Drabble: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
Ianto was good at reading people.
Every person had ticks, tells, ways of exposing something inner without even realising it themselves. All you had to do was learn the language, and Ianto’s linguistic proficiency was legendary.
Jack, however, was a vernacular he just couldn’t master.
He’d tried, of course; noting, observing, deciphering, even reaching forward mentally (employing that psychic training) to rake away at the leaves blocking his path.
There were flames beneath that haze. And, he soon realized, the denser the smoke, the brighter the fire that burned.
It would clear itself, in time. Ianto would wait to see.