And it's over! Thank you so much to all the readers who have been following this story and my special thanks to everyone who left reviews!

It was late afternoon, but the violent cold spell had inspired most of the locals to stay indoors, leaving the area around the Bay more or less deserted. Despite not feeling the temperature, Bob added a heavy looking coat to his usual attire for appearances' sake as he carefully walked beside Ianto. The younger man was taking measured steps, making sure not to stride too quickly and accidentally drag Bob, whose skull was currently nestled in the knapsack dangling from his hand. Trailing behind them, a good large distance away was Harry, who seemed more intent on protecting his bag of chips from particularly ambitious seagulls.

The day was cold, cloudy, grey, drizzly and all together miserable. But staring at the lights of the Bay and the lapping water, Bob couldn't recall anything more lovely that he'd seen in recent memory. He wanted to soak it in so that it would last him as long as possible.

"I so rarely see the world," sighed the ghost as they stopped to stand near the rain-dotted railing lining the pier. "Beautiful."

Ianto didn't respond, but Bob noted the slight smile that slid across the man's face as he gazed out toward the waters. He'd shown up at the hotel to say goodbye to them and had suggested a walk along the pier. Despite having invited both Bob and Harry, Harry had been intuitive enough to let Bob and Ianto talk in private. At times, the ghost was impressed by Harry's diplomacy.

Giving him a side look, Bob saw that Ianto was wearing plain jeans and a thick jumper underneath a thicker jacket. The unexpectedly casual clothing made him look his true age if one glanced quickly enough.

"How're you feeling?" Bob asked.

Ianto shrugged. "Tired."

"Very normal," said the ghost. He paused before inquiring. "Did you have any nightmares last night?"

Ianto frowned slightly, as if trying to recall. "I don't think so. I don't remember having any." When Bob didn't reply to that, he looked over. "Is that normal?"

"It can be," he answered. "Dr. Harper was correct in saying familiar surroundings help."

"I think at this point the Hub is more familiar to me than my flat," said Ianto a bit bitterly.

"Familiar presences also help. Did Captain Harkness stay with you?"

"I didn't ask him to."

"That doesn't exactly answer my question," Bob pointed out gently. Ianto heaved a sigh. He slung Harry's knapsack over his shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets for warmth. Bob didn't push any further and only waited as Ianto stared unblinkingly at the waves bobbing before them.

"It takes a lot," the younger man began. "To be around Jack. Sometimes it's wonderful. Usually it is. But it…he…can ask a lot of a person sometimes. And it takes all your energies to be the sort of person he wants you to be. And my mind, at the moment is preoccupied with other things…" he trailed off.

Bob wasn't entirely sure why Ianto would feel the need to expend energies into becoming a person other than himself to be around Harkness. But he didn't press the issue at the moment.

"When I was with Tanizaki, he told me he had a cure for Lisa," said Ianto quietly. "I don't know if he was lying, but if he wasn't." He cut himself off abruptly, bowing his head as he leaned against the rails with heavy sigh. "I should be grieving over what's happened to him. I should be horrified that I'm catching myself wishing he was lost to the Rift so I don't have to see him in the afterlife." He snorted a self-disparaging laugh. "I should be bloody worried about what will happen if he IS waiting for me. But I keep thinking about that cure. What he told me." Lifting his head, he turned to Bob. "You know what that makes me? The same person I was a year ago. Selfish and utterly useless."

Bob studied the lines of misery running through the younger man's tense body. Leaning back, the ghost glanced over at where Harry was still standing far away, seemingly not paying any attention to them. "When I was your age, Mr. Jones, I performed spells that destroyed whole villages," he said softly. "I left men and women howling in agony, begging for mercy. And later, when I became a much older man, I did far worse. All for the love of a woman I later destroyed."

Ianto stared at him, stunned. "You see, there is a very good reason why I am cursed," Bob said with a humorless smile. "When I was alive, I did all these things and I never looked back. You, however," he continued. "You are looking back. You know of the proper emotions you should be feeling. And you do, despite your statements to the contrary. You grieve and you regret. And your remorse does not count for nothing. It matters a great deal."

"Does it?" asked Ianto, hoarsely, his eyes incredulous.

"Yes," Bob replied firmly. "It must," he added, his voice softening as his own pale eyes betrayed the faintest hint of shared misery. "Or this life will be quite unbearable."

Ianto dropped his gaze, staring blindly at the damp wooden planks under his feet. "I couldn't separate myself from Tanizaki's anger toward me. Because in the end, I felt the same. For all I did to him, I deserve far worse."

Unwittingly, Ianto had repeated something Bob remembered saying to himself a few hundred years after his own imprisonment. And while the ghost knew it was a pointless wish, he felt the strongest desire to be able to reach out and press a hand to the younger man's shoulder as comfort from someone who knew.

So instead, he waited until Ianto looked back to him before giving the man a kind smile. "You are still very young, Mr. Jones," said Bob. "And you have the great potential of years ahead to become a better man. Make this life count."

Taking in the advice, Ianto opened his mouth to respond when Harry called to them from his spot. Turning around, they saw a familiar figure in a greatcoat now standing with the wizard.

"It seems our Torchwood escort is here," Bob commented.

Ianto stared at Jack for a moment before turning back to Bob. "Could I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

"It's more of a request, actually. One that you can very well refuse, of course," he added, hastily.

Bob smirked. "I'll be the judge of that."

"May I write to you?" asked Ianto. He shifted awkwardly, looking now very much his age. "If you don't mind."

The smirk on Bob's face slowly, but steadily transformed into a grin as he gave a nod. "Of course I would not mind."

"You needn't reply, only-"

"Write to me, Mr. Jones," said Bob, encouragingly. "I look forward to it. And I will work out a way to reply to you."

"How was the trip?" asked Murphy as she lugged a rather heavy looking pet carrier through Harry's apartment door. "Make any friends across the pond?"

"Doubtful," Harry sighed. "I was probably this close to getting banned from ever re-entering Wales."

Murphy smirked as she set the carrier down and opened the door. "Haven't lost the touch, have you?"

From the confines of the carrier, a put out Mister loped out, spotting Harry and fixing him with a glare.

"Hey, Mister," Harry greeted. He dropped to his knees in front of the cat and reached out. "Miss me?"

The orange feline seemed to study his owner and take in the well-concealed, but still present despondency lurking underneath. Sensing now was not the time for haughty behavior, he padded over and curled into Harry's waiting arms.

Harry hugged Mister's soft body as the cat purred comfortingly. "Yeah, I missed you too," he whispered.

Murphy watched the display with a growing frown. "Harry, what happened? Really."

Still holding the cat, Harry got to his feet and gave her a wavering smile. "Kinda messed up on the job," he confessed, though he knew his bank account wouldn't be reflecting that. Harkness had told him he'd wired Harry's payment in already. "I was hoping to help somebody, but it didn't work out."

"Can't help everyone," Murphy said, though far from dismissive, she sounded sympathetic. "Not even you with all the effort you put in."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, half-heartedly. "Don't I know it?" He scratched Mister behind his right ear before carefully setting him back down. "Thanks for looking after him for me. You guys get along?"

"Sure," said Murphy. "After we came to the agreement that my couch wasn't his personal scratching post, we got along great. Anna's going to be begging me to get us a cat now." Even as she joked, she carefully watched Harry as the wizard rapidly drew down his usual, nonchalant face again. Murphy stopped herself from sighing out loud and told herself that he was Harry and emotional masks were more or less mandatory.

"How about I buy you lunch as thanks?" Harry offered.

"You're buying me lunch?" Murphy asked, wearing her shock loud and proud.

"Of course," said Harry, making a sweeping gesture. "What sort of person would I be if I didn't buy a pretty lady lunch?"

"The person who barely makes his rent?" Murphy guessed.

"Murph, the pleasure of lunch with you is worth the risk of losing my home."

Murphy rolled her eyes. "Alright, enough with the exaggerations. Let's go."

Harry grinned. "Great. Oh," he started, patting one of his pockets. "I almost forgot. I got this for you."

From his jacket, he pulled out a small box and handed it to her. Murphy opened the top and pulled out a pewter sculpture nestled inside. It had a circular base, on the side of which was carved the words, 'WELSH SHEEP.' On the base were small pewter bumps to represent bushes and a few small pewter sheep, grazing.

Bringing the sculpture closer to her face, Murphy narrowed her eyes. "Do these sheep have…are those fangs?"

Harry nodded. "Yup. Apparently they have flesh eating sheep over there."

"Of course they do."

"Like it?"

"You know, I was just telling myself that I needed something to fill that empty spot on my mantle."

"Well, if you don't like it…" Harry reached to grab it back and got a somewhat painful slap on his fingers.

"Hey! Get your own cannibal sheep sculpture," Murphy said, clutching the pewter figurine.

One Month Later

It was close to midnight when Jack was finally able to get off the phone with Detective Swanson. He'd been on with her for the last three hours, discussing the deteriorating relations between the local police and Torchwood. Rather, Swanson ranted at him for 'sticking his bloody nose in her police proceedings' and 'Torchwood was to mind that they don't get probed by little green men, not stomp all over their crime scene.' Jack had tried charm for the first hour, reasoning the second and then decided to play "Who's Going to Give In and Hang Up First?" Chicken with her for the last. He wasn't exactly certain who'd won.

Rising to his feet, Jack stretched his arms above his head and heard his back crack in at least four separate places. He walked over to the windows looking down at the Hub and saw the lights were dimmed and the computer monitors were in sleep mode. Everyone else had gone home by now. The Rift had been relatively quiet the last few days, which was a nice present after the last month of nonstop running around. Jack wasn't entirely sure, but he wondered if Harry's spell had something to do with the Rift's recent over activity. Still, it seemed to be calming down now and Jack knew dwelling on it wasn't going to change anything.

Ianto had taken his two weeks ordered vacation. During the time, Jack checked in with him mainly via phone calls that usually ended up being more work-related as it seemed literally no one else filed at the Hub and subsequently, no one knew where to find anything. The Welshman had been patient about it, smoothly giving directions around the Archives and politely answering any more personal questions with vague assurances. When he finally returned, things had gotten so busy that there wasn't much time for anyone to be awkwardly sympathetic around him, which Jack knew Ianto thoroughly appreciated. Ianto's work both in the office and out on the field remained as it always had: efficient and resourceful.

Since returning, to everyone else, Ianto had just picked up where he'd left off, trading mandatory insults with Owen or listening laughingly to Gwen moan about Rhys' utterly horrid taste in films. So it was only Jack who knew things were different. Since the whole incident with Harry, Ianto hadn't spent the night, nor had he and Jack sat around alone, just talking.

And Jack wasn't entirely sure which of those two things he missed more.

It wasn't exactly that Ianto was cold toward him. He was just polite. And civil. Painfully, professionally, maddeningly civil. It made Jack want to grab him and strong arm the Welshman into just talking to him so they could settle this. But he doubted that would go over well. For once, Jack knew he had to wait it out and not push. Still, he just wished Ianto would give him some sort of sign or indication that this wouldn't last forever. That one day his resentment would melt.

With a sigh, Jack scrubbed a hand over his face to clear his head. If he was going to brood, he was either going to do it with alcohol or some fresh air. Choosing the latter, he grabbed his coat and made his way through the cog door. He got up to the Tourist's office to leave when he stopped short.

Ianto hadn't gone home yet, apparently. Instead, he was slumped over the front desk, his head pillowed on his folded arms, fast asleep. Around him on the desk were stacks of bills, expense reports and requisition forms that had piled up during his absence and the Rift's overtime. Quietly walking closer, Jack saw the pen still lightly gripped in Ianto's hand. Next to it was one of Owen's expense reports he'd been double checking. One of the lines, listing a 300 pound dinner expense, was circled.

'Why do you have this? You don't even eat' Ianto had written underneath the line.

Practically hearing the affronted tone, Jack grinned and gently pulled the pen away from his fingers.

Ianto's jacket was hanging on the back of his chair. In one of the pockets, peeked out the tie he'd taken off and shoved away. In the other was a sealed envelope with an address that Jack recognized. The grin faded.

He knew that Ianto was exchanging letters with Bob. The younger man hadn't kept it a secret, asking Jack for permission and assuring him he wouldn't be writing anything that would be considered sensitive Torchwood information. At first Jack wasn't entire sure how the ghost would be able to reply, but one day he'd spotted Ianto opening up an envelope from Chicago at his desk. Inside had been a series of numbered photographs to be pieced together accordingly, each one having captured a segment of Bob's letter that he'd written in the air.

It was awkward and a little haphazard, but Jack had seen the smile on Ianto's face as he'd shuffled the photos and knew it hardly mattered to the younger man.

Seeing one of Ianto's letters to Bob now, Jack felt a stab of jealousy. There was a time when he'd had that role. When he'd been the one Ianto confided in, asked advice from, just talked to. And now that it was gone, he missed it a lot more than he was comfortable admitting.

Just start out small and work your way up, Jack told himself. Start with getting him to not hate you and go from there.

But first, he should probably wake Ianto up before the man got a horrid crick in his neck.

He crouched down next to the left of the chair and slid an arm across Ianto's shoulders, lightly gripping his right. "Ianto? Wake up," he said softly.

The Welshman muttered something unintelligible, but unexpectedly slid closer toward Jack. Reflexively, Jack curled his arm as he did so. Jack blinked. "Ianto. Hey," he tried again, just as quietly as before. "Comfortable?"

"Mmmph," Ianto mumbled. He shifted toward him even more and fell silent again.

Jack stared down at Ianto's slumbering form for a moment before he tentatively leaned forward and rested his own head against Ianto's. Something inside his chest trembled when the younger man didn't pull away, but pressed closer against him. He'd take this. He'd take this as an indication, the faintest flicker of hope, a sign, that somewhere inside, Ianto didn't hate him. That he could still offer Ianto some sort of comfort and would one day be forgiven. Hopefully soon.

Jack tightened his embrace slightly and told himself he'd wake up Ianto for real in a moment. The man really did need to be sleeping on a bed. But he wanted to enjoy this for a little longer.

Just a bit longer.

THE END