Ianto slowly became aware of growing sensations surrounding him, an acrid smell in the air, his thoughts were blurred and slow, but his heart beat wildly, his muscles ached, there was rope biting round his wrists. He tried to take a breath and his throat rasped, cold air swept across his chest and he shivered and forced his eyes open.

 

‘Morning Mr.Jones. Or is it Mr.Wilson? It appears I’m not the only one who changes his name.’

 

Ianto tried to groan and closed his eyes, slowly widening them again and focusing them in the darkness.

 

‘You were out for ages. You must be exhausted…so many lives to ruin, so little time I suppose...’

 

Ianto’s awareness grew and threw his situation into sharp relief. He was tied to a chair in the middle of a large bare building, grimy windows barely letting in the greying afternoon light. His shirt was torn, waistcoat hanging open and his jacket and tie were missing. The muscles in his arms were strained as they were pulled back tight and he had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He pushed the repetitive sound of his thoughts screaming fuck, fuck, fuck and concentrated on breathing raggedly, pulling oxygen into his lungs and ignoring the stinging in his throat. His head started to throb dully and he closed his eyes again as he ordered his mind.

First off he had to decide where he was. He could smell salt and sea in the undertones of the wind and reasoned he was out by the bay, somewhere near the docks probably, in a large abandoned warehouse and suddenly he knew where he was. Secondly, how he was going to get out of here. He quickly realised he could grasp the knots tied between his hands and he started to work them discreetly, feeling ever so slightly calmer as they started to release. Knots. Knots could be worked through. He could do knots.

Jack had been surprised at that actually, well not so much surprised as turned on...The stranger’s voice broke through his thoughts and Ianto jolted as he suddenly remembered someone was actually holding him captive.

 

The man in question - wearing faded, ripped, dirty jeans and a black t-shirt with Ianto’s jacket over it and tie loosely round his neck (the fucking bastard) was pacing about 6 feet in front of him and talking angrily. He tried to focus back in on the line of dialogue and failed. Instead he cleared his throat and locked eyes with his captor who stopped talking expectantly and stared as Ianto smiled widely.

 

‘I’m sorry, I missed all of that – what did you say?’

 

The man glared furiously and Ianto fleetingly realised he recognised him before a fist flew at his face, metal crunched against bone and pain shot through him, the flesh of his cheek ripped and blood pooled in his mouth as he cried out loudly.

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Jack knew he was over reacting by the way Gwen’s knuckles had turned white as she desperately gripped parts of the SUV which he was swinging wildly through lanes and traffic.

 

‘Are you still ringing him?’

 

‘He isn’t answering Jack,’ Gwen replied quietly.

 

‘Is that what I asked?’

 

‘Jack!’

 

Gwen glared at him as he strained to control his temper, his eyes flashing angrily and his voice hard and unforgiving. Jack knew he was over reacting. Knew it and didn’t care. It was personal now. And damn it if Ianto had proved once again that he didn’t know him at all. And fuck if Gwen hadn’t looked just a bit too pleased with every revelation she threw at him. How could this be happening again?

Clearly it was his fault. He hadn’t paid attention once again, he had let everything go over his head and now his negligence meant Ianto was in trouble. His team targeted again and no matter how Ianto was involved with this stalker guy Jack had failed to protect him. His heart tightened and he bit back a frustrated noise as he came to the realisation that he couldn’t lose him yet.

Not Ianto.

 

‘Sorry. Just. Keep ringing him yeah?’

 

‘Of course,’ Gwen dialled his number again and pointed down the road, ‘we’re nearly there, turn right here.’

 

Jack was lost in thought and barely registering what was happening. He was old he thought, he was an old man and he had forgotten too much. He had forgotten what it meant to actually be in love with someone and now he realised he was being haunted by the vague sensation.

 

‘Gwen?’

 

‘Yes?’

 

Jack tapped anxiously on the steering wheel and shook his head, ‘nothing. Doesn’t matter. Not the time.’

 

Gwen stopped and looked at him. ‘Stop doing that.’

 

Jack ignored her and swung the SUV into park, jumping out quickly and heading towards the building, ‘come on.’

 

Gwen directed him to the stalkers flat from what she had learned the other day and they made their way there quickly and quietly before they stood before it. She scanned it with tech and determined there were no life forms and Jack turned to her ‘do you want to break the door down or should I?’

 

He didn’t give her a chance to answer as he barged his shoulder into the door hard, it almost gave, he bashed it again and grunted at the effort as it creaked under his strength, one more and the door swung open nearly taking Jack with it. He stood up and gestured inside.

 

‘Ladies first.’

 

Gwen warily walked inside and Jack followed, his eyes widening and heart skipping a beat as they both looked up and took in the sight before them

 

‘Fucking hell.’ Gwen gasped and stared and Jack couldn’t move.

 

The room was small and dingy, the curtains were ripped and moth eaten and scattered light patterned the carpet and walls partially illuminating corners of darkness. There were cigarette butts strewn around, jeans and t-shirts adorning ripped furniture and a small T.V. screen in the corner surrounded by empty bottles of Vodka and Jack Daniels that crackled white noise. It all paled in the expanse of the far wall. Pictures, newspaper, drawings, scribbling and CCTV images - reams and reams of separate written and photographed moments of Ianto pinned up, filling the entire space and spilling onto the floor.

 

‘Oh my God.’

 

Jack’s eyes tracked over as much as possible, there was footage tracking Ianto home and details of the location of his house, written diaries of his routine and where he frequented most. There were snaps and Polaroid’s, large focus and far away, shots of him in Cardiff, near the Tourist Office, on the Plass, one of him and Ianto laughing as they had coffee by the railings, staggered and repeated images of them kissing in the rain on a “Weevil Hunt.” Next to it was some information on Jack and images of him coming and going from Ianto’s house, one with Ianto leaning half naked on the door frame and watching him leave. Jack’s eyes wandered independently to older pictures, grainy images of a younger Ianto, scruffy clothing, longer hair, smoking outside a club, kissing a bouncer in a doorway. Lisa and him going shopping, Lisa and him kissing, more pictures of the team with added dashes tracking his and Ianto’s eye lines meeting out at missions, getting in the SUV, talking to police on and on and on. He had obviously been stalking them for a lot longer than Jack had ever realised.

 

‘Fuck Jack.’

 

‘I know…’

 

‘The psycho wall of death…’

 

‘WHAT?’

 

‘Sorry.’ Gwen corrected quickly, ‘not of death. Sorry. Fuck.’

 

Jack ignored her and picked up screen shots of some CCTV in the Hub capturing him and Ianto after Gwen and Flathom, pictures of them arguing until Jack finally moved into him and Ianto held him tight, leaning against a desk and stroking the back of his head.

 

He rubbed his thumb across it, realising Gwen was trying to get his attention he snapped his head up, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

 

‘What?’

 

‘We need to find Ianto.’ Gwen watched him cautiously and he composed himself, dismissing the pictures and turning back to her as she spoke to him gently, ‘do you have a tracker on his car like with me?’

 

‘Ianto won’t let me near his car,’ Jack scowled at that memory.

 

‘Okay. Do you have a tracker on him?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘Wait! I’m stupid – I put one on the stalker. Just a second…’ She fiddled with the equipment in her bag and Jack took a last look at the wall muttering quietly.

 

‘What the hell is going on…?’

 

‘Jack – down by the docks – warehouse I think?’

 

She took off out the broken door and Jack followed her quickly.

 

‘What is it with Ianto and that place?’

 

Gwen just looked confused and he waved it off, unlocking the SUV from a distance.

 

‘Can I drive?’

 

Jack frowned. ‘No.’

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Ianto tried to sit up straighter and got another smack in the head. He was breathing heavily now, his ribs hurt and his chest protested at the hardship of panting hard, needing oxygen, willing his body to draw in lung full after lung full of gut wrenching air. He begged himself to black out, anything to stop the pain exploding in his head as metal collided once more with his ribs and he tried to scream, to yell out. He needed help. He wanted Jack. He needed Jack. Blood was pouring from his forehead, cheek and chest, his torso felt like he had been attacked for hours not minutes. And then suddenly it stopped. A face moved up close to his and he whimpered slightly as fingers twisted themselves painfully in his hair and pulled his head back sharply.

 

‘Does it hurt?’

 

Ianto breathed in deeply once more and grinned what was really more of a grimace before he looked him in the eye and spat blood in his face. Another fist to his head almost knocked him out of the chair and he screamed before blackness took over and he lapsed gratefully into unconsciousness.