret changes either.

She continued to idly tracing her fingertips along the back of his hand, tears rolling onto the bedsheet as she sifted through her memories of him. She remembered the first time she'd seen him in the morgue and his attack on her. She let out a soft half sob, half laugh as she remembered the gobsmacked look on his face as she had opened a can of soup for lunch. Hart's distaste of process food was a constant source of amusement for the team. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Scrubbing at her face, she turned around.

"Ifan?!" By the Gods! She'd been so distracted, so distraught, she hadn't felt his presence. It was a deadly error.

"No change?" he asked, handing her a thermos of coffee.

"Not yet…" She didn't take the thermos from him.

"Stop it, Mandy," he chastised gently.

She looked up at him. "Stop what?"

"You know exactly what I mean," he gave her a look, laying his coat over the end of the bed. "You're upset. It was just me."

"It could have been anyone-"

"But it wasn't…" Admittedly, Ianto hadn't been in the Game long but he never understood Miranda's immediate response to the presence of another immortal. He understood always being at the ready but saw no reason to have his hand fly to the hilt of his own sword the minute he felt pressure between his eyes when he was out in public. "I'm sure one of us wouldn't come at you swinging in the middle of a crowded hospital ward. And you can stop pretending as well."

"I don't know what-"

"Jack and I did that for ages, dancing around each other, pretending no one else knew," he said, waving between her and Hart. "It was pointless. You're always calling Jack 'woefully obtuse' but you can be just as bad."

She flushed with embarrassment. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ifan."

Ianto bowed his head and cleared his throat. It was a nervous gesture. He dragged a chair over from the nurse's station and then pulled the curtain closed around them. He dropped his mobile onto the bed, the noise killing app was running. Miranda looked up, a little confused. He wasn't looking at her, in fact, he wouldn't meet her gaze at all. He looked embarrassed and ashamed and that wasn't an expression Ianto wore often.

"You asked me what happened to me, how I'd gotten better with the sword and how I'd picked up so many of Mac's habits…" he began. He was leaning forward, his arms resting on his legs. His hands were clasped and that was what his eyes were focused on. He was nervously fiddling with his wedding ring, twisting it and rubbing at his fingers. "I saw to a rift spike on my own in the middle of the night after Jack and I'd had a row about some such rude thing he'd said to Martha about me. It was a book. Jack called it a Reforge. It pulled me into an alternate reality, a small pocket universe inside of ours." He paused, taking a breath. "It showed me a different path and on that path… you were in love."

Miranda remembered a late night. She'd been inexplicably drawn down into the morgue. Ianto had laid a bouquet of flowers by Tosh's drawer and had said, I was selfish, Mandy. I stole love away from you… away from her… It didn't take Miranda long to piece together the clues.

"Toshiko."

He quirked the corner of his mouth. "You called her your rising sun."

"I don't-"

"You wouldn't. Only I remember anything," he said, regretfully. "When… when I came back… it took me a while. I'd learned some hard truths. I'd said some hurtful things… I'd done some terrible things… but…" He sighed deeply. This was still so difficult for him to talk about. He'd only spoke of it to Jack and even that had taken him time. He still kept the existence of Fish's son to himself. The weight and guilt of that so crushing, it was suffocating him. David was real but Tosh was dead so keeping silent about Tosh and Miranda was easier. He never intended to Miranda anything, but over the past few days, she'd hardly left Hart's bedside and Ianto had recognised the look in her eyes. "You were radiant, Mandy. Every day you glowed. Your heart was light and you were so fucking happy. I watched you both every day for years and I saw the way you looked at her." He jerked his head towards Hart's unconscious form. "It's the same way you look at him."

"Ifan…"

"When you told me about the Horsemen, I didn't understand. That… experience… the alternate reality… I learned how easily you can die inside. It starts as something small, a small hole in your heart that you fill with hate and anger," he said, softly. "You tried to warn me. Mac tried to warn me. Methos tried to warn me. I didn't listen and every day I died a little more inside. I was… I was so angry… all the time… and I didn't care."

He put his hand out and touched her arm. "I get you're scared. I understand now. I'm afraid all the time. Before I was immortal I was afraid too. I wasn't afraid of dying. I was afraid for everyone around me and the possibility of forever magnifies that infinitely. I'm going to watch Rhi and Johnny grow old and die and there's going to be nothing I can do about it. I'll watch my niece and nephew grow old and die too and their children and their children's children… It's… overwhelming, the concept of forever."

He looked up at her. "I know what you said to Jack. I know what you've said to me. I know what you've said to Henry." He put her hand back over Hart's. "You're a good teacher, Mandy. 'Love when you can, while you can. The greatest thing in the world is to love and be loved.' Those are your words. Jack engraved it on a thimble for you. Love's what makes the forever bearable for a time, even if that time is only temporary and blinks into nothing for us."

She didn't answer him so he continued.

"I know you didn't ask for advice here, and I get that I'm the student in this equation, but you need to stop being such a fucking martyr," he insisted.

Now that made her angry but he interrupted her before she could respond.

"He fancies you, Mandy," he blurted. "You're not just punishing yourself here."

Ethan Donovan's voice echoed in her mind… Everyone deserves someone who'll make them look forward to tomorrow. When you find that person, don't let whatever this is stop you from loving them or letting them love you because it's not just you who you're punishing. You're punishing them too. The man had told her he loved her constantly before he'd returned to America. It had embarrassed her because she hadn't returned those feelings. She looked down at Hart's unconscious form.

Trying to lighten the mood, Ianto said with a wry smile, "He's a right scoundrel and I think you can do better. But we don't get to choose who we love."

She clenched her jaw and said, "This discussion may very well be moot, Ifan."

Ianto took that as a dismissal and changed the subject. "It's not safe to move him to the Hub? Jack wanted me to ask."

She shook her head, surprised when Ianto walked over to Hart and plumped at his pillows. Even though one uncomfortable subject was over, Miranda turned it to another one. "Have you and Gwen forgiven him then?"

"I don't know. It's a work in progress, I suppose," he said, shrugging. "You were right. He was a convenient scapegoat. It was about survival."

She took on a serious tone. "The path to survival isn't always about honor as you've already learned. Sometimes we run so we can live to fight another day. The Game is cruel. The choices I have made to ensure my own survival have not always been pure. But I'm still alive."

He returned it and put a hand on her shoulder. "You should go back to the Hub, Mandy. Get some rest."

"I'm fine, Ifan."

He wouldn't relent, insisting. "You go on. I'll stay with him."

"Oh, Eye Candy, I'm touched… really," croaked John's weak voice.

"John!" they both exclaimed in unison.

Miranda rushed forward, grabbing Hart's hand and cupping his face. "You're awake."

"Hiya there, Dollface. Careful. Someone'd think you missed me." He squeezed her hand and smiled softly. He actually managed to lift his free hand to touch her cheek. The movement completely exhausted him.

So profound was her relief that she forgot herself. Not caring Ianto was less than two feet behind her, she bent down and kissed his forehead. She buried her face in his neck, breathing deep. She let out a soft, dry sob.

"Hey, now… don't cry, love… I'm okay… Right as rain… Promise…" His voice fading, words slurring with fatigue. His eyes slid shut.

"John?"

"Captain?" Ianto moved forward, concern on his face.

"He's asleep," Miranda said. "Stay with him. I need to speak with the doctors."