Archive of Our Own

Author: A Lanart
Title: Eight Hours
Fandom: Torchwood/Highlander
Characters: Jack/Ianto/Methos
Rating: NC-17 for m/m/m smut
Warnings/Spoilers: Only for angst and smut/TW S1, KKBB and DW S3.
Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to the BBC and Methos belongs to Panzer/Davis productions.
No copyright infringement intended and no profit made.

~*~

Eight Hours

*

Eight hours to kill. Eight hours he needed to avoid himself. Then there was Jack; whole but curiously vulnerable and very much back in the here and now. Eight hours: what to do? What not to do? Ianto met Jack's eyes over the bonnet of the impossibly red sports car, and decided; there was an inevitability about Jack that he could not deny.

"You could... always come back to my place, you know. If you liked." Ianto tried not to hold his breath, to show any outward sign that he cared about the answer. He relaxed as the smile crept across Jack's face; it was enough of an answer even without the words.

"Oh, I'd like very much." That sounded very much like the Jack Ianto had come to know before he'd left them for his Doctor and he felt a ripple of uncertainty shiver through him, until he realised Jack has more to say... "But only if you're sure..." The hesitancy in Jack's voice reassured Ianto somewhat, and strengthened his resolve.

"I'm sure; but I need to make a phone call first." He stepped away from Jack until he was certain he was out of earshot, and dialled a number that was only ever stored in his own memory, never to be trusted anywhere else.

"Ianto?"

"I have eight hours I need to hide from myself for. Do you fancy lending a hand?" A chuckle echoed weirdly in Ianto's ear through the phone

"I'd love to, but you do realise that...." There was a pause; Ianto smiled to himself, the question would come next. "Ianto, just what is it that you aren't you telling me?" He took a deep breath, another, and gave the answer in two words that he hoped would explain everything; both his need and his doubt.

"Jack's back." Another pause, another breath, and then he had his answer.

"I'll be there in three hours."

~*~

Ianto couldn't believe how nervous he was as he juggled takeaway and keys in order to open his front door, it was as if he'd regressed to being a teenager again, as if the last years had never happened, as if what had marked him, shaped him had never existed; Immortals, Watchers, Torchwood, Lisa, Jack, Methos, Jack's Doctor... at last he managed to get the door open and threw an unsteady glance over his shoulder at the source of much of his discomfort. Jack met his eyes with a smile that only succeeded in making things worse so Ianto resolutely turned his back on him and barged into his flat. He regained a modicum of composure by concentrating on the mundane tasks of sorting out food and coffee so when he at last turned to Jack he at least bore some semblance to his normal self.

"Go and pick a dvd; it's not exactly dinner and a movie but..." Ianto shrugged, he'd never expected that from Jack; had never allowed himself to expect that from Jack. There was no reply, but Jack disappeared from the kitchen with a grin and a wink. Ianto turned his attention back to the familiar comfort of making coffee, not realising that Jack's smile was echoed on his own face.

*

The dvd was just a memory, and Jack was half-heartedly channel surfing. Most of his attention was taken by trying to relearn the contours of the face that was currently nestled against his thigh, sleeping. Asleep, Ianto looked much the same as Jack had tried to remember him on the Valiant in the brief moments of respite and silence that were allowed him; awake, there was something else there, something more. Ianto had grown while Jack was away and part of him ached to have missed that. Jack ran his fingers through Ianto's hair, enjoying the way the younger man nuzzled into the caress without waking; the sheer normalcy of it was almost overwhelming. He left his hand gently cupping Ianto's face and rubbed idle circles in a spot behind Ianto's ear with his thumb. Jack leaned back into the support of the couch and let his eyes drift shut. He hadn't been quite sure what to expect from Ianto on his return, but this quiet contentment wasn't something he'd factored into his scenarios and he was pleasantly surprised; he relaxed into the moment and let it take him where it would.

A warm, rich voice broke into his reverie, another flicker of light from his dark year.

"I wasn't sure if I'd have to kiss you or kill you when I arrived, but I certainly didn't expect to want to forgive you." Jack opened his eyes without moving, to be confronted by the vision of Methos leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. Even upside down as it was, it was an incredibly reassuring sight but disturbing at the same time.

"And do you?" he whispered. He watched as Methos detached himself from the door frame and drew closer, crouched by the side of the couch and let a long fingered hand rest against Jack's where it lay on Ianto's face. Jack met his solemn gaze, and almost felt like he was drowning.

"You don't need my forgiveness; I'm not the one you abandoned with no explanation, after all." Methos sank to the floor and sat back on his heels. His eyes ran over them both for a second before a gentle smile crept over his face. "Though I would hazard a guess that you've pretty much been forgiven already. You're lucky, I hope you realise that." The smile faded, and Jack swallowed as the hazel gaze hardened though he didn't flinch away from it. "I'm not so quick to forgive, and I never forget."

"I deserve that," Jack agreed, keeping his voice soft in an effort not to disturb Ianto.

"Yes you do; but I also understand. Don't forget, I've met the Doctor." Jack let out a breath that he hadn't been aware that he was holding and gave Methos a shaky smile. Ianto began to stir on his lap, muttering incoherently; a moment later he blinked, blue eyes still hazy with sleep though they couldn't miss Methos kneeling on the floor in front of him.

"You're early," he mumbled. Methos met Jack's eyes, and they both spluttered into laughter, defusing the last of the tension. "Well you are," complained Ianto as he struggled upright. "You weren't supposed to arrive for another half an hour. I would have been awake then."

"I put my foot down."

"I bet you did." Ianto ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. He looked up at Jack with a slightly guilty expression. "I was going to let you know before he arrived."

"That's ok; I like surprises when they're good ones." Jack dropped a kiss into Ianto's hair before reaching out run a finger across Methos' cheek. "And seeing you is definitely a good one." He couldn't help but smile as Methos turned his head into the caress and gently kissed his finger, then scrambled up off his knees to swoop in to give Ianto a quick kiss too.

"Thank you," he whispered against Ianto's skin, barely loud enough for Jack to hear him and disappeared back out of the room with an air that spoke of familiarity. As he watched Methos' retreating back, a thought coalesced in Jack's head, explaining something that had puzzled him somewhat.

"Methos has a key?" He asked Ianto.

"Yup. You have a problem with that?" There was an unspoken challenge in Ianto's eyes, and Jack wasn't sure he was ready to meet it.

"No! No, of course not. It's just..." Jack trailed off, there was no way to say what he'd been going to without sounding jealous, whiny or controlling; he hoped he was none of those things, not with regards to Methos and Ianto at least. Ianto eased himself up off the couch and moved around it; Jack felt the back dip as Ianto leant over to kiss him gently on his forehead.

"Stick around for a bit, Jack Harkness, and you might just get one too." Jack could hear the smile in his voice. "Officially," Ianto added as he moved away, following Methos out of the room.

"Hey, I've only broken in once!" Jack called out after him.

"That was one time too many!" Ianto shouted in reply. Jack closed his mouth on any further retort; Ianto really hadn't been happy about that, and it was probably prudent not to remind him too much about it. He picked up the remote and began to channel surf again; trying to squash his curiosity about what the other two were getting up to, especially when he heard what sounded suspiciously like a giggle coming from the direction of the kitchen. For the first time since he'd got back Jack paused to consider what, and who, had helped to fill the Jack-less space in Ianto's life during the months he'd been gone; the prospect was disconcerting in more ways than one.

Methos padded back into the room, feet bare and clad in just jeans and t-shirt, carrying a bowl and an open bottle. The aroma of freshly brewing coffee followed him from the kitchen though Jack could also smell the tang of beer from the bottle in his hand. He smiled; some things obviously didn't change. Methos settled onto the couch next to Jack without uttering a word and grabbed the remote out of his hand, flicking through the channels until he settled on the Simpsons. Jack watched out of the corner of his eye as Methos slithered down into what could only be described as a sprawl on the couch, feet on the coffee table, bowl balanced precariously on his stomach. The remote had been abandoned once more which enabled him to pick at the contents of the bowl with his free hand between sips of beer. Jack could feel the heat pooling where their legs were pressed against each other, but Methos didn't even deign to acknowledge Jack's presence never mind comment on their proximity. Jack began to feel faintly disturbed, even though he suspected that that was the intention. The clink of china alerted him to Ianto's presence, and he reached out to take the proffered cup of coffee, inhaling appreciatively as Ianto settled onto the other side of him, squirming slightly until he seemed to find a comfortable position. Ianto, like Methos, said nothing and Jack became convinced there was a conspiracy. He was even more convinced when they started idly passing remarks about what was on screen over him, but he desperately tried not to give them the satisfaction of knowing how much it was getting to him. Jack managed to cast a glance at each of them, without being too obvious he hoped; they were both apparently engrossed in what was on the TV and he almost ground his teeth in frustration. Methos casually offered the bowl of nuts, cashews Jack noted, to Ianto who grabbed a handful without even glancing away from the screen. Ianto then proceeded to eat the nuts one at a time, casually licking the coating off his fingers between each nut. Jack found himself staring intently at Ianto's mouth and tongue and couldn't help the small sound that echoed quietly in the back of his throat; part moan, part growl, all frustration. Methos broke his silence with a choked sounding snort.

"I told you the nuts would be too much for him." Jack felt Methos shift beside him, heard the chink of the bowl being set down on the coffee table as Ianto looked like he was trying to stifle an attack of the giggles. The next thing he knew he was being pulled against Methos' t-shirt clad body, the press of his lips a once-familiar and sorely missed tingle against the skin of Jack's neck. "It's good to have you back," he whispered. "We missed you." Jack relaxed into the embrace, smiling happily at Ianto who appeared to have regained control of himself.

"I missed you both, too. Sometimes I wondered if I'd ever see either of you again, never mind both of you." Jack heard his voice catch slightly and fought to stop his emotions from overwhelming him. Ianto leaned over to capture his lips in an almost chaste kiss.

"Well, we're both here now," he said. "And much as I like the Simpsons I'm sure we can find far better things to do with our time. We've still got more than five hours to kill after all and I'm sure the Old Man has got a few ideas on how to spend it."

"Oh, just a few," Methos mumbled into Jack's neck. Jack chuckled.

"Care to demonstrate?" Jack wasn't sure quite who he was asking, another thing he hadn't expected was for Methos and Ianto to be so obviously comfortable with each other. The thought of how they might have reached that comfort zone made his toes tingle.

"Ianto?" That was Methos, his voice like honey and full of promises. Ianto scrambled off the couch and held his hand out; Jack didn't hesitate in taking it, this was what he'd come back for after all.

Jack found himself half led and half pushed into Ianto's bedroom. It wasn't a place with which he was very familiar so his stomach did a little flip when he realised that Methos was, and comfortably so. He closed his eyes for a second, wondering what else he had missed. There was the scrape of a chair being moved behind him, but before he could turn around to see what was going on there were fingers at the buttons of his shirt, at the fastening of his trousers, sliding the braces off his shoulders. There were no whispered terms of endearment, no feather light kisses across his exposed skin, just two pairs of ruthlessly efficient hands that stripped him as quickly as possible and pushed him down to sit in the unseen chair once he was naked. Methos knelt to remove the trousers that were now crumpled around Jack's ankles and laid them aside, to be folded up by Ianto judging by the rustle of cloth from behind him soon after. Jack smiled, but he didn't try to look as his gaze was fixed on the figure kneeling before him. He reached out to bring Methos closer; to touch, to kiss, to *feel* and was surprised when his wrists were clamped in Methos' vice like grip.

"You touch only when we say you can touch." Methos' voice wasn't quite a growl, but it was very close. He tightened his fingers and Jack couldn't help the instinctive flinch as the touch evoked unwanted memories of a year that only he remembered. Then they were gone, and a thumb rubbed gently at skin that been chafed raw only a short while ago. Jack noticed the quick shake of his head that Methos gave, presumably to Ianto, before he dropped a light kiss onto the inner surface of each wrist as if in apology. "We are going to have to talk about where you've been sometime," he whispered, "But not yet. For now you're going to stay right where you are." Jack found his hands guided past his legs to the seat of the chair, and his fingers instinctively curled around the wood as if he were holding on for dear life. He was rewarded with a pat to the back of his hand as Methos stood up so the hand that fisted in his hair was somewhat unexpected. Jack didn't resist as his head was tilted back just enough for him to meet Methos' eyes. They weren't the eyes of his sardonic and somewhat playful lover; they were the flat and expressionless eyes of a 5000 year old man who had seen too much. He swallowed nervously as Methos continued, "I think you need reminding why it isn't a good idea to disappear on people who rely on you without any explanation." The fist in Jack's hair loosened and became a caress rather than a restraint and the stony expression softened as Methos flicked a glance upward. "Luckily for you, Ianto convinced me that you just need to realise what you missed." There was another hand in Jack's hair, gentle against his scalp, tangling with Methos' fingers, and soft lips against his forehead. He relaxed into Ianto's sure touch but didn't take his eyes off Methos, who was now grinning with a suspiciously evil looking twinkle in his eye.

"What are you going to do?" Jack hoped that his voice didn't sound as unsure to them as it did to him. Neither Ianto nor Methos were malicious as such, but they could both be unpredictable and certainly weren't above making their displeasure known.

"To you? Nothing," Methos said as the hand in Jack's hair moved to cup his face. "You've just got to stay right where we've put you. Can you do that?"

"I can try." Jack nodded against Methos' hand. There was a chuckle from behind him and Ianto intoned;

"Do or do not; there is no try." Jack tried to turn his head to glare at Ianto, but he was stopped by Methos' hand on his chin.

"All right, all right, I can do it," he agreed with a degree of irritation. "Anything to stop Ianto quoting fictional little green men at me."

"I'm glad to hear that." Jack waited for Methos to say the rest of whatever it was he was sure was going to be said and when he was met with silence he prompted,

"And?"

"And what?" Methos queried in an offhand manner, gently stroking a thumb along Jack's jaw line. Jack wanted to grind his teeth in frustration; Methos somehow managed to do guileless very well and it was damned annoying. He kept his fingers firmly clamped around the chair seat no matter that he wanted to shake the immortal, plus Ianto for good measure, and sighed.

"What else do I need to do?" He asked; Methos positively smirked at him before replying,

"Nothing. Sit there, in that chair and don't move a muscle. You can look, you can listen, but if you so much as twitch you'll regret it. No moving and no touching anyone; not me, not Ianto and definitely not yourself. If you manage it you might just get a reward for good behaviour." Jack tried to stifle the disappointed moan that seemed to rise from within him without volition. He wasn't quite successful as he still let out a strangled sounding squeak, which wasn't a terribly dignified sound.

"However, there *is* one exception to the not-moving-a-muscle rule," Ianto murmured, his breath was warm against Jack's ear; Jack could almost *hear* the smile in his voice.

"Which is?" He asked, trying to keep any inflection out of his voice.

"What do you think?" Methos replied with a grin, before reaching down and running one finger along the length of Jack's half-hard cock, which ensured that it certainly wasn't half-hard any more; he only just stopped himself from bucking up into the fleeting touch. Methos chuckled and stepped out of Jack's line of sight.

There were further rustling noises from behind him and Jack wished he dared turn around but the temptation of the reward that had been dangled in front of him was too great to risk losing, so instead he closed his eyes and let his other senses take over.

"You are such a prick tease, Methos." Ianto's voice, with laughter bubbling just under the surface. It was good to actually hear it rather than try to remember what it sounded like, what it felt like.

"Like you weren't thinking about doing exactly the same thing." Jack smiled to himself, Methos managed to sound both aggrieved and suggestive without any apparent effort. He was probably doing his mock-glare at Ianto too, the one that matched the tone of his voice perfectly. Of course, Ianto would agree, possibly try to tie Methos in a verbal knot and then...

"Thinking about, yes. But that doesn't..."

"Ianto?" Jack leaned back in the chair, glad that it was padded and not one of the wooden straight-back ones from the other room. He recognised Methos' 'I've had enough of playing around' voice but he wasn't sure that Ianto had.

"Methos?" Ianto's voice sent a thrill of anticipation through Jack; it was both an acknowledgement and a challenge, he'd in effect thrown down the gauntlet. Jack had no doubt that the challenge would be accepted.

"Shut up." Ianto made no articulate reply to that but the low moan and the moist sound of lips and tongues meeting was answer enough.

Jack's eyes flew open as the chair rocked beneath him when someone stumbled into it. There was a breathless and unrepentant

"Sorry!" From Ianto as he and Methos stumbled toward the bed, probably too intent on maintaining lip contact with each other to make the effort to be steady on their feet. Jack wriggled surreptitiously on the padded seat in an effort to get more comfortable and leant back in the chair, prepared to enjoy the show. When he had the opportunity Jack had always enjoyed watching a lover - or lovers - lose themselves in someone else; that hadn't changed. What had changed was having the decision to do so firmly removed from his own hands. To be restricted to watching was punishment indeed when all he wanted to do was join the delicious tangle of limbs on Ianto's bed, to kiss and caress warm and responsive skin, to lick and suck and bite, to be the one drowning in sensation, to be the one eliciting each moan and gasp and whimper instead of sitting passive and frustrated and extremely turned on. Ianto and Methos knew him too well and obviously wanted him to realise that.

As much as the subtext laden conversation in the office, his punishment was telling Jack in no uncertain terms that if he wanted to continue his relationship with Ianto he was going to have to work harder at it than he had previously. Jack smiled to himself; he might be a bit out of practice with regards to working at a relationship but he had a good memory and he knew Ianto was worth it. Methos would no doubt critique his efforts at every opportunity and relish every uncomfortable moment but Jack knew he would look forward to that too; there was a subtle affection in Methos' barbed comments that said more than just the words did.

A breathy gasp - Methos' - brought his attention fully back to the bed. Ianto was undoing Methos' composure with the focused intensity that still managed to surprise and captivate Jack when it wasn't turned on him; when it was turned on him he fell apart in pretty much the same way as Methos was doing. His skin felt tight and ached in all the places where he wasn't being touched, his cock twitching with every lust-filled sound produced by the writhing heap on the bed and weeping in earnest as Ianto growled something Welsh into Methos' hip, low and needy, before biting into the soft skin. Jack tasted blood in his own mouth as he bit his lip, breath quickening as he watched Ianto plant a trail of kisses across Methos' thigh, nudging his legs further apart and avoiding the leaking cock that was demanding attention. A half articulated growl of protest from Methos was cut short at the same time Jack realised where Ianto's mouth was heading; the resulting moan was drawn from two throats. Ianto lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder at Jack; this was Ianto as only he and Methos saw him, all flushed skin, lust darkened eyes and kiss bruised lips. Ianto smiled, and Jack melted just a little bit more.

"Good job we didn't tell you to keep quiet," Ianto ground out, his voice harsh and breathless. Jack gaped at him and managed to produce a sound that was part chuckle, part groan. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Quiet?! Watching you two!!" He paused, almost panting for breath. "You'd have to gag me." It came out in a rush, needing to be said even as he feared saying it. Ianto met his eyes.

"Maybe another time," he whispered as he turned back to Methos, his voice a rough and intimate caress, rich with dark promise. Jack closed his eyes as another surge of desire, of sheer need pounded through him. The thought of giving up his voice, of surrendering all control to the two men in front of him was intoxicating and exhilarating and completely terrified the life out of him. A breathless and unsteady 'please' from Methos seemed to echo Jack's half realised need and his eyes shot open to be met with the sight of Methos sprawled in absolute submission to Ianto's sensual onslaught, legs spread wide to grant him easier access which presented Jack with an amazing view as Ianto darted his tongue in and out of Methos' body in the most intimate of caresses. Jack wanted to do the same to Ianto, to undo him as completely as he was taking apart Methos, to make him beg in the way Methos was demanding More and Now, to press his weeping cock into Ianto's tight arse. His fingers ached as he clung tightly to the chair, desperate to touch himself, to obtain some relief and equally as determined not to. He wanted his reward whatever it may be, wanted to be surrounded by warm, damp skin, to be enfolded in strong arms, to be safe, wanted, needed, cared for; to mean something, *be* something, to be more than just a madman's plaything and discarded toy. Jack screwed his eyes shut again for a brief moment, forcing the unwanted memories away before submersing himself in the smell and sound and sight of the two men whose mere existence had helped him to maintain a precarious hold on his sanity and sense of self during that dark time.

Ianto was slithering up Methos' body, one hand scrabbling blindly in the bedcovers as he kissed his way higher, finally silencing the wanton, needy sounds Methos was making with his mouth. Jack trembled, almost whimpering as Ianto's questing fingers found what they had been looking for and one-handedly flipped open the tube and coated them in lube. Jack doubted Methos would need much preparation as his arsehole was still flushed and glistening from the ministrations of Ianto's tongue, but it seemed Ianto wanted to tease them both and gently circled and rubbed over the puckered opening without trying to gain entrance. Jack could barely restrain himself any longer and was about to yell at Ianto to get on with it when Methos snaked a hand round Ianto until he could reach his arm and wriggled until he managed to impale himself on Ianto's fingers. Ianto obliged with the unspoken command and thrust them deeper into Methos, making him writhe and moan incoherently. He raised his head and looked down at Methos, then cast another glance back at Jack. Their eyes met and Jack found himself unable to do anything but stare helplessly and drown; his body screaming mindlessly for just one touch. Ianto shuddered and let out a breathless and gravelly

"Fuck!" that described exactly how Jack felt and what he needed as he clung to the chair with desperation. He wouldn't move. He wouldn't. He could do this, no matter how much his body tried to tell him otherwise. He would prove he wasn't a slave to his body even though the sounds that Methos was making as Ianto removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock were almost enough to bring him off right there and then. Jack's fingers were numb and his arms were tingling; he could taste blood in his mouth again as he bit his lip once more, trying to stop himself from begging for release as he watched Ianto plunge into Methos again and again. He could no longer hear them through the pounding of his own blood and his breathless whimpers though he was aware that Ianto was murmuring something over and over. All Jack could process was his own aching body and the sight of Ianto's cock buried in Methos' arse, rhythm faltering as he drew close to his own release. Then Ianto was coming with a shout, and Methos... wasn't. Even as he was still shaking in the final throes of his climax, Ianto withdrew from Methos and collapsed on the bed, leaving a trail of come coating Methos' arse. Jack was transfixed, especially as Methos slid off the bed and approached him, breathing heavily, his cock still firmly standing to attention. Jack gazed up at him wordlessly as Methos tangled a hand in his hair and kissed him gently.

"You more than deserve your reward," he whispered. Jack could only gasp wordlessly as Methos gently removed his fingers from their vice like grip around the chair, soothing them with lips and tongue. "Think you can hold on a little longer?" Jack nodded, focusing on the burning in his fingers as circulation returned in order to distract himself. He would *make* himself hold on, now he had an inkling of what his reward would be. Methos grinned wickedly at him, and laid his hands down. Jack let them hang at the sides of the chair for the present; he knew he would need them in good working order soon. Methos turned, straddling both chair and Jack and lowered himself down. Jack's already-slick cock slid easily through the remnants of Ianto's come into the moist and enveloping heat of Methos' arse. Neither Jack nor Methos moved as Jack panted into Methos' shoulder; Jack was still too close to coming himself to chance any movement and he realised that Methos was ceding what little control he still had over to Jack. He let his hands wander up around Methos' hips to cradle him closely, let one finger carefully brush the length of the rigid cock, swirling the fluid at the tip all around the head. Methos shivered and Jack leant back, allowing Methos to move with him, head resting against his shoulder. Jack kissed him gently, and began to move with undulating rolls of his hips, one hand still around Methos' hips, and the other wrapped around his cock. Methos was hot and slick around him, and unsurprisingly not as tight as he usually was. Jack inhaled deeply; Methos' own indefinable scent was overlaid by Ianto's and was now being overwhelmed by that of Jack's own arousal; it was better than any drug and there was no way he could, or wanted to, hold back any longer.

"Methos..." The sound was breathy, barely even a whisper but Methos understood. There was a slight shift of position and Methos thrust down onto him; once, twice three times, and Jack exploded within him, coming so hard he virtually saw stars, only half aware as Methos' muscles clenched around him as he found his own release.

The next thing Jack was truly aware of was that Ianto's hand was curled around his waist, and he was licking his sticky hand and fingers clean. Methos' head was resting on his shoulder, his eyes heavy lidded as he watched Ianto move from Jack's hand to his own stomach. When Ianto had finished his clean up job he wrapped his arms as far round both of them as he could from his position kneeling between their legs. Jack cradled Methos with one hand and tangled his fingers with Methos' in Ianto's hair with the other as he waited for the pounding of his heart to subside.

"Don't you have a bed for this?" Methos' voice was a soft rumble against Jack's chest as he turned his head slightly to look at Ianto. There was a faint snort, and Ianto squeezed them both tight before sitting back on his heels, causing Jack's hand to slip from his head

"Can you walk?" He asked, his voice lilting with laughter as much as with his accent. Jack nuzzled into Methos' neck before answering.

"Don't even want to attempt it." Jack decided he may possibly be able to stand, albeit unsteadily, but actually taking the few steps toward the bed were beyond him. He was impressed that Ianto had made it across that same distance to them.

"What he said," echoed Methos.

"Then stop complaining and let me hold you." Ianto shuffled closer again, leaning on both Jack and Methos' legs, head pillowed against Methos, as he gathered them both as close as he could once more.

Jack was beginning to feel uncomfortable when Ianto scrambled upward, hauling Methos with him by one hand. Methos stumbled, chuckling, and held out a hand to Jack once he'd steadied himself against Ianto. Jack decided he would be a fool to turn down the offer going by how wobbly his legs still felt and gratefully took the proffered hand. Ianto wrapped an arm around him once he was upright, brushing a kiss across his lips.

"Shower?" He asked. Jack knew he needed one, hell they all needed one but he had his doubts that they would all fit in Ianto's bathroom, never mind in the shower. The few times he'd been inside Ianto's flat, checking out the bathroom hadn't exactly been high on his list of things to do. "We'll fit." Ianto assured him.

"Just," added Methos. "And only because we're *very* good friends." Jack found his legs still weren't working as well as they should be and was very grateful to Ianto's strong arm around his waist, guiding him in the direction of the bathroom as they followed Methos, who managed to give away just how unsteady he was feeling only by the fact he was hanging onto the doorframes as they passed.

Despite Ianto's optimistic comment about the shower, Methos had the right of it, and then some. Jack found himself sandwiched between the other two and barely able to move; not that it really mattered as neither of them allowed him to even attempt to wash himself. From Ianto's gentle fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp, soothing away the remnants of tension in his neck and shoulders and arms to Methos' thorough but strangely business like attention to his chest and groin and legs, he was welcomed home and told he was cherished and appreciated with every careful touch. He let his mind drift, disengaging it from the horror of the previous year, from the responsibilities that would need to be shouldered again soon, and let himself be cared for.

They'd sat him on the edge of the bath; Ianto beside him, whispering softly in Welsh as he was dried as tenderly as he'd been washed while Methos knelt on the floor to massage his feet. As he watched Methos' dark head bent over him, something inside Jack cracked. Cracked, and shattered into myriad pieces. Here was the man who possibly understood him better than anyone else, a truly human man despite, or perhaps because of, his immortality, a man who could have been a king or a god if he'd so wished, sitting at his feet; the feet of a freak, a thing that was wrong. Jack's next breath caught in his chest as the enormity of it threatened to overwhelm him. The one after that emerged as a strangled whimper of denial as he collapsed into Methos and Ianto's arms sobbing as if his heart had broken.

Even lost as he was in the unexpected flood of emotion, Jack was aware of the half-whispered conversation that passed over his head as he hung on desperately to his two lifelines, his rocks.

"I'm beginning to hate the Doctor." Ianto; a trace of anger colouring his voice even though he spoke quietly. Jack felt Ianto's familiar hands stroking his hair again. "All he ever seems to do is cause Jack pain. I don't think I can forgive him for that."

"It's not that simple, Ianto."

"It wouldn't be." A sigh. "It never is. But I can wish..." He didn't finish the sentence, just buried his face into Jack's trembling shoulders, and breathed.

They held him for a little while longer until his storm of weeping had abated. He felt Ianto shift, and Methos nod in answer to an unspoken question, and then Ianto was pressing a kiss to his damp forehead and moving away, leaving him alone in the bathroom with Methos. Jack clung to the ancient immortal, gulping for air and struggling for control. Methos continued to hold him, stroking his hair, his shoulders, his back; muttering soothing nonsense until his breathing started to feel more normal. He took a deep breath to clear his head, another in preparation to speak but before he could utter a word, Methos beat him to it.

"Don't you dare apologise, Jack Harkness." Jack raised his head and gave Methos a shaky smile.

"I wasn't going to." He was trying for just a hint of his usual laissez-faire jocularity but it sounded forced and half hearted even to his own ears.

"Oh?" The tone of Methos' voice told Jack that he wasn't impressed with it either so Jack decided to abandon any further attempts; he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself. Instead he announced simply, and without pretence,

"I was going to say Thank You." He swallowed as Methos reached out and cradled his face in one hand, brushing the tears away with his thumb.

"You don't need to, you know; to either me or Ianto."

"I know, but..."

"No buts." Methos emphasised his point with a chaste kiss on Jack's lips before making his way across the room to the sink. He returned with a damp cloth and wiped away the remaining tears from Jack's face tenderly, before passing him a box of tissues so Jack could repair the remaining damage. Jack was also grateful for the opportunity to clear his stuffed nose; he could smell a hint of the scent of freshly brewing coffee and disliked not being able to afford it the appreciation it deserved. "Ready?" Methos asked gently.

"I think so," Jack confirmed.

"Then let's get somewhere a bit more comfortable so we can do justice to what I suspect is going to be extra-special coffee." Methos unfurled like a cat, rising gracefully, and held out a hand to help Jack to his feet. Without hesitation, Jack took it and let himself be led back through to the bedroom even though he knew that he couldn't avoid giving some answers to Methos and Ianto's unasked questions any longer. Better here and now when he felt as safe as he was ever likely to, than to crack unexpectedly in front of the rest of the team, especially if he was going to start afresh with Ianto. They would both have to get out of the habit of keeping so many secrets from each other which would not be easy for either of them. And Methos? Methos *was* a secret, which was just a tiny fraction of the allure he held for both of them. Jack was in no rush to solve the puzzle that was Methos; after all he would hopefully have several life times to attempt it.

When they reached the bedroom Ianto was waiting and the aroma of coffee had overwhelmed that of spent passion. Jack found himself encouraged to use Ianto as a human backrest, which he certainly wasn't going protest about because Ianto made an exceptional backrest. Methos wrapped himself around the two of them, pressing a cup into Jack's hands before taking his own. Jack inhaled deeply; there was more than just coffee in the steaming cup. He took a sip, savouring the taste and tried to separate the explosion of flavours in his mouth. There was coffee, of course, rich and mysterious with a hint of spice, a special blend that Jack had only tasted once or twice; the sweet, dark bitterness of chocolate, smooth and reassuring, and overlying it all the gentle fire of good whisky. Jack let himself sink into the feeling of safety and security, inside and out, drew a deep breath and settled against Ianto bonelessly.

"How do you always know what I need, Ianto?" He mumbled.

"It's a talent, of course." There was a thrum of amusement underlying Ianto's words but Jack took them at face value, choosing to ignore the humour; it was, after all, very true.

"It is, and I do appreciate it even when I forget to tell you." Ianto was also uncannily good at knowing what Jack needed in other ways and he presumed that Methos had benefited from the same talent. A sidelong glance at Methos revealed a satisfied and very feline smirk on the ancient immortal's face; all the confirmation Jack needed to realise his suspicion was more than correct. Not for the first time he wondered if Ianto happened to be just a very good reader of body language or whether he was in fact a low-level empath; it made no difference to Jack, he benefited either way, but he thought it might make a difference to Ianto. He had no safe and sure way to find out one way or the other though, or not in this time and place. He sighed and let that part of the mystery of Ianto remain undisturbed for the foreseeable future.

They drank their coffee in comfortable silence, their only communication the fleeting brush of fingers across exposed skin. Eventually the cups were put aside but no-one attempted to move from the bed. Jack relaxed into the shelter of Ianto's encircling arms, Methos a supportive presence beside them. He closed his eyes, resting his head against Ianto's shoulder, took a deep breath, let it out; another.

"Go on, ask." He could choose to answer or not, but Jack trusted them both to avoid cutting him too deeply with their questions. Methos took one of his hands and kissed his wrist, before cradling it against his skin.

"You were on the Valiant." It wasn't a question, and Methos' voice was as gentle as his touch but Jack still couldn't help but flinch at the name. Ianto's arms tightened around him though he remained silent, seemingly content to let Methos take the lead.

"I know the official story," Jack felt Methos shift, reaching out to touch Ianto, "but what really happened?" Jack drew a shuddering breath and opened his eyes once more.

"What happened... there..." Jack couldn't bring himself to even say the name; he would have to get over that someday soon, "was essentially the end of the story. It began at the end of the universe."

"The end of the universe? Why there?" There was no disbelief in Methos' voice, merely curiosity; Jack found himself strangely reassured by that.

"It was a mistake. I heard the TARDIS materialise - we have audio on the CCTV up on the Plass - and I realised if I wanted to get my answers I'd have to move fast. I've waited 140 years for those answers and he tried to leave without me. Again." Jack knew he'd done to Ianto exactly what the Doctor had done to him but the difference was that there was a part of him that had always intended to return to Cardiff. He doubted the Doctor had ever intended to return for him.

"So you threw yourself at the TARDIS as she dematerialised." Methos stated matter-of-factly. Jack began to answer,

"Yes, I..." then his brain caught up. "How did you know that?" Methos hadn't been there, hell, Ianto hadn't been there; Jack might have paused in his mad dash to reach the TARDIS for a quick goodbye if he had been. Might.

"CCTV footage." Methos' voice was totally without inflection, a statement of fact, nothing else. Jack met his eyes; they weren't - quite - as devoid of expression as his voice.

"There wasn't any. I checked." When he had arrived back, not knowing how long he'd been away, his first instinct had been to see if the team knew where he'd been; from what he'd found he had assumed, obviously wrongly, that they didn't.

"I deleted it and kept one copy, the others have no idea." Ianto spoke softly, but didn't quite whisper. "Only Methos knows..."

"I'm... I... Ianto..." Jack stuttered. Ianto turned his head and kissed Jack gently.

"You would have done the same," he said as if it explained everything. Maybe it did; Ianto was Torchwood, but Jack still felt humbled in the face of his loyalty at a time when he must have been hurting badly.

"Maybe." Jack sighed, burrowing deeper into Ianto's arms as he squeezed Methos' fingers. "I knocked the TARDIS off balance and by the time we landed we'd reached the end of the universe."

"And?" Methos prompted.

"It was like something out of a pulp novel, all darkness and rain. But people were still hanging on, past desperation, with only their hope a light in the darkness." Jack remembered the press of humanity, the nameless people, all waiting and wishing for something better. He swallowed, bitterness rising in his throat. "We put out that light." Ianto made a small sound of protest behind him; even hurt as he had been he had such faith that it warmed the cold places in Jack's heart. "It wasn't intentional, but we did. We released the Master." Jack was watching Methos and saw the colour leach from his face. "I see you've heard of him."

"From what the Doctor's told me about him he made the Horsemen look like naughty children playing in a sandpit at times."

"Sounds about right. He stole the TARDIS and returned here; the Doctor had managed to limit where and when she could travel." Jack had to stop, his throat was too dry to continue and his heart was beginning to beat faster with remembered terror and pain. A water bottle shoved into his hand by Ianto took care of his physical needs, the arms wrapped around him reminded him he was safe.

"And on top of the Master your answers weren't what you were hoping for, either, were they?"

"No. What was done by Rose and the TARDIS can't be changed. Even to a Time Lord I'm wrong, a freak. I'm a fixed point in time and they don't like that. The Doctor tried to ignore me, the Master tried to destroy me. They both failed."

"I'm glad about that, I've got used to having you in my life." Methos reached up to touch Jack's face, Ianto pressed his cheek against the hand as it lay there, and dropped a kiss onto it, reiterating what Methos said without words. There was a respite for a few moments, until Ianto broke the silence.

"The Master; he was Harold Saxon, wasn't he? It's the only thing that makes any sense. Our useless trip to the Himalayas, the shootings, everything. I'm right aren't I?"

"Yeah. But that wasn't all he did. He...changed... the TARDIS..." Jack glanced at Methos; he knew he wasn't imagining the concern etched onto his face, echoed in the hazel eyes.

"How?" Methos breathed.

"Paradox machine," Jack replied curtly. He didn't really want to think about it. "Up there we...lived... through a year that didn't exist for the rest of the world."

"A year of hell."

"You could say that." Jack couldn't help it, he began to shake. There were no more tears left, but his trembling was uncontrollable. In no time at all his face was pressed into Methos' shoulder and Ianto mumbled into his hair as he held them both tight. "I actually started looking forward to dying; it got rid of the pain, if only for a short while," Jack admitted. Methos' reaction to his confession was to start cursing, low and fervent and full of vitriol. Jack didn't understand the majority of the words, but the meaning was clear. Eventually the flow of venom from Methos' lips sputtered to a halt and only then did he meet Jack's eyes. The first thought through Jack's head was that the Master was very lucky he was dead; Methos knew all about exacting vengeance on someone and would have been ruthless, determined and very, very thorough. With an effort Jack concluded his story. "Eventually he got bored with me, and concentrated on... other people instead. I was left... hanging."

"In chains?" Methos asked, his fingers busy stroking Jack's wrists as if to soothe away the hurt. Jack nodded.

"He freed me to witness his finest hour, but instead it led to his destruction. Martha and the Doctor had planned it down to the final second. I destroyed the paradox machine and time reverted to the beginning of the year. Only those of us on the... the... Valiant," Jack almost spat the hated word out, "remember it." There was no sound in the bedroom beyond that of his harsh breathing and the gentle rasp of fingers in his hair. Then Ianto asked the question he'd been dreading.

"What happened to us, to Torchwood?"

"I really wish you hadn't asked that, Ianto." Jack's voice cracked. "The only good thing was that they never found you two; either of you." He could say no more, choked as he was on memories of Tosh standing proud and defiant as she was cut down, of Gwen and Rhys slaughtered as they tried to help others and Owen laughing in the face of madness as he took his own life to save Jack the pain of watching him being tortured to death. Jack realised that the tears on his face weren't his own, but Ianto's. Even Methos' eyes looked suspiciously bright.

"Any more of that whisky?" Jack croaked. Ianto nodded, wiping the tears from his face as he leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed the bottle that had been hidden from view. Jack took a grateful slug from the bottle, enjoying the spread of heat as he swallowed, before passing it back to Ianto. It was passed around a few times before Methos recapped it, and laid it aside.

"I think we've had enough for now," he said gently. Jack knew he meant of more than the whisky, and he couldn't help but agree. Going by his shaky smile, so did Ianto. They clung to each other, reassuring Jack with every touch that they were more than glad to have him back with them, battered in more ways than one, but whole. For the first time in over a year Jack found himself being truly thankful for his immortality.

With his eyes closed, Jack could lose himself in the sensation of warm skin and soft breath, avoiding the shadows he knew would still be lurking in Methos and Ianto's faces. He wanted to banish those shadows, to be able to forget the last year even if only for a short while but the easy banter and unsubtle innuendo he usually fell back on seemed hollow and meaningless when faced with the two people on the planet who knew him best; there was no hiding himself from them, whether he wanted to or not. He was curious about their story too, about how and when they'd grown so close but he didn't know where to begin; there were too many possible starting points and potential pitfalls to encounter. It didn't stop him from wanting to know at least part of it though, and he wondered, even as he shied away from the answer, why he was so hesitant to ask.

"Spit it out." Methos broke into his reverie with a smile and a chaste kiss. "We can tell you're dying to ask whatever it is and we can't give you an answer if we don't know the question!" Jack opened his eyes and shifted until he could look at both of them, though he didn't meet their eyes, and decided to ask the one thing above all others that was presently on his mind with regards to the 2 of them.

"Why here? Why not The Hub?" It came out in something of a rush, he was kind of nervous about the answer he might receive.

"I would have thought that was obvious," Ianto murmured.

"Not to me. Would I be asking if it was?" Jack found his nervousness being overtaken by exasperation. He wanted, needed, a straight answer.

"It's really very simple..."

"Methos..." Jack warned, he wasn't in the mood for the immortal's evasive and cryptic comments. Ianto's hand smoothed down Jack's hair, and when he spoke his voice was as gentle as his touch.

"But it *is* simple, Jack. The Hub is your place. I'd stay there when I needed to feel close to you, but we," he indicated Methos and himself, "needed somewhere separate from that..."

"And the hotel bills were getting to be way too expensive." Methos interjected. Ianto rolled his eyes as Jack sighed, and then he poked Methos in the ribs.

"Twpsyn," he hissed before continuing in a more normal tone of voice, "It's the first time this place has actually felt lived in since I moved here, and at least he's not as messy as you." The latter was said with a half smile that took any sting out of the words. Jack protested, chuckling,

"I'm not that bad!" Then he sobered. "...am I?" He certainly never used to be; messy was something a person couldn't afford to be in the military of any time. Maybe he'd just gotten used to Ianto quietly organising his life and had stopped doing it himself. He realised Ianto hadn't answered, but had ducked his head even though it didn't manage to hide the grin on his face. Methos burst out laughing.

"I think that's your answer, Jack. Maybe we should both count ourselves lucky that Ianto is such a neat freak."

"I am not a neat freak; I just like to keep things organised." Ianto's protest sounded good naturedly half-hearted to Jack.

"You iron your sheets," accused Methos.

"They feel better if I do." Ianto shrugged in reply.

"And your handkerchiefs."

"They don't look right if they're not ironed."

"And your socks."

"They... No I don't. Who the hell would iron their socks?"

Jack watched the exchange with an ever widening smile. Methos had obviously discovered one of his own favourite sources of light entertainment; trying to bait Ianto. It was also giving him some much needed distance from his fraught emotions, probably intentional on their part.

"You never know." Methos was grinning.

"Well at least I've never ironed my underpants." How Ianto managed to sound so holier-than-thou with such a huge smile on his face, Jack didn't know.

"That was once. Once! And anyway, they were yours."

"You never admitted to that before." Ianto narrowed his eyes as he glared at Methos, the effect somewhat spoiled by the smile that was still firmly attached to his face. Jack was dying to laugh but succeeded in suppressing the urge.

"I didn't?" The innocent tone of Methos' voice was at odds with the twitch of his lips.

"No."

"Maybe I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"Not notice?" They were both glaring, and grinning, at each other and even though he still wanted to laugh, there was something Jack *really* wanted to know.

"Umm Methos, why were you ironing Ianto's underpants?" He asked.

"Long story. Though I can show you the end result..." Methos scrambled off the bed and rummaged around in one of the drawers. "Voila!" he said flourishing a pair of very normal looking white jersey under shorts. Then he turned them around; on the back was emblazoned the legend 'Bite Me' in such a position that it would sit very nicely on the curve of the wearer's backside. "I've noticed that Ianto doesn't always pay attention when he'd putting on his underwear in the morning." Jack snorted, he'd noticed that a time or two himself.

"And whose fault is that?" Ianto sounded like he was trying to be stern, but was failing dismally.

"Beside the point." Methos turned his head to smile at Jack. "If he hadn't caught me with the iron they would have been adorning that lovely arse one day at work; hopefully on a gunk day."

"Gunk day?" Jack queried.

"Slime, alien entrails, glass-etching saliva; that sort of thing. The stuff I just *love* about Torchwood."

"I'm not sure Owen would have been entirely appreciative," Ianto commented.

"Maybe not, but he comes up with some very colourful insults; I think it must be the medical background. There're few things quite as satisfying as a good insult." Jack smiled indulgently as Methos and Ianto both dissolved into fits of giggles, an incongruous sight but one that lightened his heart. They had obviously been very good for each other and that made him feel slightly less guilty about leaving them behind. Eventually they sobered and Methos clambered back across the bed to join Jack and Ianto.

"I take it the others know about..." Jack gestured vaguely at the 3 of them.

"They aren't stupid, despite evidence to the contrary at times." Ianto replied. "They knew there was *something* going on between the 3 of us before you left." He glanced at Methos, then back toward Jack. "Maybe I should rephrase that; Tosh and Owen knew, but they decided not to tell Gwen. Then no-one could really miss the fact that *he* kept turning up in Cardiff even while you were gone; they put 2 and 2 together and actually managed to come up with something approximating 4. I think we were all surprised."

"Who gave you the inquisition? Tosh?" Jack asked. He knew that Ianto and Tosh were close and felt she would be the most likely candidate. Ianto took a deep breath before answering,

"Owen, actually. He had his professional head on. I'll probably get a repeat tomorrow when neither of you are in earshot."

"And what will you tell him?" Jack was well aware that Ianto's relationship with Owen had been more than a little... abrasive... at times before he left and the concern for them both coloured his voice. Ianto gave him a wry smile.

"Same as I did before; that it's none of his business. He'll probably be just as happy with the answer as he was the first time, but that's his problem."

"There is another option," Methos remarked languidly from where he was sprawled across the bed. Jack knew the answer to that should be obvious, but his brain still didn't appear to be working at full capacity.

"And that is?" He asked quizzically.

"We make his ears burn." Methos shifted slightly and gave Jack's thigh a playful nip. "We describe, in graphic detail, what we've done to you tonight."

"But you haven't exactly done anything to me..."

"Yet," Ianto whispered. Jack was a little disconcerted to see a very close relative to Methos' predatory grin on Ianto's face but his body reacted in much the same way, especially when Ianto's chuckle reverberated through him.

"I think that's our cue," Methos said, grinning. Jack barely had time to breathe before he was assaulted with enthusiastic tenderness from two sides.

Methos and Ianto worked in tandem, gently but thoroughly tearing Jack apart kiss by kiss and touch by touch. When the electric like tingle that Methos' fingers left in their wake became too much and threatened to overwhelm him, Ianto was there to soothe his skin with lips and tongue; when Ianto's mouth became too demanding and his internal barriers were about to fracture, Methos' feather light touches would shore them up before tenderly taking them back down again. Every action and reaction bared his soul and Jack found he could hide nothing, found he *wanted* to hide nothing. He was being devoured, sacrificed, resurrected with every caress and his blood sang through his veins in celebration. Right, not wrong; unique, not a freak; forgiven and not damned. The pain and fear and darkness that had stained his soul from the previous year were dragged into the light and diminished by its brightness, though not destroyed; they were part of him now.

The slow burn of desire was almost secondary, but a delicious and ever present counterpoint; the dancing touches across his body gradually setting him afire, the slide of skin on skin, the moist sound of hungry mouths asking of each other no more than they did of him. Jack was unsure where he ended and the others began so tangled up in each other they'd become; or he was until Ianto grabbed and held his attention in time honoured fashion. The strangled and breathless whimper that seemed to be the only sound he could produce nevertheless described how he was feeling as Ianto smiled around his cock. He barely had time to process that before lube-slick fingers were pressing into his body, wrenching another inarticulate moan from him. Jack was tingling all over and he felt like he was ready to explode, not just through his cock in Ianto's mouth, but through every pore in his hyper-sensitive skin. He really didn't care if he survived the aftermath or not but he wanted and needed even more. Somehow, from somewhere, he dredged up the power of speech.

"Ianto. Stop." Ianto acquiesced, letting Jack slide from his mouth with a lust filled, but still concerned looking glance. Jack gave him a shaky smile to reassure him as he gasped for the breath to speak again. He only half succeeded. "Ianto. Need... Want..." Ianto appeared to understand exactly what was meant as he gave Jack an incandescent smile, slithering up his body to capture his mouth in a brief but bruising kiss before moving away from him, but only far enough to lie back against the pillows in a position that demanded 'fuck me' louder than any words ever could. Jack felt as much as heard Methos' low and needy growl, then his fingers were gone and Jack found himself almost shoved in Ianto's direction. He would have laughed at Methos' lack of subtlety if he'd had the breath to but he was too busy losing himself in the scent of Ianto's skin and the taste of his mouth. Methos' body was hot against Jack's back, arms encircling him, insistent fingers slicking him up ready to possess and be possessed, encouraging him, guiding him until Jack buried himself in Ianto with a moan that was more than half sob.

Even then Jack felt curiously bereft until he felt the press of Methos against him and in him, closing the connection between them all with one smooth thrust into his body. For a brief moment suspended in eternity they held motionless, then Jack began to move. With each roll of his hips he celebrated being alive, and the life that all three of them still had, and so very nearly had lost. There were no words to describe how he was feeling, and he had no breath to utter them even if he'd found them, so he did the only thing he could and gave them himself. As his climax gave him physical release, Jack poured the essence of his life, his immortality into the kiss he shared with Ianto and from the electric tingle against his face, with Methos. Instinctively he half broke the kiss with Ianto in order to suck on those demanding fingers, and shattered into pieces as the rush of Methos' quickening flooded his already besieged senses. His last rational thought was that he hoped they would follow him.

Sandwiched between his two lovers, with Ianto's heart pounding beneath his cheek and Methos' breath hot between his shoulder blades Jack realised he had found at least part of what he'd been searching for at the end of the universe. He rubbed his face into the soft fuzz of Ianto's chest and mumbled the word to himself as if he'd only just discovered what it meant. Maybe he had.

"Home..." A barely perceptible tightening of arms and legs around him was the only indication he received that they'd heard him, but it was all the confirmation he required as he drifted into sleep.

Ianto and Methos were still wrapped around him when he woke, though they'd settled themselves, and him, more comfortably in the bed. Judging by the fact that he wasn't uncomfortably stuck to anyone they'd also cleaned him up. He smiled, shifting slightly; it felt good to have been looked after. A soft chuckle from behind him told him that Methos was awake; a quick glance in the other direction showed him that Ianto was still deeply asleep. He turned over as carefully as possible in order not to disturb Ianto and met the smile on Methos' face with one of his own. Methos reached out to cup his cheek, and Jack turned into the caress to brush his lips against Methos' skin.

"Do you realise I've never had the opportunity to watch you sleep before?" Methos murmured.

"Never?" Jack queried. He knew he didn't sleep that much but he hadn't realised he only slept when his lovers did.

"Not once; you've always been awake before me. I feel..." Methos leaned in to kiss him, "...privileged, I suppose. But at least you don't manage to unnerve me like *he* does." Jack turned his head to follow Methos' glance. Ianto was smiling gently in his sleep; he looked so trusting, so vulnerable and so damn *young* that Jack had no trouble understanding what Methos meant.

"Sometimes he scares me too, Methos. I try not to think about it."

"Maybe you should. Maybe we *both* should." Methos had wriggled closer and his words were a whisper against Jack's skin. Jack held him close and mumbled into his hair.

"Maybe. But not here, and not now. I just... I'm..." He trailed off; it was difficult to find the words to describe his current state of mind, and even more difficult to admit to feeling that way. He was sure Methos would understand without the words; he usually did.

"Too vulnerable?" The question was accompanied by the gentle stroke of fingers across his skin; soothing, reassuring and insistent. Jack captured the questing fingers in his hand, and raised them to his lips for a brief kiss.

"Too *raw* actually; but vulnerable kind of covers it." Methos didn't reply immediately, but the touch of his hands told Jack that he understood completely, and that it didn't matter to him; he would still be around in 2 days, 2 years, or 2 centuries. Then the soft brush of skin on skin paused, and Methos squirmed even closer; his touch becoming suggestive rather than soothing making Jack realise that certain parts of him were very much awake.

"I can always kiss you better... if you want..." Methos whispered into Jack's ear gently tracing the curve of it with the tip of his tongue, sending a shiver of pleasure through Jack in its wake.

"I want..." Jack gasped into Methos' skin. As if he would have refused when Methos was doing *that* with his mouth, though he appreciated the thought behind technically giving him the option to say no. He turned his head to capture Methos' lips.

Their kisses might have lacked the finesse and frenzied passion of earlier in the night but they were no less enthusiastic for all that and Jack found something reassuringly heart-warming in their sloppy inelegance. Like another piece to the puzzle, he found himself further grounded in the normal and mundane, or what passed for that in his life at least, separating him further from things that only he could remember. There was beauty and healing in the unhurried normalcy of their touches, a reaffirmation of the familiarity between them, of similarities that had gone too long unacknowledged in Jack's absence. It was about acceptance and sharing and reconnecting with each other. Jack revelled in the slowly ascending spiral of desire Methos' hands and mouth produced while finding a deep and quiet joy in the warm and sleepy weight of Ianto against his back. Jack came first, in and over Methos' fist, smothering his cries by burying his teeth in the immortal's neck and tipping him over the edge in the process. He smiled as he gently laved the bite, Methos' pulse pounding beneath his lips as he shuddered through the last remnants of his own climax, it was the one reaction of his body that Methos seemed to have no control over whatsoever and Jack loved that. There were more soft kisses as they came back down until Jack felt himself drifting once more, only vaguely aware that Methos was cleaning them both up. He jerked back to panicky awareness when Methos moved away, only to be soothed by the touch of familiar fingers carding through his hair and Ianto's soft breath against his shoulders.

"Sshh. It's ok. Let yourself go. We'll still be here in the morning."

"You sure?" Jack muttered, more than half asleep but needing the reassurance. Methos' lips and breath brushed his cheek.

"Completely and utterly certain. Now go back to sleep." Jack found he needed no further urging; he felt good - sated and trustingly cradled in warmth and safety - and it was easy to obey a command that made so much sense. He surrendered to sleep once more, Methos and Ianto a comforting presence around him holding his darkness at bay.

There was something tickling the back of Jack's neck. And his shoulder. And the small ridges down his spine. Something teasing lightly at his skin. Something... some *one* he realised as he clawed his way up out of sleep enough to become fully aware of the gentle nip of teeth and rasp of tongue against his skin. Ianto. There was a special sort of thoroughness he put into every feather light touch of his lips that couldn't be mistaken, even to someone as sleep dazed as Jack. He blearily pried open his eyes, even as the rest of his body started to tell him that yes, this was a very nice way to wake up thank-you-very-much and could he now please do something about it, the sooner the better. He blinked. Methos was sprawled just out of reach with Ianto's stopwatch in one hand, wearing a huge grin and nothing else.

"You just squeaked inside the minute by 3 seconds. Didn't think you were going to make it for a moment," Methos said, apparently to Ianto as the gentle onslaught of Jack's skin paused momentarily as Ianto raised his head to answer.

"I only bet on a dead cert."

"Are you sure about that?" Methos commented languidly, his eyes sparkling. Jack didn't like to think about the things that Methos' smile was doing to him, not when he couldn't touch him at least.

"Yup."

"In that case, you've got 5 minutes... and counting."

Jack had no further thought to spare Methos as he became the sole focus of a very determined Ianto. He managed a slightly strangled sounding "What?" in Methos' direction but he had neither the breath nor the inclination to pursue the questioning. Methos helpfully provided him with an answer anyway.

"It appears that someone wasn't as fast asleep as we thought last night, but couldn't manage to wake himself up enough to join us. He said he could wake you within a minute without using his hands, and then he wanted to get his own back. I told him he had 5 minutes..." There was a pause. "Make that 4 minutes and 30 seconds... before I joined in. Not that I think he needs any help, you seem to be falling apart quite nicely as it is." Jack had to agree, but he could do no more than moan incoherently in answer; Ianto's tongue in his arse and his hands roaming pretty much anywhere and everywhere they pleased made sure of that. Methos, and the stopwatch, became entirely inconsequential in comparison to what Ianto was doing to him; he had no chance to reciprocate, and then he had no inclination to as Ianto seemed to be working his way through a mental list of every single thing he had discovered that would make Jack writhe and moan and thrash with pleasure, without giving him the time to truly lose himself in each sensation. His climax, as it slammed into him and he spilled himself into Ianto's mouth, was as much about relief as it was about completion. He lay there gasping, feeling like he had been very thoroughly and efficiently taken apart, examined intimately, and put back together again in a way that pleased everyone even though it left him... disjointed. He felt Ianto move as he turned toward Methos, though he didn't completely break contact.

"So?" Ianto sounded as breathless as Jack felt. Not surprising, he thought to himself, trying to decide if he could spare the effort to open his eyes again.

"Four minutes and 42 seconds." Methos, in contrast, sounded almost dispassionate.

There was a wheezy sounding chuckle in reply from Ianto.

"Not too bad. Think you can do better?"

Jack felt as much as heard the thump of the stopwatch hitting the bed, before Methos growled,

"I *know* I can."

Jack's arms were full of a still trembling, sweat-slick and breathless Methos and Ianto and he couldn't think of anything he'd rather be wrapped around. Eventually Methos and Ianto broke apart, enabling him to tighten his hold while being able to breathe a little deeper as they collapsed bonelessly against him. He dropped a chaste kiss onto Ianto's cheek and brushed Methos' sweaty hair away from his forehead.

"I think you set a new record," he commented, not really trying to keep the smirk off his face or out of his voice.

"Not complaining," mumbled Ianto into Jack's neck. Jack hugged them both hard, then stilled as he listened to the slowing rasp of their breathing. It was a wonderful sound. Soon he found himself growing restless, so rather than disturb them by his endless fidgeting he wriggled out from under and between them, ensuring they could still snuggle into each other, his hands lingering on the curve of shoulder and hip.

"I'm going to hit the shower, okay?" Jack knew he wasn't just asking permission, but he didn't think he could manage to articulate what he really wanted to say. He squeezed Ianto's shoulder gently, smiling when 2 sets of shaky fingers fumbled their way up to clutch at his hand in return. It was a more than good enough answer for Jack and he clambered off the bed after dropping one more kiss on their linked hands.

~*~

It was the singing that completely roused Ianto from his sated half-dose. He'd mostly been able to ignore Jack clattering round his bathroom and the sound of running water, but the voice that echoed round his flat was not the sort of thing that could be ignored, not when it was singing with the power of a very good set of lungs behind it. Ianto heaved himself up onto one elbow and threw an incredulous glance in the direction of the bathroom.

"Since when did Jack sing in the shower?" He asked, not sure if he would receive an answer or not. Methos stretched indolently against him and rolled onto his back.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he said with a yawn. Ianto snorted and glanced back at the bathroom as Jack segued into another song. He sounded happy, and Ianto found he was glad about that, as well as being surprised at just how fine a voice Jack had.

"We're obviously a good combination," he said. Methos smiled up at him, his eyes crinkling in that way that Ianto just couldn't seem resist, and rarely tried to. He leaned down to press a quick kiss to Methos' lips.

"Mmm. Obviously," agreed Methos. Ianto wriggled until he was more or less upright against the pillows and tried to rub some life back into his eyes. It was well and truly daylight outside, and things that had seemed so uncomplicated the night before in the sheltering darkness threatened to bog him down in the cold light of day.

"Methos, what happens to us now?" Ianto tired to keep the quaver of uncertainty out of his voice, but he wasn't entirely sure he'd succeeded; he wasn't used to hiding things from Methos any more. The gentle press of fingers on his own told him he hadn't.

"Now that Jack's back?" Methos queried. Ianto sighed; no, he could hide nothing from this man.

"Yes," he answered softly. Methos moved to join him by the pillows and reached out to cup his cheek; Ianto leaned into the touch, loving the feel of Methos' fingers against his face. He noticed Methos was grinning, though it was softened by the expression in his eyes.

"Well, *I'm* hoping I'll still be welcome in your home and your bed, Ianto Emrys Jones," Methos said. Ianto smiled back, turning to drop a kiss into the palm that cradled his face.

"Always," he whispered. The hand moved to his shoulder, and squeezed.

"With or without Jack Harkness," Methos added.

"Either is perfectly acceptable," Ianto replied. He was pleased that he managed to say it in a good approximation of his normal impassive tone of voice, though that didn't last as he blurted out, "He asked me out on a date."

"He did? About bloody time." Methos appeared to be pleased, but didn't seem to be particularly shocked. Ianto envied Methos' composure, he still felt flabbergasted by the whole incident.

"A *date* Methos! Jack doesn't do that sort of thing." It was a relief to voice his surprise; it wasn't just being asked on a date in the first place, though that was startling enough, but also the surprise of how anxious it made him feel to have what he expected out of his relationship with Jack change without warning.

"Didn't." If Methos had heard the nervousness in his voice, there was no indication of it in the terse reply. Ianto's mind was already trying to chase after maybes and what ifs and he didn't immediately follow Methos' train of thought.

"What?"

"Jack didn't do that sort of thing," Methos clarified. "Evidently he does now. It doesn't surprise me."

"Oh?" Ianto managed to make the question convey more than just the simple enquiry it could have been. He gazed at Methos, not quite demanding but certainly encouraging that the immortal explain himself. He felt Methos' hand drift down his arm before clasping his fingers gently.

"Just think about what he told us before, and then ask yourself how much he neglected to tell us." Methos was speaking quietly enough that Ianto had to listen carefully, rather than just hearing the words. He didn't doubt for one minute that it was intentional, it was Methos after all. He indicated with a slight nod and a squeeze of fingers that he was listening. Methos continued, "Jack had a hell of a long time to think up there, Ianto; way too much time, I'm sure. More than enough to think about everyone who has meant something to him, good and bad; about life and death, you, me... us. I think that the year he lived through and we didn't finally brought something very firmly home to him." Methos seemed to be inordinately focused on their joined hands, rubbing his thumb gently over Ianto's knuckles again and again. Ianto stared at the bent head, as he realised that Methos was avoiding eye contact.

"And what would that be?" He asked, still staring as Methos raised his head and finally met his eyes. Ianto nearly shuddered at the expression in them; there seemed to be such a weight of sorrow and loss reflected there. Almost without volition his fingers tightened around Methos' once more in an instinctive need to offer comfort, whether it was actually required or not.

"His immortality." The words dropped like stones into a pool of silence, sending ripples out in all directions to collide and combine with each other. Ianto tore his hand away from Methos' loose clasp and rubbed at the back of his neck distractedly, trying to find the core of truth that would make sense of those two words. He felt like he was failing dismally and settled for stating the obvious.

"But he - *we* - have known he's immortal for ages," he said. "Plus the fact that you're immortal was the reason you two were introduced in the first place."

"I'm not disputing that. We're immortal, yes; and you're not. I don't think Jack has ever allowed himself to think about it before, he knows what lies down that road."

"And now he has?" Ianto heard the catch in his voice, but he found he didn't really care. He, like Methos implied Jack had done, had tried not to think about the fact that the only certainty in his relationship with Jack and Methos was the fact that they would likely outlive him by centuries, if not millennia. He closed his eyes to avoid the hazel gaze that saw too much, and felt the reassuring weight of Methos' hands come to rest on his shoulders briefly.

"Now he has," Methos echoed softly. "Your life is precious to both of us, Ianto; every... single...moment..." Each brief pause was punctuated by a gentle kiss from Methos, to his forehead, lips and right over his heart.

"And you'd better believe that." Jack's voice was low, virtually a whisper but it was still enough to make Ianto start. He'd not heard Jack return, and wondered how much he'd overheard before coming to the conclusion that it really didn't matter. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, and met Jack's eyes.

"I'm not sure I can right now." Ianto glanced from Jack to Methos, still close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, and back again. "I…" He shook his head slightly in frustration and distress, too overwhelmed and, if he was honest, too downright panicky to attempt to make any more sense of his feelings. He cast one last frantic look at Methos before he almost dived off the bed and fled for the refuge of his bathroom, locking the door behind him.

~*~

Jack watched Ianto's disappearing figure with concern, and attempted to follow him, only to be stopped by Methos' hand.

"Leave him alone, Jack. Let him have his space."

"But I… he…" Jack eyes flicked between the door and Methos' hand where it rested on his arm, the fingers firmly but not painfully grasping his wrist. He cast one last glance at the door and then met Methos' eyes with a sigh. He expected Methos to remove his hand, but if anything the fingers tightened.

"Ianto's got a lot to process; can you at least give him the time to do that?" Jack gave Methos his full attention; it might have been over a year for him since he'd spent any time with the immortal, but even he couldn't miss the shades of meaning that coloured Methos' tone of voice. Jack threw one last glance in the direction of the door before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, Methos physically hadn't moved an inch but Jack could almost swear he felt the distance between them.

"You're not just talking about today are you?" He asked carefully, unsure about what was expected of him.

Methos removed his hand.

"Oh, so you *do* know how to think. Congratulations," he said as he turned away from Jack.

"Methos. Look, I…"

"No, you look, Jack." Methos spun to face him again, running a hand through his hair. "You left without a word and returned the same way. Date or no date, Ianto's faith that you'll stay is a little shaky right now. He wants you to stay, but he'll never ask you; if he did it would eat away at him slowly, thinking that you only stayed because he asked and not because you wanted to, especially after what you told us last night. Can you remember how you felt at his age? I certainly can't. Ianto is an exceptional person, but he's still young and he's so very human." Methos broke eye contact and almost fell back onto the bed.

Jack took a step closer. "And we aren't?"

"Not in the same way, and you know it."

Jack let his breath go with a whoosh as he sat down on the bed next to Methos, unconsciously reaching for his hand and pleased when the slender fingers twined around his own.

"So what's your suggestion, old man?" He wasn't sure whether he expected a straight answer or not, but he certainly didn't expect the quick flash of a smile across Methos' face or the kiss that was pressed into his hand.

"Give your team - all of them, not just Ianto - the space to do their jobs and be themselves. They've become a lot closer in the last few months, they had to, and it would be unfair on both them and yourself not to acknowledge that. Step back a little, Jack, you might be pleasantly surprised."

"That's not exactly what I meant."

"Maybe not; but the answer is still perfectly valid. Ianto is Torchwood's first and foremost, not ours, just like you are. Give him the chance to be everything he can be and you won't regret it."

"Even when Torchwood kills him?" Jack hadn't intended to let his bitterness about the life-expectancy of Torchwood employees overflow into the conversation, but he wasn't particularly surprised; Methos had a way of teasing that sort of thing out of him without apparently trying.

"If, not when. We don't know what's going to happen. We can't," Methos said. If Jack hadn't been listening carefully he might have missed the hint of uncertainty in Methos' voice. "All we can do is our best, for ourselves and those who rely on us."

"Isn't that a bit hypocritical coming from you?" Jack didn't know or understand Methos' history like Ianto did, but he felt he knew enough to be justified in making the remark, and for some reason Methos' assurance had irritated him.

Then Methos irritated him a whole lot more with a wry twist of his lips that didn't quite pass muster as a smile before deigning to reply.

"Not in the slightest. I could do so much damage and create so much havoc in the world if I was that way inclined, but I don't, and I'm not; I turned my back on that life a long time ago. I'm never going to be a paragon of virtue and I leave the heroics to people who are more suited to that than I ever will be. I survive Jack, that's my talent; no more, no less. And if I can use that ability to try to ensure those I care about survive too, I will, in whatever way I see fit. What's so hypocritical about that?"

"When you put it like that, nothing," Jack sighed. Methos was being his typical quicksilver self; one minute he would have Jack irritated as hell, the next he would totally defuse that irritation until all Jack wanted to do was kiss any bad memories away just to make him smile again. He settled for brushing his knuckles down Methos' cheek. "You make it easy to forget just how long you've been around sometimes. Now that is a talent I'd love to steal from you."

Methos smiled, the real smile that was like the sun coming out, and replied,

"Oh I don't think you're doing too badly. A few hundred years of practice and you'll have improved no end."

"With extra tuition from the resident expert?"

"Of course." Methos inclined his head but the grin on his face disrupted the air of gravity that the gesture portrayed. The fact that he was still naked didn't exactly help. Jack grinned back at him, until Methos gave him a little push to encourage him to get moving. "Now get dressed and go and do something useful like put the kettle on before Ianto finishes in the bathroom."

Jack obligingly stood and headed over to the neat pile of his clothes. T shirt in hand he glanced back over his shoulder at Methos, who appeared to be wrestling with Ianto's duvet.

"What *are* you doing?" He asked. Methos put down the duvet for a moment and gestured at the bed.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm stripping the bed. If you hadn't noticed it appears to be a bit messy."

Jack looked at the used and abused bed and then at Methos, unable to keep the smile off his face. Despite Ianto's anxiety this morning it had been a good night; a very good night. He wasn't sure messy adequately described the state of the bed, but it would do. He turned back to his clothes and proceeded to rummage through them to find his underpants.

"That's one word for it," he muttered, ignoring Methos' snort of laughter. If he didn't, he'd never get his clothes on and it pained him to admit that Methos was right about him needing to be dressed and out of the way before Ianto reappeared. Resolutely, he continued to pull on his clothes, layer upon layer, hating the way the way that each piece seemed to build a new barrier. Fully dressed, the previous night seemed almost like a dream, snatched as it had been from Time itself. Jack sighed, not wanting to shoulder his burdens again but realising he had no other option. Like it or not, Torchwood was his responsibility and it was time to face that once more. He didn't expect the warm hand on his face or the soft brush of lips across his own but they were enough to remind him that he wasn't truly alone, and if either he or Methos had anything to do with it, never would be. The kiss was followed by a gentle push to the small of his back.

"Go on, get out. I won't be long."

"I'm going, I'm going..." Jack stole another kiss, not that Methos seemed to mind judging by his reaction, and strode out of Ianto's bedroom toward the relative safety of the kitchen.

~*~

When Ianto emerged from the bathroom he paused for a moment outside the door, listening. There was someone in the kitchen that he presumed was Jack, Methos was never usually that noisy, and he couldn't help but breathe a small sigh of relief. He wasn't quite ready to face Jack yet and wanted the armour of his suit and tie in place before he did. He knew he would be hiding behind it but he needed to protect himself from the jumble of emotions Jack produced in him somehow, and it was the best way he could think of without physically avoiding Jack, which for some reason he really didn't want to do. Heaving another sigh, and giving himself a mental shake for his foolishness, Ianto headed back to his bedroom only to almost collide with Methos carrying what looked like the bed linen.

"You didn't have to do that," Ianto commented in as normal a voice as he could manage, though to his ears it sounded more than a little strained.

"I know."

Neither of them moved to get out of the other's way, they just stood there, staring, and eventually met each other's eyes over the heap of sweat and lube and come-stained linen in Methos' arms while the clatter of Jack in the kitchen faded into the background. Ianto leaned in to claim Methos' lips, trying to put everything he felt into one hard and heartfelt but necessarily brief kiss.

"Thank you," he murmured as he brushed past Methos. He didn't stop to explain further; Methos would know he was being thanked for far more than just stripping the bed.

Back in his bedroom, a breeze ruffled the curtains lightly. Methos had obviously opened the window and the faint smell of a damp Cardiff morning drifted in, overlying those of spent passion, sorrow and forgiveness that still permeated the air inside. Ianto inhaled deeply; the mixed scent of Cardiff, Jack, Methos and him was something he hadn't had the chance to enjoy in far too long, and he'd missed it. Now all he had to do was face the day... He felt the smile creep across his face as he turned to his wardrobe; emotionally unsettled he might still be but it was *his* home and Jack would have to play by *his* rules.

By the time Ianto was dressed and knotting his tie, Methos had appeared from the bathroom. With his hair damp and sticking up every which way he appeared vaguely childlike and vulnerable, and nothing like a normal person might expect a 5000 year old man to look. Ianto didn't class himself as normal, not any more, and felt it was entirely possible that Methos never had been, or not by textbook definitions anyway. He straightened the cuffs of his shirt one last time, finally satisfied that he would present as precise a front to the world as he could. He was acutely aware of Methos watching, and turned to meet the half-smile in the hazel gaze.

"Everything to your satisfaction, Mr Jones?" Methos asked.

"I think so. Armour firmly in place, ready for anything."

"Even Jack?"

"Even Jack."

Methos took a step closer, blocking Ianto's exit.

"Armoured or not, flustered or not, don't let him walk all over you," he said.

Ianto smiled, idly brushing a stray hair off his sleeve as he cocked his head to look at Methos.

"I have absolutely no intention of allowing him to do that again," he said. "I'm not prepared to fade back into the background after you went to the trouble of dragging me all but kicking and screaming out of it," he paused, his smile widening a fraction. "Plus I think Jack might find the new and improved version of Ianto Jones takes a little getting used to."

Methos chuckled. "Oh, just a little. You know, I'm very glad to hear that."

"I thought you might be. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a coffee machine to rescue and Jack to confound." Ianto stepped around Methos with a smile and a feather light touch of fingers over exposed skin, the beautiful sound of immortal laughter ringing down the hall in his wake.

~*~

Jack wasn't quite sure what to expect when Ianto walked into the kitchen but the smile and the murmured thanks as he pushed a plate of toast over to him were reassuring, as was the fact that Ianto actually took a piece, munching on it as he turned toward the coffee maker. Jack watched every move Ianto made in preparing the coffee, trying not to stare as the very normalcy of it lifted another weight from his mind. Sure, he knew Ianto was using the perfect suits as a shield, he always had, but Jack also knew that shields could be laid down and that was what he was hoping for, preferably in the not too distant future. He was still watching Ianto when he absently reached for another piece of toast, only to have it stolen right out of his fingers by Methos, who nimbly dived out of the way of the half-hearted swat Jack sent in his direction and conveniently ended up next to Ianto and the coffee. Ianto rolled his eyes and pushed a cup over to him before turning round to pass Jack a cup too. Jack accepted the coffee with a gratified smile and inhaled appreciatively, catching a fleeting smirk on Ianto's face. He grinned inwardly as he took another sip; Ianto had always found his reaction to the first coffee of the day amusing and Jack was pleased that hadn't apparently changed.

"How's the confounding going?" Methos asked between bites of toast and sips of coffee. Jack was about to ask him what the hell he was going on about, when Ianto grinned.

"I decided to wait until you weren't around to distract me. Wouldn't want to give it any less than my best effort, now, would I?"

"I'd be disappointed if you did," Methos replied. Jack leant against the table and eyed them both warily.

"I get the feeling I'm missing something here," he said. The smile - no, it was distinctly a *smirk* - that Ianto and Methos shared only confirmed it.

"Really?" Ianto asked, just about managing to school his face back into its usual bland and amiable mask. Not that Jack was fooled for a minute; he knew what lurked behind it.

"Can't think why," added Methos. Jack didn't deign to give Methos an answer and chose to bury his nose in his coffee cup once more rather than enter a battle of words; this early in the morning it was probably the safest thing for him to do. The muffled sounding snort from Ianto's direction merely confirmed that.

A soft beep from his wrist distracted Jack from any further musings, a glance at his watch confirming the reason.

"There's an hour 'til checkout time at the hotel where the others spent the night." He raised his head to find both Methos and Ianto watching him. "I need to get back to the Hub. Sorry." He finished his coffee and dumped his empty cup in the sink before striding out of the kitchen, surprised when the other two followed him.

"I need to be leaving too. I still have work this afternoon unfortunately," Methos explained.

"And there's no way I'm letting you drive the bloody Chrysler."

"Ianto, I'm wounded!" Jack tried his best to sound indignant, but it wasn't easy when all he really wanted to do was laugh.

"Save the being wounded for someone who's never been subjected to your driving, it doesn't work on either me or Methos." Jack had to admit that Ianto had a point, but there was no way he was going to *tell* him that. He shrugged into his greatcoat, hiding a smile at the thought of how shocked Ianto would have been if he had agreed with him.

Jack followed Ianto and Methos down the path, but wasn't close enough to hear what Methos whispered in Ianto's ear to leave him with such a huge grin on his face. They shared a brief kiss before heading toward the relevant cars. Jack followed Methos; he wanted to say his own goodbyes. By the time he caught up to him, Methos was leaning against the rear wing of his car. Jack reached out and pulled him close for as thorough a kiss as he could get away with. Once he'd released Methos he took a step back, but didn't take break eye contact.

"Thank you for being here," he said.

"Thank Ianto for asking me."

"I will. I..." They both glanced over as Ianto gunned the engine of the other car. Methos reached out to clasp Jack's shoulder.

"Just... look after him."

"I intend to." Jack watched a fleeting smile light Methos' face as he turned to open the door and slide into the car, lowering the window once he was inside.

"And don't forget about yourself in the process, Jack Harkness. You might be immortal but you're not indestructible."

"I'm beginning to realise that. I'll take more care if I can, I promise. Anyway, I've got Ianto to keep me in check."

"That you have."

Jack didn't trust the expression that appeared on Methos' face as he turned away.

"What?" He challenged.

"Nothing. Go on, you really don't want to keep Ianto waiting." Jack glanced over his shoulder; he could see Ianto's fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

"I guess I don't. See you, Methos." Jack stepped back further as Methos started his car.

"Later," Methos gave him a two fingered salute that reminded Jack of the Doctor, and pulled away. Thoughtfully Jack made his way back to the other car, and Ianto.

"Ready for the first day of the rest of your life?" Ianto asked him as he slipped into the passenger seat.

"As I'll ever be." Jack settled back, the engine a throaty purr he could almost feel.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I was you."

Jack found himself unable to reply as Ianto put his foot down, rendering all conversation impossible through the rush of air past their ears. By the time they reached The Hub he couldn't remember what it was he'd been going to quiz Ianto about. He wasn't overly concerned; if it was truly important Ianto would remind him.