Chapter One

Ianto knocked back his drink and leaned against the bar, gazing out at the rest of the pub. It was still early, so it wasn't particularly crowded, and there wasn't much to watch. He turned back to the bar and ordered another drink.

It had been a week since Lisa died, and Ianto still felt like he was trapped in a nightmare of never-ending pain and misery. He'd spent the first twenty-four hours unmoving on this sofa, not even bothering to take off his bloody suit until Owen had showed up and chivvied him into the shower. After checking him over for injuries, the doctor had left Ianto with a bottle of antidepressants and told him to call if he felt like killing himself. He probably wanted to help pull the trigger, so Ianto had deleted Owen's number from his phone.

Tosh had called not long after that, but he hadn't answered. He'd slept for the next twenty-four hours, only leaving his bed to use the loo. Eventually he'd found some biscuits and ate the pack, though he had no idea whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner. He'd then slept some more, which was when the nightmares started.

After that, he couldn't go back to his bed, and stayed up night after night until he literally collapsed on the sofa from exhaustion sometime the next day. He didn't eat, didn't go out, didn't do anything. He'd contemplated swallowing the entire bottle of Owen's pills, but decided he didn't want to give the doctor the satisfaction...not yet.

He finally left his small flat when he needed food. His mind blank, he walked for miles in the chill fall night as his feet moved automatically through the streets of Cardiff. When he passed by his local for the third time, he decided to stop and get a drink. Now he was holed up at the bar, trying to feel anything but emptiness and loss. It wasn't working. He ordered another drink, then a third.

The barman told him it was last rounds, and so Ianto got one more. He glanced around and noticed a man at the end of the bar watching him. He had brown hair and blue eyes and a friendly, open air about him. He also looked slightly familiar, but Ianto couldn't be bothered to try and figure out who the man was. He finished his drink, paid his tab, and stumbled back home for another sleepless night.

He decided to go back to the pub the next day; it was better than having nightmares, after all. He walked first, his mind still numb as he wandered block after block before arriving back at the Quiver and Quill and several pints of beer. For days, he walked the streets of Cardiff, then stopped at the pub and drank down his sorrow, and each night the man with the brown hair was there. And each night Ianto noticed the man watching him, sometimes trying to make eye contact, or smiling at him. One time the man even stood up and started walking toward Ianto, only to be intercepted by an attractive blond woman. Ianto paid his tab and left in a hurry; he wasn't there to make friends, even if the bloke did look like a film star.

When Josh, the barman, started talking to him after a week, Ianto felt like a real regular. He made it clear, however, that he wasn't interested in a counselor, but preferred talking about other, mindless things—the weather, the rugby match, the local gossip. It was a Friday and the pub was busier than it had been all week, and for a while Ianto almost enjoyed losing himself in the anonymity of the noisy crowd.

The man with the brown hair walked in, once again wearing a large grey coat that billowed behind him. It was awfully pretentious and probably too much for the weather, but it somehow suited him. Ianto tried to remember where he'd seen the man, other than at the pub over the last several nights, but he couldn't place him. The man glanced around and noticed him watching, offering a smile and a nod. For the first time, Ianto considered introducing himself, but the Blues were up by four and he wanted to see the end of the match.

Ianto ordered two more drinks before Josh cut him off. The man in the greatcoat was flirting outrageously with some poor sod at the end of the bar. Ianto tried not to watch, but even that seemed familiar. He told himself he wasn't interested. He didn't want to be flirted with, and certainly not by the brown-haired stranger; he was only trying to remember where he'd seen the man before.

He tried talking to the bloke next to him about the match, but the other man ignored him in favor of glowering into his pint; apparently, he was an Ospreys fan. Ianto paid his tab and left with one last glance at the brown-haired man, who was watching him leave and waved.

The nightmares were bad the next day, so Ianto went to the Quiver and Quill earlier than usual. He even ordered food; after eating nothing but biscuits, crisps, and alcohol for over a week, he found he was finally hungry for something else. Taking his fish and chips in hand with a pint of beer, he found a booth in the back, looking forward to enjoying some privacy in the quiet pub. Soon some of the regulars he'd noticed over the past few days began to straggle in, including the man in the greatcoat.

Moments later, the brown-haired man was standing beside the table with two pints in hand. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, and Ianto glanced up, his heart racing in surprise. The man was quite handsome up close, if one were to notice such things, and Ianto couldn't help but notice. The other man held himself with confidence and was grinning down at Ianto with a bright smile.

"I might not be such great company," Ianto replied.

"That's what this is for," the man said, sitting down across from him and sliding the glass across. "Unless you're already well on your way."

"First one," Ianto replied, finishing his drink and raising the second. "Cheers."

The man tipped his own glass and took a long sip. "You look familiar," he said. "Have we met before?"

"I've been here the last few nights, sitting down the bar from you," Ianto replied, hiding his surprise because he'd been thinking the same thing all week. Maybe they had met somewhere. He continued eating his chips. The other man shrugged.

"Must be it then. My name's Jack," he offered, and Ianto took a sip of his beer before he replied.

"Jones," he said. "Ianto Jones." He paused and returned to his dinner. "And I'm not into that sort of company tonight, if you take my meaning."

Jack laughed. "Noted. Personal or in general?"

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Neither and both?" he said.

"Ooh, enigmatic," said Jack. He had an easy charm about him that Ianto had to admit was appealing, though he also sensed the man had an ego that didn't need to be encouraged. "So, bad day at work?" Jack asked casually. Ianto glanced up and gave him a dry look. "Okay, bad week at work? Or bad job, perhaps? I noticed you, the last several nights. You look like a man trying to forget something."

Ianto was surprised at the man's forwardness, but decided to meet it head on; maybe the man would leave him alone, or at least stop asking personal questions. He looked him straight in the eye. "My girlfriend died last week."

Jack's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh. Wow, I'm so sorry," he said, and he sounded genuine. "What, er, what was her name?"

"Her name was Lisa," Ianto murmured, and Jack's hand moved forward on the table, as if he wanted to reach across and offer support.

"What happened?"

Ianto laughed bitterly into his glass, glad when Jack motioned to the barman for another. He couldn't very well tell the complete stranger sitting across from him that his girlfriend had been captured by aliens from another dimension and turned into a cybernized nightmare who had killed two people. Just like he couldn't tell the man that Ianto's coworkers had killed her and suspended him for putting the entire world at risk, leaving him alone and adrift once more, as he had been after the disaster at Canary Wharf.

Still, he could say something, and simply telling another person that his girlfriend had died felt like lifting a secret burden from his shoulders. No one at work had offered any condolences before he'd left, and here was a stranger telling him he was sorry and asking about her.

"She was sick," Ianto told him, hoping the other man wouldn't ask any more questions, since he couldn't say any more. It was true, from a certain point of view. "I tried to take care of her, but in the end, I couldn't save her. She's gone."

This time Jack did reach over and grip Ianto's hand. "I really am sorry. No wonder you're here every night. Do you have any family or friends in town? To help?"

"Not really," said Ianto, thinking of his sister and how he couldn't tell her anything. She'd worry him to death. He should call his mother, tell her he was back in Wales, but he'd been so focused on Lisa for months that he didn't even know how to start that conversation. "We moved back here from London a few months ago and have been pretty focused on…well."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jack asked, and Ianto quickly shook his head.

"Nope," he said. "I can't." Literally, since it was a question of national security. Lisa's death was not something he could share, even if he wanted to, and that made him angry all over again, that he had to lie about it when it was tearing him up inside.

Jack nodded in sympathy. "I understand," he said quietly. "I've lost a lot of people over the years, and it's hard those first days and weeks when you keep expecting to see them, hear them, feel them." He smiled at Ianto. "But it does get better, I suppose. So, if you don't want to talk, I happen to love the sound of my own voice."

Ianto snorted. "Why am I not surprised?" he replied.

"Because you read me well," Jack laughed. "I always have a lot to say, if you want the company. Or we can talk another day, if you're not feeling up to it."

Jack looked at him expectantly, and Ianto made a snap decision: maybe sitting there listening to a charismatic man tell stories was better than drinking himself into oblivion for one night. And it felt good to talk to someone, to feel even the simple touch of a sympathetic hand after going so many months without. It was entirely possible Jack was only trying to get into his pants, which under other circumstances might not have been a bad thing, but Jack also seemed genuine in his concern, and Ianto sensed a similar sadness in the man when he'd talked about his own losses.

Ianto leaned back. "Are you hungry? I could go for some more chips."

Jack's grin was blinding, like the invitation to stay had made his day. He nodded enthusiastically, ordered some food and a glass of water, and set about talking.

He told stories that had Ianto laughing so hard his sides ached. He'd never thought he'd laugh again, and yet they spent hours talking and laughing at the table. Ianto did not talk about Lisa, but he did talk about other things, when the topic of conversation intersected. They'd both spent some time in London but had a love for Cardiff, and though Jack's tastes in music were much different and rather old-fashioned compared to Ianto's, they shared similar tastes in books and movies.

Jack had a deep knowledge of history, and as Ianto listened, it occurred to him that Jack was probably older than he looked. At times his eyes crinkled with sadness even while he was laughing, and Ianto found himself wondering what heartbreak this man had suffered, because it was clear that he too felt lost and alone, like Ianto.

Tempering his alcohol with food and an occasional glass of water, Ianto felt remarkably clear headed when it came time to leave. They paid their tabs and left the pub, shaking hands outside the door, Jack's grip warm and firm.

"I enjoyed talking with you," Jack said, tucking his hands into the pocket of his greatcoat. "I hope we can do it again sometime."

"I did too," said Ianto. "I'll probably see you around here, I imagine."

"Probably, if I know you'll be here," Jack said with a wink. Ianto rolled his eyes but laughed. It felt a bit strange to be flirted with, but he had to admit, it also felt nice. Normal.

"Right. Well, thanks for the company. See you next time." He turned to leave, but thought of something and turned back. "I didn't get your last name, actually."

"I didn't say," Jack replied.

"Ah," Ianto nodded in understanding. "You're a spy, aren't you? Undercover pub crawl?"

"Not exactly," Jack laughed. "I'd make a terrible spy in this coat."

"I like the coat," Ianto told him.

"Thanks. How about I tell you my last name if you give me your number." Ianto raised an eyebrow and Jack laughed again. "Not for that, but to get in touch. You know, make plans to meet for a drink again if I don't see you around for a while."

"Right," said Ianto, but found that the thought of exchanging numbers with Jack didn't bother him that much. He had enjoyed spending time with the other man and could see an unexpected friendship developing from it. After they'd exchanged numbers, he waited expectantly. "So?"

"Jack Harkness," Jack replied, shaking his hand once more, and this time his fingers lingered along Ianto's palm in a remarkably pleasant way. "Good night Jones, Ianto Jones."

He turned and walked away, and with a stunning realization, Ianto knew why the man had seemed so familiar. He'd seen him before, in London.

Jack Harkness was Torchwood.

Author's Note:

This is an alternate universe story that I started eons ago, in which Jack is not a part of Torchwood at this point. The reasons why will be revealed over the next few chapters. The story tends to follow the outline of season one, but with the obvious difference of Jack's absence changing a few things—including their relationship. Just another way to watch them come together, but perhaps under better circumstances for them both. It should be about 12 chapters and I plan to update every week or so. Thank you for reading!