"I can't make any promises," Ianto says wearily. "I never know when I'll be called on. Aliens don't understand about Christmas, you know.

"And how can I explain to them that the tourist office needs me to work overnight? Or that work put me in hospital?" He shakes his head. "I know you want to make it better, love. I know you do. But it's a mess, and it'll stay a mess until I don't work for Torchwood anymore. And then I'll either be dead or I won't remember anything anyway."