Torchwood Fic: the odds are there to beat
Title: the odds are there to beat
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing/Category: Ianto/Jack, character/relationship study, introspective and angsty
Rating: R
Word count: ~5,800
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing.
Timeline: Takes place during the latter half of season 1 and the very start of season 2.
Summary: Just because you accept the things the way they are, doesn’t mean you don’t wish for them to be different.
Author notes: Written for heeroluva who won me at the
auction. Many thanks to my amazing beta readers margaret_r andzeitheist for their invaluable help and comments. Thank you also to pushkin666 for being very patient with my whining and not smacking me on the head even though I know she really wanted to. Title from A Thousand Kisses Deep by Leonard Cohen.
Gorgeous banner by megan_moonlight
Part 1. Ianto
The first time they had sex was because Ianto was drowning in his grief and it was like a life raft; not a rescue, just a way to keep afloat a little longer. If there was one thing Jack was good at it was knowing how to survive.
It started with a cup of dark roast Kenyan Arabica. Or maybe it started earlier; in the morning when Ianto woke up alone, or the night before when he went to bed alone. Except no, it started even earlier than that, when Jack had pulled a trigger because Ianto couldn’t, when he had done the wrong thing for all the right reasons, or maybe the right thing for the wrong reasons. In the end it didn’t matter; to his horror Ianto could understand them all, the right and the wrong and everything in between. Sometimes, he thought it had started when he was born, that everything since then had been leading him up to this moment in Jack’s office, expensive coffee staining the carpet under their feet.
He was on his knees, cleaning, saying all his lines perfectly, and then Jack was pulling him up, demanding more from him than he was ready to give.
Why he was surprised, he didn’t know. After all, it wasn’t like Jack to stick to the script for long; the man improvised his way through life, dragging everyone along for the ride.
“C’mon,” Jack was saying, “C’mon, let’s have it.”
He was grinning and intent, present and so very alive, and Ianto thought ‘how dare he, how dare he, when...’ He heard the punch more than felt it; the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh, Jack’s head snapping back, the blood welling up on his lip in almost slow-motion.
It didn’t work of course; it wasn’t in Jack’s nature to accept defeat. That was the thing about Jack Harkness; the more you kicked him, the harder he was to keep down.
And just like that the urge to beat out all that thrumming, undefeatable life, turned into a desperate need to wrap himself in it. Jack’s mouth tasted like copper and spit, and Ianto didn’t even think to ask, he just took, definitely didn’t want to pause to offer any explanation.
Jack grunted, bearing his weight and arching into it easily enough as they stumbled onto the floor, his body strong and solid under Ianto’s impatient hands. He didn’t fool himself into believing it was because Jack wanted him, or because Jack wanted him more than he did anyone else. Later, he wondered if maybe it was because they both thought it was something Jack owed him - payment in kind, joy for sorrow, that kind of thing - but no, that wasn’t it either, nothing so complicated.
What Jack gave, he gave of his own free will. Just like the things he took.
Just like the things Ianto was taking; the long moan he wrenched from Jack with a clever twist of his wrist, the finger-shaped bruises already scattered like constellations across Jack’s shoulders, the way Ianto made sure he came first and the long seconds afterwards when he thought about whether or not that was enough.
In the end he decided it wasn’t, that more than his own pleasure he wanted Jack’s, wanted to tear it out and see, for once to be the cause not just another regrettable consequence.
Afterwards, Jack wanted to know if it had helped, if he’d helped, and Ianto couldn’t even resent him for his arrogant assumption that anything he did would make a difference here, because in a way it had. Ianto didn’t feel any better, but he did feel, and he guessed that was something.
When they kissed, Ianto knew it was a mistake but that it was one that he would keep on making. He could see how it would be, between them; the path laid clear before him, leading toward an end that would never be a happy one. And yet, he stepped onto it willingly, eyes open, because some mistakes were always worth making.
***
You didn’t own people, Ianto knew that. If you were lucky you got to keep them for a while, but you always, always, had to be prepared to let them go. He’d tried to cling on to the last person he loved with all that he had and look how well that turned out.
It was a lesson hard learned. Didn’t mean he had to like it.
See the thing was, Ianto was not very good at sharing. Not even when the sharing was the metaphysical ‘I acknowledge that universe is likely to yank away all that I cherish at any given moment and there’s nothing I can do about it’ type of thing. He’d always liked his things to be where and how he put them, got annoyed when other people touched and, inevitably, messed with them.
People weren’t things - Ianto wasn’t that much of an arsehole, he understood the difference thank you very much - but the same principle applied.
Lisa had teased him for being jealous, but he wasn’t, not really, because by the time he dated her, Ianto had already trained himself out of it. Early on he’d recognised in himself the capacity for real jealousy, the type that would turn ugly very quickly, and he didn’t want to become that person, the one who ended in the front page of the tabloids with the words ‘murder-suicide’ plastered over his picture.
So he wasn’t jealous. Lisa had plenty of close friends, other people and interests that were important to her, and she never once compromised on them because of him. It was one of the things Ianto admired about her; her independence and confidence. He was happy to have a place in her life, a clearly marked space that said ‘Ianto’ or maybe ‘Lisa-and-Ianto’ that was filled with toast crumbs in bed and dreams of a holiday cottage in Brighton and her long legs around his waist.
With Lisa Ianto had known exactly where he belonged, what they were for each other. With Lisa he’d known who he was.
With Jack... Not so much.
Part 2. Jack
One of the first things Jack learned about Ianto Jones was that he absolutely despised Earl Grey. The first thing Jack had learned was of course that Ianto was a stubborn bastard, who did not know the meaning of no, which was pretty much how he got hired in the first place.
His stubbornness had also a lot to do with his adamant refusal to serve Earl Grey.
“We’re out at the moment, Sir. I’ll pick some up later,” he said the first time Jack asked for it.
Jack shrugged and drank his perfectly brewed Darjeeling Limited.
The next time he mentioned it, some weeks later, Ianto pursed his lips together in a way that Jack by now knew to mean extreme disapproval.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said and served Jack with a lovely cup of Assam.
Torchwood went through clearly identifiable beverage periods; everyone bringing in their own flavour to the group in more ways than one. There was a noted increase in Dark Roast Blue Mountain coffee whenever Owen was stressed and Japanese Sencha and other green teas got added to the regular circulation after Tosh joined the team. Susie’s flavoured hot chocolate had vanished the day after her death.
While it appeared Ianto had very exacting ideas about proper tea and coffee, what it did and did not include and how it should be served, he was generally accommodating of other people’s preferences.
Except when it came to Earl Grey.
“Bergamot is a sin against the palate,” Ianto said, adding “Sir” as an afterthought, and not a particularly respectful one.
Jack let it go.
***
It was exhausting, pretending to care about labels and titles, and Jack barely even paid lip service to them.
Back when Torchwood was more than the smouldering ruins of Canary Wharf and five desperate people in a small Welsh town (and one strange guy in Scotland) and they had things like an honest to god administration department, Jack had had to fill in forms about labels. There were ticky boxes for things like species, sub-species/race/ethnicity, planetary/national/tribal association, gender (with six choices including ‘other, what’), sexual orientation (ten choices, all of which still failed to describe him), level of education, marital/familial status and so on. It was like a multiple choice test he hadn’t studied for and Jack had ticked things at random, uncaring, because what did it matter in the end? He was here to do a job, not to be categorised and marked like prize cattle before auction, so who the hell cared?
Torchwood Self-Aware Entity Resources apparently did. Within forty-eight hours Jack had a new set of forms in front of him, complete with a note, which, despite its polite phrasing, managed to strongly suggest that if he didn’t approach the Torchwood Equal Opportunity Monitoring Form E-78b with all the seriousness it deserved, SAER might just remember about all his unused holiday hours and discharge him from duty for the next three months.
Jack had filled in the form.
But instead of multiple-choice he’d gone for essay answers. It was just unreasonable to expect him to distil his identity into a list of ticky boxes.
After SAER had gone up in smoke along with the rest of Torchwood One, Jack had never bothered with the forms again. He was pretty sure Ianto still made the others fill them in though; everyone neatly labelled and categorised and in their appropriate place.
Jack had almost told Ianto not to bother, that he was only making unnecessary work for himself, but in the end had held his tongue. It was probably nothing Ianto didn’t already know and had chosen to do anyway. Jack wasn’t the type of boss to question his employees’ reasoning.
Well, not over paperwork anyway.
***
After Lisa Jack was mad, but not for reasons everyone thought he was, not for reasons Ianto thought he was.
It was not about what Ianto did, what he was willing to sacrifice. God knows Jack had done worse, gone further - all for the sake of love. It was how he knew that the price was always too high.
He was angry because Ianto hadn’t trusted him enough to ask for help and he was angry at himself for not doing anything to be worthy of that trust.
“Haven’t you ever loved anyone?” Ianto had asked.
And Jack had, he had. Once upon a time Jack had loved everyone.
Nowadays, he was more discerning.
For one, it was something that tended to draw unwanted attention in the twenty-first century. For another, with each passing year the price of attachments became higher and there was only so much of himself Jack could afford to give away.
***
“So is she like a lesbian now?”
Owen’s question brought him up short and Jack stopped half-way down the stairs, not really hidden from view, but unnoticed so far by the rest of the team.
There was a stunned silence, followed by Gwen’s “Owen! You can’t just ask that!” She looked agitated, shrill with indignation.
“What, why not? I’m not asking her, am I? She’s not even here. This is way more privacy than she ever gave us!”
“That wasn’t her fault,” Gwen said for what sounded like the thousandth time.
Silently, Jack thought that Tosh would disagree.
“And you can’t ask that because... Well, because...”
“Because it’s none of your business,” Ianto said. He’d been clearing up in the background; Jack had been watching the clean efficient line of his back, but Gwen and Owen jumped at the sound of his voice.
Ianto looked up, calmly piling empty pizza boxes. “And because it’s a stupid question.”
Owen opened his mouth to argue, but Ianto pressed on: “A stupid question. First, Mary or whatever her real name was, was an alien so I very much doubt things like binary gender categories apply here. Second...” he paused, drawing a slow breath.
“She wanted her. And Tosh wanted her back. Do you know how rare that is? That connection? Do you think I would have wanted Lisa any less if she’d been a man? In the end she wasn’t even human anymore, wasn’t even alive by some standards, and yet it made not the slightest bit of difference.”
Ianto hadn’t shouted, hadn’t raised his voice in any way, but Owen and Gwen still looked liked they’d been slapped across the face.
Jack waited a good minute before coming down the rest of the way and casually asking for some surveillance data he’d requested earlier and making no mention of what he’d overheard. There was nothing he could add that Ianto hadn’t already said.
***
The first time they had sex it was because Ianto was angry and it was the only thing Jack could give him that would help.
He didn’t mean for it to happen, but then again he didn’t mean for it not to happen either - it was important to be prepared for every possibility - so he wasn’t surprised when it did.
After all, Jack was never surprised when it came to sex.
It started with shards of porcelain all over Jack’s office floor.
“Sorry, Sir. I’ll clear it up right away,” Ianto said. His hands were still shaking, the coffee spill spreading under his feet.
“It’s okay, Ianto. Just leave it.” Jack pushed the papers away, straightening up. He hadn’t wanted the coffee anyway, but asking for it was a safe topic, a way to reach out without seeming like that’s what he was doing.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” Ianto was already kneeling down, picking out the pieces of the mug he’d dropped. His head was bent, but Jack could see the tight line of his mouth, the tense way he was holding himself.
It was something Jack recognised well; control stretched past breaking point, worn thin like an old coat that no longer kept out the cold.
“Ianto,” he said, getting up and rounding the desk. “I said to leave it.” He grabbed Ianto’s arm, meaning to pull him up by it but Ianto wrenched away, recoiling like he’d been burned.
“Don’t! I-” He got to his feet, backing away, not meeting Jack’s eyes. “If I don’t clean it now, it will stain. And we all know how tiresome it is to keep retconning the carpet cleaners.” He offered Jack a small smile, completely devoid of any actual meaning; the perfect employee.
Jack winced. This bland mask of conciliatory submission was eerie after the screaming, crying, aggressively alive Ianto they’d all witnessed not so long ago.
He sighed and stepped closer, ignoring every ‘stay back’ clue Ianto’s body language was projecting loud and clear. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, which meant that it was probably overdue by now.
“C’mon,” Jack said. “C’mon, let’s have it. I know you want to. You know you want to, so stop holding back.”
Impossibly, Ianto’s expression got even blanker. “I don’t know what you mean, Sir.” His hands had clenched into tight fists, seemingly at their own volition.
“Sure you do,” Jack taunted. He spread his arms wide and smirked, broadcasting ‘arrogant prick just asking for it’ with all he was worth. “Must really piss you off, that even after everything that’s happened, you’re still making cups or tea and picking after everyone like a serv-”
He’d expected the punch, so when it came - sloppy but not hesitant - Jack stepped into it, taking the fist to the face and letting his head snap back from the force of the hit. He tasted blood and grinned, licking his lip.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it.” Jack wiped at his face, regarding Ianto with a weird mixture of relief and exhilaration. “C’mon, again!”
But the second blow never came. Instead Ianto grabbed Jack by the shirt and hauled him into a kiss that was more violent than the punch had been.
Oh, Jack thought, opening his mouth easily under the onslaught. Oh, okay. He could do this too, if it was what Ianto needed, he could be whatever Ianto needed him to be.
Ianto was tearing at his clothes, fingers hard and deliberately cruel. Jack moaned, pushing into it. He’d expected to come out of this bruised anyway so this was simply a more pleasurable means to the same end. Ianto bit at his mouth, all sharp teeth and clever swipe of his tongue, and Jack let him pull them both onto the floor.
He ended up with his back leaning against the desk, Ianto straddling his lap, chests and hips pressed together. It was fast and messy; Ianto had their trousers open before Jack could do no more than gasp and buck into the touch.
Ianto’s hands were steady now, no tremor or hesitation when he wrapped a palm around their cocks, setting a brutal rhythm that had Jack hissing through his teeth, spine bowing in a long arch.
He thought about slowing things down, flipping Ianto onto his back and taking his time with him, but in the end he merely curled his fingers around the well-cut fabric of Ianto’s jacket and held on.
Ianto came first, shuddering against Jack with a broken sound caught somewhere between a sob and a growl. There was a moment’s pause and Jack tensed, half expecting Ianto to just get up and leave, but then his grip tightened again and he was pulling Jack over the edge with him.
The silence that followed was surprisingly comfortable, punctuated only by the sound of their harsh breathing. Jack let his arms relax, not removing them from where they were wrapped around Ianto’s middle, but being careful not to hold too tightly either.
Ianto pulled back slightly, enough to wipe his hand on Jack’s shirt in a move that was more absentminded than deliberately provocative.
Jack raised his eyebrows but didn’t protest. It was hardly the worst kind of stain to find on his clothing. “Feel better?” he asked.
Ianto regarded him wordlessly for a minute, his expression unreadable. Some of the carefully held tension was gone and he no longer seemed liable to shatter from the slightest push. The pain on his face was now easy to see.
Ianto shrugged. “No, not really,” he said, before bending down to brush his lips against Jack’s. The kiss was slow and almost tender, if you closed your eyes and pretended.
Jack kept his open the whole time. He’d never been much good at ignoring the truth.
***
“There’s no one,” he said. It wasn’t a lie; there was no one whose world was defined by his presence or absence, no one who he wouldn’t have to say goodbye to eventually anyway.
The lights of the Ritz glittered like stars; perfume and cigarette smoke lingering in the air, mixing with the smell of beeswax from the floors, polished to perfect shine. It wasn’t so bad, being stuck here among the falling bombs. Oh he’d tried, would keep trying to get back, but for Tosh’s sake, not his own.
Across the table Captain Jack looked at him with dawning understanding. They shared more than a name, Jack and him. They were both dead men, who just hadn’t stopped breathing yet.
In the end he had to go. ‘Duty’, he offered as an explanation, and that wasn’t a lie either, just not the whole truth. It was easier to leave than to be the one who was left behind. At least that way there was the possibility - no matter how remote - of coming back.
Later, after Tosh and he had finished their toast and everyone had gone home, Jack glanced up from the paperwork to find Ianto hovering at the doorway. He looked uncomfortable and Jack wanted to smooth the creases out of his shirt, put him back together the way he had been; impeccable and quiet, the kind of man who never lifted a gun, never stood bleeding and scared, caught between one choice and another.
But that was a selfish wish, and an unrealistic one at that. Ianto had never been innocent or untainted with grief and violence, not for a long time at least. And Jack wondered whether he would want to go back to that now, even if he could.
“What is it, Ianto?” he asked. “It’s late, you should go home.” He thought about asking Ianto to stay, about doing what he’d advised Captain Jack to do: losing himself in someone, just for a night. But he was tired, worn too thin for it not to matter more than he could afford.
Ianto nodded. “I’m on my way out. Just wanted to say...” He paused, just the barest hint of hesitation before continuing: “Just wanted to say I’m glad you’re back, Sir.” With that he turned sharply and walked out, steps unhurried as they receded.
Jack blinked, honestly surprised. After a while, a small smile stole across his face and instead of clamping down of it, he let it linger.
***
Of course everything got worse before it got better. End of the world level worse; dying for several days, coming back to life only to almost die again in thwarting another apocalypse, finding his Doctor along the way (except not) and maybe some sort of resolution too (the jury was still out on that).
It was good to be back though, back with his team, back with Ianto. There was still tension there in the way they regarded him; a wariness Jack had no one but himself to blame for. The thing about mistakes was that you couldn’t erase them, not even if you turned back the time. Because even when everyone else forgot, you still remembered. All you could do was try to do better the next time - and hope there still was a next time.
Jack leaned on the railing of the upper walkway, looking down at this team, laughing and chatting as they were getting ready to leave for the day. In his absence they had gelled into something truly amazing; a family that would fight for each other until death. Jack was just grateful that there still was a place for him too.
He smiled to himself, feeling lazy and... yes, guess you could call it happy. It had, for once, been a peaceful week with nary a Weevil in sight and no intergalactic conflicts to deal with. Jack was determined to round it up with a nice, relaxing session in the pub with his favourite team of alien catchers.
He let loose a piercing whistle, waiting until everyone’s attention was on him before cheerfully announcing: “Team-bonding night!”
“Kinky,” Ianto said drily from behind Jack’s shoulder. His eyebrows were raised in a way Jack had learned to interpret as mocking.
“I don’t know, Jack.” Gwen was shaking her head, looking uncertain. “I have some plans with-”
“Don’t lie,” Jack interrupted her. “I heard you tell Tosh earlier that Rhys was away this weekend at some training seminar thing. Only plans you have are with your bathtub and a trashy romance novel, and I bet whatever pleasures they offer I can do one better.”
“Well, you are pretty trashy...” Gwen smiled. “Fine, I’ll come for a while. Tosh?”
“Sure,” Tosh said from behind her desk, shutting down her computers for the night. “A glass of wine would be nice.” She glanced at Jack. “That is, assuming we’re going to a bar, because I’m not really into these team building games so if that’s what you’re planning...”
“No, no, pub it is. And drinks are on me,” Jack said and, with a sidelong look at Ianto, added: “Any bondage games are optional, though welcome.”
Owen groaned. “These drinks you speak of better be strong and plentiful, if I’m expected to watch you two make cow eyes at each other all night.”
Jack laughed, but the comment elicited a slightly indignant: “Hey!” from Ianto, who made as if to smack Owen on the head.
Owen danced deftly out of reach, grinning. “Lecherous cows,” he continued pointing two fingers in Jack’s direction like a pistol. “Or is that bulls?” He shuddered. “And now I have some very disturbing mental images in my head.”
“Now, now, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Jack said, walking to join the rest of his team on the lift platform. “There’s an alien race called the Mbutgabeen, who may look vaguely bovine but oh boy, once you get them into be-mmph!”
The rest of his story was lost as four hands clamped over his mouth at the same time.
***
They settled into one of newer wine bars, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the immaculately dressed middle-management types - well except for Ianto, who looked like a junior accountant to the untrained eye.
Jack’s eyes, however, were very well trained - on Ianto’s backside at the moment. It was displayed to its advantage where Ianto was leaning on the bar, waiting for the next round.
Back at the table Tosh and Gwen giggled, the sound jolting Jack out of his pleasant reverie. “What?” he asked, eyes wide with fake innocence. “Can’t blame a man for appreciating the view when it’s there.”
“Oh we don’t, Jack,” Gwen assured him, her own eyes straying to give Ianto’s arse a brief onceover. “We really don’t.” She was not quite drunk yet but definitely getting there.
Tosh reached over to pat his arm. “We’re happy for you. Must be nice to have someone who... understands.” She smiled a little wistfully, keeping her gaze carefully on Jack’s face, not so much as a flicker in Owen’s direction.
Not that the good doctor was in any condition to catch such subtle clues at the moment. “Hold up,” he said, slamming his pint to the table, amber liquid sloshing over the side and wetting the sleeve of Jack’s shirt.
“Oops, sorry about that ladies,” Owen said to Tosh and Gwen who had had the presence of mind to back away before getting hit. “I just want to get this straight... or, um, not straight, but...”
Jack wiped his arm on Owen’s jacket, tuning him out, his attention drifting to the direction of the bar again. Ianto seemed to be deep in conversation with the barman, the set of his shoulders strongly suggesting the discussion was about ten seconds away from turning into an argument.
Jack felt himself tense, but didn’t move. Quickly, he assessed the situation - the laughing patrons, the barman’s harried expression, the confident way Ianto was holding himself - and relaxed. Nothing serious, more than likely the drinks hadn’t met with Ianto’s exacting standards when it came to beverages of any kind.
“...boyfriends, or what?” The questioning lilt of Owen’s voice dragged Jack’s mind back to what the rest of his team were talking about.
“Well of course they are! Why would you even ask that?” Tosh sounded indignant.
“Are what?” Jack asked. “Who?”
Owen threw his hands up in frustration. “I’m trying to be all like sensitive here. Team bonding and all that shit. And then you weren’t even listening!”
“He was too busy staring at his boyfriend,” Gwen said, drawing the last word out and nudging Jack’s side playfully.
It took him a couple of seconds to understand what she meant. When he did, he was surprised that his first instinct wasn’t outright denial. It wasn’t quite right though; the word felt inadequate, too small and quaint and ordinary, when Ianto and he were anything but.
Jack shook his head, amused: “God, you people are never happy until you’ve defined everything to death. Twenty-first century!”
“What about it?” Ianto asked, putting a tray full of drinks onto the table.
Jack opened his mouth to explain, but was cut off by Tosh.
“Nothing,” she said. “Never mind Jack, he’s just maligning our time-period again.” She shot him a look that was disapproving and fond in equal measure.
Jack knew when to keep his mouth shut, even if he didn’t know why or choose to do so very often. He did now. Perhaps Tosh thought the topic would embarrass Ianto unnecessarily, and while Jack didn’t agree - Ianto had turned out surprisingly difficult to embarrass - there was no reason to continue with the topic either.
Instead he slanted an easy grin at Ianto, kicking his chair out for him. “Ugg boots. I rest my case.”
“Hey now, you can’t judge a whole century based on one crime against fashion,” Ianto said, reaching for his bottle of something imported and undoubtedly expensive. Jack had been paying after all. “Especially since the century has hardly even begun!”
“I can when it’s Ugg Boots,” Jack argued. “They ruined the reputation of the whole era, just accept it.”
“I thought they were quite comfortable...” Gwen offered.
“You would,” Owen said.
“What’s that supposed to mean, Mr-designer-sneakers-by-child-labour?”
The conversation soon degenerated into amicable bickering, Jack’s hand coming to rest on Ianto’s thigh under the table.
Part 3. Ianto
Ianto waited until Jack had gone to the bathroom before picking up his jacket and bidding his goodbyes. Owen and Gwen were too drunk to question his timing, but Tosh’s tight hug and kiss on the cheek conveyed something akin to sympathy and Ianto had to fight to keep his smile genuine.
It was late autumn, which in Cardiff meant almost incessant drizzle. Ianto stepped outside onto the wet street, pulling up his collar against the rain. He passed the taxi queue after a moment’s hesitation, deciding to walk instead. The weather wasn’t that bad and he could use the fresh air.
He’d gone thirty yards, if that, when an arm settled over his shoulders companionably.
“Ianto, Ianto, Ianto,” Jack said, his breath brushing Ianto’s cheek. “Trying to avoid me?”
Ianto didn’t bother to dislodge the arm. He wasn’t one for public displays of affection, but it was cold and Jack put out heat like a furnace. “No,” he answered. He hadn’t been avoiding Jack, he’d been avoiding the awkward moment where everyone expected them to leave together, to behave like a couple when they weren’t really.
“So why the disappearing act?” Jack asked. His voice held no accusation, just curiosity, as he shortened his stride to match Ianto’s. “I mean if you have other plans for tonight, I-”
“No other plans,” Ianto smiled. It was nice of Jack to give him the benefit of the doubt even when they both knew it wasn’t very likely for Ianto to have plans that didn’t involve Jack or Torchwood business in some way. Not anymore. “Just didn’t want to assume,” he shrugged.
Jack seemed to think about this for a while. Then he slowed down, eventually bringing them both to a stop in the middle of the street. He turned Ianto around, carefully like he was expecting resistance, until they were facing each other.
“Ianto...” Jack frowned and shook his head like he wasn’t quite sure how to finish the sentence. “You can assume,” he said finally.
“No, I can’t, Jack,” Ianto said, keeping his voice gentle. It was something he’d known from the start and had made his peace with it, or at least something close enough to allow himself to enjoy the things he did get to do.
Jack looked almost upset. “No, that’s not... You should.”
“Fine,” Ianto sighed. He slipped his fingers into Jack’s breast pocket and plucked out his wallet, grinning. “I assume you’re going to get us a cab and pay for it too.” Jack wasn’t being intentionally cruel so there was no point in lashing out when the hurt was his and his alone; easier by far to let Jack take him home, take him to bed, take him apart with his hands and mouth, until they both forgot that this thing was not meant to last.
***
The room was lined with shadows, only the small bedside lamp illuminating the tangle of sheets they were lying in. Jack’s breathing was slow and even, his arms haphazardly thrown above his head, eyes shut.
Ianto wasn’t sleeping. He rarely did on those nights that Jack stayed over. It felt like a waste, like he would miss something important if he closed his eyes. There was always the feeling that time was running out, that every second counted.
Maybe it was because he knew that there was no future to plan, that right now was all they had.
“I meant it,” Jack said, jolting Ianto out of his reverie.
“Thought you were asleep.” Ianto pushed up onto one elbow, laying a hand on Jack’s chest, palm flat over his heart.
“No, just resting for round two,” Jack grinned rakishly, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Ianto’s wrist and pull him closer.
Ianto smirked. “I understand. A man of your age...”
“Hey! I’ll show you...” With a fluid movement Jack rolled them over, effortlessly pinning Ianto to the bed.
Ianto laughed, stretching lazily, luxuriating in the feel of skin against skin. This part was easy; keeping things light and fun, not thinking about anything beyond the present moment.
Then Jack had to go and ruin it. “I meant what I said,” he repeated, looking down at Ianto, eyes suddenly serious. He didn’t let go off Ianto’s wrists, but held him there, like he knew Ianto would try to duck out of the conversation if he gave him the chance. “I came back for you.”
Ianto drew in a breath, his gaze skittering away from Jack’s face. “Jack, you don’t have to...”
“No, no, listen.” Jack was insistent, waiting patiently until Ianto looked at him again. “You know I can’t promise you anything, no real future to speak of. I mean even if we...” He grimaced, correcting himself: “If you survive Torchwood...”
“I know,” Ianto said. This was nothing he hadn’t already realised for himself: anything Ianto wouldn’t survive, Jack would. Including old age. “I know, Jack.”
“If I could change things, I would.”
Ianto tugged his hands free, framing Jack’s face, thumbs brushing the thin skin under his eyes. He knew that too. There was no one to blame, no villains in this story, or victims; just people making the best choices they could in the circumstances they found themselves in.
“I’ll come back,” Jack whispered. There was urgency in his voice, like it was important for Ianto to hear what he was saying. “I’ll try and if I can, I’ll come back. And as long as I’m here...”
“You’ve got me,” Ianto said, arching up to press his mouth against Jack’s, closing the final distance between them. It was the only real thing they had to offer each other; themselves. And it had to be enough.
Fin.
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing/Category: Ianto/Jack, character/relationship study, introspective and angsty
Rating: R
Word count: ~5,800
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing.
Timeline: Takes place during the latter half of season 1 and the very start of season 2.
Summary: Just because you accept the things the way they are, doesn’t mean you don’t wish for them to be different.
Author notes: Written for heeroluva who won me at the
auction. Many thanks to my amazing beta readers margaret_r andzeitheist for their invaluable help and comments. Thank you also to pushkin666 for being very patient with my whining and not smacking me on the head even though I know she really wanted to. Title from A Thousand Kisses Deep by Leonard Cohen.
Gorgeous banner by megan_moonlight
Part 1. Ianto
The first time they had sex was because Ianto was drowning in his grief and it was like a life raft; not a rescue, just a way to keep afloat a little longer. If there was one thing Jack was good at it was knowing how to survive.
It started with a cup of dark roast Kenyan Arabica. Or maybe it started earlier; in the morning when Ianto woke up alone, or the night before when he went to bed alone. Except no, it started even earlier than that, when Jack had pulled a trigger because Ianto couldn’t, when he had done the wrong thing for all the right reasons, or maybe the right thing for the wrong reasons. In the end it didn’t matter; to his horror Ianto could understand them all, the right and the wrong and everything in between. Sometimes, he thought it had started when he was born, that everything since then had been leading him up to this moment in Jack’s office, expensive coffee staining the carpet under their feet.
He was on his knees, cleaning, saying all his lines perfectly, and then Jack was pulling him up, demanding more from him than he was ready to give.
Why he was surprised, he didn’t know. After all, it wasn’t like Jack to stick to the script for long; the man improvised his way through life, dragging everyone along for the ride.
“C’mon,” Jack was saying, “C’mon, let’s have it.”
He was grinning and intent, present and so very alive, and Ianto thought ‘how dare he, how dare he, when...’ He heard the punch more than felt it; the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh, Jack’s head snapping back, the blood welling up on his lip in almost slow-motion.
It didn’t work of course; it wasn’t in Jack’s nature to accept defeat. That was the thing about Jack Harkness; the more you kicked him, the harder he was to keep down.
And just like that the urge to beat out all that thrumming, undefeatable life, turned into a desperate need to wrap himself in it. Jack’s mouth tasted like copper and spit, and Ianto didn’t even think to ask, he just took, definitely didn’t want to pause to offer any explanation.
Jack grunted, bearing his weight and arching into it easily enough as they stumbled onto the floor, his body strong and solid under Ianto’s impatient hands. He didn’t fool himself into believing it was because Jack wanted him, or because Jack wanted him more than he did anyone else. Later, he wondered if maybe it was because they both thought it was something Jack owed him - payment in kind, joy for sorrow, that kind of thing - but no, that wasn’t it either, nothing so complicated.
What Jack gave, he gave of his own free will. Just like the things he took.
Just like the things Ianto was taking; the long moan he wrenched from Jack with a clever twist of his wrist, the finger-shaped bruises already scattered like constellations across Jack’s shoulders, the way Ianto made sure he came first and the long seconds afterwards when he thought about whether or not that was enough.
In the end he decided it wasn’t, that more than his own pleasure he wanted Jack’s, wanted to tear it out and see, for once to be the cause not just another regrettable consequence.
Afterwards, Jack wanted to know if it had helped, if he’d helped, and Ianto couldn’t even resent him for his arrogant assumption that anything he did would make a difference here, because in a way it had. Ianto didn’t feel any better, but he did feel, and he guessed that was something.
When they kissed, Ianto knew it was a mistake but that it was one that he would keep on making. He could see how it would be, between them; the path laid clear before him, leading toward an end that would never be a happy one. And yet, he stepped onto it willingly, eyes open, because some mistakes were always worth making.
***
You didn’t own people, Ianto knew that. If you were lucky you got to keep them for a while, but you always, always, had to be prepared to let them go. He’d tried to cling on to the last person he loved with all that he had and look how well that turned out.
It was a lesson hard learned. Didn’t mean he had to like it.
See the thing was, Ianto was not very good at sharing. Not even when the sharing was the metaphysical ‘I acknowledge that universe is likely to yank away all that I cherish at any given moment and there’s nothing I can do about it’ type of thing. He’d always liked his things to be where and how he put them, got annoyed when other people touched and, inevitably, messed with them.
People weren’t things - Ianto wasn’t that much of an arsehole, he understood the difference thank you very much - but the same principle applied.
Lisa had teased him for being jealous, but he wasn’t, not really, because by the time he dated her, Ianto had already trained himself out of it. Early on he’d recognised in himself the capacity for real jealousy, the type that would turn ugly very quickly, and he didn’t want to become that person, the one who ended in the front page of the tabloids with the words ‘murder-suicide’ plastered over his picture.
So he wasn’t jealous. Lisa had plenty of close friends, other people and interests that were important to her, and she never once compromised on them because of him. It was one of the things Ianto admired about her; her independence and confidence. He was happy to have a place in her life, a clearly marked space that said ‘Ianto’ or maybe ‘Lisa-and-Ianto’ that was filled with toast crumbs in bed and dreams of a holiday cottage in Brighton and her long legs around his waist.
With Lisa Ianto had known exactly where he belonged, what they were for each other. With Lisa he’d known who he was.
With Jack... Not so much.
Part 2. Jack
One of the first things Jack learned about Ianto Jones was that he absolutely despised Earl Grey. The first thing Jack had learned was of course that Ianto was a stubborn bastard, who did not know the meaning of no, which was pretty much how he got hired in the first place.
His stubbornness had also a lot to do with his adamant refusal to serve Earl Grey.
“We’re out at the moment, Sir. I’ll pick some up later,” he said the first time Jack asked for it.
Jack shrugged and drank his perfectly brewed Darjeeling Limited.
The next time he mentioned it, some weeks later, Ianto pursed his lips together in a way that Jack by now knew to mean extreme disapproval.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said and served Jack with a lovely cup of Assam.
Torchwood went through clearly identifiable beverage periods; everyone bringing in their own flavour to the group in more ways than one. There was a noted increase in Dark Roast Blue Mountain coffee whenever Owen was stressed and Japanese Sencha and other green teas got added to the regular circulation after Tosh joined the team. Susie’s flavoured hot chocolate had vanished the day after her death.
While it appeared Ianto had very exacting ideas about proper tea and coffee, what it did and did not include and how it should be served, he was generally accommodating of other people’s preferences.
Except when it came to Earl Grey.
“Bergamot is a sin against the palate,” Ianto said, adding “Sir” as an afterthought, and not a particularly respectful one.
Jack let it go.
***
It was exhausting, pretending to care about labels and titles, and Jack barely even paid lip service to them.
Back when Torchwood was more than the smouldering ruins of Canary Wharf and five desperate people in a small Welsh town (and one strange guy in Scotland) and they had things like an honest to god administration department, Jack had had to fill in forms about labels. There were ticky boxes for things like species, sub-species/race/ethnicity, planetary/national/tribal association, gender (with six choices including ‘other, what’), sexual orientation (ten choices, all of which still failed to describe him), level of education, marital/familial status and so on. It was like a multiple choice test he hadn’t studied for and Jack had ticked things at random, uncaring, because what did it matter in the end? He was here to do a job, not to be categorised and marked like prize cattle before auction, so who the hell cared?
Torchwood Self-Aware Entity Resources apparently did. Within forty-eight hours Jack had a new set of forms in front of him, complete with a note, which, despite its polite phrasing, managed to strongly suggest that if he didn’t approach the Torchwood Equal Opportunity Monitoring Form E-78b with all the seriousness it deserved, SAER might just remember about all his unused holiday hours and discharge him from duty for the next three months.
Jack had filled in the form.
But instead of multiple-choice he’d gone for essay answers. It was just unreasonable to expect him to distil his identity into a list of ticky boxes.
After SAER had gone up in smoke along with the rest of Torchwood One, Jack had never bothered with the forms again. He was pretty sure Ianto still made the others fill them in though; everyone neatly labelled and categorised and in their appropriate place.
Jack had almost told Ianto not to bother, that he was only making unnecessary work for himself, but in the end had held his tongue. It was probably nothing Ianto didn’t already know and had chosen to do anyway. Jack wasn’t the type of boss to question his employees’ reasoning.
Well, not over paperwork anyway.
***
After Lisa Jack was mad, but not for reasons everyone thought he was, not for reasons Ianto thought he was.
It was not about what Ianto did, what he was willing to sacrifice. God knows Jack had done worse, gone further - all for the sake of love. It was how he knew that the price was always too high.
He was angry because Ianto hadn’t trusted him enough to ask for help and he was angry at himself for not doing anything to be worthy of that trust.
“Haven’t you ever loved anyone?” Ianto had asked.
And Jack had, he had. Once upon a time Jack had loved everyone.
Nowadays, he was more discerning.
For one, it was something that tended to draw unwanted attention in the twenty-first century. For another, with each passing year the price of attachments became higher and there was only so much of himself Jack could afford to give away.
***
“So is she like a lesbian now?”
Owen’s question brought him up short and Jack stopped half-way down the stairs, not really hidden from view, but unnoticed so far by the rest of the team.
There was a stunned silence, followed by Gwen’s “Owen! You can’t just ask that!” She looked agitated, shrill with indignation.
“What, why not? I’m not asking her, am I? She’s not even here. This is way more privacy than she ever gave us!”
“That wasn’t her fault,” Gwen said for what sounded like the thousandth time.
Silently, Jack thought that Tosh would disagree.
“And you can’t ask that because... Well, because...”
“Because it’s none of your business,” Ianto said. He’d been clearing up in the background; Jack had been watching the clean efficient line of his back, but Gwen and Owen jumped at the sound of his voice.
Ianto looked up, calmly piling empty pizza boxes. “And because it’s a stupid question.”
Owen opened his mouth to argue, but Ianto pressed on: “A stupid question. First, Mary or whatever her real name was, was an alien so I very much doubt things like binary gender categories apply here. Second...” he paused, drawing a slow breath.
“She wanted her. And Tosh wanted her back. Do you know how rare that is? That connection? Do you think I would have wanted Lisa any less if she’d been a man? In the end she wasn’t even human anymore, wasn’t even alive by some standards, and yet it made not the slightest bit of difference.”
Ianto hadn’t shouted, hadn’t raised his voice in any way, but Owen and Gwen still looked liked they’d been slapped across the face.
Jack waited a good minute before coming down the rest of the way and casually asking for some surveillance data he’d requested earlier and making no mention of what he’d overheard. There was nothing he could add that Ianto hadn’t already said.
***
The first time they had sex it was because Ianto was angry and it was the only thing Jack could give him that would help.
He didn’t mean for it to happen, but then again he didn’t mean for it not to happen either - it was important to be prepared for every possibility - so he wasn’t surprised when it did.
After all, Jack was never surprised when it came to sex.
It started with shards of porcelain all over Jack’s office floor.
“Sorry, Sir. I’ll clear it up right away,” Ianto said. His hands were still shaking, the coffee spill spreading under his feet.
“It’s okay, Ianto. Just leave it.” Jack pushed the papers away, straightening up. He hadn’t wanted the coffee anyway, but asking for it was a safe topic, a way to reach out without seeming like that’s what he was doing.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” Ianto was already kneeling down, picking out the pieces of the mug he’d dropped. His head was bent, but Jack could see the tight line of his mouth, the tense way he was holding himself.
It was something Jack recognised well; control stretched past breaking point, worn thin like an old coat that no longer kept out the cold.
“Ianto,” he said, getting up and rounding the desk. “I said to leave it.” He grabbed Ianto’s arm, meaning to pull him up by it but Ianto wrenched away, recoiling like he’d been burned.
“Don’t! I-” He got to his feet, backing away, not meeting Jack’s eyes. “If I don’t clean it now, it will stain. And we all know how tiresome it is to keep retconning the carpet cleaners.” He offered Jack a small smile, completely devoid of any actual meaning; the perfect employee.
Jack winced. This bland mask of conciliatory submission was eerie after the screaming, crying, aggressively alive Ianto they’d all witnessed not so long ago.
He sighed and stepped closer, ignoring every ‘stay back’ clue Ianto’s body language was projecting loud and clear. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, which meant that it was probably overdue by now.
“C’mon,” Jack said. “C’mon, let’s have it. I know you want to. You know you want to, so stop holding back.”
Impossibly, Ianto’s expression got even blanker. “I don’t know what you mean, Sir.” His hands had clenched into tight fists, seemingly at their own volition.
“Sure you do,” Jack taunted. He spread his arms wide and smirked, broadcasting ‘arrogant prick just asking for it’ with all he was worth. “Must really piss you off, that even after everything that’s happened, you’re still making cups or tea and picking after everyone like a serv-”
He’d expected the punch, so when it came - sloppy but not hesitant - Jack stepped into it, taking the fist to the face and letting his head snap back from the force of the hit. He tasted blood and grinned, licking his lip.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it.” Jack wiped at his face, regarding Ianto with a weird mixture of relief and exhilaration. “C’mon, again!”
But the second blow never came. Instead Ianto grabbed Jack by the shirt and hauled him into a kiss that was more violent than the punch had been.
Oh, Jack thought, opening his mouth easily under the onslaught. Oh, okay. He could do this too, if it was what Ianto needed, he could be whatever Ianto needed him to be.
Ianto was tearing at his clothes, fingers hard and deliberately cruel. Jack moaned, pushing into it. He’d expected to come out of this bruised anyway so this was simply a more pleasurable means to the same end. Ianto bit at his mouth, all sharp teeth and clever swipe of his tongue, and Jack let him pull them both onto the floor.
He ended up with his back leaning against the desk, Ianto straddling his lap, chests and hips pressed together. It was fast and messy; Ianto had their trousers open before Jack could do no more than gasp and buck into the touch.
Ianto’s hands were steady now, no tremor or hesitation when he wrapped a palm around their cocks, setting a brutal rhythm that had Jack hissing through his teeth, spine bowing in a long arch.
He thought about slowing things down, flipping Ianto onto his back and taking his time with him, but in the end he merely curled his fingers around the well-cut fabric of Ianto’s jacket and held on.
Ianto came first, shuddering against Jack with a broken sound caught somewhere between a sob and a growl. There was a moment’s pause and Jack tensed, half expecting Ianto to just get up and leave, but then his grip tightened again and he was pulling Jack over the edge with him.
The silence that followed was surprisingly comfortable, punctuated only by the sound of their harsh breathing. Jack let his arms relax, not removing them from where they were wrapped around Ianto’s middle, but being careful not to hold too tightly either.
Ianto pulled back slightly, enough to wipe his hand on Jack’s shirt in a move that was more absentminded than deliberately provocative.
Jack raised his eyebrows but didn’t protest. It was hardly the worst kind of stain to find on his clothing. “Feel better?” he asked.
Ianto regarded him wordlessly for a minute, his expression unreadable. Some of the carefully held tension was gone and he no longer seemed liable to shatter from the slightest push. The pain on his face was now easy to see.
Ianto shrugged. “No, not really,” he said, before bending down to brush his lips against Jack’s. The kiss was slow and almost tender, if you closed your eyes and pretended.
Jack kept his open the whole time. He’d never been much good at ignoring the truth.
***
“There’s no one,” he said. It wasn’t a lie; there was no one whose world was defined by his presence or absence, no one who he wouldn’t have to say goodbye to eventually anyway.
The lights of the Ritz glittered like stars; perfume and cigarette smoke lingering in the air, mixing with the smell of beeswax from the floors, polished to perfect shine. It wasn’t so bad, being stuck here among the falling bombs. Oh he’d tried, would keep trying to get back, but for Tosh’s sake, not his own.
Across the table Captain Jack looked at him with dawning understanding. They shared more than a name, Jack and him. They were both dead men, who just hadn’t stopped breathing yet.
In the end he had to go. ‘Duty’, he offered as an explanation, and that wasn’t a lie either, just not the whole truth. It was easier to leave than to be the one who was left behind. At least that way there was the possibility - no matter how remote - of coming back.
Later, after Tosh and he had finished their toast and everyone had gone home, Jack glanced up from the paperwork to find Ianto hovering at the doorway. He looked uncomfortable and Jack wanted to smooth the creases out of his shirt, put him back together the way he had been; impeccable and quiet, the kind of man who never lifted a gun, never stood bleeding and scared, caught between one choice and another.
But that was a selfish wish, and an unrealistic one at that. Ianto had never been innocent or untainted with grief and violence, not for a long time at least. And Jack wondered whether he would want to go back to that now, even if he could.
“What is it, Ianto?” he asked. “It’s late, you should go home.” He thought about asking Ianto to stay, about doing what he’d advised Captain Jack to do: losing himself in someone, just for a night. But he was tired, worn too thin for it not to matter more than he could afford.
Ianto nodded. “I’m on my way out. Just wanted to say...” He paused, just the barest hint of hesitation before continuing: “Just wanted to say I’m glad you’re back, Sir.” With that he turned sharply and walked out, steps unhurried as they receded.
Jack blinked, honestly surprised. After a while, a small smile stole across his face and instead of clamping down of it, he let it linger.
***
Of course everything got worse before it got better. End of the world level worse; dying for several days, coming back to life only to almost die again in thwarting another apocalypse, finding his Doctor along the way (except not) and maybe some sort of resolution too (the jury was still out on that).
It was good to be back though, back with his team, back with Ianto. There was still tension there in the way they regarded him; a wariness Jack had no one but himself to blame for. The thing about mistakes was that you couldn’t erase them, not even if you turned back the time. Because even when everyone else forgot, you still remembered. All you could do was try to do better the next time - and hope there still was a next time.
Jack leaned on the railing of the upper walkway, looking down at this team, laughing and chatting as they were getting ready to leave for the day. In his absence they had gelled into something truly amazing; a family that would fight for each other until death. Jack was just grateful that there still was a place for him too.
He smiled to himself, feeling lazy and... yes, guess you could call it happy. It had, for once, been a peaceful week with nary a Weevil in sight and no intergalactic conflicts to deal with. Jack was determined to round it up with a nice, relaxing session in the pub with his favourite team of alien catchers.
He let loose a piercing whistle, waiting until everyone’s attention was on him before cheerfully announcing: “Team-bonding night!”
“Kinky,” Ianto said drily from behind Jack’s shoulder. His eyebrows were raised in a way Jack had learned to interpret as mocking.
“I don’t know, Jack.” Gwen was shaking her head, looking uncertain. “I have some plans with-”
“Don’t lie,” Jack interrupted her. “I heard you tell Tosh earlier that Rhys was away this weekend at some training seminar thing. Only plans you have are with your bathtub and a trashy romance novel, and I bet whatever pleasures they offer I can do one better.”
“Well, you are pretty trashy...” Gwen smiled. “Fine, I’ll come for a while. Tosh?”
“Sure,” Tosh said from behind her desk, shutting down her computers for the night. “A glass of wine would be nice.” She glanced at Jack. “That is, assuming we’re going to a bar, because I’m not really into these team building games so if that’s what you’re planning...”
“No, no, pub it is. And drinks are on me,” Jack said and, with a sidelong look at Ianto, added: “Any bondage games are optional, though welcome.”
Owen groaned. “These drinks you speak of better be strong and plentiful, if I’m expected to watch you two make cow eyes at each other all night.”
Jack laughed, but the comment elicited a slightly indignant: “Hey!” from Ianto, who made as if to smack Owen on the head.
Owen danced deftly out of reach, grinning. “Lecherous cows,” he continued pointing two fingers in Jack’s direction like a pistol. “Or is that bulls?” He shuddered. “And now I have some very disturbing mental images in my head.”
“Now, now, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Jack said, walking to join the rest of his team on the lift platform. “There’s an alien race called the Mbutgabeen, who may look vaguely bovine but oh boy, once you get them into be-mmph!”
The rest of his story was lost as four hands clamped over his mouth at the same time.
***
They settled into one of newer wine bars, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the immaculately dressed middle-management types - well except for Ianto, who looked like a junior accountant to the untrained eye.
Jack’s eyes, however, were very well trained - on Ianto’s backside at the moment. It was displayed to its advantage where Ianto was leaning on the bar, waiting for the next round.
Back at the table Tosh and Gwen giggled, the sound jolting Jack out of his pleasant reverie. “What?” he asked, eyes wide with fake innocence. “Can’t blame a man for appreciating the view when it’s there.”
“Oh we don’t, Jack,” Gwen assured him, her own eyes straying to give Ianto’s arse a brief onceover. “We really don’t.” She was not quite drunk yet but definitely getting there.
Tosh reached over to pat his arm. “We’re happy for you. Must be nice to have someone who... understands.” She smiled a little wistfully, keeping her gaze carefully on Jack’s face, not so much as a flicker in Owen’s direction.
Not that the good doctor was in any condition to catch such subtle clues at the moment. “Hold up,” he said, slamming his pint to the table, amber liquid sloshing over the side and wetting the sleeve of Jack’s shirt.
“Oops, sorry about that ladies,” Owen said to Tosh and Gwen who had had the presence of mind to back away before getting hit. “I just want to get this straight... or, um, not straight, but...”
Jack wiped his arm on Owen’s jacket, tuning him out, his attention drifting to the direction of the bar again. Ianto seemed to be deep in conversation with the barman, the set of his shoulders strongly suggesting the discussion was about ten seconds away from turning into an argument.
Jack felt himself tense, but didn’t move. Quickly, he assessed the situation - the laughing patrons, the barman’s harried expression, the confident way Ianto was holding himself - and relaxed. Nothing serious, more than likely the drinks hadn’t met with Ianto’s exacting standards when it came to beverages of any kind.
“...boyfriends, or what?” The questioning lilt of Owen’s voice dragged Jack’s mind back to what the rest of his team were talking about.
“Well of course they are! Why would you even ask that?” Tosh sounded indignant.
“Are what?” Jack asked. “Who?”
Owen threw his hands up in frustration. “I’m trying to be all like sensitive here. Team bonding and all that shit. And then you weren’t even listening!”
“He was too busy staring at his boyfriend,” Gwen said, drawing the last word out and nudging Jack’s side playfully.
It took him a couple of seconds to understand what she meant. When he did, he was surprised that his first instinct wasn’t outright denial. It wasn’t quite right though; the word felt inadequate, too small and quaint and ordinary, when Ianto and he were anything but.
Jack shook his head, amused: “God, you people are never happy until you’ve defined everything to death. Twenty-first century!”
“What about it?” Ianto asked, putting a tray full of drinks onto the table.
Jack opened his mouth to explain, but was cut off by Tosh.
“Nothing,” she said. “Never mind Jack, he’s just maligning our time-period again.” She shot him a look that was disapproving and fond in equal measure.
Jack knew when to keep his mouth shut, even if he didn’t know why or choose to do so very often. He did now. Perhaps Tosh thought the topic would embarrass Ianto unnecessarily, and while Jack didn’t agree - Ianto had turned out surprisingly difficult to embarrass - there was no reason to continue with the topic either.
Instead he slanted an easy grin at Ianto, kicking his chair out for him. “Ugg boots. I rest my case.”
“Hey now, you can’t judge a whole century based on one crime against fashion,” Ianto said, reaching for his bottle of something imported and undoubtedly expensive. Jack had been paying after all. “Especially since the century has hardly even begun!”
“I can when it’s Ugg Boots,” Jack argued. “They ruined the reputation of the whole era, just accept it.”
“I thought they were quite comfortable...” Gwen offered.
“You would,” Owen said.
“What’s that supposed to mean, Mr-designer-sneakers-by-child-labour?”
The conversation soon degenerated into amicable bickering, Jack’s hand coming to rest on Ianto’s thigh under the table.
Part 3. Ianto
Ianto waited until Jack had gone to the bathroom before picking up his jacket and bidding his goodbyes. Owen and Gwen were too drunk to question his timing, but Tosh’s tight hug and kiss on the cheek conveyed something akin to sympathy and Ianto had to fight to keep his smile genuine.
It was late autumn, which in Cardiff meant almost incessant drizzle. Ianto stepped outside onto the wet street, pulling up his collar against the rain. He passed the taxi queue after a moment’s hesitation, deciding to walk instead. The weather wasn’t that bad and he could use the fresh air.
He’d gone thirty yards, if that, when an arm settled over his shoulders companionably.
“Ianto, Ianto, Ianto,” Jack said, his breath brushing Ianto’s cheek. “Trying to avoid me?”
Ianto didn’t bother to dislodge the arm. He wasn’t one for public displays of affection, but it was cold and Jack put out heat like a furnace. “No,” he answered. He hadn’t been avoiding Jack, he’d been avoiding the awkward moment where everyone expected them to leave together, to behave like a couple when they weren’t really.
“So why the disappearing act?” Jack asked. His voice held no accusation, just curiosity, as he shortened his stride to match Ianto’s. “I mean if you have other plans for tonight, I-”
“No other plans,” Ianto smiled. It was nice of Jack to give him the benefit of the doubt even when they both knew it wasn’t very likely for Ianto to have plans that didn’t involve Jack or Torchwood business in some way. Not anymore. “Just didn’t want to assume,” he shrugged.
Jack seemed to think about this for a while. Then he slowed down, eventually bringing them both to a stop in the middle of the street. He turned Ianto around, carefully like he was expecting resistance, until they were facing each other.
“Ianto...” Jack frowned and shook his head like he wasn’t quite sure how to finish the sentence. “You can assume,” he said finally.
“No, I can’t, Jack,” Ianto said, keeping his voice gentle. It was something he’d known from the start and had made his peace with it, or at least something close enough to allow himself to enjoy the things he did get to do.
Jack looked almost upset. “No, that’s not... You should.”
“Fine,” Ianto sighed. He slipped his fingers into Jack’s breast pocket and plucked out his wallet, grinning. “I assume you’re going to get us a cab and pay for it too.” Jack wasn’t being intentionally cruel so there was no point in lashing out when the hurt was his and his alone; easier by far to let Jack take him home, take him to bed, take him apart with his hands and mouth, until they both forgot that this thing was not meant to last.
***
The room was lined with shadows, only the small bedside lamp illuminating the tangle of sheets they were lying in. Jack’s breathing was slow and even, his arms haphazardly thrown above his head, eyes shut.
Ianto wasn’t sleeping. He rarely did on those nights that Jack stayed over. It felt like a waste, like he would miss something important if he closed his eyes. There was always the feeling that time was running out, that every second counted.
Maybe it was because he knew that there was no future to plan, that right now was all they had.
“I meant it,” Jack said, jolting Ianto out of his reverie.
“Thought you were asleep.” Ianto pushed up onto one elbow, laying a hand on Jack’s chest, palm flat over his heart.
“No, just resting for round two,” Jack grinned rakishly, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Ianto’s wrist and pull him closer.
Ianto smirked. “I understand. A man of your age...”
“Hey! I’ll show you...” With a fluid movement Jack rolled them over, effortlessly pinning Ianto to the bed.
Ianto laughed, stretching lazily, luxuriating in the feel of skin against skin. This part was easy; keeping things light and fun, not thinking about anything beyond the present moment.
Then Jack had to go and ruin it. “I meant what I said,” he repeated, looking down at Ianto, eyes suddenly serious. He didn’t let go off Ianto’s wrists, but held him there, like he knew Ianto would try to duck out of the conversation if he gave him the chance. “I came back for you.”
Ianto drew in a breath, his gaze skittering away from Jack’s face. “Jack, you don’t have to...”
“No, no, listen.” Jack was insistent, waiting patiently until Ianto looked at him again. “You know I can’t promise you anything, no real future to speak of. I mean even if we...” He grimaced, correcting himself: “If you survive Torchwood...”
“I know,” Ianto said. This was nothing he hadn’t already realised for himself: anything Ianto wouldn’t survive, Jack would. Including old age. “I know, Jack.”
“If I could change things, I would.”
Ianto tugged his hands free, framing Jack’s face, thumbs brushing the thin skin under his eyes. He knew that too. There was no one to blame, no villains in this story, or victims; just people making the best choices they could in the circumstances they found themselves in.
“I’ll come back,” Jack whispered. There was urgency in his voice, like it was important for Ianto to hear what he was saying. “I’ll try and if I can, I’ll come back. And as long as I’m here...”
“You’ve got me,” Ianto said, arching up to press his mouth against Jack’s, closing the final distance between them. It was the only real thing they had to offer each other; themselves. And it had to be enough.
Fin.