Fic: Multicolored Chaos (S1: Chap 3, SoI 10), Jack/Ianto
Chapter Title: Multicolored Chaos (S1: Chap 3, SoI 10)
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: TW S1
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien, fivealive
Summary: Finding his way again...
A/N: This loosely covers Episodes 5 and 6.
For Shades of Ianto series information, please see Prologue, Chapter 1
Previous Chapters:
Prologue: Chapters 1-7 (Complete)
S1: Chap 1
S1: Chap 2
From his very first day back, Ianto had fallen into his old routine: bin the rubbish, make the coffee, pick up the clutter, discard the rose petals before anyone else spotted them. It was reflexive, it was easy; he had a Pavlovian response to disorder and it didn't escape him that it was abused. Balls of wadded paper littered the floor, takeaway cups with moist, ringed bottoms stained the furniture, and the whiteboard hadn't been fully erased since its last use. It was disgusting and demeaning.
It was comforting.
He lost himself in the trivial, in the habits, in the routines that had kept him functioning. But several times he had found himself staring down a certain hallway. Routine paved the way for his feet and his body followed, his mind still focused on shopping lists and expense reports. The first time Ianto had caught himself headed towards the basement, he'd stumbled to a halt halfway there, about-facing with military precision to return to the kitchen where he had hid, hands shaking as he tried to separate a filter to prepare coffee.
The next time had been better: he'd caught himself before he'd left the main floor of the Hub.
Jack had caught him, too. He called for Ianto from his office, his arms crossed as he lounged in the doorway. Ianto tried to understand why, mindless, his feet had tried to draw him down to the lower levels of Torchwood Three. It wasn't as though he had made frequent trips there even when Lisa -- no, the cyberman, had been down there. It wasn't a habit created by time and frequency, those moments stolen after the others had left. Visiting Lisa hadn't been regular enough to create habit. However, the concern was. The worry. The constant stress of discovery. Ianto was drawn there, and he knew that was not an answer for Jack. But by the time he'd reached Jack's office, Ianto hadn't come up with a better one.
"Ianto. Important business in the cellar?"
Since Ianto's return, he'd felt incredibly awkward around Jack. Around the others as well, but mostly Jack. Gone were the flirty comments, double entendres, and banter. Gone was the touching as well. Ianto had never really noticed it before, how much Jack tended to touch him -- a casual hand on his shoulder, a pat on the back, fingers brushing Ianto's as he passed coffee to Jack, and once, Ianto swore Jack had ghosted a hand over his arse when he was bent over in the Archives searching for a file. Not to mention the times when the touches had been purposefully more intimate, more desperate and wanton. There were no touches now, save for Jack drawing the blanket up around Ianto's shoulders while he pretended to sleep. And Ianto wasn't exactly sure how to react to that, much less the general eggshells he walked upon.
It felt worse than if everyone would just yell at him, get it over with, loosen all their anger, betrayal, and confusion at him. There'd be closure then. If they did that, Ianto could at least apologize and explain his actions, though an explanation was hardly deserved. As it was, the four other members of Torchwood Three were uncomfortable and cautious around him, overly praising him for performing his duties like he was a puppy in training. Gwen even asked how he was feeling, if he wanted to talk. This from someone who Ianto believed had no notion of just how many had died that day in London. Or how close Earth had been to falling. Or his guilt. What he had truly felt was interrogated by an idealist, naive PC. With no comment, he'd handed Gwen her coffee and retreated to the Information Desk to spare himself her ridiculous support and empathy.
And now Ianto stood awkwardly before Jack, his nerves itching uncomfortably, begging to yield to the urge to twitch, to squirm, icy fingers running up and down his spine. Or to look away. But Ianto was not one to look away, no matter how great the shame or guilt. He was stronger than that; he'd been taught better. It was what had granted him an audience with Yvonne to express his concerns about the "ghosts." It was what had gotten him back to his desk following the meeting, with his superior watching on.
Standing in front of Jack, however, with no answers and knowing he had betrayed any trust the man had placed in him, Ianto looked away. A weakness, his mother would claim. And she'd be right. Lisa had not been the end of his betrayal. And for some unknown reason, that mattered.
God, Ianto hated himself at this moment. "Force of habit, sir."
"Consequences are borne of action."
Ianto had no idea where Jack was going with the statement, and for a moment, he was certain his confusion showed. He continued to stare at Jack's desk, focused on the pen in front of Jack. Was he writing his report? Would Ms. White learn what Ianto had done? He'd face her wrath; Lisa was no longer a concern. She could have his memory wiped back to infancy and at the moment, that thought was not entirely uninviting. "Yes, sir."
"I was angry, and some of those consequences needlessly hurt you. I'm sorry for my part."
"Sir?" Ianto's head came up in surprise, Jack's apology far from the anticipated comments of goodbyes and retcon. His boss was amused, amused in that way Ianto was certain was more regret than joy. He'd heard it before, when Jack spoke of Wilson and Suzie, as though their memory evoked a dark humor of Jack's past -- as though humanity itself was the source and Jack viewed the world from above, knowing the path but allowing the little ants their room to dance. Sometimes, Ianto wondered just how old Jack really was.
"Let's just say I understand obsession."
He was concerned, briefly, that Jack had added additional bugs to his flat when he had invited himself over to dinner. But Jean-Luc and Ianto had been careful. Knowing that Ms. White was listening in (or at least recording), they had kept conversation to a minimum and held most of it using Jean-Luc's telepathic abilities. Jack and Jean-Luc had argued outside, but Ianto didn't think the devices in his flat were sensitive enough to pick up their conversation. He hoped. But no, there had been nothing spoken between Jean-Luc and Ianto that could have given Jack any insight into Ianto's relationship with Lisa, much less his subconscious motivations for trying to restore her. There was nothing Jack could have inferred or gathered from the time Ianto was at home; there had been no need to speak since Jean-Luc could listen on a far deeper level. And some things were just too painful to voice.
"My obsession nearly ruined another Torchwood. I think any apologies are mine, sir."
"Then I call us even." Jack sat back with a self-satisfied smirk, his hands behind his head indicating that he believed himself the victor in the conversation. Ianto wasn't even sure if there was a winner to be had in their discussion. Given Jack's transformation, apparently there had been something to win.
"You're not going to report me?" This was the question wearing Ianto down, day and night. He didn't know what to put in his communiques to Ms. White. If Jack reported him and Ianto didn't mention it in his report, it wouldn't be only Ms. White's wrath he'd be facing. Ianto had a responsibility to tell her before Jack, but he wasn't risking alerting her if it was unnecessary.
"Report you? No, I think you've suffered enough grief at the hands of Torchwood. Speaking of unreported, I looked into your friend Jean-Luc. Funny, no reports from Britain were returned matching his age and description."
Following a conversation with Jack was sometimes similar to following a conversation with a three-year-old. Topics jumped from imaginary dogs to ice cream to poo-poo-head name calling in a matter of seconds. "You did?' Strangely, Ianto first felt relief -- he hadn't known he would care so much to remain at Torchwood Three. Relief then morphed into concern. Ianto had known Jack would investigate Jean-Luc. Not much luck to be had with only a first name but he knew Jack would try all the same. Avalon was good, however (almost as good as Torchwood) in cover ups and misdirection.
"France had many, but one in particular drew my attention since I'd seen the same name in dossiers from Germany, the States, Japan, Russia ... files on a little boy named Jean-Luc D'Aoust with some rather remarkable abilities. Parents filed for protection with the French government, said threats and attempts were made to kidnap him, that some governments -- internal and foreign agencies, science and military -- had offered them money for the kid. There'd even been an attempt on the parents' lives."
"A tragic story, sir. I hope there's a happy ending." Ianto remained expressionless, though he knew the story perhaps better than Jack did. One of the attempts on the parents had finally succeeded, though who was responsible was never discovered. At least not by Avalon. That's not to say Jean-Luc never found out, and Ianto would rather be spared that information. The less he knew about Jean-Luc's taste for revenge, the better. He was surprised, really, that Jack had been able to find enough bits scattered about to connect these pieces together; he was more surprised that Avalon had left pieces to connect.
Jack sat up straight in his chair, hands gesturing toward a file that Ianto assumed held the information on Jean-Luc. "That's the funny thing! At the age of three he and his parents just ... vanished. Foreign dossiers were eventually closed, the French reported them dead..." Jack leaned forward on the desk, tapping his pen on the file, "but I don't think he's dead. I think someone protected him."
"Maybe that someone provided him a better life than the one he would have faced, sir. Maybe he lived."
"Maybe he did."
With a quick study of Ianto, Jack stood and walked around the desk, coming close but not touching Ianto. Things were still awkward; perhaps they always would be, and Ianto was just being foolish to believe that a single conversation could recover what was lost. While Jack's flirting classified as sexual harassment in every sense of the word, Ianto rather missed it. Banter was not something Ianto had encountered at Torchwood One, being young in an exclusive and often secretive division. And Jack ... well, it was hard not to be entertained by the spark in his eyes. It was hard not to feel wanted.
"Ianto, would you mind performing your organization magic on my office? I'm afraid I've misplaced my favorite stapler in this mess."
Ianto blinked, looking about Jack's office. It was really no more disorderly than usual, even with Ianto's absence. But Ianto nodded his agreement; it was his duty after all. "Of course. And if I may, sir, the file you collected on Jean-Luc D'Aoust? It'd be a terrible thing if this child did in fact live and this information somehow escaped. I think it best if I destroyed it. To protect him."
Stopping in the doorway, Jack's grin was reminiscent of the cat who ate the canary -- full-toothed and full of incriminating feathers. "There's only the one file, dispose of it as you want. Oh, and Ianto?"
"Yes?"
"Don't face your ghosts until you're ready."
***
Ianto watched Jack leave his office, relieved he could destroy the information on Jean-Luc. He didn't think Jack would tell anyone; he seemed aware of the dangers of the situation, and even if he wasn't aware of who was doing the protecting, he had inferred a connection with Ianto. Ianto supposed that was partially true. His mother ran both operations, after all.
There was little to tidy in Jack's office. Ianto began with the scattered papers, filing some in their appropriate folders, putting others in the box for Jack signature when he returned. He didn't find Jack's stapler, but then, he couldn't remember Jack ever having a stapler. He was still straightening paper when he noticed something on Jack's desk, prominently featured, something that didn't belong. Definitely not a stapler.
Straightening slowly, Ianto reluctantly reached for the device -- only half, the other half must be in storage in Jack's safe with other devices that were never to be touched, but this half of the ghost machine was lying out in plain sight on Jack's desk. The desk he'd been told to organize.
With steady hands displaying a false calm, Ianto reached for the device. He knew how the device worked, how using half sent one into the past and connecting with heightened emotion. Despite his misgivings he pressed the machine; its hum rose in pitch, lurching him sideways as he spun back in time. Ianto squeezed his eyes shut; dreading what he would see when he opened them. Torchwood was associated with far too many emotions.
Myfanwy screeched above the shouts. Above his voice shouting. Ianto knew when he was even before he opened his eyes. Although desperate to tear himself away from reliving the past, he didn't know but not knowing how to stop the device once it was activated. He wasn't facing the lift, though, blocked from his sight. Instead, his eyes were on Jack, standing motionless in the office door, two hands on the device and eyes locked on the lift. On Ianto.
I understand, now. Wish I didn't. My own ghosts are enough to haunt my sleep without me becoming my own nightmare.
Jack knew.
God, Jack knew.
Ianto struggled with the device, willing it to turn itself off. He didn't want to watch, he didn't want to see how much Jack had seen, what he had felt, because Ianto could feel Jack and the remorse pouring off him, feel the struggle with what was right for the world and and the knowledge of Ianto's devastation at the shattering of his own. Jack felt human and lost and something indecipherable that Ianto didn't wish to understand -- a combination of age and time and loneliness, a loss so great it ripped through Ianto's defenses, an emptiness so frightening it ate at Ianto's soul. And Ianto knew that, more than anything, he wanted to keep the confidence in his boss. He wanted to know that when Jack made a decision, it was the correct one. He never wanted to feel Jack's doubt or hesitation. Or his sorrow.
He was no empath. Ianto was not meant to have this knowledge of others. Especially not of Jack.
His vision shifted again, air and time blurring before clarity returned. Ianto quickly dropped the device on Jack's desk, breathing heavily in an attempt to restore some measure of control.
Jack understood.
Quickly, his hands trembling, Ianto opened Jack's safe, removing the lock box that housed the other half of the device. The seal was broken; Jack hadn't even bothered to lock up the other half. He had known Ianto would have the other half to replace back in the safe. No sense repeating work.
Jack had set up Ianto.
Ianto resealed the box, sliding it into place between Suzie's glove and dagger and an artifact from Arietis, a tiny, innocuous blue-tinged device containing explosive powers far greater than anything possessed on Earth. Another thing best kept from the hands of Ms. White. Or anyone, for that matter.
Grabbing Jean-Luc's file, Ianto didn't bother restoring order to Jack's office. He knew that wasn't actually what Jack had requested. And Jack still didn't have a stapler. Pausing before he left, Ianto bent to pick up another rose petal -- this one on the floor, exactly where Jack had stood in the vision from the ghost machine.
They were still watching, though at this point, Ianto wasn't exactly sure who.
***
An alarm sounded in the Hub -- not Tosh's rift alarm, but an alert for the emergency broadband, drawing Ianto's attention from the files he was sorting through. Owen had made a mess of them again, though Ianto could understand being unnerved by the Faeries. They were an unnerving lot. Still, it seemed as though Owen took pride in intentionally creating multicolored chaos within Ianto's carefully schemed system. How the man had made it through medical school was beyond Ianto's comprehension.
Though at university one typically didn't have to deal with Faeries.
Toshiko relayed the information to Jack while Ianto listened with half an ear. Gwen and Owen had left the Hub already; Gwen was still not speaking with Jack. He'd not realized until yesterday how much the team blamed Jack for making tough decisions; even Ianto had been guilty of it when it came to Lisa. Not that he entirely blamed Jack, not now. In fact, his decisions were correct. But Ianto couldn't shake the knowledge of Jack's self-recrimination and doubt, nor the image of the man, tears staining his face, watching and feeling as Ianto watched Myfanwy in horror, with no one even attempting to turn him away. Jack was fallible; he was human. Ianto hadn't wanted to know that. And he didn't want to know where else Jack had gone with the device. Given that it was Jack, he probably went to each location where Ianto and he had had an altercation, which meant he knew Ianto far more intimately than Ianto was comfortable with. Which was probably why Jack had left the device out for Ianto to find. It was an intrusion on a moment when the remains of Torchwood London had fallen.
It was an apology as two private people learned far more about the other, extending beyond the boundaries of casual shags and coffee.
"-place called Lana's."
Ianto's ears perked at the name of Lana's club, now curious about the alert and wishing he'd paid more attention to their conversation. As he listened, his stomach sunk to his feet, weighing him down until he couldn't move if he tried.
"Explosion...fire...doesn't appear alien-related."
Jack was standing over Toshiko's shoulder, but glanced up to search for Ianto. Ianto wasn't certain if Jack had meant to keep the information from him or had hoped Ianto overheard. Either way, Ianto knew, and there was no stopping him from leaving. The only question that remained was whether Torchwood would go with him. "Would you like me to bring around the car, sir? Rarely does anything happen in Cardiff that isn't Torchwood-related."
"Ianto's right. Tosh, I need you to find out what information you can about the business and what happened. Ianto, get the car. It's about time you got some field experience."
Ianto rushed away from the others, barely out of hearing distance before he opened his mobile, talking as he ran. "Do you know anything?"
"Course I do. What topic?"
"There's been an explosion at Lana's. What the fuck is going on?" Ianto threw himself into the driver's seat, the starting engine threatening briefly to drown out Jean-Luc's voice. There was moment's silence on the other end of the line, giving Ianto the chance to pull around for Jack, his fingers tapping impatiently on the wheel.
"Merde. I can't sense her. Where are you?"
"I'm on my way. Jean-Luc..." Ianto heard the passenger door open, didn't look to see who it was; he knew it was Jack. He heard the door close and glanced over, making sure Jack was fully in the SUV before speeding away from the Hub, glad Jack hadn't argued with him about who drove. Not that Ianto would get there any faster than Jack would have, but it at least gave him a feeling that he was doing something to help, moving towards something even if he was doing nothing.
"She's not dead."
"Neither was Lisa and that ended well."
"Ianto-"
He didn't wait to hear what Jean-Luc had to say, just snapped his phone shut and threw it into the console between the front seats. With both hands on the steering wheel, Ianto could take corners sharper, drive faster, scowling at the night like it was personally responsible.
Perhaps it was.
"Lana's one of them. Like Jean-Luc. And the little girl who healed you."
It wasn't a question, and Ianto couldn't think of how to answer Jack without speaking of Avalon, without blurting out his fear for Lana, his confusion, his concern for Jean-Luc and the rest of them. So he remained silent, taking another sharp corner at far too great a speed. He could already see a glow in the night sky, forcing the skyline into shadowed relief. It was haunting, and Ianto thought it vaguely familiar, only a different silhouette.
Kind of reminded him of looking over his shoulder as he fled Torchwood One.
Ianto nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a touch on his thigh. The light touch turned into a comforting squeeze, reassuring him as they neared Lana's. This was the second time since his return that Jack had caught him off guard like this. The first time Ianto had to physically shake himself from his stare at Jack's hand on his shoulder. That had been before the faeries, before Jack had fallen into a dark mood with a glass of whisky, but it had emboldened Ianto enough to casually ask if everything was okay. When Jack had replied that he had loved before, Ianto had joined him for a drink; they hadn't spoken a single word, but the drink had been good.
He had found another rose petal in his glass the following morning.
Ianto looked quickly at Jack and, despite the situation, returned his cautious smile. The hand remained on his thigh until they arrived at what had been Lana's, using Torchwood credentials to bully their way in. A great burning hulk of a building remained where the club had once stood proudly, planks of wood and glass littering the street. The force of the explosion had turned the windows into jagged, craggle-toothed smiles, the frames bent outward or gone completely. And behind the eyes into the club, the fires raged.
Ianto didn't waste any time getting out of the vehicle, first calling for Lana, then searching for someone in charge among all the emergency personnel surrounding the building when his calls went unanswered. Though he questioned as many as he could stop long enough to question, none had seen a victim matching Lana's description. In fact, there seemed to be relatively few victims at all. Jack's face matched Ianto's concern; it was a Thursday night and the place should have been packed with people. Even if Jack wasn't a regular at Lana's, he had seen enough to know that a handful of people did not account for even a quarter of the club goers.
They wandered from gurney to gurney, searching for anyone with answers as they awaited transport to Cardiff General. But they all were too badly injured for questioning; some probably would never wake again. Ianto felt himself despairing more and more what had happened to Lana; he remembered what Jean-Luc had said about the kid from Norway. But he had been Guardian protected. Lana had graduated. She was off on her own and no longer connected with Avalon. But her place still burned, and she was missing.
"I know you."
The voice was quiet, rasping, the sounds of burnt lung tissue from inhaling heated smoke and ash. Ianto stopped, looking first at the blackened hand clutching his, swallowing once to contain his reaction to one of the fire's victims. How the man was still conscious (or alive), Ianto wasn't sure. His burns were severe, flesh black and bleeding. A few injuries looked to be related to falling debris; a quick glance at the medic confirmed Ianto's fears for his survival. Jack stopped as well, standing beside Ianto and the gurney as the medic signalled the investigators that a survivor was conscious.
"Caleb." Ianto spoke with affection, touching the man's cheek, one of the few areas not ravaged by fire. Caleb Porter, Grade 4 Clairvoyant. He was much younger than Ianto, graduating from Avalon just last year. Extremely shy and withdrawn, but with amazing singing voice -- a strong tenor. Caleb loved musicals; he had wanted to audition for Wicked once he had received all his training. God, he was just a kid. What was he doing at Lana's?
"They took 'em all."
"Who took them?" Ianto leaned forward, trying to hear around the sounds of the fire and sirens and the oxygen mask partially covering Caleb's face. "Who did this, Caleb?"
For a moment, Caleb didn't respond, simply staring at Ianto with wide green eyes crying blood-red, his long brown curls gone with the heat and flame. His lips moved a few times, but no sound emerged. Then his body stiffened and the green eyes become unnaturally bright. Ianto jerked his hand away from Caleb's cheek. Touching a clairvoyant was forbidden; everyone who had ever stepped foot into Avalon was aware of what a violation it was. Prescience was not just smoke and crystal balls, random spontaneous moments of prophecy. Rather, it required intense focus on a subject, on a time, on a place. It wasn't random, and touching an individual during their focus could skew the prophecy, altering it to the pattern of the one who had interrupted. But Caleb's hand grasped Ianto's wrist, pulling himself up from the bed despite his injuries. A dark, rich voice poured from his lips seemingly unhindered by the superheated air, sounding nothing like the bright voice Ianto knew he otherwise possessed.
"Help us!"
Caleb collapsed backwards, releasing Ianto as the portable monitors wailed in alarm. Medics pushed Ianto out of the way; only then did Ianto notice Jack's hand on his back, stabilizing him. The walls of Lana's crashed behind them, shooting cinder and sparks into the air as hot smoke billowed out and the flames fed upon themselves. It was difficult to breathe through the smoke and heat, but Ianto couldn't move, stunned into silence as he watched the medics swarm on Caleb. He'd heard those sounds before; he'd smelled that smell.
And then it began to rain.
Tilting his face into the rain for just a moment, Ianto breathed the cool, pure air as the fire hissed and sizzled behind him. Finally he moved, taking a deep breath to center himself. He felt nothing but anger for those who had taken Lana and the others, leaving the victims of the blaze to die. But there was nothing more he could accomplish at the scene. He had to phone Jean-Luc and tell him of the news and what Caleb had said...and of Caleb. "Sir, we might as well go back to the Hub."
Jack had spoken only a few words the entire time, and he didn't say more now, but their earlier awkwardness had melted away into a familiar understanding. There were no questions, no interrogations as to how Ianto knew Caleb or what had just happened. He didn't remove his hand from Ianto's back either. And in the rain, standing amidst the burning club and the ghosts of the missing, Ianto could pretend that was all that mattered.
He had been forgiven, if at an extremely high cost.
***
Ianto glanced at his mobile vibrating with a hum on top of the Information Desk. He recognized the number, momentarily taken aback that she would ring during the day when he was at work. Although, it was Saturday. Ianto supposed that some people actually took days off.
With a quick look around, certain that he was still as alone as he had been, Ianto picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Mr. Jones, have I failed to clearly communicate the terms of your transfer to Cardiff?"
Ah, his reports. He'd failed to submit the last two. One had been due while he was recuperating at his flat. The latest he'd neglected due to lack of anything interesting, outside of regaining his place within Torchwood Three and matters concerning Avalon. One weevil sighting that week. It was nothing to write home about.
Or to fill a report.
"No, you have not." Mindful of the cameras, audio or not, Ianto carefully chose his words for fear of someone lip-reading the video. "I believe meat is important and without meat, you'll have a tasteless pie."
"Don't get coy with me. I have half a mind to reassign you to London."
The door to the Information Center opened and two elderly women entered. He'd have to speak with them in a moment, but he couldn't exactly tell Ms. White to bugger off. "I'm not sure where you got your recipe, but mine does not require watercress. Far too peppery for the dish. Wouldn't complement the other ingredients at all. Best leave it alone for now."
"Ianto Jones, don't take that tone of voice with me."
And suddenly, Ianto felt twelve again. He waved at the two women with an apologetic smile, not bothering to cover the receiver on the mobile, "I'm sorry ladies, I'll be with you in a moment. I've got someone on the phone who's trying to convince me that I need to change how I make my shepherds pie."
The women nodded with wisdom garnered from eighty-odd years experience each; Ianto assumed he'd be receiving tips from them as well.
"I trust you're finding some amusement in our conversation."
"Absolutely not." Ianto pointed to a brochure about a castle tour with accommodations perfect for the two women browsing the Information Center. "I can't give you my recipe; there's nothing to write down."
"Ianto...I assume you've heard about Caleb? And Lana and the others?"
This made Ianto pause, missing one of the women's questions as to garden walks. "I was there."
There was silence, heavy and poignant as Ianto heard his mother's quiet breathing on the other end. "Be careful, son."
The line went dead, and Ianto was left staring at his phone in confusion. He had nothing to do with Avalon. There was no danger to him -- it was Avalon and those it protected that were of concern.
And Ms. White never called Ianto her son.
The two women saw that Ianto's conversation was finished and hurried over, each offering their recipe for shepherds pie.
***
Ianto had waited, as Jack had recommended, until he was ready to revisit the past before venturing down into the lowest level where he had once hid his betrayal. He thought he was ready -- had even made it to the doors without incident -- but now that the doors were in front of him, he felt his courage slowly taper until he could do no more than stand against the opposite wall and stare, hands in his trouser pockets.
Maybe he wasn't ready to take on this particular demon.
His mother hadn't phoned again and Jean-Luc had only phoned once since Lana went missing. Caleb had died on the way to the Cardiff General; his body had been too severely damaged for Rani to heal, even if she'd had the chance. From what Jean-Luc had said, Avalon was withdrawing in on itself, isolating to protect the students and those who sought safety within its walls. Ianto wished he could help, but Jean-Luc and the others were far more capable of defending Avalon than he. He would only get in the way and be one more person to protect.
So he stayed in Cardiff, at Torchwood, worrying about the trivial and the day-to-day.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor and Ianto turned his head just enough to see who was coming to interrupt this moment of cowardice.
'Oi! Ianto. Thought I saw you come down here."
Ianto believed he would have preferred a Dalek. "Owen."
Owen paused in front of Ianto, looking back and forth from the door to Ianto like the additional movements might help him more quickly calculate the situation. Without hesitation, Owen turned from Ianto and threw open the doors.
Apparently he had correctly added up the details.
"Jack disassembled the unit. Don't know what he did with the parts and don't bloody care so long as it's rubbish that will never be repaired. He had no part in the autopsies, though. Never even touched them. Can't say how long it took me to get the bodies to the vault by myself."
Ianto was moderately surprised that Owen had taken the time and the consideration. His gaze remained on the empty room, looking sterile and bare in the dim lighting. There was nothing left in the room, not a trace. Not even the floor held a spot, despite Ianto's memories insisting that the blood had permanently stained the stone.
"Amberlynn Crone and Mitch Simms. Went to university with them, then did our surgical training, then all three of us were recruited by Torchwood. I got this draw, they got London."
Ianto knew how this story ended. They weren't among the survivors.
"I worked on the cleanup afterwards. I saw what had happened. I guess I figured that since you'd survived, you just gave up on the lot of 'em and ran. Figured you didn't try to save them." Owen scanned the empty room, and Ianto knew he was picturing the still functioning conversion unit that had filled the room. "Then I saw this, and I knew you wouldn't have stopped long as there was anything still left to save."
Speechless, Ianto stared at Owen, standing guard with his hands in his pockets and scrutinizing Ianto with a clinical eye. He was looking for cracks, Ianto knew, looking for a seam signalling that Ianto wasn't as prepared as he thought he was to enter the room. Ianto honestly didn't think Owen would allow him to enter if he thought otherwise. For a man with absolutely no observable interpersonal skills, Owen could be remarkably perceptive. That was scary enough, but when the earlier assertions were added, this was a picture of Owen that Ianto would never have believed possible.
With a nod to Owen, in thanks or respect or whatever the nod might indicate (with Owen it was too difficult to determine), Ianto stepped away from the bracing wall. He stopped before he entered the room, however, turning back to Owen who was still watching him. He probably had a dose of sedative in his pocket for all Ianto knew. But he was curious; he had to know.
"Why?" At Owen's puzzled look, Ianto clarified. "Why all this. Why did you help?"
Owen shrugged, shifting on his feet until he decided on an answer. "I owed you." And then he promptly turned and retreated back down the hallway, leaving Ianto alone with the room.
***
Cardiff was stunning from the top of the Wales Millennium Centre, Ianto decided after standing there for an hour, braced against the wind. It was cool, chilly almost, but he could still feel the heat from the remaining sunlight reflecting off the steel plates. Soon his suit jacket, the only spare articles of clothing he'd kept at the Hub, would not lend enough warmth and he would be forced to leave the rooftop.
His face hurt, his neck hurt, his head hurt ... pretty much his entire body hurt. He felt like he'd just lost a rugby match to opponents carrying mallets. Owen had ordered him to go home with strict instructions to watch for symptoms of a concussion or infection, but Ianto hadn't listened. He'd finished his paperwork, carefully writing up the details of the team's encounter with Brecon Beacons' cannibals, although it was an incident he'd much sooner forget. If there was any time he needed Lana's it was now, but since that was no longer an option, and he hadn't the heart to find a new club, he figured he'd try Jack's escape.
Ianto heard Jack before he saw him. His shoes softly clicked on the metal plates until Jack stood beside him, his grey coat billowing in the wind as though even the wind was Jack's mistress. Ianto smiled as he felt the wool whip and curl behind him, clipping the back of his legs on occasion as the wind spun. The wool coat brought up memories tinged with sadness, and Ianto let them flow through him as quickly as they'd come.
No sense dwelling. Jean-Luc had promised to find her. Ianto didn't doubt that he would.
Ianto broke the silence first. They could have stood for hours shoulder to shoulder with not a word spoken between them, but he felt the need to explain his encroachment into Jack's territory. "It worked for you, so I thought I'd try."
Jack's laughter was swallowed by the wind, muffled and muted before it reached Ianto's ears. "Is it working?"
He looked out over the Bay, preferring the vast waters to the sights of the city proper, and carefully considered the question. With such a view of the world, Ianto felt small, insignificant. Just a spec atop a shiny Armadillo. It wasn't exactly reassuring. At the same time, he was looking out over a city and a world he helped to protect. That was comforting. When balanced, combined with the irrational fear of losing his footing and slipping off the edge of the building to fall to his death (after emitting some rather humiliating screams), Ianto had his answer. "Not really."
Quiet settled between them again as night cast its first shadow over the city. Watercolor layers blanketed the Bay, slowly darkening the water as the sun surrendered its spot in the heavens to the moon. It was peaceful, if one didn't consider the long drop to the ground should one slip and tumble.
Jack broke the silence at last. "I come up here to remind myself that there's a world outside Torchwood. There's an entire population with no clue about the threats Earth faces -- no concept of space-time, or alien races, or tech so foreign it boggles the mind." Despite the roar of the wind, Ianto heard the resolve in his voice. "It reminds me that it's my duty to make sure they're safe."
Jack's answer fit Ianto's perception of him. He wondered whether he would ever be able to apply the same universal concern to his own sense of duty. He knew there was a bigger picture out there, but he struggled to see beyond his immediate concerns. Perhaps it would come with age, or perhaps, like Ianto favored, it was just another unknown in the vast mystery of Captain Jack Harkness.
"Is it working?" Ianto quoted back, smiling at the sound of Jack's surprised laughter.
"The 21st century is when it all changes, Ianto Jones. And we've got to be ready."
Ianto had heard that line before, and often wondered what Jack meant. It also begged the question of why he said it and how he knew. For all Ianto knew of Jack, he didn't believe Jack to be one who dabbled in the art of fortune telling. Feeling brazen, whether from the height or the head wound Ianto wasn't sure, but he didn't hesitate in asking the first question which came to mind. "Ready for what?"
Silence stretched, longer than before and far more uncomfortable. Even the wind seemed to note the change, dropping the swirls so Jack's coat no longer flowed in the breeze. Ianto hadn't considered that the question would be that difficult to answer; a simple "I'm not telling" would work just as well as a proper answer.
"I don't remember.
Turning in surprise, Ianto tried to establish whether his boss was being deliberately difficult or if he was serious. From the look on his face, Ianto guessed that Jack was being entirely serious. "That's unfortunate," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "It would've helped me plan my holidays."
"Planning to stay away?"
"No, planning on being here. Who else would make coffee and order takeaway for you helpless lot?" Jack's answering grin was worth the self-deprecation, though Ianto was fairly certain Jack didn't think of him merely as the teaboy. Ianto hoped, at any rate. With the conversation taking a lighter turn, Ianto broached the subject that had driven him up to the Millennium Centre's rooftop. "Sir, if you don't mind, I would like to be removed from field duty."
Jack's eyes narrowed, taking in Ianto's injuries, but those weren't the cause. Ianto could handle injury. That wasn't the point in question. It was what he had seen. "I panicked today. Tosh ... Tosh was brilliant. Ready and eager for the action. Walking through the village with my gun drawn ... all I could see was London. And then the plastic sheeting ... you don't want me out there, sir. I don't get any thrill from the danger, and I'm a threat to the team. I'm best serving the coffee."
"Ianto, you saved Tosh's life. Panicked or not, you kept your wits and bought enough time for rescue at the risk of your life." He paused, then added slowly, "It's your choice, but given the option, I'd like to have you out there with us when we need you."
"But-"
"That doesn't mean I want you coming back looking like you've met the wrong end of a Draconian stick fight. Or that I want you to get a thrill from the danger. You know this isn't a game. I need that a lot more than I need thrill. You've seen just how far mankind can fall. You understand."
Taking a moment to consider Jack's words before he protested too vehemently, Ianto crossed his arms over his chest. The sun had finally sunk below the horizon and the air was taking on night's chill -- or at least that was his excuse for such a defensive measure. He had certainly seen his fair share in life, though others had seen worse or similar. To say he understood was true to an extent, but the knowledge wasn't a comfort. It simply meant that Torchwood had warped him more than the others. "I suppose."
"How long have you been having flashbacks?"
He tried to remember a time when he hadn't. Ianto wouldn't categorically define them as flashbacks, though some moments in the village had been very difficult to distinguish from London. Sometimes he saw Torchwood Tower in the flickers of a fire. Once it had been a woman's scream on the telly. But they were hardly something he was concerned about, and they had been growing fewer with time. Truth be told, Lisa's death had helped him separate from that life and the violence of those memories. But he would never admit that, not to anyone. "Since the Battle," Ianto said with a shrug, refusing to maintain eye contact for even that small admission.
"Didn't they set you up with one of the Torchwood counselors?"
Ianto snorted, an inelegant and unrefined sound but he couldn't stop himself. "None survived from that department, sir."
Jack snickered, apparently following Ianto's line of thought. "Who'd they try to reason with? The Daleks or the Cybermen?"
"As I understand it, the Cybermen."
Dark humor filled Jack's laughter, pulling Ianto into it without any real protest. It felt unnatural, laughter did, especially when his nephews weren't the source. But it felt good, standing and laughing so high above the ground that the wind whipped over his skin, chasing away any lingering demons and sorrow.
It did not go unnoticed. "That's the first time I've heard you laugh."
"Sorry, sir. It's the head injury to blame. It won't happen again."
"That's a tragedy. Laughter looks nearly as good on you as your suit."
"Careful, sir, that's harassment." Ianto rolled his eyes at Jack's comments, but he smiled all the same, enjoying a return to their typical banter. He could feel Jack gearing up for another comment, the air growing thick with both hesitation and anticipation. Hopefully it wasn't anything about the Battle. Or Lisa. Or Lana. Or the Brecon Beacons. He'd already discussed far more than he usually discussed with anyone and the state of his mental health was something he certainly did not enjoy discussing.
"You lied today."
"I'm sorry?"
"You lied about your last kiss."
"As I recall, sir..." Ianto tugged at the elbow of his suit jacket, casting a sideways glance at Jack. They'd yet to discuss the moment, a moment Ianto only remembered because of Jean-Luc. He'd been too disoriented, too confused when it had occurred to properly analyze it. "You're the one who evaded the question. I didn't lie. When you kissed me, I believe I was dead."
"The lengths I had to go to to finally kiss you. How much do you remember?"
"Enough to know your tongue was involved. Really, sir, that was a bit inappropriate."
"Jack."
"Sorry?" Ianto looked up to find Jack stepping closer, breaking the lines of personal space to as he tugged Ianto by his jacket lapel. Ianto's feet felt like stone, pitching him forward until there was little space between them for the wind to howl through.
"I'm going to kiss you now, while you're alive, and I'd prefer it if you'd call me Jack."
"Oh," was the most intelligent response Ianto could gather as Jack's hand slipped behind his neck. Ianto was pulled closer until he could feel Jack's breath ghosting his lips. He'd expected immediate contact and was surprised when there was nothing, just the chilled wind warmed slightly by Jack's steady exhale. Ianto opened his eyes, unsure when he'd closed them, but he opened them to see the curve of Jack's lips, the wide smile. Confused, Ianto raised his eyes to focus on Jack's, difficult as it was with his head aching, leaning away slightly when his eyes refused to focus properly at the close distance. "Jack?"
That had been the answer to whatever question Jack had not asked. Their lips met with a gentleness Ianto had not expected, gracing over with a light pressure to sample, taste what was to come. Jack's lips were soft, softer than Ianto remembered in his fleeting memory. It was teasing, it was breathtaking. He couldn't remember the last time he'd kissed. Years, it felt like. Before the Battle. The wind's fingers wrapped Jack's coat around Ianto, refusing to let him slip back into the past. At the same time Jack ran a careful hand over Ianto's jawline, down his throat, tracing the line where the blade had pressed too hard as if he was afraid Ianto would break at a stronger touch. Annoyed with the assumption, Ianto pulled Jack flush against his body, ignoring the twinge of protest from his sore ribs that maybe supported Jack's assumption.
But Ianto wouldn't break. A kiss wouldn't break him. After Lisa, it might have. It had felt like betrayal then, too intimate for his casual encounters. It might still be too intimate, might still be casual, but it wouldn't break him. He made that point emphatically, cradling Jack's face in his steady hands and deepening the kiss. He felt the play of Jack's jaw as Ianto mapped and tasted, giving as Ianto pushed, pushing when Ianto lightened. Ianto's fingers dipped and felt Jack's pulse race. A moan was tickled from his throat when their hips shifted and Ianto's cock brushed over Jack's. If he wasn't extremely careful, Ianto knew this wouldn't last long, but he couldn't stop the desire to be touched once the sensations began. He was hyper-aware of physical contact -- he could feel every point where Jack's body touched his. The tops of their thighs ... a bit of knee ... hips slowly grinding against the other ... stomach, chest ... a tiny point on Ianto's elbow where it rested on top of Jack's arm ... their lips. God, he could come just from the kissing...
Jack seemed to sense this as well, pushing away enough to shrug his heavy coat from his shoulders and throw it on the rooftop. Ianto wanted to comment on his gentlemen-like behavior, but the thought slipped his mind as Jack toppled him (carefully) to the coat, both of them ending up in a heap of limbs and clothing. Thinking was abandoned entirely in their mad scramble, their hands distracted and fumbling for buckles and zippers, Ianto forgetting his bruises as his lips sought Jack's. It seemed to take far longer than it should for Ianto to manage Jack's zipper and reach his hand into that warmth inside. Jack's erection rose up to meet his hand, as if buoyed from the lesser gravity at this height, though Ianto confirmed its mass as his fingers stretched around its width. Jack groaned, a husky sound that was whipped away on the wind so quickly that only the vibrations against Ianto's jaw convinced him it was there. Jack's hands pushed down his trousers, exposing him to air so cold Ianto feared he would shrivel away, but his surprised gasp just made Jack snicker against his skin. He shouldn't have been worried; Jack's hand burned with a heat that seemed to reach inside Ianto, chasing away the chill he'd felt ever since leaving Brecon Beacons. Friction warmed him even more, his hand meeting Jack's rhythm, then pushing it faster, then slowing without warning.
When his hand next slowed, Jack's hips thrust so hard into Ianto's hand that they were nearly propelled from their rooftop perch. Without losing his hold on Ianto, Jack's long fingers slipped to his own shaft and squeezed them together. Ianto could almost hear the click as their erections aligned, smooth as the cartridge in the chamber of a gun. Locked and loaded. He wrapped his hand around Jack's and moved with him. Faster and faster, their fingers interlaced, the wind spurring them on, and every thought forgotten save the need for release, Ianto let loose a very human-sounding cry as jets of pearly cum pulsed across his hand.
Jack came a second later, pressing his nose so fiercely against Ianto's throat that the younger man could hardly breathe. Ianto completely forgot about the cold air as he lay gasping, Jack still smothering him. He was vaguely aware that neither of their shirts were suitable for public viewing anymore. In the dim recesses of his mind he also remembered that they were on the rooftop of a very public building. And when Jack slid off him, Ianto was acutely aware of the chill where his body had been, and wondered if he should make a move to follow his boss down. But at the moment, he couldn't be bothered. He looked up at the stars, at the galaxies above, full of their alien races and tech that boggled the mind, and then let his eyes drift shut...
They opened abruptly when Ianto felt the brush of wool tickle his chin. He looked up to see Jack carefully tucking his coat around him to ward off the cold. Jack smiled, looking surprised to see him awake. "Is it working now?"
Ianto nodded, stretching lazily within Jack's coat. "Yes, sir ... Jack. I think it is."
Next Chapter
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: TW S1
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien, fivealive
Summary: Finding his way again...
A/N: This loosely covers Episodes 5 and 6.
For Shades of Ianto series information, please see Prologue, Chapter 1
Previous Chapters:
Prologue: Chapters 1-7 (Complete)
S1: Chap 1
S1: Chap 2
From his very first day back, Ianto had fallen into his old routine: bin the rubbish, make the coffee, pick up the clutter, discard the rose petals before anyone else spotted them. It was reflexive, it was easy; he had a Pavlovian response to disorder and it didn't escape him that it was abused. Balls of wadded paper littered the floor, takeaway cups with moist, ringed bottoms stained the furniture, and the whiteboard hadn't been fully erased since its last use. It was disgusting and demeaning.
It was comforting.
He lost himself in the trivial, in the habits, in the routines that had kept him functioning. But several times he had found himself staring down a certain hallway. Routine paved the way for his feet and his body followed, his mind still focused on shopping lists and expense reports. The first time Ianto had caught himself headed towards the basement, he'd stumbled to a halt halfway there, about-facing with military precision to return to the kitchen where he had hid, hands shaking as he tried to separate a filter to prepare coffee.
The next time had been better: he'd caught himself before he'd left the main floor of the Hub.
Jack had caught him, too. He called for Ianto from his office, his arms crossed as he lounged in the doorway. Ianto tried to understand why, mindless, his feet had tried to draw him down to the lower levels of Torchwood Three. It wasn't as though he had made frequent trips there even when Lisa -- no, the cyberman, had been down there. It wasn't a habit created by time and frequency, those moments stolen after the others had left. Visiting Lisa hadn't been regular enough to create habit. However, the concern was. The worry. The constant stress of discovery. Ianto was drawn there, and he knew that was not an answer for Jack. But by the time he'd reached Jack's office, Ianto hadn't come up with a better one.
"Ianto. Important business in the cellar?"
Since Ianto's return, he'd felt incredibly awkward around Jack. Around the others as well, but mostly Jack. Gone were the flirty comments, double entendres, and banter. Gone was the touching as well. Ianto had never really noticed it before, how much Jack tended to touch him -- a casual hand on his shoulder, a pat on the back, fingers brushing Ianto's as he passed coffee to Jack, and once, Ianto swore Jack had ghosted a hand over his arse when he was bent over in the Archives searching for a file. Not to mention the times when the touches had been purposefully more intimate, more desperate and wanton. There were no touches now, save for Jack drawing the blanket up around Ianto's shoulders while he pretended to sleep. And Ianto wasn't exactly sure how to react to that, much less the general eggshells he walked upon.
It felt worse than if everyone would just yell at him, get it over with, loosen all their anger, betrayal, and confusion at him. There'd be closure then. If they did that, Ianto could at least apologize and explain his actions, though an explanation was hardly deserved. As it was, the four other members of Torchwood Three were uncomfortable and cautious around him, overly praising him for performing his duties like he was a puppy in training. Gwen even asked how he was feeling, if he wanted to talk. This from someone who Ianto believed had no notion of just how many had died that day in London. Or how close Earth had been to falling. Or his guilt. What he had truly felt was interrogated by an idealist, naive PC. With no comment, he'd handed Gwen her coffee and retreated to the Information Desk to spare himself her ridiculous support and empathy.
And now Ianto stood awkwardly before Jack, his nerves itching uncomfortably, begging to yield to the urge to twitch, to squirm, icy fingers running up and down his spine. Or to look away. But Ianto was not one to look away, no matter how great the shame or guilt. He was stronger than that; he'd been taught better. It was what had granted him an audience with Yvonne to express his concerns about the "ghosts." It was what had gotten him back to his desk following the meeting, with his superior watching on.
Standing in front of Jack, however, with no answers and knowing he had betrayed any trust the man had placed in him, Ianto looked away. A weakness, his mother would claim. And she'd be right. Lisa had not been the end of his betrayal. And for some unknown reason, that mattered.
God, Ianto hated himself at this moment. "Force of habit, sir."
"Consequences are borne of action."
Ianto had no idea where Jack was going with the statement, and for a moment, he was certain his confusion showed. He continued to stare at Jack's desk, focused on the pen in front of Jack. Was he writing his report? Would Ms. White learn what Ianto had done? He'd face her wrath; Lisa was no longer a concern. She could have his memory wiped back to infancy and at the moment, that thought was not entirely uninviting. "Yes, sir."
"I was angry, and some of those consequences needlessly hurt you. I'm sorry for my part."
"Sir?" Ianto's head came up in surprise, Jack's apology far from the anticipated comments of goodbyes and retcon. His boss was amused, amused in that way Ianto was certain was more regret than joy. He'd heard it before, when Jack spoke of Wilson and Suzie, as though their memory evoked a dark humor of Jack's past -- as though humanity itself was the source and Jack viewed the world from above, knowing the path but allowing the little ants their room to dance. Sometimes, Ianto wondered just how old Jack really was.
"Let's just say I understand obsession."
He was concerned, briefly, that Jack had added additional bugs to his flat when he had invited himself over to dinner. But Jean-Luc and Ianto had been careful. Knowing that Ms. White was listening in (or at least recording), they had kept conversation to a minimum and held most of it using Jean-Luc's telepathic abilities. Jack and Jean-Luc had argued outside, but Ianto didn't think the devices in his flat were sensitive enough to pick up their conversation. He hoped. But no, there had been nothing spoken between Jean-Luc and Ianto that could have given Jack any insight into Ianto's relationship with Lisa, much less his subconscious motivations for trying to restore her. There was nothing Jack could have inferred or gathered from the time Ianto was at home; there had been no need to speak since Jean-Luc could listen on a far deeper level. And some things were just too painful to voice.
"My obsession nearly ruined another Torchwood. I think any apologies are mine, sir."
"Then I call us even." Jack sat back with a self-satisfied smirk, his hands behind his head indicating that he believed himself the victor in the conversation. Ianto wasn't even sure if there was a winner to be had in their discussion. Given Jack's transformation, apparently there had been something to win.
"You're not going to report me?" This was the question wearing Ianto down, day and night. He didn't know what to put in his communiques to Ms. White. If Jack reported him and Ianto didn't mention it in his report, it wouldn't be only Ms. White's wrath he'd be facing. Ianto had a responsibility to tell her before Jack, but he wasn't risking alerting her if it was unnecessary.
"Report you? No, I think you've suffered enough grief at the hands of Torchwood. Speaking of unreported, I looked into your friend Jean-Luc. Funny, no reports from Britain were returned matching his age and description."
Following a conversation with Jack was sometimes similar to following a conversation with a three-year-old. Topics jumped from imaginary dogs to ice cream to poo-poo-head name calling in a matter of seconds. "You did?' Strangely, Ianto first felt relief -- he hadn't known he would care so much to remain at Torchwood Three. Relief then morphed into concern. Ianto had known Jack would investigate Jean-Luc. Not much luck to be had with only a first name but he knew Jack would try all the same. Avalon was good, however (almost as good as Torchwood) in cover ups and misdirection.
"France had many, but one in particular drew my attention since I'd seen the same name in dossiers from Germany, the States, Japan, Russia ... files on a little boy named Jean-Luc D'Aoust with some rather remarkable abilities. Parents filed for protection with the French government, said threats and attempts were made to kidnap him, that some governments -- internal and foreign agencies, science and military -- had offered them money for the kid. There'd even been an attempt on the parents' lives."
"A tragic story, sir. I hope there's a happy ending." Ianto remained expressionless, though he knew the story perhaps better than Jack did. One of the attempts on the parents had finally succeeded, though who was responsible was never discovered. At least not by Avalon. That's not to say Jean-Luc never found out, and Ianto would rather be spared that information. The less he knew about Jean-Luc's taste for revenge, the better. He was surprised, really, that Jack had been able to find enough bits scattered about to connect these pieces together; he was more surprised that Avalon had left pieces to connect.
Jack sat up straight in his chair, hands gesturing toward a file that Ianto assumed held the information on Jean-Luc. "That's the funny thing! At the age of three he and his parents just ... vanished. Foreign dossiers were eventually closed, the French reported them dead..." Jack leaned forward on the desk, tapping his pen on the file, "but I don't think he's dead. I think someone protected him."
"Maybe that someone provided him a better life than the one he would have faced, sir. Maybe he lived."
"Maybe he did."
With a quick study of Ianto, Jack stood and walked around the desk, coming close but not touching Ianto. Things were still awkward; perhaps they always would be, and Ianto was just being foolish to believe that a single conversation could recover what was lost. While Jack's flirting classified as sexual harassment in every sense of the word, Ianto rather missed it. Banter was not something Ianto had encountered at Torchwood One, being young in an exclusive and often secretive division. And Jack ... well, it was hard not to be entertained by the spark in his eyes. It was hard not to feel wanted.
"Ianto, would you mind performing your organization magic on my office? I'm afraid I've misplaced my favorite stapler in this mess."
Ianto blinked, looking about Jack's office. It was really no more disorderly than usual, even with Ianto's absence. But Ianto nodded his agreement; it was his duty after all. "Of course. And if I may, sir, the file you collected on Jean-Luc D'Aoust? It'd be a terrible thing if this child did in fact live and this information somehow escaped. I think it best if I destroyed it. To protect him."
Stopping in the doorway, Jack's grin was reminiscent of the cat who ate the canary -- full-toothed and full of incriminating feathers. "There's only the one file, dispose of it as you want. Oh, and Ianto?"
"Yes?"
"Don't face your ghosts until you're ready."
***
Ianto watched Jack leave his office, relieved he could destroy the information on Jean-Luc. He didn't think Jack would tell anyone; he seemed aware of the dangers of the situation, and even if he wasn't aware of who was doing the protecting, he had inferred a connection with Ianto. Ianto supposed that was partially true. His mother ran both operations, after all.
There was little to tidy in Jack's office. Ianto began with the scattered papers, filing some in their appropriate folders, putting others in the box for Jack signature when he returned. He didn't find Jack's stapler, but then, he couldn't remember Jack ever having a stapler. He was still straightening paper when he noticed something on Jack's desk, prominently featured, something that didn't belong. Definitely not a stapler.
Straightening slowly, Ianto reluctantly reached for the device -- only half, the other half must be in storage in Jack's safe with other devices that were never to be touched, but this half of the ghost machine was lying out in plain sight on Jack's desk. The desk he'd been told to organize.
With steady hands displaying a false calm, Ianto reached for the device. He knew how the device worked, how using half sent one into the past and connecting with heightened emotion. Despite his misgivings he pressed the machine; its hum rose in pitch, lurching him sideways as he spun back in time. Ianto squeezed his eyes shut; dreading what he would see when he opened them. Torchwood was associated with far too many emotions.
Myfanwy screeched above the shouts. Above his voice shouting. Ianto knew when he was even before he opened his eyes. Although desperate to tear himself away from reliving the past, he didn't know but not knowing how to stop the device once it was activated. He wasn't facing the lift, though, blocked from his sight. Instead, his eyes were on Jack, standing motionless in the office door, two hands on the device and eyes locked on the lift. On Ianto.
I understand, now. Wish I didn't. My own ghosts are enough to haunt my sleep without me becoming my own nightmare.
Jack knew.
God, Jack knew.
Ianto struggled with the device, willing it to turn itself off. He didn't want to watch, he didn't want to see how much Jack had seen, what he had felt, because Ianto could feel Jack and the remorse pouring off him, feel the struggle with what was right for the world and and the knowledge of Ianto's devastation at the shattering of his own. Jack felt human and lost and something indecipherable that Ianto didn't wish to understand -- a combination of age and time and loneliness, a loss so great it ripped through Ianto's defenses, an emptiness so frightening it ate at Ianto's soul. And Ianto knew that, more than anything, he wanted to keep the confidence in his boss. He wanted to know that when Jack made a decision, it was the correct one. He never wanted to feel Jack's doubt or hesitation. Or his sorrow.
He was no empath. Ianto was not meant to have this knowledge of others. Especially not of Jack.
His vision shifted again, air and time blurring before clarity returned. Ianto quickly dropped the device on Jack's desk, breathing heavily in an attempt to restore some measure of control.
Jack understood.
Quickly, his hands trembling, Ianto opened Jack's safe, removing the lock box that housed the other half of the device. The seal was broken; Jack hadn't even bothered to lock up the other half. He had known Ianto would have the other half to replace back in the safe. No sense repeating work.
Jack had set up Ianto.
Ianto resealed the box, sliding it into place between Suzie's glove and dagger and an artifact from Arietis, a tiny, innocuous blue-tinged device containing explosive powers far greater than anything possessed on Earth. Another thing best kept from the hands of Ms. White. Or anyone, for that matter.
Grabbing Jean-Luc's file, Ianto didn't bother restoring order to Jack's office. He knew that wasn't actually what Jack had requested. And Jack still didn't have a stapler. Pausing before he left, Ianto bent to pick up another rose petal -- this one on the floor, exactly where Jack had stood in the vision from the ghost machine.
They were still watching, though at this point, Ianto wasn't exactly sure who.
***
An alarm sounded in the Hub -- not Tosh's rift alarm, but an alert for the emergency broadband, drawing Ianto's attention from the files he was sorting through. Owen had made a mess of them again, though Ianto could understand being unnerved by the Faeries. They were an unnerving lot. Still, it seemed as though Owen took pride in intentionally creating multicolored chaos within Ianto's carefully schemed system. How the man had made it through medical school was beyond Ianto's comprehension.
Though at university one typically didn't have to deal with Faeries.
Toshiko relayed the information to Jack while Ianto listened with half an ear. Gwen and Owen had left the Hub already; Gwen was still not speaking with Jack. He'd not realized until yesterday how much the team blamed Jack for making tough decisions; even Ianto had been guilty of it when it came to Lisa. Not that he entirely blamed Jack, not now. In fact, his decisions were correct. But Ianto couldn't shake the knowledge of Jack's self-recrimination and doubt, nor the image of the man, tears staining his face, watching and feeling as Ianto watched Myfanwy in horror, with no one even attempting to turn him away. Jack was fallible; he was human. Ianto hadn't wanted to know that. And he didn't want to know where else Jack had gone with the device. Given that it was Jack, he probably went to each location where Ianto and he had had an altercation, which meant he knew Ianto far more intimately than Ianto was comfortable with. Which was probably why Jack had left the device out for Ianto to find. It was an intrusion on a moment when the remains of Torchwood London had fallen.
It was an apology as two private people learned far more about the other, extending beyond the boundaries of casual shags and coffee.
"-place called Lana's."
Ianto's ears perked at the name of Lana's club, now curious about the alert and wishing he'd paid more attention to their conversation. As he listened, his stomach sunk to his feet, weighing him down until he couldn't move if he tried.
"Explosion...fire...doesn't appear alien-related."
Jack was standing over Toshiko's shoulder, but glanced up to search for Ianto. Ianto wasn't certain if Jack had meant to keep the information from him or had hoped Ianto overheard. Either way, Ianto knew, and there was no stopping him from leaving. The only question that remained was whether Torchwood would go with him. "Would you like me to bring around the car, sir? Rarely does anything happen in Cardiff that isn't Torchwood-related."
"Ianto's right. Tosh, I need you to find out what information you can about the business and what happened. Ianto, get the car. It's about time you got some field experience."
Ianto rushed away from the others, barely out of hearing distance before he opened his mobile, talking as he ran. "Do you know anything?"
"Course I do. What topic?"
"There's been an explosion at Lana's. What the fuck is going on?" Ianto threw himself into the driver's seat, the starting engine threatening briefly to drown out Jean-Luc's voice. There was moment's silence on the other end of the line, giving Ianto the chance to pull around for Jack, his fingers tapping impatiently on the wheel.
"Merde. I can't sense her. Where are you?"
"I'm on my way. Jean-Luc..." Ianto heard the passenger door open, didn't look to see who it was; he knew it was Jack. He heard the door close and glanced over, making sure Jack was fully in the SUV before speeding away from the Hub, glad Jack hadn't argued with him about who drove. Not that Ianto would get there any faster than Jack would have, but it at least gave him a feeling that he was doing something to help, moving towards something even if he was doing nothing.
"She's not dead."
"Neither was Lisa and that ended well."
"Ianto-"
He didn't wait to hear what Jean-Luc had to say, just snapped his phone shut and threw it into the console between the front seats. With both hands on the steering wheel, Ianto could take corners sharper, drive faster, scowling at the night like it was personally responsible.
Perhaps it was.
"Lana's one of them. Like Jean-Luc. And the little girl who healed you."
It wasn't a question, and Ianto couldn't think of how to answer Jack without speaking of Avalon, without blurting out his fear for Lana, his confusion, his concern for Jean-Luc and the rest of them. So he remained silent, taking another sharp corner at far too great a speed. He could already see a glow in the night sky, forcing the skyline into shadowed relief. It was haunting, and Ianto thought it vaguely familiar, only a different silhouette.
Kind of reminded him of looking over his shoulder as he fled Torchwood One.
Ianto nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a touch on his thigh. The light touch turned into a comforting squeeze, reassuring him as they neared Lana's. This was the second time since his return that Jack had caught him off guard like this. The first time Ianto had to physically shake himself from his stare at Jack's hand on his shoulder. That had been before the faeries, before Jack had fallen into a dark mood with a glass of whisky, but it had emboldened Ianto enough to casually ask if everything was okay. When Jack had replied that he had loved before, Ianto had joined him for a drink; they hadn't spoken a single word, but the drink had been good.
He had found another rose petal in his glass the following morning.
Ianto looked quickly at Jack and, despite the situation, returned his cautious smile. The hand remained on his thigh until they arrived at what had been Lana's, using Torchwood credentials to bully their way in. A great burning hulk of a building remained where the club had once stood proudly, planks of wood and glass littering the street. The force of the explosion had turned the windows into jagged, craggle-toothed smiles, the frames bent outward or gone completely. And behind the eyes into the club, the fires raged.
Ianto didn't waste any time getting out of the vehicle, first calling for Lana, then searching for someone in charge among all the emergency personnel surrounding the building when his calls went unanswered. Though he questioned as many as he could stop long enough to question, none had seen a victim matching Lana's description. In fact, there seemed to be relatively few victims at all. Jack's face matched Ianto's concern; it was a Thursday night and the place should have been packed with people. Even if Jack wasn't a regular at Lana's, he had seen enough to know that a handful of people did not account for even a quarter of the club goers.
They wandered from gurney to gurney, searching for anyone with answers as they awaited transport to Cardiff General. But they all were too badly injured for questioning; some probably would never wake again. Ianto felt himself despairing more and more what had happened to Lana; he remembered what Jean-Luc had said about the kid from Norway. But he had been Guardian protected. Lana had graduated. She was off on her own and no longer connected with Avalon. But her place still burned, and she was missing.
"I know you."
The voice was quiet, rasping, the sounds of burnt lung tissue from inhaling heated smoke and ash. Ianto stopped, looking first at the blackened hand clutching his, swallowing once to contain his reaction to one of the fire's victims. How the man was still conscious (or alive), Ianto wasn't sure. His burns were severe, flesh black and bleeding. A few injuries looked to be related to falling debris; a quick glance at the medic confirmed Ianto's fears for his survival. Jack stopped as well, standing beside Ianto and the gurney as the medic signalled the investigators that a survivor was conscious.
"Caleb." Ianto spoke with affection, touching the man's cheek, one of the few areas not ravaged by fire. Caleb Porter, Grade 4 Clairvoyant. He was much younger than Ianto, graduating from Avalon just last year. Extremely shy and withdrawn, but with amazing singing voice -- a strong tenor. Caleb loved musicals; he had wanted to audition for Wicked once he had received all his training. God, he was just a kid. What was he doing at Lana's?
"They took 'em all."
"Who took them?" Ianto leaned forward, trying to hear around the sounds of the fire and sirens and the oxygen mask partially covering Caleb's face. "Who did this, Caleb?"
For a moment, Caleb didn't respond, simply staring at Ianto with wide green eyes crying blood-red, his long brown curls gone with the heat and flame. His lips moved a few times, but no sound emerged. Then his body stiffened and the green eyes become unnaturally bright. Ianto jerked his hand away from Caleb's cheek. Touching a clairvoyant was forbidden; everyone who had ever stepped foot into Avalon was aware of what a violation it was. Prescience was not just smoke and crystal balls, random spontaneous moments of prophecy. Rather, it required intense focus on a subject, on a time, on a place. It wasn't random, and touching an individual during their focus could skew the prophecy, altering it to the pattern of the one who had interrupted. But Caleb's hand grasped Ianto's wrist, pulling himself up from the bed despite his injuries. A dark, rich voice poured from his lips seemingly unhindered by the superheated air, sounding nothing like the bright voice Ianto knew he otherwise possessed.
"Help us!"
Caleb collapsed backwards, releasing Ianto as the portable monitors wailed in alarm. Medics pushed Ianto out of the way; only then did Ianto notice Jack's hand on his back, stabilizing him. The walls of Lana's crashed behind them, shooting cinder and sparks into the air as hot smoke billowed out and the flames fed upon themselves. It was difficult to breathe through the smoke and heat, but Ianto couldn't move, stunned into silence as he watched the medics swarm on Caleb. He'd heard those sounds before; he'd smelled that smell.
And then it began to rain.
Tilting his face into the rain for just a moment, Ianto breathed the cool, pure air as the fire hissed and sizzled behind him. Finally he moved, taking a deep breath to center himself. He felt nothing but anger for those who had taken Lana and the others, leaving the victims of the blaze to die. But there was nothing more he could accomplish at the scene. He had to phone Jean-Luc and tell him of the news and what Caleb had said...and of Caleb. "Sir, we might as well go back to the Hub."
Jack had spoken only a few words the entire time, and he didn't say more now, but their earlier awkwardness had melted away into a familiar understanding. There were no questions, no interrogations as to how Ianto knew Caleb or what had just happened. He didn't remove his hand from Ianto's back either. And in the rain, standing amidst the burning club and the ghosts of the missing, Ianto could pretend that was all that mattered.
He had been forgiven, if at an extremely high cost.
***
Ianto glanced at his mobile vibrating with a hum on top of the Information Desk. He recognized the number, momentarily taken aback that she would ring during the day when he was at work. Although, it was Saturday. Ianto supposed that some people actually took days off.
With a quick look around, certain that he was still as alone as he had been, Ianto picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Mr. Jones, have I failed to clearly communicate the terms of your transfer to Cardiff?"
Ah, his reports. He'd failed to submit the last two. One had been due while he was recuperating at his flat. The latest he'd neglected due to lack of anything interesting, outside of regaining his place within Torchwood Three and matters concerning Avalon. One weevil sighting that week. It was nothing to write home about.
Or to fill a report.
"No, you have not." Mindful of the cameras, audio or not, Ianto carefully chose his words for fear of someone lip-reading the video. "I believe meat is important and without meat, you'll have a tasteless pie."
"Don't get coy with me. I have half a mind to reassign you to London."
The door to the Information Center opened and two elderly women entered. He'd have to speak with them in a moment, but he couldn't exactly tell Ms. White to bugger off. "I'm not sure where you got your recipe, but mine does not require watercress. Far too peppery for the dish. Wouldn't complement the other ingredients at all. Best leave it alone for now."
"Ianto Jones, don't take that tone of voice with me."
And suddenly, Ianto felt twelve again. He waved at the two women with an apologetic smile, not bothering to cover the receiver on the mobile, "I'm sorry ladies, I'll be with you in a moment. I've got someone on the phone who's trying to convince me that I need to change how I make my shepherds pie."
The women nodded with wisdom garnered from eighty-odd years experience each; Ianto assumed he'd be receiving tips from them as well.
"I trust you're finding some amusement in our conversation."
"Absolutely not." Ianto pointed to a brochure about a castle tour with accommodations perfect for the two women browsing the Information Center. "I can't give you my recipe; there's nothing to write down."
"Ianto...I assume you've heard about Caleb? And Lana and the others?"
This made Ianto pause, missing one of the women's questions as to garden walks. "I was there."
There was silence, heavy and poignant as Ianto heard his mother's quiet breathing on the other end. "Be careful, son."
The line went dead, and Ianto was left staring at his phone in confusion. He had nothing to do with Avalon. There was no danger to him -- it was Avalon and those it protected that were of concern.
And Ms. White never called Ianto her son.
The two women saw that Ianto's conversation was finished and hurried over, each offering their recipe for shepherds pie.
***
Ianto had waited, as Jack had recommended, until he was ready to revisit the past before venturing down into the lowest level where he had once hid his betrayal. He thought he was ready -- had even made it to the doors without incident -- but now that the doors were in front of him, he felt his courage slowly taper until he could do no more than stand against the opposite wall and stare, hands in his trouser pockets.
Maybe he wasn't ready to take on this particular demon.
His mother hadn't phoned again and Jean-Luc had only phoned once since Lana went missing. Caleb had died on the way to the Cardiff General; his body had been too severely damaged for Rani to heal, even if she'd had the chance. From what Jean-Luc had said, Avalon was withdrawing in on itself, isolating to protect the students and those who sought safety within its walls. Ianto wished he could help, but Jean-Luc and the others were far more capable of defending Avalon than he. He would only get in the way and be one more person to protect.
So he stayed in Cardiff, at Torchwood, worrying about the trivial and the day-to-day.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor and Ianto turned his head just enough to see who was coming to interrupt this moment of cowardice.
'Oi! Ianto. Thought I saw you come down here."
Ianto believed he would have preferred a Dalek. "Owen."
Owen paused in front of Ianto, looking back and forth from the door to Ianto like the additional movements might help him more quickly calculate the situation. Without hesitation, Owen turned from Ianto and threw open the doors.
Apparently he had correctly added up the details.
"Jack disassembled the unit. Don't know what he did with the parts and don't bloody care so long as it's rubbish that will never be repaired. He had no part in the autopsies, though. Never even touched them. Can't say how long it took me to get the bodies to the vault by myself."
Ianto was moderately surprised that Owen had taken the time and the consideration. His gaze remained on the empty room, looking sterile and bare in the dim lighting. There was nothing left in the room, not a trace. Not even the floor held a spot, despite Ianto's memories insisting that the blood had permanently stained the stone.
"Amberlynn Crone and Mitch Simms. Went to university with them, then did our surgical training, then all three of us were recruited by Torchwood. I got this draw, they got London."
Ianto knew how this story ended. They weren't among the survivors.
"I worked on the cleanup afterwards. I saw what had happened. I guess I figured that since you'd survived, you just gave up on the lot of 'em and ran. Figured you didn't try to save them." Owen scanned the empty room, and Ianto knew he was picturing the still functioning conversion unit that had filled the room. "Then I saw this, and I knew you wouldn't have stopped long as there was anything still left to save."
Speechless, Ianto stared at Owen, standing guard with his hands in his pockets and scrutinizing Ianto with a clinical eye. He was looking for cracks, Ianto knew, looking for a seam signalling that Ianto wasn't as prepared as he thought he was to enter the room. Ianto honestly didn't think Owen would allow him to enter if he thought otherwise. For a man with absolutely no observable interpersonal skills, Owen could be remarkably perceptive. That was scary enough, but when the earlier assertions were added, this was a picture of Owen that Ianto would never have believed possible.
With a nod to Owen, in thanks or respect or whatever the nod might indicate (with Owen it was too difficult to determine), Ianto stepped away from the bracing wall. He stopped before he entered the room, however, turning back to Owen who was still watching him. He probably had a dose of sedative in his pocket for all Ianto knew. But he was curious; he had to know.
"Why?" At Owen's puzzled look, Ianto clarified. "Why all this. Why did you help?"
Owen shrugged, shifting on his feet until he decided on an answer. "I owed you." And then he promptly turned and retreated back down the hallway, leaving Ianto alone with the room.
***
Cardiff was stunning from the top of the Wales Millennium Centre, Ianto decided after standing there for an hour, braced against the wind. It was cool, chilly almost, but he could still feel the heat from the remaining sunlight reflecting off the steel plates. Soon his suit jacket, the only spare articles of clothing he'd kept at the Hub, would not lend enough warmth and he would be forced to leave the rooftop.
His face hurt, his neck hurt, his head hurt ... pretty much his entire body hurt. He felt like he'd just lost a rugby match to opponents carrying mallets. Owen had ordered him to go home with strict instructions to watch for symptoms of a concussion or infection, but Ianto hadn't listened. He'd finished his paperwork, carefully writing up the details of the team's encounter with Brecon Beacons' cannibals, although it was an incident he'd much sooner forget. If there was any time he needed Lana's it was now, but since that was no longer an option, and he hadn't the heart to find a new club, he figured he'd try Jack's escape.
Ianto heard Jack before he saw him. His shoes softly clicked on the metal plates until Jack stood beside him, his grey coat billowing in the wind as though even the wind was Jack's mistress. Ianto smiled as he felt the wool whip and curl behind him, clipping the back of his legs on occasion as the wind spun. The wool coat brought up memories tinged with sadness, and Ianto let them flow through him as quickly as they'd come.
No sense dwelling. Jean-Luc had promised to find her. Ianto didn't doubt that he would.
Ianto broke the silence first. They could have stood for hours shoulder to shoulder with not a word spoken between them, but he felt the need to explain his encroachment into Jack's territory. "It worked for you, so I thought I'd try."
Jack's laughter was swallowed by the wind, muffled and muted before it reached Ianto's ears. "Is it working?"
He looked out over the Bay, preferring the vast waters to the sights of the city proper, and carefully considered the question. With such a view of the world, Ianto felt small, insignificant. Just a spec atop a shiny Armadillo. It wasn't exactly reassuring. At the same time, he was looking out over a city and a world he helped to protect. That was comforting. When balanced, combined with the irrational fear of losing his footing and slipping off the edge of the building to fall to his death (after emitting some rather humiliating screams), Ianto had his answer. "Not really."
Quiet settled between them again as night cast its first shadow over the city. Watercolor layers blanketed the Bay, slowly darkening the water as the sun surrendered its spot in the heavens to the moon. It was peaceful, if one didn't consider the long drop to the ground should one slip and tumble.
Jack broke the silence at last. "I come up here to remind myself that there's a world outside Torchwood. There's an entire population with no clue about the threats Earth faces -- no concept of space-time, or alien races, or tech so foreign it boggles the mind." Despite the roar of the wind, Ianto heard the resolve in his voice. "It reminds me that it's my duty to make sure they're safe."
Jack's answer fit Ianto's perception of him. He wondered whether he would ever be able to apply the same universal concern to his own sense of duty. He knew there was a bigger picture out there, but he struggled to see beyond his immediate concerns. Perhaps it would come with age, or perhaps, like Ianto favored, it was just another unknown in the vast mystery of Captain Jack Harkness.
"Is it working?" Ianto quoted back, smiling at the sound of Jack's surprised laughter.
"The 21st century is when it all changes, Ianto Jones. And we've got to be ready."
Ianto had heard that line before, and often wondered what Jack meant. It also begged the question of why he said it and how he knew. For all Ianto knew of Jack, he didn't believe Jack to be one who dabbled in the art of fortune telling. Feeling brazen, whether from the height or the head wound Ianto wasn't sure, but he didn't hesitate in asking the first question which came to mind. "Ready for what?"
Silence stretched, longer than before and far more uncomfortable. Even the wind seemed to note the change, dropping the swirls so Jack's coat no longer flowed in the breeze. Ianto hadn't considered that the question would be that difficult to answer; a simple "I'm not telling" would work just as well as a proper answer.
"I don't remember.
Turning in surprise, Ianto tried to establish whether his boss was being deliberately difficult or if he was serious. From the look on his face, Ianto guessed that Jack was being entirely serious. "That's unfortunate," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "It would've helped me plan my holidays."
"Planning to stay away?"
"No, planning on being here. Who else would make coffee and order takeaway for you helpless lot?" Jack's answering grin was worth the self-deprecation, though Ianto was fairly certain Jack didn't think of him merely as the teaboy. Ianto hoped, at any rate. With the conversation taking a lighter turn, Ianto broached the subject that had driven him up to the Millennium Centre's rooftop. "Sir, if you don't mind, I would like to be removed from field duty."
Jack's eyes narrowed, taking in Ianto's injuries, but those weren't the cause. Ianto could handle injury. That wasn't the point in question. It was what he had seen. "I panicked today. Tosh ... Tosh was brilliant. Ready and eager for the action. Walking through the village with my gun drawn ... all I could see was London. And then the plastic sheeting ... you don't want me out there, sir. I don't get any thrill from the danger, and I'm a threat to the team. I'm best serving the coffee."
"Ianto, you saved Tosh's life. Panicked or not, you kept your wits and bought enough time for rescue at the risk of your life." He paused, then added slowly, "It's your choice, but given the option, I'd like to have you out there with us when we need you."
"But-"
"That doesn't mean I want you coming back looking like you've met the wrong end of a Draconian stick fight. Or that I want you to get a thrill from the danger. You know this isn't a game. I need that a lot more than I need thrill. You've seen just how far mankind can fall. You understand."
Taking a moment to consider Jack's words before he protested too vehemently, Ianto crossed his arms over his chest. The sun had finally sunk below the horizon and the air was taking on night's chill -- or at least that was his excuse for such a defensive measure. He had certainly seen his fair share in life, though others had seen worse or similar. To say he understood was true to an extent, but the knowledge wasn't a comfort. It simply meant that Torchwood had warped him more than the others. "I suppose."
"How long have you been having flashbacks?"
He tried to remember a time when he hadn't. Ianto wouldn't categorically define them as flashbacks, though some moments in the village had been very difficult to distinguish from London. Sometimes he saw Torchwood Tower in the flickers of a fire. Once it had been a woman's scream on the telly. But they were hardly something he was concerned about, and they had been growing fewer with time. Truth be told, Lisa's death had helped him separate from that life and the violence of those memories. But he would never admit that, not to anyone. "Since the Battle," Ianto said with a shrug, refusing to maintain eye contact for even that small admission.
"Didn't they set you up with one of the Torchwood counselors?"
Ianto snorted, an inelegant and unrefined sound but he couldn't stop himself. "None survived from that department, sir."
Jack snickered, apparently following Ianto's line of thought. "Who'd they try to reason with? The Daleks or the Cybermen?"
"As I understand it, the Cybermen."
Dark humor filled Jack's laughter, pulling Ianto into it without any real protest. It felt unnatural, laughter did, especially when his nephews weren't the source. But it felt good, standing and laughing so high above the ground that the wind whipped over his skin, chasing away any lingering demons and sorrow.
It did not go unnoticed. "That's the first time I've heard you laugh."
"Sorry, sir. It's the head injury to blame. It won't happen again."
"That's a tragedy. Laughter looks nearly as good on you as your suit."
"Careful, sir, that's harassment." Ianto rolled his eyes at Jack's comments, but he smiled all the same, enjoying a return to their typical banter. He could feel Jack gearing up for another comment, the air growing thick with both hesitation and anticipation. Hopefully it wasn't anything about the Battle. Or Lisa. Or Lana. Or the Brecon Beacons. He'd already discussed far more than he usually discussed with anyone and the state of his mental health was something he certainly did not enjoy discussing.
"You lied today."
"I'm sorry?"
"You lied about your last kiss."
"As I recall, sir..." Ianto tugged at the elbow of his suit jacket, casting a sideways glance at Jack. They'd yet to discuss the moment, a moment Ianto only remembered because of Jean-Luc. He'd been too disoriented, too confused when it had occurred to properly analyze it. "You're the one who evaded the question. I didn't lie. When you kissed me, I believe I was dead."
"The lengths I had to go to to finally kiss you. How much do you remember?"
"Enough to know your tongue was involved. Really, sir, that was a bit inappropriate."
"Jack."
"Sorry?" Ianto looked up to find Jack stepping closer, breaking the lines of personal space to as he tugged Ianto by his jacket lapel. Ianto's feet felt like stone, pitching him forward until there was little space between them for the wind to howl through.
"I'm going to kiss you now, while you're alive, and I'd prefer it if you'd call me Jack."
"Oh," was the most intelligent response Ianto could gather as Jack's hand slipped behind his neck. Ianto was pulled closer until he could feel Jack's breath ghosting his lips. He'd expected immediate contact and was surprised when there was nothing, just the chilled wind warmed slightly by Jack's steady exhale. Ianto opened his eyes, unsure when he'd closed them, but he opened them to see the curve of Jack's lips, the wide smile. Confused, Ianto raised his eyes to focus on Jack's, difficult as it was with his head aching, leaning away slightly when his eyes refused to focus properly at the close distance. "Jack?"
That had been the answer to whatever question Jack had not asked. Their lips met with a gentleness Ianto had not expected, gracing over with a light pressure to sample, taste what was to come. Jack's lips were soft, softer than Ianto remembered in his fleeting memory. It was teasing, it was breathtaking. He couldn't remember the last time he'd kissed. Years, it felt like. Before the Battle. The wind's fingers wrapped Jack's coat around Ianto, refusing to let him slip back into the past. At the same time Jack ran a careful hand over Ianto's jawline, down his throat, tracing the line where the blade had pressed too hard as if he was afraid Ianto would break at a stronger touch. Annoyed with the assumption, Ianto pulled Jack flush against his body, ignoring the twinge of protest from his sore ribs that maybe supported Jack's assumption.
But Ianto wouldn't break. A kiss wouldn't break him. After Lisa, it might have. It had felt like betrayal then, too intimate for his casual encounters. It might still be too intimate, might still be casual, but it wouldn't break him. He made that point emphatically, cradling Jack's face in his steady hands and deepening the kiss. He felt the play of Jack's jaw as Ianto mapped and tasted, giving as Ianto pushed, pushing when Ianto lightened. Ianto's fingers dipped and felt Jack's pulse race. A moan was tickled from his throat when their hips shifted and Ianto's cock brushed over Jack's. If he wasn't extremely careful, Ianto knew this wouldn't last long, but he couldn't stop the desire to be touched once the sensations began. He was hyper-aware of physical contact -- he could feel every point where Jack's body touched his. The tops of their thighs ... a bit of knee ... hips slowly grinding against the other ... stomach, chest ... a tiny point on Ianto's elbow where it rested on top of Jack's arm ... their lips. God, he could come just from the kissing...
Jack seemed to sense this as well, pushing away enough to shrug his heavy coat from his shoulders and throw it on the rooftop. Ianto wanted to comment on his gentlemen-like behavior, but the thought slipped his mind as Jack toppled him (carefully) to the coat, both of them ending up in a heap of limbs and clothing. Thinking was abandoned entirely in their mad scramble, their hands distracted and fumbling for buckles and zippers, Ianto forgetting his bruises as his lips sought Jack's. It seemed to take far longer than it should for Ianto to manage Jack's zipper and reach his hand into that warmth inside. Jack's erection rose up to meet his hand, as if buoyed from the lesser gravity at this height, though Ianto confirmed its mass as his fingers stretched around its width. Jack groaned, a husky sound that was whipped away on the wind so quickly that only the vibrations against Ianto's jaw convinced him it was there. Jack's hands pushed down his trousers, exposing him to air so cold Ianto feared he would shrivel away, but his surprised gasp just made Jack snicker against his skin. He shouldn't have been worried; Jack's hand burned with a heat that seemed to reach inside Ianto, chasing away the chill he'd felt ever since leaving Brecon Beacons. Friction warmed him even more, his hand meeting Jack's rhythm, then pushing it faster, then slowing without warning.
When his hand next slowed, Jack's hips thrust so hard into Ianto's hand that they were nearly propelled from their rooftop perch. Without losing his hold on Ianto, Jack's long fingers slipped to his own shaft and squeezed them together. Ianto could almost hear the click as their erections aligned, smooth as the cartridge in the chamber of a gun. Locked and loaded. He wrapped his hand around Jack's and moved with him. Faster and faster, their fingers interlaced, the wind spurring them on, and every thought forgotten save the need for release, Ianto let loose a very human-sounding cry as jets of pearly cum pulsed across his hand.
Jack came a second later, pressing his nose so fiercely against Ianto's throat that the younger man could hardly breathe. Ianto completely forgot about the cold air as he lay gasping, Jack still smothering him. He was vaguely aware that neither of their shirts were suitable for public viewing anymore. In the dim recesses of his mind he also remembered that they were on the rooftop of a very public building. And when Jack slid off him, Ianto was acutely aware of the chill where his body had been, and wondered if he should make a move to follow his boss down. But at the moment, he couldn't be bothered. He looked up at the stars, at the galaxies above, full of their alien races and tech that boggled the mind, and then let his eyes drift shut...
They opened abruptly when Ianto felt the brush of wool tickle his chin. He looked up to see Jack carefully tucking his coat around him to ward off the cold. Jack smiled, looking surprised to see him awake. "Is it working now?"
Ianto nodded, stretching lazily within Jack's coat. "Yes, sir ... Jack. I think it is."
Next Chapter