[Fic] a word, a signal, a nod
Title: a word, a signal, a nod
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto
Warnings/Spoilers: no warnings; contains references to Cyberwoman, Countrycide, KKBB, and Exit Wounds
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4,500
Beta: sariagray ♥
Summary: Five times Jack finds himself in Ianto’s flat in the middle of the night.
Notes: This was inspired by a couple of comments (several weeks ago now, so you guys have probably forgotten!) from welsh_scotsman and badly_knitted, regarding Jack going around Ianto’s flat while Ianto is asleep. These 5-times fics never seem to work quite right for me though, and so I think this turned into something a bit different along the way? Anyway~ I hope you enjoy it. :)
You know with love come strange currencies
and here is my appeal:
I need a chance, a second chance, a third chance, a fourth chance,
a word, a signal, a nod, a little breath
just to fool myself, to catch myself, to make it real
- REM, "Strange Currencies"
***
One
Jack freezes, one hand mid-reach into Ianto’s kitchen cupboard. He turns around at the sound of his name, eyes flashing guiltily.
"What are you doing?" Ianto asks, blinking blearily across the room at Jack.
His bare feet are adorable, just hanging out there on the linoleum - pale skin and stubby toes and the edges of Ianto’s pajamas folded up around his ankles. It's all Jack can do not to grab him by his shoulders and press him up against the wall, or the fridge, or the table, and just claim this man for himself, once and for all.
This is not at all unlike Jack's first impression of Ianto - the lines of his body under those tight jeans alone had been enough to get him to take notice, but it’d been the smirk around the word weevil that’d really captured Jack’s attention. Back then, he’d had several fairly good reasons for not crushing their lips together and having his way with Ianto in the middle of Bute Park, but now? There really wasn’t much standing in his way, to be honest.
Ianto is still staring at him from across the room.
"Nothing. I’m not doing anything," Jack offers maturely, and quietly returns the jar of raspberry jam to its rightful place in the second cupboard to the left of the fridge. Right next to the peanut butter, and the rice, and behind several cans of Tesco Value curry sauce. For all Ianto's impeccable organization in the hub, the system (or lack of one) that he's implemented for his own kitchen cupboards is a little less than stellar, in Jack's opinion.
He’ll look past it though, of course, on account of some of Ianto’s more, well, palatable skills. Jack’s cock swells a little in memory of those skills in action.
Hiring this man had been the best decision he’d made in a long, long while, clearly.
From the doorway, Ianto rolls his eyes. He looks exhausted, and Jack doesn’t really blame him. It is the middle of the night, after all.
"Whatever, I'm going back to bed. Just got up to pee."
Jack’s stomach gives a helpless little turn, as Ianto rubs a hand over his head, and turns toward the hallway.
Contrast, Jack tells himself, that’s all it is. He’s used to seeing Ianto in the hub, in a neatly pressed suit and waistcoat, buttons done up neat and proper. Not stumbling into the kitchen in the middle of the night with bed-head and those huge beautiful eyes of his drooping with sleep.
"I'll try to be quieter," Jack says, and hears a mumble that could have been whatever again, as the door to the bathroom clicks softly into place.
Jack lets out a breath and moves on to the fridge.
Two
"Jesus!" Ianto says, leaning against the door frame for support, his eyes blown wide and wild in surprise. Shock, maybe, too. And fear. Definitely fear.
Jack understands. He’s been keeping his distance these days, for better or for worse, after the whole thing with Lisa had gone so horribly wrong.
He’s not sure anymore if it’s been for Ianto’s sake, or his own, but all the same, he hasn’t seen the inside of Ianto’s flat in a fortnight. As he glances around the kitchen now though, he’s surprised by how little has changed. As if somehow time had stopped at the door to Ianto’s flat, and sealed everything in place.
The same mug sits half-filled with coffee on the kitchen table, just as it had when he’d dropped Ianto off that night. Same towel draped over the rack next to the stove, too. Same pizza box on the counter. At least Jack is pretty sure it’s the same one.
Suddenly, he wishes he’d come sooner.
"Sorry, Ianto," he offers, a little sheepishly. "I didn't mean to scare you."
He takes a step towards Ianto, and watches as Ianto takes two quick steps back into the hallway. It occurs to Jack that this is probably a fairly accurate metaphor for their relationship now, in light of recent events.
The man in front of him now is essentially a stranger, and Jack knows that he has no one to blame for this but himself. The knowledge weighs on him, sits in his stomach like lead.
Ianto stares at him from the hallway, eyes darting around as if he's trying to determine the fastest means of escape.
"What are you doing here?" Ianto asks warily.
"Maybe I'm checking up on you," Jack offers, with a weak smile.
"Are you?"
"How are you?" Jack asks, ignoring him, and crosses the room before the other man has a chance retreat further.
His fingers grip Ianto's elbow - not too tight, but tight enough to hold him in place for the moment. Ianto closes his eyes as soon as Jack's fingers make contact with his skin, and doesn't open them again for so long that Jack starts to wonder if maybe Ianto’s decided over the course of the last minute and a half to stop speaking to him altogether. Not that he could really blame him.
He stares at Ianto, trying to remember the last time he wanted to fix something so badly. And it’s not just Ianto; he wants to fix all of this, for both of them. It’s selfish, maybe, but it doesn’t affect his resolve.
"Ianto?" Jack asks, and moves his hands to Ianto’s shoulders, still holding him in place, searching his face for some indication of what he's feeling, of what's happening in there.
"Just looking forward to getting back to work, sir," Ianto says eventually. His eyes flicker a little on the word sir, but there’s nothing there, not really, no affection, and no deference, either. His voice sounds rough, and tired, and his eyes hold a deep, hollow darkness that reaches out to Jack, grabs onto something inside of him.
Jack lets go of Ianto’s shoulders, crosses his arms over his chest. A ridiculous, mad thought creeps into his mind, and he knows he should push it away, but instead, he finds that he’s already working out how to make it happen as quickly as possible.
"So how about right now?" he blurts out, not caring how out of the blue it seems. It actually feels like the right thing to do, and so he runs with it.
Ianto blinks. "What?”
"I know you have two weeks left on your suspension,” he continues, rationalizing as he goes. “But there's no standard procedure for this. You know the handbook as well as I do."
“There is no handbook,” Ianto says, looking confused, but also… Surprised. Hopeful.
“Exactly,” Jack grins. “And besides, I don't mean permanently--not yet. But maybe you could help me straighten up my office? It’s gotten a little out of hand these past few weeks."
"The others?" Ianto offers, his voice soft.
"No one's there now,” Jack tells him. “And I’ll make sure it stays that way for a few hours."
Ianto nods. Swallows hard and averts his eyes.\
"I..." Ianto starts.
Jack watches him look down at his pajama bottoms, at his t-shirt. It’s fraying around the edge of one sleeve and it doesn’t match his bottoms in the slightest.
Then he looks up at Jack, and there’s a light in his eyes where just a minute ago, there was nothing. It makes Jack feel powerful, which is usually one hell of a turn on, but right now it just feels dangerous, a bit like walking off a cliff into complete darkness.
"I need to change," Ianto finishes, finally.
And then he offers Jack what almost passes for a smile, and Jack feels the bottom drop out of the carefully constructed box that holds his heart in place.
Something surges in him, and all he can do is grin.
Three
In his sleep, Ianto lets out a small, strangled noise, and Jack’s hand moves instinctively to his forehead.
He smoothes back Ianto’s hair and watches the furrow in Ianto’s brow disappear for a moment. He keeps his hand there slightly longer than necessary before he moves across the room, treading lightly, even though he knows that the painkillers Owen prescribed should keep Ianto out for a few more hours, at least. Not that Ianto’d really needed help on that account. As soon as Owen had ruled out the possibility of a concussion, Ianto had practically collapsed in exhaustion on the couch in the hub. It had been Jack who’d insisted on bringing him back to his flat.
He had a feeling that Ianto would appreciate a little distance from Torchwood, once he was up and about again. He hoped that distance didn’t extend to him, but, well, if it did… He’d deal with that later.
From the corner of Ianto’s bedroom, Jack stands thumbing idly through the paperback he’d picked up from Ianto's nightstand. The book had been here for months, the same one, some cheap looking sci-fi deal, by an author Jack’s never heard of. Ianto’s never talked about reading as being a particular hobby of his, but from the size of the bookshelf in his room (it’s largely empty now, just a few stacks of books on the bottom shelf, disorganized and sloppy) Jack wonders if maybe he used to. Before all this.
Jack closes his eyes, and reminds himself that he’d gotten there in time-just barely, but he’d gotten there. It’s messed with him though, this whole thing; the terror in Ianto’s eyes, and in Tosh’s, the completely unforgivable violence of it all. This really had not been the team-building trip he’d hoped for, to say the least. Especially where Ianto was concerned.
And Jack's not sure what's worse, Ianto waking up and asking never to be sent out into the field again, or… Well, lining up for combat training.
Eventually, Jack pads out to the living room. There’s nothing to do, but he can’t bring himself to leave, so after a few minutes spent taking in the sparseness of Ianto’s living room, he decides to make himself useful. He folds the blanket on the edge of the couch neatly. Straightens the pillows, too, and the haphazard pile of mail on the coffee table in front of the couch - bills and ads, mostly. He pushes the edges together neatly, like he’s seen Ianto do to the mail on his desk, back at the hub. There are three remote controls - TV, DVD and who knows what else - scattered around the room. Jack retrieves them. He places them in order, largest to smallest, next to the pile of mail on the table.
Then he slumps down, rests his head on the back of the couch, and closes his eyes. He sees the hub, cold and empty, without Ianto, or Tosh, or the rest of his team to fill it with warmth and meaning. He remembers New Years Eve, so many years ago now. He swallows past the lump in his throat and considers what it would have been like if he’d been too late tonight, like he was then.
He makes several silent promises, and tells himself they're not entirely meaningless. To Ianto, to himself, to his team. Promises of protection, of never letting this happen again. Promises of responsibility.
It’s several hours before Ianto’s head appears around the doorway.
“You’re still here,” he says, and the surprise in Ianto’s voice - as if he thought Jack would just leave him here - makes Jack’s stomach twist in his gut.
Jack forces a smile, and sees that smile mirrored on Ianto’s face.
“How do you feel?”
“My head, or my ribs, or everything in general?” Ianto quips, but of course Jack can see how gingerly he makes his way across the room, and sinks into the couch cushions next to him.
“Everything,” Jack says, meaning it. He expects Ianto to roll his eyes at the attention, but instead, Ianto turns to him with a surprisingly open expression.
“I’ll be okay,” he tells Jack. “You may not be able to convince me to join you on another camping trip anytime soon, but I’m okay.”
Jack puts his hand on Ianto’s knee, and watches as Ianto closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.
“I’m so sorry,” Jack says. “I should have gotten there sooner.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Ianto says.
Jack shakes his head. “My team. My responsibility. I should have protected you.”
“You did protect us, Jack,” Ianto says, his voice suddenly urgent, serious. “I’m proof of that.”
“It should never have come to that.”
“Story of my life,” Ianto deadpans. “And hey,” he continues, lips quirking up a little. “It wasn’t all bad. At least it didn’t rain much, right? And you…”
Ianto’s face darkens a little, and then he shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more relieved than I was when you showed up. Like an action hero or something.”
Jack looks at the oddly genuine smile on Ianto’s face, and suddenly, he can’t hold back anymore. He leans over and presses his lips to Ianto’s, feeling the life pulsing between them, a little surprised by the eagerness with which Ianto returns his kiss, lips parting easily, and their tongues vying for control, as if they’re both trying to re-explore everything all at once.
Jack should be careful, and he has been - he is - because there’s something about this desperation, about the hunger he can feel between them that he knows is going to be his undoing, someday.
It’s like there are a hundred red flags waving in his face, a hundred reasons why this, right now, shouldn’t be happening.
He gracefully pushes them away, though, in favor of Ianto’s lips, his eyes, his fingers, pressing into his scalp like needles.
Four
“Are you insane, Jack? You can’t…” Ianto waves a hand in front of his face, gun gone slack in his other hand, as if to encompass the entire kitchen, maybe the entire flat.
“You can’t do this anymore,” he finishes with a sigh, sounding a little less, well, irate, than he had at first.
“You didn’t change the locks,” Jack says, and closes the refrigerator door quietly, crossing his arms over his chest protectively.
Ianto’s eyes widen, and he sets down his gun on the kitchen table, shaking his head.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
Jack bristles a little, despite the fact that he knows Ianto is right. He has no right to be here, and yet…
“What?” Jack asks, trying for that charming mix of confusion and remorse that so often works, and watches Ianto roll his eyes - god, he’d missed that. “I’m just saying, I do have a key, and you didn’t--”
“Why would I change the locks, Jack?” Ianto asks, pointedly, cocking his head, a challenge.
Ianto’s hands move to his hips, and suddenly Jack realizes how much he’s missed those, too. The smooth, solid lines of Ianto’s hipbones, they way they fit in place with his like they were meant to do nothing but fuse together like puzzle blocks…
Jack blinks. “Well, I’ve been gone a long time, and I just…”
“I’m meant to be keeping you out, then? Is that it?”
“Well, I hope not, but…” Jack smiles, trying for charming again, but he knows that he probably just looks a little desperate.
Ianto shakes his head again, studying him. He’s got shadows under his eyes that Jack has just now noticed in the bright fluorescent light of the kitchen.
“You don’t have to sneak around,” Ianto says finally, his voice quiet. “If you wanted to come here…” Ianto sighs. “You could have just asked.”
Jack takes a step forward, and watches as Ianto rounds the kitchen table, matching his stride. Before he knows it, he’s close enough to smell Ianto’s soap, his shampoo, his aftershave. It’s been two days since John left, and things are starting to get back to normal at the hub, with the team, but this... This is what Jack really needs.
He’s been gravitating towards Ianto ever since he came back, he knows he has, knows he can’t help it. It’s what brought him here tonight, too, and he really doesn’t want to screw this up again - he should wait, should let Ianto make the first move, should do this the right way, for once…
“Jack,” Ianto says, and his voice is a whisper in the shared space between them.
It’s a question, and a statement, and an answer all at once, and when Jack brings their lips together, when he presses his body up against Ianto’s and their hips slot into place, and Ianto does that thing where he slides his thigh against the outside of Jack’s leg, it’s like no time has passed at all. Like the Valiant never happened, like none of it ever happened.
He wonders, a little wildly, if maybe this is all in his head, if this is really happening, because Ianto should be angry, he should want nothing to do with him, he should have moved on, somewhere where Jack can’t reach him anymore, but yet he’s here, and it’s okay.
“I know,” Ianto says against his lips, and Jack realizes that he’s said that last bit out loud.
He laughs, an uncontrolled little burst of energy, and Ianto frowns.
“What?” Ianto asks him.
“Nothing, I’m just…” Jack stares at Ianto, at the way the hair curls back around his ear, at the tiny freckle above his left ear.
He’s spent so long with the image of Ianto in his mind, so many days and nights and everything in between that it’s a little strange to have him right here, in the flesh. All the little details that hadn’t quite made it to his memory before he’d left were all staring him in the face right now, in Technicolor, with sound and smell and touch, and it’s all a bit overwhelming and he wonders if Ianto realizes how wonderful it all is. What a miracle it is that they’re standing in front of each other again.
“I’m just glad to be back,” he finishes, grateful for Ianto’s strong arms around his waist, for the way Ianto’s ankles twist around his heels, holding them in place.
Five
Jack is stretched out on Ianto’s couch, in Ianto’s flat, with the occasional car sliding past on the road outside, a honk or a drone of tires, just enough to remind them of the city hovering outside these walls.
He allows Ianto’s fingers to work their way through his hair, even though he knows it’ll look like hell after - flattened and dull, like he’s been asleep for a week.
His ear is pressed to Ianto’s chest; he listens to the steady thumping of his heart as it pounds out its rhythm.
Ianto is so good at this, and lately, Jack has been so very weak for it. For the steadiness of his hands, the calmness of his voice, the familiarity of the shared silence that hangs in the space between them.
“You should have called,” Ianto says, and it’s not an accusation, just a statement. “Gwen’s handling the hub tonight-gave me the evening off. I tried your mobile, but…”
“Sorry,” Jack says quickly.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Ianto says gently, and Jack wonders what he’s done to cause that particular tone in Ianto’s voice - worry.
“But next time if you want company,” Ianto says, and covers Jack’s fingers with the palm of his hand.
Jack shakes his head. “There won’t be a next time.”
“Jack,” Ianto says, voice calm, fingers steady. “We’re not going to forget them. Gwen and I, and you - we can do this if we stick together. And we’ll remember them. All the time.”
“I know,” Jack says. Then, after a moment, he sighs. “I’m sorry for disappearing on you.”
“I’m used to it,” Ianto says with a tiny laugh. There’s no bitterness there though. There should be, Jack thinks, and maybe it would be easier if there was, but… This is Ianto, after all. Jack knows him better than that by now.
He closes his eyes and wraps his fingers around Ianto’s palm - the palm that’s currently not rubbing smooth circles into his scalp.
He shouldn’t be here. He should be out looking for answers, looking for guarantees, to make sure this never happens again, to make sure that next time, he can protect them all. But instead he’s come here.
Ianto’s heart thumps against Jack’s ear, and it’s so dark, and so quiet, there’s just Ianto’s breathing, and the ticking of the wall clock, and the occasional car on the gravel outside, and Ianto is so warm… It’s nothing like the cold earth under the city, nothing at all like suffocating in complete darkness, nothing at all like waking up to bitter earth choking him back into sleep again, and again and again.
He’d thought of this, of Ianto, of his lips, of his heart thumping in his chest so many times, for so long. He’d whispered in his mind for Ianto to stay, and at the time he didn’t even really know what he’d meant, but he realizes now that he’d just wanted Ianto to be here when he got back.
He’d just wanted someone to be here.
After a while, he’d thought of nothing at all, of course - just cold, and darkness. But still, sometimes, even then, that word would float to the top of his consciousness, and somewhere inside of him there would be a spark, a tiny sliver of something that had been so good, once.
He feels it now, in the thumping of Ianto’s heart, in the movement of his fingers, the rhythm of his breath.
It’s alive, and it’s his, and in his heart, it bubbles up, frantically pressing against his insides until he feels like he might burst. He closes his eyes, and holds on tight and Ianto wraps his arms around his chest and Jack wonders if Ianto understands what a miracle it is that they’re still here, but at the same time he knows that he does.
That they both want to believe that holding onto this will somehow make it less fragile.
Six
Ianto flinches awake, blinking into the quiet and the darkness. He rolls over and glances at the clock. It will be morning soon, but for now the darkness is thick and solid. His eyes adjust slowly.
Beside him, Jack is asleep.
Ianto considers this a small miracle, really - sleep has never come easily for Jack, especially lately. Quietly, and with as much grace as possible, he rolls over and slips his arm around Jack’s chest. He breathes in deeply. Jack’s pheromones, unchanged even after so, so long, after so many deaths, after so many lives. He fills his lungs gratefully.
Ianto feels so small, so much of the time, but like this, with his cheek pressed against the back of Jack’s neck, and his body wrapped around Jack’s like a glove, he feels strangely equal, equivalent.
Beside him Jack stirs, but doesn’t wake, and Ianto wonders how many nights Jack has spent in his flat and not slept a wink, how many times he hasn’t even tried.
They’ve come a long way from then, he thinks, so long, in fact, that it’s difficult to wrap his mind around a time when his life didn’t revolve around this, and even as he thinks it, he remembers vividly the exact, precise moment when he came to this realization with Lisa. She’d been in the shower, in their flat in London, and in that one moment, he just knew. That he’d reached that point where there was no turning back.
And the realization hadn’t been scary at all, it’d been brilliant, and he’d wanted to tell everyone he knew, all at once, even though they’d probably think he was mad - he wasn’t exactly the sharing type, after all. But he’d wanted to tell them all anyway, only he hadn’t had the time. He just hadn’t been quick enough. And then Canary Wharf had happened.
And at first, he thought he’d had a second chance with Lisa, thought he’d saved her, but that’s not what it’d been at all - he knows that now.
He wonders what this is, then, with Jack. He’s lost count of how many chances they’ve had, of which one they’re on now, and he’s pretty sure Jack has, too. They probably don’t have that many more opportunities to get it right.
Jack mumbles something inaudible, and Ianto tightens his grip around his broad chest.
“Jack…” he whispers, and it’s not a question, it's more of a confirmation - that Jack is actually here, in the flesh.
He wonders what Jack is dreaming about, and at the same time he’s not sure that he really wants to know - he knows that sometimes he should be careful what he wishes for, but the thing is… When it really comes down to it, he’s not careful at all.
Jack blames his condition for his fearlessness, but Ianto has heard a lot of Jack’s stories, after all; it’s not impossible to work out the timelines. Jack is essentially the same person now as he had been so many years ago. He likes to think he’s changed, Ianto knows he does, but in the end… He’s just Jack.
Ianto presses his cheek to Jack’s back and listens to his breath, to his heart and thinks that they make a damn good match, no matter what Owen thought, no matter how much Gwen warns him.
They’re alive, and it’s reckless, and Ianto thinks maybe he wants to be reckless with Jack forever, wants to keep his heart right here on his sleeve so that Jack knows exactly where to find it, and it’s okay, Ianto thinks, even with just the three of them, it’s okay.
Jack had come back, both times, he’d kept his promises, and now he’s here - with his pheromones and his perfect hair and that ridiculous smile. He’s here now in Ianto’s bed because he wants to be.
“Stay,” Jack whispers, from the middle of a dream, worlds away, and Ianto thinks that maybe he will, at least for a little while longer, just as long as Jack holds up his end of the bargain, too.
I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, Ianto thinks, and wonders how long they’ve got until morning.
***
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto
Warnings/Spoilers: no warnings; contains references to Cyberwoman, Countrycide, KKBB, and Exit Wounds
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4,500
Beta: sariagray ♥
Summary: Five times Jack finds himself in Ianto’s flat in the middle of the night.
Notes: This was inspired by a couple of comments (several weeks ago now, so you guys have probably forgotten!) from welsh_scotsman and badly_knitted, regarding Jack going around Ianto’s flat while Ianto is asleep. These 5-times fics never seem to work quite right for me though, and so I think this turned into something a bit different along the way? Anyway~ I hope you enjoy it. :)
You know with love come strange currencies
and here is my appeal:
I need a chance, a second chance, a third chance, a fourth chance,
a word, a signal, a nod, a little breath
just to fool myself, to catch myself, to make it real
- REM, "Strange Currencies"
***
One
Jack freezes, one hand mid-reach into Ianto’s kitchen cupboard. He turns around at the sound of his name, eyes flashing guiltily.
"What are you doing?" Ianto asks, blinking blearily across the room at Jack.
His bare feet are adorable, just hanging out there on the linoleum - pale skin and stubby toes and the edges of Ianto’s pajamas folded up around his ankles. It's all Jack can do not to grab him by his shoulders and press him up against the wall, or the fridge, or the table, and just claim this man for himself, once and for all.
This is not at all unlike Jack's first impression of Ianto - the lines of his body under those tight jeans alone had been enough to get him to take notice, but it’d been the smirk around the word weevil that’d really captured Jack’s attention. Back then, he’d had several fairly good reasons for not crushing their lips together and having his way with Ianto in the middle of Bute Park, but now? There really wasn’t much standing in his way, to be honest.
Ianto is still staring at him from across the room.
"Nothing. I’m not doing anything," Jack offers maturely, and quietly returns the jar of raspberry jam to its rightful place in the second cupboard to the left of the fridge. Right next to the peanut butter, and the rice, and behind several cans of Tesco Value curry sauce. For all Ianto's impeccable organization in the hub, the system (or lack of one) that he's implemented for his own kitchen cupboards is a little less than stellar, in Jack's opinion.
He’ll look past it though, of course, on account of some of Ianto’s more, well, palatable skills. Jack’s cock swells a little in memory of those skills in action.
Hiring this man had been the best decision he’d made in a long, long while, clearly.
From the doorway, Ianto rolls his eyes. He looks exhausted, and Jack doesn’t really blame him. It is the middle of the night, after all.
"Whatever, I'm going back to bed. Just got up to pee."
Jack’s stomach gives a helpless little turn, as Ianto rubs a hand over his head, and turns toward the hallway.
Contrast, Jack tells himself, that’s all it is. He’s used to seeing Ianto in the hub, in a neatly pressed suit and waistcoat, buttons done up neat and proper. Not stumbling into the kitchen in the middle of the night with bed-head and those huge beautiful eyes of his drooping with sleep.
"I'll try to be quieter," Jack says, and hears a mumble that could have been whatever again, as the door to the bathroom clicks softly into place.
Jack lets out a breath and moves on to the fridge.
Two
"Jesus!" Ianto says, leaning against the door frame for support, his eyes blown wide and wild in surprise. Shock, maybe, too. And fear. Definitely fear.
Jack understands. He’s been keeping his distance these days, for better or for worse, after the whole thing with Lisa had gone so horribly wrong.
He’s not sure anymore if it’s been for Ianto’s sake, or his own, but all the same, he hasn’t seen the inside of Ianto’s flat in a fortnight. As he glances around the kitchen now though, he’s surprised by how little has changed. As if somehow time had stopped at the door to Ianto’s flat, and sealed everything in place.
The same mug sits half-filled with coffee on the kitchen table, just as it had when he’d dropped Ianto off that night. Same towel draped over the rack next to the stove, too. Same pizza box on the counter. At least Jack is pretty sure it’s the same one.
Suddenly, he wishes he’d come sooner.
"Sorry, Ianto," he offers, a little sheepishly. "I didn't mean to scare you."
He takes a step towards Ianto, and watches as Ianto takes two quick steps back into the hallway. It occurs to Jack that this is probably a fairly accurate metaphor for their relationship now, in light of recent events.
The man in front of him now is essentially a stranger, and Jack knows that he has no one to blame for this but himself. The knowledge weighs on him, sits in his stomach like lead.
Ianto stares at him from the hallway, eyes darting around as if he's trying to determine the fastest means of escape.
"What are you doing here?" Ianto asks warily.
"Maybe I'm checking up on you," Jack offers, with a weak smile.
"Are you?"
"How are you?" Jack asks, ignoring him, and crosses the room before the other man has a chance retreat further.
His fingers grip Ianto's elbow - not too tight, but tight enough to hold him in place for the moment. Ianto closes his eyes as soon as Jack's fingers make contact with his skin, and doesn't open them again for so long that Jack starts to wonder if maybe Ianto’s decided over the course of the last minute and a half to stop speaking to him altogether. Not that he could really blame him.
He stares at Ianto, trying to remember the last time he wanted to fix something so badly. And it’s not just Ianto; he wants to fix all of this, for both of them. It’s selfish, maybe, but it doesn’t affect his resolve.
"Ianto?" Jack asks, and moves his hands to Ianto’s shoulders, still holding him in place, searching his face for some indication of what he's feeling, of what's happening in there.
"Just looking forward to getting back to work, sir," Ianto says eventually. His eyes flicker a little on the word sir, but there’s nothing there, not really, no affection, and no deference, either. His voice sounds rough, and tired, and his eyes hold a deep, hollow darkness that reaches out to Jack, grabs onto something inside of him.
Jack lets go of Ianto’s shoulders, crosses his arms over his chest. A ridiculous, mad thought creeps into his mind, and he knows he should push it away, but instead, he finds that he’s already working out how to make it happen as quickly as possible.
"So how about right now?" he blurts out, not caring how out of the blue it seems. It actually feels like the right thing to do, and so he runs with it.
Ianto blinks. "What?”
"I know you have two weeks left on your suspension,” he continues, rationalizing as he goes. “But there's no standard procedure for this. You know the handbook as well as I do."
“There is no handbook,” Ianto says, looking confused, but also… Surprised. Hopeful.
“Exactly,” Jack grins. “And besides, I don't mean permanently--not yet. But maybe you could help me straighten up my office? It’s gotten a little out of hand these past few weeks."
"The others?" Ianto offers, his voice soft.
"No one's there now,” Jack tells him. “And I’ll make sure it stays that way for a few hours."
Ianto nods. Swallows hard and averts his eyes.\
"I..." Ianto starts.
Jack watches him look down at his pajama bottoms, at his t-shirt. It’s fraying around the edge of one sleeve and it doesn’t match his bottoms in the slightest.
Then he looks up at Jack, and there’s a light in his eyes where just a minute ago, there was nothing. It makes Jack feel powerful, which is usually one hell of a turn on, but right now it just feels dangerous, a bit like walking off a cliff into complete darkness.
"I need to change," Ianto finishes, finally.
And then he offers Jack what almost passes for a smile, and Jack feels the bottom drop out of the carefully constructed box that holds his heart in place.
Something surges in him, and all he can do is grin.
Three
In his sleep, Ianto lets out a small, strangled noise, and Jack’s hand moves instinctively to his forehead.
He smoothes back Ianto’s hair and watches the furrow in Ianto’s brow disappear for a moment. He keeps his hand there slightly longer than necessary before he moves across the room, treading lightly, even though he knows that the painkillers Owen prescribed should keep Ianto out for a few more hours, at least. Not that Ianto’d really needed help on that account. As soon as Owen had ruled out the possibility of a concussion, Ianto had practically collapsed in exhaustion on the couch in the hub. It had been Jack who’d insisted on bringing him back to his flat.
He had a feeling that Ianto would appreciate a little distance from Torchwood, once he was up and about again. He hoped that distance didn’t extend to him, but, well, if it did… He’d deal with that later.
From the corner of Ianto’s bedroom, Jack stands thumbing idly through the paperback he’d picked up from Ianto's nightstand. The book had been here for months, the same one, some cheap looking sci-fi deal, by an author Jack’s never heard of. Ianto’s never talked about reading as being a particular hobby of his, but from the size of the bookshelf in his room (it’s largely empty now, just a few stacks of books on the bottom shelf, disorganized and sloppy) Jack wonders if maybe he used to. Before all this.
Jack closes his eyes, and reminds himself that he’d gotten there in time-just barely, but he’d gotten there. It’s messed with him though, this whole thing; the terror in Ianto’s eyes, and in Tosh’s, the completely unforgivable violence of it all. This really had not been the team-building trip he’d hoped for, to say the least. Especially where Ianto was concerned.
And Jack's not sure what's worse, Ianto waking up and asking never to be sent out into the field again, or… Well, lining up for combat training.
Eventually, Jack pads out to the living room. There’s nothing to do, but he can’t bring himself to leave, so after a few minutes spent taking in the sparseness of Ianto’s living room, he decides to make himself useful. He folds the blanket on the edge of the couch neatly. Straightens the pillows, too, and the haphazard pile of mail on the coffee table in front of the couch - bills and ads, mostly. He pushes the edges together neatly, like he’s seen Ianto do to the mail on his desk, back at the hub. There are three remote controls - TV, DVD and who knows what else - scattered around the room. Jack retrieves them. He places them in order, largest to smallest, next to the pile of mail on the table.
Then he slumps down, rests his head on the back of the couch, and closes his eyes. He sees the hub, cold and empty, without Ianto, or Tosh, or the rest of his team to fill it with warmth and meaning. He remembers New Years Eve, so many years ago now. He swallows past the lump in his throat and considers what it would have been like if he’d been too late tonight, like he was then.
He makes several silent promises, and tells himself they're not entirely meaningless. To Ianto, to himself, to his team. Promises of protection, of never letting this happen again. Promises of responsibility.
It’s several hours before Ianto’s head appears around the doorway.
“You’re still here,” he says, and the surprise in Ianto’s voice - as if he thought Jack would just leave him here - makes Jack’s stomach twist in his gut.
Jack forces a smile, and sees that smile mirrored on Ianto’s face.
“How do you feel?”
“My head, or my ribs, or everything in general?” Ianto quips, but of course Jack can see how gingerly he makes his way across the room, and sinks into the couch cushions next to him.
“Everything,” Jack says, meaning it. He expects Ianto to roll his eyes at the attention, but instead, Ianto turns to him with a surprisingly open expression.
“I’ll be okay,” he tells Jack. “You may not be able to convince me to join you on another camping trip anytime soon, but I’m okay.”
Jack puts his hand on Ianto’s knee, and watches as Ianto closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.
“I’m so sorry,” Jack says. “I should have gotten there sooner.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Ianto says.
Jack shakes his head. “My team. My responsibility. I should have protected you.”
“You did protect us, Jack,” Ianto says, his voice suddenly urgent, serious. “I’m proof of that.”
“It should never have come to that.”
“Story of my life,” Ianto deadpans. “And hey,” he continues, lips quirking up a little. “It wasn’t all bad. At least it didn’t rain much, right? And you…”
Ianto’s face darkens a little, and then he shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more relieved than I was when you showed up. Like an action hero or something.”
Jack looks at the oddly genuine smile on Ianto’s face, and suddenly, he can’t hold back anymore. He leans over and presses his lips to Ianto’s, feeling the life pulsing between them, a little surprised by the eagerness with which Ianto returns his kiss, lips parting easily, and their tongues vying for control, as if they’re both trying to re-explore everything all at once.
Jack should be careful, and he has been - he is - because there’s something about this desperation, about the hunger he can feel between them that he knows is going to be his undoing, someday.
It’s like there are a hundred red flags waving in his face, a hundred reasons why this, right now, shouldn’t be happening.
He gracefully pushes them away, though, in favor of Ianto’s lips, his eyes, his fingers, pressing into his scalp like needles.
Four
“Are you insane, Jack? You can’t…” Ianto waves a hand in front of his face, gun gone slack in his other hand, as if to encompass the entire kitchen, maybe the entire flat.
“You can’t do this anymore,” he finishes with a sigh, sounding a little less, well, irate, than he had at first.
“You didn’t change the locks,” Jack says, and closes the refrigerator door quietly, crossing his arms over his chest protectively.
Ianto’s eyes widen, and he sets down his gun on the kitchen table, shaking his head.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
Jack bristles a little, despite the fact that he knows Ianto is right. He has no right to be here, and yet…
“What?” Jack asks, trying for that charming mix of confusion and remorse that so often works, and watches Ianto roll his eyes - god, he’d missed that. “I’m just saying, I do have a key, and you didn’t--”
“Why would I change the locks, Jack?” Ianto asks, pointedly, cocking his head, a challenge.
Ianto’s hands move to his hips, and suddenly Jack realizes how much he’s missed those, too. The smooth, solid lines of Ianto’s hipbones, they way they fit in place with his like they were meant to do nothing but fuse together like puzzle blocks…
Jack blinks. “Well, I’ve been gone a long time, and I just…”
“I’m meant to be keeping you out, then? Is that it?”
“Well, I hope not, but…” Jack smiles, trying for charming again, but he knows that he probably just looks a little desperate.
Ianto shakes his head again, studying him. He’s got shadows under his eyes that Jack has just now noticed in the bright fluorescent light of the kitchen.
“You don’t have to sneak around,” Ianto says finally, his voice quiet. “If you wanted to come here…” Ianto sighs. “You could have just asked.”
Jack takes a step forward, and watches as Ianto rounds the kitchen table, matching his stride. Before he knows it, he’s close enough to smell Ianto’s soap, his shampoo, his aftershave. It’s been two days since John left, and things are starting to get back to normal at the hub, with the team, but this... This is what Jack really needs.
He’s been gravitating towards Ianto ever since he came back, he knows he has, knows he can’t help it. It’s what brought him here tonight, too, and he really doesn’t want to screw this up again - he should wait, should let Ianto make the first move, should do this the right way, for once…
“Jack,” Ianto says, and his voice is a whisper in the shared space between them.
It’s a question, and a statement, and an answer all at once, and when Jack brings their lips together, when he presses his body up against Ianto’s and their hips slot into place, and Ianto does that thing where he slides his thigh against the outside of Jack’s leg, it’s like no time has passed at all. Like the Valiant never happened, like none of it ever happened.
He wonders, a little wildly, if maybe this is all in his head, if this is really happening, because Ianto should be angry, he should want nothing to do with him, he should have moved on, somewhere where Jack can’t reach him anymore, but yet he’s here, and it’s okay.
“I know,” Ianto says against his lips, and Jack realizes that he’s said that last bit out loud.
He laughs, an uncontrolled little burst of energy, and Ianto frowns.
“What?” Ianto asks him.
“Nothing, I’m just…” Jack stares at Ianto, at the way the hair curls back around his ear, at the tiny freckle above his left ear.
He’s spent so long with the image of Ianto in his mind, so many days and nights and everything in between that it’s a little strange to have him right here, in the flesh. All the little details that hadn’t quite made it to his memory before he’d left were all staring him in the face right now, in Technicolor, with sound and smell and touch, and it’s all a bit overwhelming and he wonders if Ianto realizes how wonderful it all is. What a miracle it is that they’re standing in front of each other again.
“I’m just glad to be back,” he finishes, grateful for Ianto’s strong arms around his waist, for the way Ianto’s ankles twist around his heels, holding them in place.
Five
Jack is stretched out on Ianto’s couch, in Ianto’s flat, with the occasional car sliding past on the road outside, a honk or a drone of tires, just enough to remind them of the city hovering outside these walls.
He allows Ianto’s fingers to work their way through his hair, even though he knows it’ll look like hell after - flattened and dull, like he’s been asleep for a week.
His ear is pressed to Ianto’s chest; he listens to the steady thumping of his heart as it pounds out its rhythm.
Ianto is so good at this, and lately, Jack has been so very weak for it. For the steadiness of his hands, the calmness of his voice, the familiarity of the shared silence that hangs in the space between them.
“You should have called,” Ianto says, and it’s not an accusation, just a statement. “Gwen’s handling the hub tonight-gave me the evening off. I tried your mobile, but…”
“Sorry,” Jack says quickly.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Ianto says gently, and Jack wonders what he’s done to cause that particular tone in Ianto’s voice - worry.
“But next time if you want company,” Ianto says, and covers Jack’s fingers with the palm of his hand.
Jack shakes his head. “There won’t be a next time.”
“Jack,” Ianto says, voice calm, fingers steady. “We’re not going to forget them. Gwen and I, and you - we can do this if we stick together. And we’ll remember them. All the time.”
“I know,” Jack says. Then, after a moment, he sighs. “I’m sorry for disappearing on you.”
“I’m used to it,” Ianto says with a tiny laugh. There’s no bitterness there though. There should be, Jack thinks, and maybe it would be easier if there was, but… This is Ianto, after all. Jack knows him better than that by now.
He closes his eyes and wraps his fingers around Ianto’s palm - the palm that’s currently not rubbing smooth circles into his scalp.
He shouldn’t be here. He should be out looking for answers, looking for guarantees, to make sure this never happens again, to make sure that next time, he can protect them all. But instead he’s come here.
Ianto’s heart thumps against Jack’s ear, and it’s so dark, and so quiet, there’s just Ianto’s breathing, and the ticking of the wall clock, and the occasional car on the gravel outside, and Ianto is so warm… It’s nothing like the cold earth under the city, nothing at all like suffocating in complete darkness, nothing at all like waking up to bitter earth choking him back into sleep again, and again and again.
He’d thought of this, of Ianto, of his lips, of his heart thumping in his chest so many times, for so long. He’d whispered in his mind for Ianto to stay, and at the time he didn’t even really know what he’d meant, but he realizes now that he’d just wanted Ianto to be here when he got back.
He’d just wanted someone to be here.
After a while, he’d thought of nothing at all, of course - just cold, and darkness. But still, sometimes, even then, that word would float to the top of his consciousness, and somewhere inside of him there would be a spark, a tiny sliver of something that had been so good, once.
He feels it now, in the thumping of Ianto’s heart, in the movement of his fingers, the rhythm of his breath.
It’s alive, and it’s his, and in his heart, it bubbles up, frantically pressing against his insides until he feels like he might burst. He closes his eyes, and holds on tight and Ianto wraps his arms around his chest and Jack wonders if Ianto understands what a miracle it is that they’re still here, but at the same time he knows that he does.
That they both want to believe that holding onto this will somehow make it less fragile.
Six
Ianto flinches awake, blinking into the quiet and the darkness. He rolls over and glances at the clock. It will be morning soon, but for now the darkness is thick and solid. His eyes adjust slowly.
Beside him, Jack is asleep.
Ianto considers this a small miracle, really - sleep has never come easily for Jack, especially lately. Quietly, and with as much grace as possible, he rolls over and slips his arm around Jack’s chest. He breathes in deeply. Jack’s pheromones, unchanged even after so, so long, after so many deaths, after so many lives. He fills his lungs gratefully.
Ianto feels so small, so much of the time, but like this, with his cheek pressed against the back of Jack’s neck, and his body wrapped around Jack’s like a glove, he feels strangely equal, equivalent.
Beside him Jack stirs, but doesn’t wake, and Ianto wonders how many nights Jack has spent in his flat and not slept a wink, how many times he hasn’t even tried.
They’ve come a long way from then, he thinks, so long, in fact, that it’s difficult to wrap his mind around a time when his life didn’t revolve around this, and even as he thinks it, he remembers vividly the exact, precise moment when he came to this realization with Lisa. She’d been in the shower, in their flat in London, and in that one moment, he just knew. That he’d reached that point where there was no turning back.
And the realization hadn’t been scary at all, it’d been brilliant, and he’d wanted to tell everyone he knew, all at once, even though they’d probably think he was mad - he wasn’t exactly the sharing type, after all. But he’d wanted to tell them all anyway, only he hadn’t had the time. He just hadn’t been quick enough. And then Canary Wharf had happened.
And at first, he thought he’d had a second chance with Lisa, thought he’d saved her, but that’s not what it’d been at all - he knows that now.
He wonders what this is, then, with Jack. He’s lost count of how many chances they’ve had, of which one they’re on now, and he’s pretty sure Jack has, too. They probably don’t have that many more opportunities to get it right.
Jack mumbles something inaudible, and Ianto tightens his grip around his broad chest.
“Jack…” he whispers, and it’s not a question, it's more of a confirmation - that Jack is actually here, in the flesh.
He wonders what Jack is dreaming about, and at the same time he’s not sure that he really wants to know - he knows that sometimes he should be careful what he wishes for, but the thing is… When it really comes down to it, he’s not careful at all.
Jack blames his condition for his fearlessness, but Ianto has heard a lot of Jack’s stories, after all; it’s not impossible to work out the timelines. Jack is essentially the same person now as he had been so many years ago. He likes to think he’s changed, Ianto knows he does, but in the end… He’s just Jack.
Ianto presses his cheek to Jack’s back and listens to his breath, to his heart and thinks that they make a damn good match, no matter what Owen thought, no matter how much Gwen warns him.
They’re alive, and it’s reckless, and Ianto thinks maybe he wants to be reckless with Jack forever, wants to keep his heart right here on his sleeve so that Jack knows exactly where to find it, and it’s okay, Ianto thinks, even with just the three of them, it’s okay.
Jack had come back, both times, he’d kept his promises, and now he’s here - with his pheromones and his perfect hair and that ridiculous smile. He’s here now in Ianto’s bed because he wants to be.
“Stay,” Jack whispers, from the middle of a dream, worlds away, and Ianto thinks that maybe he will, at least for a little while longer, just as long as Jack holds up his end of the bargain, too.
I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, Ianto thinks, and wonders how long they’ve got until morning.
***