Deep Blue-Black (S1: Chap 8/8, SoI 15), Jack/Ianto
Chapter Title: Deep Blue-Black (S1: Chap 8/8, SoI 15)
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: TW S1
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien, fivealive
Summary: How an employer cares for his employees...
A/N: This is it for Series 1 folks! Next week: my Series 2, blatantly disregarding any spoilers from TW S2 or DW S3.
For Shades of Ianto series information, please see Prologue, Chapter 1
Previous Chapters:
Prologue: Chapters 1-7 (Complete)
S1: Chap 1
S1: Chap 2
S1: Chap 3
S1: Chap 4
S1: Chap 5
S1: Chap 6
S1: Chap 7
Ianto sat on the sturdy metal desk in Jack's bedroom (could one call it a bedroom if the occupant never slept?), waiting patiently for Jack. He was late, but Ianto wouldn't hold that against him, not this night. He checked the stopwatch, the face barely visible in the shadowed light -- ten minutes had been ten minutes ago and his arse was beginning to feel cold as the steel leeched his body's heat through the thin material of his trousers. It'd be far more comfortable to sit on the narrow bed, but that was not the direction Ianto wanted the night to go. Oh, he had sex in mind -- Ianto smirked at the thought -- but he wished to ensure it went as he had planned. If he sat on the bed, well, that would simply give Jack the wrong impression.
Besides, there was impact to consider. If nothing else, Ianto knew how to manipulate any situation.
Or at least he was learning. The past week's hunt for Torchwood Four had proven fruitless at best, depressingly void of any seeming existence at worst. The others apparently had similar thoughts and were not shy in voicing their opinions (Owen) about the lack of even an employee fingerprint or record save for what was in Ianto's head with that "photography mind" (Gwen) and venting their frustration about lack of any recorded image or biological trace (Tosh). Tosh was as eager to help as Jack, however, never giving voice to the complaints that had to be lurking in her head. Ianto was certain she suspected something, some connection between his "migraine" and Ms. White's death and the search for Torchwood Four, but he bore the curiosity and searching looks with a kind smile and a "more tea, Tosh?" for her efforts. Owen and Gwen were entirely different matters, but a few conference calls with "Mr. Black," a trip to Oxford to investigate the former site, and one wild goose chase for the pair was enough to keep them occupied. A week of intense scrutiny and investigation, and still no closer to answers than they had been before.
And then Suzie returned.
Ianto honestly wouldn't have believed her capable of such a scheme if he hadn't seen it for himself. Not that she couldn't plan it, but that she would be reduced to such horrific, twisted measures to what, seek revenge? It was irrational and illogical. She courted death, seducing it and fucking it against the wall in hopes of demonstrating who the master really was. But death wasn't a plaything, it wasn't a toy, and it most certainly couldn't be fooled (except in the case of Jack, but Ianto wasn't quite sure how that bargain had been struck, much less the terms). It might have played along with Suzie's plan, but it had gained another victim in the process. Two for the price of one. But had she really thought she could cheat death forever?
He supposed she had. Her mind had been absolutely warped by the glove until nothing remained of the Suzie Ianto had known but a shell, hollow and single-minded. And Gwen had used it. Multiple times. Had shown an uncanny proficiency with it, and he didn't believe the compassion shite someone had mentioned. Compassion wouldn't create the monster which had consumed Suzie. Unless it actually fed upon compassion, and then maybe Gwen could do with a little less.
At any rate, Ianto would keep a mindful eye on her. With the glove's destruction, so too might have been destroyed whatever corrupted powers it had possessed. But one couldn't be certain.
Ianto heard footsteps near the hatch leading to Jack's room and smiled as he discarded any thoughts of Suzie, death, or Gwen. Jack had made the hard decision, again, and Ianto knew that one person dwelling on actions in the tiny quarters would be enough to strangle, much less two. He leaned his elbows on his knees, legs spread for casual comfort and for effect, knowing he was partially hidden in the shadows -- he'd had time to select his place while he waited.
Jack scaled the ladder quickly, spinning towards the bed before he'd even set foot on the floor.
So predictable.
As was his surprise when he found it empty. "Ianto?"
Ianto wiped the smirk from his face, settling for what he hoped was confident intensity. He'd practiced in the loo's mirror after he'd stopped in the Archives, but he couldn't move past "ridiculous" while he was self-critiquing. If Lana...no, he wasn't going to think about that. His despondence was not of importance in these quarters.
"Strip," Ianto requested, leaning forward until he broke a slim beam of light escaping through the hatch in the ceiling. Jack jerked around at the sound of Ianto's voice, nearly tripping himself to Ianto's amusement.
"Bossy? I like it." Jack grinned an artificial grin which spread from ear to ear, failing to pass any semblance to the true smiles Ianto knew he possessed. Jack was efficient, not wasting any time in removing all clothing before standing in front of Ianto, hands on his hips and his cock already standing proud. A quick and mindless fuck, then. Possibly two, given Jack's youthful recovery.
Ianto had nothing of the sort in mind. Well, except for maybe the "two."
He didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow and nodded at the bed. Jack nearly leaped for it in his haste, throwing himself with such force to the bed he bounced. So eager, so playful, but to Ianto it just felt wrong, wrong, wrong. He'd heard it in Jack's voice in the morgue, he'd seen it in Jack's expression at the not-so-veiled innuendo. This...this was wrong. The man before had been wrecked, filled with regret for his duty and grief for the loss, but confused by the relief for the one still alive. Ianto understood that; he felt the same, just perhaps in a lesser sense. Jack had killed one of their own. Ianto didn't think he could do that, not even if it were Owen.
Or maybe he could, but that was something to think about at a later time. Tosh. He definitely couldn't do what Jack had done -- Ianto couldn't kill Tosh, not even if she were from beyond the grave.
Ianto knew. He hadn't been able to do it for Lisa.
This almost perky Jack...it was as disturbing as realizing Suzie had fooled them all, using death as escape and release. Ianto didn't like it any better.
He eased off the desk, knowing Jack was watching with both impatience and barely contained restraint. If the wait grew too long, Ianto knew he would find himself in Jack's place on the mattress, and probably a ruined suit from Jack's frantic disregard for sake of sex and escape. Ianto caught one of Jack's hands as he approached, snatching it out of the air as Jack reached to pull Ianto on top of him by a hip. As he straddled Jack's hips, the other hand tried to remove the full suit Ianto still wore. Ianto fought off that hand as well. The fake-happy smile on Jack's face disappeared into a scowl when he saw things weren't playing out as he wanted. It was a change of expression Ianto rather welcomed. The unnatural pep was just wrong
Ianto knew he didn't have much time, Jack's skills at hand-to-hand were far superior to his, but he knew he was working with surprise and the unexpected. He managed to get Jack's hands above his head (with a curse from Jack) and let go of one arm only long enough to jab at the ulna nerve he knew ran right along Jack's elbow (if Jack was from a distant enough time, perhaps evolution had worked the funny bone right out of the human system).
Jack's responding roar -- not in pain Ianto knew as the sharp poke wouldn't do any damage, but in what Ianto was fairly certain was shocked outrage -- gave him enough time to secure the ends of the band tucked beneath the pillow. Earlier he had looped it twice around the bar of the bed frame; now he pressed the sensor-tipped ends to Jack's wrists. He spoke the alien words, a deceptively light, airy sound, just as he felt Jack's muscles coil beneath him, distraction and surprise banished and fight unleashed. But the words had been spoken and a soft blue light filled the room (a blue the exact shade of Jack's eyes, he noted). Ianto could feel the bands thicken under his hand and circle Jack's wrists.
Handcuffs from the Ghost of Jupiter, a nonviolent race who had produced the most remarkable materials. The band held limited elastic properties but was impenetrable by any tool Ianto had seen. It wouldn't damage a human's thin skin, which made it far superior to the metal handcuffs or the plastic ties used on Earth. And good for Jack, who was violently testing the limits of the band and shouting the release words in the alien language.
Of course, they voice locked on whomever triggered the locking mechanism until the counter was spoken or the individual died (how the creators had done that Ianto didn't know; he'd studied similar bands at Torchwood One and had never figured it out). Jack surely knew that, but Ianto couldn't fault him for trying. Ianto would have been displeased as well.
"You are fucking fired, Ianto Jones. Do you hear me? You're mom's not around anymore, she can't force me to do anything and I'll go public with the identity of Mr. Black. You are finished. I should have--"
While ignoring the words he knew Jack didn't mean, Ianto sat patiently on Jack's hips, arms crossed, riding the bucks and thrashing with caution. Jack was restrained, but that didn't mean he was indefensible. One carefully placed foot or thrust could launch Ianto from the bed. And possibly kill him. Ianto was hoping they could avoid that possible outcome.
Finally, Jack lay panting and spent on the pillow, though fury still lined his face. The blue light from the activated band washed the bed in a glow the color of a summer cloudless sky, casting an unusual pallor to Jack's skin and making his hair even darker but Ianto couldn't say that the effect was unpleasant. "Are you finished?"
Jack glared and didn't respond. Ianto couldn't blame him, though he would be willing to put his next paycheck on the fact that Jack was no longer thinking about Suzie.
No, this wasn't going to be just a mindless fuck. It had everything to do with the mind.
"You're not to blame for Suzie's death or downfall." Ianto watched as Jack pulled hard at the band holding his hands; it gave just a little with the pull to prevent harm but kept him secured.
"I know I'm not," Jack replied quickly and automatically, words sounding as false as the earlier cheer.
Ianto uncrossed his arms and placed his palms on the pillow near Jack's head, lowering himself with deliberate slowness (all the while mindful of Jack's teeth and the distance between them from any part of Ianto's body he preferred to keep). "I don't believe you," he whispered in Jack's ear, feeling the tremor that chased the words. "Tell me to stop."
He pushed back far enough to see Jack's face, watching his eyes, his lips, anything for a sign that this wasn't welcome. Ianto understood the earlier anger, had been prepared for it. But now, now it was up to Jack; Ianto would release him without question, though he rather hoped Jack wouldn't ask.
Jack didn't move, eyes never straying from Ianto's. If Ianto hadn't been carefully he watching, he might have missed the slight shake of Jack's head. If he didn't know better, Jack appeared...vulnerable. But like jealousy, Jack didn't do vulnerable. Ianto knew he was mistaken.
Just to make sure he had interpreted Jack's movement correctly, Ianto dropped his head, pressing his lips to Jack's in a gentle-yet-querying kiss. He wasn't about to force Jack into anything, and they'd never discussed their kinks and hang-ups. For all Ianto knew, Jack feared ropes or anything of the sort. But Jack's lips opened beneath his, allowing Ianto to deepen the kiss and Jack followed.
Message received: do not stop.
Ianto lingered just a moment more before he eased off Jack, to the man's confusion. He knew Jack was watching as he walked to the table where he'd sat with a frozen arse for nearly fifteen minutes. The stopwatch was still there, softly ticking away the seconds. He quickly reset it, holding it out for Jack to see. "There are lots of things you can do with a stopwatch," Ianto repeated, hitting the button to start the timer. "This is one of them."
With a grin, he placed the stopwatch in one of Jack's bound hands, positioning it so the stop button rested against his fingers. Ianto curled the fingers around the stopwatch, making sure it was cradled safely by Jack's hand. "Don't press too hard, you'll stop the time" Ianto directed, hands rested on Jack's closed one, "Thirty minutes, Jack. Thirty minutes must pass without you hitting stop, otherwise I leave and unlock you in the morning after I start the first pot of coffee, if I'm feeling generous."
Jack's head jerked in affirmation and Ianto stepped away, gesturing to Jack's hands as he voiced a warning. "And Jack? Don't drop it. That watch is special to me." Ianto could see the muscles tighten in Jack's arms, the fingers moving to test what movement he had while keeping a grip on the stopwatch.
Satisfied that Jack understood the rules, Ianto tugged at his tie, loosening it as he spoke. "I wanked in the shower that morning at my father's house, you know." He snaked the tie through his shirt collar, setting it carefully on the desk. His jacket and cuff links followed. "I'd kind of hoped you'd ignore what I'd said and join me. Or walk in on me. I would have enjoyed that. You, on the other hand," Ianto toed his shoes off as he unbuttoned his shirt, "I don't think you laid a hand on your cock in the shower, did you? You were hard as stone when we kissed against the SUV. How long did you last on the drive back to Cardiff until you pulled over?"
The answering voice was low and hoarse; Ianto was pleased to note that Jack had turned as much as the bonds would permit to watch and his arousal was quite evident. He had been a bit afraid that Jack's earlier anger would have killed any desire. Or, perhaps, the anger just fueled it.
"Around the first bend."
"Hmm...about half a kilometer then." Ianto placed his folded shirt next to his jacket and began working on his trousers, belt first, then button and zipper. He risked the next question, needing as much to hear for himself as to tease Jack. "And who were you picturing, Jack? Kylie?"
Jack's laughter sounded slightly choked, like he'd tried to catch himself, or perhaps it was the sight of Ianto wearing just his socks as he folded first his trousers and then his briefs that did it. Ianto would probably never know.
"You."
"Me?" Ianto bent to take off his socks, one hand bracing himself against the desk, his arse in full view thanks to the blue light chasing the shadows. "And how exactly were you picturing me?" Ianto had his socks off and was leaning against the desk, cursing the idea once that cold band of metal chilled a stripe of skin. But he ignored it, casually stroking his erection while Jack watched.
Watched and didn't answer. For a moment, Ianto thought he wasn't going to respond; his eyes seemed fixated on Ianto's fist slowly pumping up and down. He licked his lips, then finally spoke.
"Asleep." Ianto blinked though he covered any other surprised reaction to Jack's statement, delivered in a soft honesty that left him confused. "You were...asleep. And...you called my name. In your sleep."
Any attempt for Ianto to dissect that comment failed, unsure if it was what Jack had pictured or if it had really happened and Jack "responded" to it. Or, he could be lying to throw Ianto off. No matter the explanation, Ianto quit his show for fear of coming a bit prematurely and stalked towards the bed. He first checked the stopwatch in Jack's hand, smiling to see (and hear) that it was still ticking, a quiet tick that one had to be listening for to hear. He'd pay attention to it, listen for the cessation that was a signal for him to leave.
He rather hoped it didn't stop ticking any time soon.
Ianto walked the length of the bed, giving Jack's feet a shove as he knelt on the mattress. The blue light barely reached the foot of the bed, more a faint reminder of the source which haloed Jack's head in a white-blue brilliance. Quite the picture Jack painted, Jack dressed in blue, arms and neck straining as he tried to keep an eye on what Ianto was doing at his feet. Blue deepened to black over his bent legs, maintaining purchase on the mattress where his knees had laid, moved to accommodate Ianto. It was the feet that were Ianto's first focus. He again admired Jack's flexibility as Ianto picked up Jack's left foot and supporting the heel in his palm. "Ticklish?"
Jack shook his head "no" but Ianto continued on without pause. "There are twenty-six bones in each foot, thirty-three joints, one hundred ligaments and..." Ianto lightly ran a finger down the arch of Jack's foot, "more nerve endings in the sole of your foot per square centimeter than anywhere else in the human body." He didn't miss the toes curling in reaction to the touch. He held Jack's foot firmly in place, despite Jack's jerk to free it form his hand. "Sensitive. I wonder if it's just your feet, Jack, or if the rest of you reacts the same way." Slowly, Ianto licked a path, feather-light, up the arch of Jack's foot, then breathed air over it to chill the stripe.
The answering gasp was worth the initial fear of death or vengeance.
With the smirk of one whose victory was far greater than had been hoped, Ianto mapped Jack's leg with an ear constantly tuned to the ticking of the stopwatch. A nip and lick at the ankle merited a groan, a spot three centimeters up from the tender skin at the back of his knee nearly earned Ianto a bruised shoulder from Jack's involuntary kick, and the inside of his thigh was especially sensitive. Ianto sucked and licked until the skin was bruised. Jack's squirms were almost enough to draw Ianto further up Jack's body to take pity on him and turn the attention to his cock.
Ianto continued from the foot of Jack's other leg, maintaining a firm grip as his reactions grew less predictable, a bruise matching the one on his left formed after Ianto discovered a new range in Jack's vocals.
And still the stopwatch ticked.
Sliding over Jack's hips, Ianto sat with Jack's cock trapped beneath him. He waited patiently while Jack demanded and begged. Jack breathed heavily from the sheer volume of words. When he realized Ianto wasn't moving or listening, he quieted and, finally, stopped. The stopwatch ticking sounded loud in the blue-lit chamber. "Are you quite finished?"
Jack nodded, stilling his fight against the bonds that refused to let him go, and quit trying to hump Ianto despite Ianto's advantage. It wouldn't work; Jack ought to know better. Or perhaps he was just that unused to relinquishing control, no matter how small it might appear. Ianto supposed in the time he'd been at Torchwood, an extended period of time at that, the opportunities may have been few and far between.
"I will take care of you," Ianto nearly cringed at the unintended double entendre, but then realized it was quite true. He ignored that thought and continued, "but only when I say it's time. Understand?"
He nodded again, and Ianto watched as he visibly relaxed against the alien handcuffs. Ianto waited a while longer, waited until even Jack's breathing had calmed to a steady waltz with the ticks of the stopwatch. Then he moved again,
This time, his path was different. Fingers traced Jack's torso, running down his arms and sides. Ianto had to stifle a laugh when Jack twisted to try to escape the (not tickling) hands. "So sensitive," Ianto murmured as he applied tongue and lips to the scarless skin. Such an anomaly for all the times Jack's died. Such perfection, deserving attention and focus.
Ianto retraced certain points he'd hit before, biting gently on a nipple, flicking the nub with his tongue, and finding new spots (just to the right of his navel, creates the most endearing moan). But with all the sounds Jack made, with all the moans, gasps, and steady litany of unconnected words and phrases, he never demanded. Humoring Ianto? Or had Ianto's plan worked to some extent?
And still the stopwatch ticked.
Jack's pleas lost meaning, lost cohesion and soon all that remained were syllables Ianto wasn't sure made sense before Jack tried to form thought into spoken word. Sweat plastered his hair to his brow, beads of blue running over his temples to drop into dark blotches on the pillow. Jack's cock was a solid steel lance burning with fire. Ianto knew the man had to be beyond need for orgasm but he wasn't sure which was the greater need -- staving off orgasm or keeping the stopwatch ticking. Ianto could see the muscles in Jack's arms bunch and jerk; at time his efforts nearly lifted them to pull them towards the head of the bed. Awareness, at least on some level, all to keep the watch ticking.
Ianto didn't stop, although he took a moment to slick his fingers for a quick stretch, almost unnecessary as undone as Jack was. He smiled as he nipped a tiny spot of skin on Jack's hip that turned the nonsense syllables into a keen (and partnered with a blind thrust of hips which Ianto carefully avoided). Jack was always focused during sex, attention always directed on every movement and sound Ianto made. Jack was simply intense when it came to sex, and he was very good at it. Ianto didn't figure there were any who were left wanting more of the encounter. But this...this was different.
He wondered if Jack was aware at all outside of touch and the unconscious desire not to make it stop.
After spreading a liberal amount of lube on his aching erection that Ianto'd all but ignored in favor of Jack (god, sex wouldn't be lasting long), Ianto slid into Jack. Tight heat enveloped him, and between the hoarse shout from Jack and the vise grip on his cock, Ianto nearly ended the night extremely early. He rested his forehead on Jack's shoulder for a moment, feeling the rapid rise and fall of Jack's chest that nearly matched his own harsh breathing.
Finally regaining enough composure, Ianto moved, tapping Jack's cheek to get his attention. "Jack." When Jack didn't look, his eyes still closed and face pressed against one arm, Ianto moved enough to put pressure on Jack's chin, turning it so it aligned with his. "Jack, look at me."
Jack slowly opened his eyes, the blue glow matching his iris exactly, washing everything in Jack's view of the world. Ianto had caught glimpses before of Jack unguarded, had felt what he had felt through the ghost machine, but now the burden of time, knowledge, and battle scars spilled over and around them, filling Jack's quarters with a desperate longing for something Ianto couldn't begin to understand.
Ianto wondered how long it had been since Jack had known peace.
"Jack," Ianto whispered his name, afraid to break the still calm which had settled over them, but uncomfortable leaving Jack so...alone. With Jack's answering shudder Ianto believed he had been understood. Perhaps. Jack's breath hitched, and for a moment Ianto thought he had come, but he watched as Jack's eyes widened, noticing what Ianto heard as well.
Silence.
Ianto rolled his eyes as he reached over Jack's head for the stopwatch, cursing Jack's timing and knowing he'd have to leave as he'd said if not enough time had passed despite being buried balls-deep in Jack. The captain seemed reluctant to give up the stopwatch as well; he probably was thinking along the same lines as Ianto, except Ianto could pull out and wank in front of Jack if he wanted before he left. Jack would remain tied (and hard) until morning. A quick glance at the time assured Ianto that none of that would happen, Jack had made it by three minutes. Not that Ianto told him as he carefully set the watch on the floor, just under the bed to keep it out of stepping range.
Jack held his breath and didn't move, waiting while Ianto studied him, extending the suspense as long as he could maintain. Which, if he were honest with himself, wasn't very long. He answered with a sharp thrust of his hips that had Jack's eyes rolling back with pleasure, growling Jack's name to get the attention back on him, not the blue-tinged ceiling. He wanted to see Jack, to see the open expression in his eyes, to know that Jack understood
Some things were just beyond his control; he was not responsible for the fate of every person any more than Ianto was responsible for all in Torchwood One.
Lessons hard to learn.
The actual sex didn't last long, but then, the night hadn't been about tantric demonstrations of intercourse. Ianto reached between them, wanting Jack to come first, and gave Jack a brief nod. His hand had barely touched Jack's cock before he felt Jack's orgasm tear through him, heard it in the hoarse shout that echoed off the walls and saw it in the shudders and jerks at the restraints. The man was breathtaking in his release and it was all Ianto could do to watch and not join him in abandon, to cease the steady rock of his hips or the pumping of his fist, wringing every last shake, pulse, and cry from Jack.
Beautiful, as Jack liked to say. And, perhaps, Ianto better understood why he said that.
Jack relaxed into a trembling heap on the bed and Ianto quickly sought his own release, not caring for finesse or show. With a grunt far closer to a sigh, Ianto came, falling into the sticky mess coating both his and Jack's chests.
He didn't move, not for a while, just listened as Jack's frantic heart beat slowed to a steady pulse in tempo with Ianto's. With renewed energy and knowing that, despite all appearances Jack's sleeping position couldn't be comfortable, Ianto reached up and spoke the words for the handcuffs' release. He touched them, blinking rapidly as the room fell into darkness when the device turned "off." Jack didn't even stir. Ianto was mindful of Jack's shoulders, massaging each as he rotated both arms and lowered them to the mattress. Then he nabbed the flannel he'd stuck under the pillow (along with the lube, stopwatch, and a blindfold he hadn't needed) and did his best to clean the two of them before they were permanently fused by Jack's semen. Hard to explain to the rest of the team why Ianto was sitting on Jack's lap during the conference calls with Mr. Black, though the idea did amuse Ianto. Owen's face would be priceless.
Before he drifted into slumber, Ianto gathered Jack into his arms, taking the rare opportunity to watch Jack sleep.
***
Ianto wasn't surprised, not really, when he woke to shallow thrusts and the odd sensation of being disconnected from his leg. The leg thing was a bit more of a shock until he realized the missing leg was just flung over Jack's legs to open him up a bit, giving Jack access so he could fuck Ianto while they both rested on their sides. Ianto did vaguely remember a pleasant dream where Jack was blowing him while he made coffee. Seemed that wasn't far off from the truth, only it was more a hand job while Ianto slept. Wasn't actually anything like his dream except it had involved sex with Jack and that's all that really mattered to Ianto at that point. Still foggy with sleep, Ianto twisted his neck until Jack met him with an awkward, clumsy kiss.
It didn't take long for Ianto to come again, though how long Jack had been awake Ianto didn't know. Didn't really care, either, because the soporific warmth and calm defeated all concern. Jack's orgasm followed soon after, sharper thrusts and a sigh Ianto's key clues as he floated in a haze of almost-sleep.
Ianto allowed his eyes to close as Jack panted in his ear. He wasn't so far gone to miss Jack's whispered "thank you," however, and Ianto smiled to himself as he slipped away.
***
Ianto got into the habit of venturing out onto the rooftop of a tall building at the hours of eight and eight. Sometimes he came across Jack, other times he didn't and on some of those occasions, it was not unheard of to receive a text from Jack "I c u". which was slightly unnerving for both the spelling and the spying. From his high vantage point, Ianto dropped his trousers and wanked once after receiving one of those messages; Jack claimed he nearly fell off his own neighboring rooftop. It didn't matter now if they went together or went their own way, though the sex they sometimes partook in when they did meet up was thrilling. Ianto understood, or at least had a better understanding, of what Jack spoke of when he explained why he came up to such heights. What Ianto lacked in time and space, he made up for with a better grasp of the big picture on earth, and that was overwhelming enough to drive him to the rooftops to catch his troubles on the wind and renew his focus. They were why he did what he did. And even though he might despair at the lack of evidence concerning the children of Avalon, up at those heights, he found hope again, a rare commodity.
Jack teased one day that he had been a bad influence on Ianto. Instead of burying himself in the Archives for hours on end, Ianto now got fresh air and slacked off on the job.
Ianto didn't argue.
***
Ianto coordinated efforts to create an emergency band connecting the different countries he'd (Mr. Black) contacted. While not a perfect system, Ianto hoped a repeat like Torchwood One could be avoided, at least on the alien incursion front, if not from an outside perspective on research. Not that he wished to share any information; the other leaders were as reluctant as he to part with any tech or intelligence, but the other leaders had experienced close calls of their own, and it seemed only logical to have the capacity to warn other nations if the base was overrun.
Surprising himself, Ianto found himself getting along rather splendidly with the leader of the US base -- a retired Colonel Sheppard. He was new to the command, the previous leader killed defending his country from little naked green men. Or so Colonel Sheppard had claimed. With the rampant tales of Roswell and downed alien spacecraft, Ianto wasn't quite sure what to believe when it came to aliens and Americans.
Apparently Wilson held a desk job. He might be missing three years of his life but he could still file paperwork. Sheppard didn't quite know what to do with him; in fact, he wasn't sure why he had been sent to Wales in the first place, but the filing suited him.
And he still wore the same pale grass green shirts.
Avalon was also being rebuilt, even if there was a lack of children to educate. "Mr. Black" needed offices and Jean-Luc and Stephen (he and Ianto had mended fences and Stephen stuck strictly to their script) couldn't stay with his father indefinitely, so land was purchased outside Cardiff ... land which conveniently housed a large, sprawling manor. Jean-Luc had immediately claimed the master bedroom -- an enormous monstrosity of a room -- for his own, to which Ianto agreed. He then hired a contractor to divide the room into three smaller rooms who performed the work in less than a week.
Jean-Luc was not amused when he arrived in Cardiff and saw what had been done to "his" room.
For some reason, Ianto and Stephen found this terribly amusing.
Stephen walked with a cane now, faring a bit better than Jean-Luc who still suffered from debilitating headaches. Those had lessened with time, but after a particularly frightening instance where he had attempted to use his gifts ("I only wanted to show Bryce and Gareth a cool trick...") he hadn't tried anything since, to the concern of both Stephen and Ianto. Stephen swore Jean-Luc should be able to at least do small things without pain and believed it psychosomatic after the trauma at the original Avalon. Ianto didn't disagree. They tried everything they could think of, short of putting one of their lives in definite danger, but to no avail.
All the while, they continued their search for the missing, every day achieving the same answer as the day before. Ringing the children's parents or guardians with the lack of updates had been especially hard -- they had believed Avalon would protect their loved ones, and now the protectors had lost their children. Ianto felt guilty for wishing he could tell them they had killed his mother, but at least their children might be alive. But he refrained, applying concerned interest to his voice and listening to each of them, taking his frustration and anger out on a dummy Stephen had purchased for training purposes.
It worked well for exorcism of ghosts as well.
The next day, Jack and John used his car to perform a shared suicide. His entire life spent protecting life, of cherishing it and going to great lengths to save it (even if he failed), and Jack and John take their lives in his fucking car.
And Tosh wondered why he looked cross and Jack had the nerve to ask what was wrong.
Ianto didn't come down from his rooftop for a very, very long time.
***
"Ianto! Wait up!"
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting. Instead, he calmly spun on his feet and gave Tosh the polite smile he reserved for tourists on one of his bad days. Tosh had been through a lot that day, the extent of Jack and her escapades still largely unknown, but everyone was aware of what he had done, of what Owen had done.
"You're just a teaboy."
"I am much more than that."
God, he'd shot Owen and nearly blown his cover in the same breath. What kind of person did that? Moreover, what kind of employer shot his staff?
And Jack was despondent, for unclear reasons. Not that Ianto hadn't tried to figure it out. He had asked Jack if he was okay, if there was anything he could do. The answer had been a resounding "no" and a polite "leave me alone."
So he had, watching Tosh and Jack share a drink in his office as he nursed his ribs and pretended to check information on Tosh's computer. Ianto had caught part of what Tosh had said from reading her lips (they had made no effort to hide the conversation in the office), something about taking a name and toasting to Jack Harkness. It wasn't difficult putting the information together. Ianto knew from his father that Jack had borne another name, in another time. That he had taken Jack Harkness and met the real one should come as no surprise.
"Your report on activity while we were gone. A dragon sighting in the Beacons?"
Ianto could barely remember what he had typed up in the report. The entire day had been a blur of fear, pain, and self-hatred for his refusal to leave the Rift as it was and leave Jack and Tosh in the past. It was for the greater good, Rifts should never be opened. Perhaps a course in Torchwood history would do wonders for those at Torchwood Three -- a reminder of all things wrong when human arrogance oversteps their comprehension. He had never envied Jack's burden of weighing options and choosing the one least likely to result in mass destruction of the earth and her people. He was now getting a taste of it, and he didn't like it any better than it had appeared in the display case.
He skimmed through the report, nodding as he handed it back to Tosh. "Yes. I phoned and got a description. A large, pale shape in the sky. In other words, a cloud. Or a bird. There was no Rift activity in connection with it and only the one report."
"Right. You marked it unworthy of further investigation?" Tosh paused, seeming to judge her words carefully, "I don't want to return, either. But if there is unexplained activity, Torchwood should investigate."
It took a moment for her words to filter and the purpose reasoned. She was chastising him for his report? On the basis that he was, what, frightened to return? Of course he was and had no intent of ever returning to that cursed land that occasionally haunted his dreams, but all the same, the idea he'd keep everyone from going in case of an alien threat was ridiculous. "And if it merited Torchwood investigation, I would have deemed it such, Tosh. If there's another sighting, we'll send Jack and Owen."
Tosh's smile faltered at Jack's name, and Ianto used this to push for information. "Are you okay? You both seemed pretty upset. Can I get you some tea?"
"Oh, I'm fine." Tosh shook her head and waited for her to continue. People as a general rule were uncomfortable with silence in a conversation, lesson #53 in Torchwood One's Inquiry training manual. Wait a bit longer than normal and one usually walked away with far more information than was originally offered. That lesson was immediately followed by rules of interrogation. With Torchwood One, there hadn't been many; pretty much anything went. Not that anyone talked about it. "Jack will be okay, too. Going back in time, you know."
No, Ianto didn't really know. But he knew Jack, and a trip back in time would have been child's play. Ianto took a leap with what he knew, "Tosh. I know about Captain Jack Harkness, Jack's namesake. I know what happened."
Her head jerked up in surprise, the reports spilling from her hands. "But...how?"
Ianto carefully bent to help her pick things up; he was going to bruise spectacularly, but Tosh didn't need to be concerned with that. She was going to tell him what he wanted to know. And that was what was troubling Jack. "The pictures. It wasn't hard to piece everything together."
She appeared relieved to talk with someone; Ianto wasn't going to dissuade her from divulging information. "Oh, Ianto, he fell so hard. I hardly noticed at first...too caught up in figuring out how to deliver the calculations to you." Ianto tipped his head in acknowledgment of her efforts and smiled, his insides growing cold as she continued, "and then there was the dance. They kissed..." Tosh fanned herself, smiling as Ianto helped her to her feet. "Can a person really fall in love at first sight? I didn't believe it until now. He's heartbroken, and I don't know what to do for him."
Jack Harkness and...Jack Harkness. Of course. How appropriate.
He was a fool.
Ianto pointed out to Tosh, with as much warmth and cheer as he could apply without coming off smarmy and attempting to bed her, "your conversation in his office helped. Whatever you said to him, you said the right thing. He just needs time."
Her smile was brilliant, pure Tosh shining through the unnatural gloom, and her quick hug sincere if not a bit painful. Ianto just maintained his polite smile and winked, feeling again when he spoke with Tosh like he was speaking with Elaine. They were remarkably similar at times. "And I promise you won't be sent back to the Beacons on a wild-dragon chase. I'll slash the tires of the SUV if I have to. It'll be our secret."
She laughed her unique Tosh laugh, carefree and innocent. On any other occasion it would have spread to him as well and he'd have to consciously stop himself from laughing as well. She told him thanks and hurried back from the kitchen to her desk where Ianto assumed she would file her report.
Given it was after hours, Ianto had no qualms in leaving. He grabbed his jacket and keys from the Information Center and never looked back.
***
Ianto was three glasses into his bottle of whiskey when his phone rang. At first, he thought it was Jack and now would not be the time to talk with Jack -- Ianto was perfectly maudlin and he'd hate to ruin his inebriated state by becoming angry with the man. Jack wasn't the one he was angry at; he had never pretended that whatever he and Ianto had was more than a buddy fuck. Ianto had grown careless. He understood that and owned his responsibility in the night's drinking. That didn't make him overly eager to speak with Jack, however.
It was Jean-Luc, though, and Ianto grinned at his phone, having considered calling him half-a-glass ago. He answered on the second ring. "Are you psychic? I was just thinking of calling you."
"Very funny, Ianto. Are you pissed?"
"Quite possibly. My glass says yes, but the bottle says no. Ask me in two more glasses, the bottle might agree."
"Fuck, mon grand. What happened? Where are you? I can come over, Stephen's just going over these files again and he wouldn't mind if I leave."
"No, you wouldn't mind if you left. He would." Ianto flipped through the channels on the telly, finding nothing on but Red Dwarf re-runs. The time dragged by, and Ianto wondered if Jean-Luc had read the same training manual he had. He obfuscated, selecting another topic which was equally troublesome but less embarrassing to admit to. "I shot a coworker today. Intentionally."
A blur of French followed, of which Ianto caught only a phrase or two. His mind was still concentrating on his fourth glass.
"Was it Jack?"
God, Jean-Luc sounded almost hopeful. "No. Owen."
"Him? Good. He deserved it for drugging you and being a twat."
Ianto snorted, having forgotten that Jean-Luc knew all of that. "That's no excuse. I shouldn't have done it."
"You had reason, you wouldn't have done it otherwise. What'd he do?"
He considered what he should say, then dismissed it in favor of shock value. "Destabilized a space/time Rift creating a tear which could splinter over the globe and eradicate what we understand as linear time before erasing our very existence in the universe."
Jean-Luc's silence was worthy of another sip from his glass after a mock toast.
"Well, you lot don't do anything by half, do you?"
Ianto laughed; he couldn't help it at the gross understatement. Events did seem quite large, even leaving out the part about choosing to strand Jack and Tosh in the pages of history.
"How are you doing? Are you sure you don't want me there?"
"In your dreams, Ianto, in your sad, wet dreams where you're his part-time shag." Ianto shook his head, glad for Jean-Luc's inability to read his thoughts. How was he doing? He was doing splendid. He had a bottle of whiskey, an empty flat, plenty of idiocy, and Red Dwarf on the telly. What more could he ask for from an evening at home? "No, don't bother. I'll be right come morning. Remember the time we snuck into Mr. Shoemaker's room and stole that bottle of brandy he hid in his desk drawer?"
Jean-Luc's laughter echoed in the hollow, empty corners of Ianto's flat. "We drank it all. And you were so sick the next morning. Took me bribing Betsy in the kitchens to get you some ginger ale and cream crackers."
"Always looking out for me, weren't you?"
"Still am." Ianto didn't say anything, just stared at the telly and refused to give in to the weeping mess he wished to become. It'd be so easy.
God he was a fool. He'd thought he'd actually meant something.
"Mr. Shoemaker. He wasn't gifted."
Ianto nodded before realizing Jean-Luc couldn't see him. He raised his glass in silent toast to the dead and drank before responding. "I know." The three of them had gone through the list of staff, noting everyone who was gifted and who wasn't. The ones who weren't...they probably never made it out of Avalon. The others...
"We'll find them, Ianto."
He grinned sadly, laying down on his couch and pulled a blanket over his shoulders. "Are you sure you're not psychic?"
"Right now, I'm as good as you, with only half the brain."
"A sorry state for you. I'm going to hang up now and fall asleep." Ianto fluffed the pillow behind him, but didn't bother shutting the telly off. Maybe he'd dream of Red Dwarf.
"Are you sure--"
"No."
"Okay, then. I'm calling in the morning to make sure you're alive."
"Goodnight, Jean-Luc." Ianto clicked the mobile off and silenced it, throwing it onto the coffee table without a care watching as a rose petal floated to the floor. He'd pick it up in the morning.
Fool.
***
He woke to insistent taps on his face, taps refusing to go away no matter how much he batted at them. For a moment he was confused, thinking it was his nephews -- this was a very nephew-thing to do. But no, he'd come home after sentencing Jack and Tosh to the 1940s, shooting Owen, then learning Jack loved Jack.
Jack squared.
He tried to calculate what that would equal, but it just hurt to consider.
"Ianto."
Speaking of Jack's squared, Ianto tried to focus on the visions swimming in front of him. "Jack?"
"Let's get you to bed. You smell like a distillery."
Bed? Right, he was on the couch. But...Jack was in his flat. "Why're you here?" was what Ianto meant to say, though he was pretty sure it came out "Yoorear?" He was drunk, not deaf.
Jack's laughter didn't sound amused, but Ianto couldn't remember why he wouldn't be. "I looked for you and you were gone."
"Sick."
"You were sick?"
Ianto shook his head, cursing his stupidity as the room swam and his stomach rolled with it. He should have just said so. "No, sick." He pushed his way past Jack into his bathroom and shut the door, much preferring to vomit in private. Not that there was much there; he couldn't remember eating but then, there had been other matters to consider, like leaving Jack and Tosh at the dance hall when he knew what happened the following day.
He hated his job.
How did Jack do it?
He rested his head on the tile for a moment to gather enough strength to crawl to bed, where he hoped he would sleep through the day and into the next month. He would have stayed there too, except the floor was freezing and his teeth were chattering.
Ianto stood up and grabbed the sink, finding his toothbrush too quickly clean his teeth, followed by a glass of water which appeared by his hand that he couldn't remember pouring.
Jack.
The other man was standing in the bathroom doorway, waiting patiently with his arms crossed. His hair looked less perky than it usually did, but Ianto supposed a broken heart did that to a person -- inflicted calamities of hair proportions. Ianto drank the glass dutifully and moved to walk into the bedroom, but Jack motioned first with his hands, then he tugged on Ianto's shirt. Off. But it was so cold. His bed would be warm, however, and so he stripped it off with Jack's help with the braces, shucking the rest of the clothes easily after the tricky braces were dealt with. He was stopped from entering his bedroom by Jack, whose hands pressed the spectacular bruise on his chest.
Felt spectacular too.
"He kicked me. I shot him. We're square." Ianto answered Jack's unspoken question, pushing his way into his bedroom and falling onto the bed. A bit of a mistake, but he could breathe after a moment. The bed dipped as Jack climbed onto it, feeling wonderfully warm as he enveloped Ianto in his arms and pulled the linens up around Ianto's chin. The shakes from the cold tile floor melted away and once Ianto could think beyond cold, he hated himself for enjoying the warmth.
He was just a part-time shag. He had to remember that. And yet there he was, basking in the warmth. Jack was just this giant black hole of charisma and charm and Ianto had fallen into it as easily as the ones he'd mocked for failing to pay attention to the path they were headed on. He knew better.
Yet, there he was, half-drunk and clinging to Jack.
"You didn't have to leave."
Oh, yes, he did. Ianto was quite certain in this. Jack had fallen in love in a matter of hours, and fallen hard enough to droop his hair. Ianto had no business staying at the Hub. Not in his sad, wet dreams.
"Work was finished."
"That's never stopped you before from staying."
Ianto didn't answer, pretending to sleep. It was safer, and excused by his drinking But as much as he wanted to pretend that he was more than just a tea boy, lying in Jack's arms, he knew what love was to Jack, and he knew he wasn't it.
It was just a part-time shag, after all.
***
Four days had passed since Jack vanished without a trace.
Four days and no answers.
Ianto wondered if there was a magical day when he would stop caring, when it should stop bothering him that Jack left with no note, no farewell, no goodbyes.
It had been ten days since Ianto had watched Owen kill Jack.
Ten days since Jack had died without immediately waking.
Six days since Jack had played Lazarus and rose from the dead, hugging all of them and kissing Ianto like he meant it.
Four days since he'd vanished, and now Ianto was accepting. Jack was never coming back.
"Tosh, watch it!" Ianto pulled Tosh out of the alien's path. It was an unknown to Ianto (Jack would know), a three-headed dog-like creature worthy of Greek legend. Perhaps one had ventured to earth before, inspiring the legends of Cerebus, but that information did not help them contain the beast.
They were falling apart.
Tosh felt nothing but guilt for her role in the Rift's opening. Billis had tricked her with memory of her mother, and she'd trusted Owen. That, and Ianto was rather certain she still carried a flame for him, even if he was a twat hellbent on self-destructing. She tried her best, chaining herself to her desk to run report after report searching for Jack, for Torchwood Four, for any anomaly she might help prevent.
She was the only one who didn't look at Ianto with pity, just empathy. He didn't mind making her tea.
Tosh and Ianto turned and fired their guns at the beast when they heard Gwen's scream. It hadn't touched her yet, but was threatening, massive jaws snapping and clacking with what Ianto was certain was enough force to snap a tree trunk.
Gwen appeared to take Jack's disappearance hardest, though Ianto doubted the sincerity. He supposed he was still bitter when she refused to leave Jack's side at the morgue -- not that Ianto wanted to sit in vigilance, but he might have enjoyed yelling at the stiff figure, cursing him in as many languages he could think of for the stupidity of dying for the greater fucking good and begging for an answer as to why.
But he couldn't, not while Gwen was there.
He wondered if she loved Jack. It was possible, it was easy enough to do -- Jack was a man many loved but few felt love in return -- but that left Ianto confused as to where Rhys fit in. She still lived with him, and yet she acted with obsessed compulsion to find Jack as though he were a lover who had disappeared. Perhaps Ianto had always been single-minded in his relationships, utterly focused on one individual. Or maybe it was that he had fallen for Jack himself -- cut out the middle man and went straight for the top.
That just left him farther to fall.
She barely ate, barely slept. Ianto had finally had enough of her wasting away and set a plate down in front of her and watched her eat. And then pass out as the sleeping pill he'd laced her dessert with kicked in. She looked better after the rest, color to her face. Rhys had been concerned when Ianto carried her to their front door, but he'd assured him it was a temporary thing. Then he'd proceeded to lecture Rhys on proper care of loved ones and to make sure she ate breakfast in the morning.
He hadn't argued. In fact, he'd offered Ianto a beer.
"Ianto!"
Ianto caught sight of Owen racing in, throwing Ianto a corner of the containment netting Ianto had remembered in the Archives. Owen had gone back for that and his kit -- all of them were banged up and Ianto would probably need stitches -- and had taken his time returning from Ianto's point of view.
Owen...Ianto had to, not respect, but admire him. He'd attempted to take control of the situation, claiming his status as new leader of Torchwood Three in Jack's absence as second in command. He'd tried, then sought Ianto while he had been lost in the Archives and asked if he wouldn't take over for a while, seeing as how Ianto was better at the diplomacy thing. Owen was far more a "practical approach kind of guy."
From the stories Ianto heard later from the Prime Minister, Owen had taken a very practical approach and told her to shove off.
He had been affected as well, Owen had, his barbs less pointed than they had been before, his complaining less amusing and more whining. The first few days after Jack's disappearance, Ianto thought he had actually caught Owen watching after him -- for what, Ianto wasn't sure, but he had appeared almost concerned. That was the thing about Owen, once one bothered to understand him. While he might take the piss and tussle with those of Torchwood Three, he watched out for each of them like they were family. He actually got angry at those who intended to harm the family.
Perhaps, for Owen, they were. Ianto didn't really know anything about Owen's family life -- aside from Torchwood records stating divorced parents, growing up with his mom, being bounced from school to school, and always getting into trouble but still managing to get into medicine.
Really, all things considered, Ianto thought as he gave one corner to Tosh to run to the hind quarters of the beast, that's how they functioned. A dysfunctional family unit. It had been easy for Ianto to turn his back on Jack, to side with Owen. Well, it hadn't been so much as side with Owen but to doubt Jack's superior knowledge of everything and everything. He had doubted Jack. Maybe he'd been swayed by his emotions in regards to his reevaluation of his perceived relationship with Jack, maybe it was remembering the regret on Jack's face in the viewscope of the ghost machine. But at the same time, Ianto had wept when he believed Jack permanently dead. His loss hurt, more than Ianto would have imagined given the distance he'd hastily built between them. Jack's greatcoat -- Ianto remembered sex on top of the Millennium Center and clutched it to his face. Life had been simple then, black and white, not these shades of grey that colored their world. Because nothing was simple anymore. They didn't chase weevils with weevil spray; they chased three-headed beasts with razor-sharp fangs with nothing but a net between them.
"Gwen!" Ianto threw the final corner at her, hoping she'd catch it while the beast's heads were distracted by Owen screaming (like a girl, Ianto thought). She did and the netting surged to life, snapping a brilliant red grid into place and a dome over the head of the beast, corners held by the four remaining of Torchwood Three.
Maybe they were broken, maybe they were falling apart. But they had a duty to perform -- to protect the citizens of Britain and from the size of things that popped through the Rift, the world. Jack had left them, abandoned them, doomed them to whatever destiny had in store. But Ianto would never run from his duty as Mr. Black -- nor as Ianto, temporary leader of Torchwood Three and tea boy extraordinaire. He had been borne into it. And so long as the others were willing, they'd do what they could to save those they could save, research what they could research, and claim what they could claim.
Because they were Torchwood. And Torchwood was them.
Next Chapter. Please read A/N.
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: TW S1
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien, fivealive
Summary: How an employer cares for his employees...
A/N: This is it for Series 1 folks! Next week: my Series 2, blatantly disregarding any spoilers from TW S2 or DW S3.
For Shades of Ianto series information, please see Prologue, Chapter 1
Previous Chapters:
Prologue: Chapters 1-7 (Complete)
S1: Chap 1
S1: Chap 2
S1: Chap 3
S1: Chap 4
S1: Chap 5
S1: Chap 6
S1: Chap 7
Ianto sat on the sturdy metal desk in Jack's bedroom (could one call it a bedroom if the occupant never slept?), waiting patiently for Jack. He was late, but Ianto wouldn't hold that against him, not this night. He checked the stopwatch, the face barely visible in the shadowed light -- ten minutes had been ten minutes ago and his arse was beginning to feel cold as the steel leeched his body's heat through the thin material of his trousers. It'd be far more comfortable to sit on the narrow bed, but that was not the direction Ianto wanted the night to go. Oh, he had sex in mind -- Ianto smirked at the thought -- but he wished to ensure it went as he had planned. If he sat on the bed, well, that would simply give Jack the wrong impression.
Besides, there was impact to consider. If nothing else, Ianto knew how to manipulate any situation.
Or at least he was learning. The past week's hunt for Torchwood Four had proven fruitless at best, depressingly void of any seeming existence at worst. The others apparently had similar thoughts and were not shy in voicing their opinions (Owen) about the lack of even an employee fingerprint or record save for what was in Ianto's head with that "photography mind" (Gwen) and venting their frustration about lack of any recorded image or biological trace (Tosh). Tosh was as eager to help as Jack, however, never giving voice to the complaints that had to be lurking in her head. Ianto was certain she suspected something, some connection between his "migraine" and Ms. White's death and the search for Torchwood Four, but he bore the curiosity and searching looks with a kind smile and a "more tea, Tosh?" for her efforts. Owen and Gwen were entirely different matters, but a few conference calls with "Mr. Black," a trip to Oxford to investigate the former site, and one wild goose chase for the pair was enough to keep them occupied. A week of intense scrutiny and investigation, and still no closer to answers than they had been before.
And then Suzie returned.
Ianto honestly wouldn't have believed her capable of such a scheme if he hadn't seen it for himself. Not that she couldn't plan it, but that she would be reduced to such horrific, twisted measures to what, seek revenge? It was irrational and illogical. She courted death, seducing it and fucking it against the wall in hopes of demonstrating who the master really was. But death wasn't a plaything, it wasn't a toy, and it most certainly couldn't be fooled (except in the case of Jack, but Ianto wasn't quite sure how that bargain had been struck, much less the terms). It might have played along with Suzie's plan, but it had gained another victim in the process. Two for the price of one. But had she really thought she could cheat death forever?
He supposed she had. Her mind had been absolutely warped by the glove until nothing remained of the Suzie Ianto had known but a shell, hollow and single-minded. And Gwen had used it. Multiple times. Had shown an uncanny proficiency with it, and he didn't believe the compassion shite someone had mentioned. Compassion wouldn't create the monster which had consumed Suzie. Unless it actually fed upon compassion, and then maybe Gwen could do with a little less.
At any rate, Ianto would keep a mindful eye on her. With the glove's destruction, so too might have been destroyed whatever corrupted powers it had possessed. But one couldn't be certain.
Ianto heard footsteps near the hatch leading to Jack's room and smiled as he discarded any thoughts of Suzie, death, or Gwen. Jack had made the hard decision, again, and Ianto knew that one person dwelling on actions in the tiny quarters would be enough to strangle, much less two. He leaned his elbows on his knees, legs spread for casual comfort and for effect, knowing he was partially hidden in the shadows -- he'd had time to select his place while he waited.
Jack scaled the ladder quickly, spinning towards the bed before he'd even set foot on the floor.
So predictable.
As was his surprise when he found it empty. "Ianto?"
Ianto wiped the smirk from his face, settling for what he hoped was confident intensity. He'd practiced in the loo's mirror after he'd stopped in the Archives, but he couldn't move past "ridiculous" while he was self-critiquing. If Lana...no, he wasn't going to think about that. His despondence was not of importance in these quarters.
"Strip," Ianto requested, leaning forward until he broke a slim beam of light escaping through the hatch in the ceiling. Jack jerked around at the sound of Ianto's voice, nearly tripping himself to Ianto's amusement.
"Bossy? I like it." Jack grinned an artificial grin which spread from ear to ear, failing to pass any semblance to the true smiles Ianto knew he possessed. Jack was efficient, not wasting any time in removing all clothing before standing in front of Ianto, hands on his hips and his cock already standing proud. A quick and mindless fuck, then. Possibly two, given Jack's youthful recovery.
Ianto had nothing of the sort in mind. Well, except for maybe the "two."
He didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow and nodded at the bed. Jack nearly leaped for it in his haste, throwing himself with such force to the bed he bounced. So eager, so playful, but to Ianto it just felt wrong, wrong, wrong. He'd heard it in Jack's voice in the morgue, he'd seen it in Jack's expression at the not-so-veiled innuendo. This...this was wrong. The man before had been wrecked, filled with regret for his duty and grief for the loss, but confused by the relief for the one still alive. Ianto understood that; he felt the same, just perhaps in a lesser sense. Jack had killed one of their own. Ianto didn't think he could do that, not even if it were Owen.
Or maybe he could, but that was something to think about at a later time. Tosh. He definitely couldn't do what Jack had done -- Ianto couldn't kill Tosh, not even if she were from beyond the grave.
Ianto knew. He hadn't been able to do it for Lisa.
This almost perky Jack...it was as disturbing as realizing Suzie had fooled them all, using death as escape and release. Ianto didn't like it any better.
He eased off the desk, knowing Jack was watching with both impatience and barely contained restraint. If the wait grew too long, Ianto knew he would find himself in Jack's place on the mattress, and probably a ruined suit from Jack's frantic disregard for sake of sex and escape. Ianto caught one of Jack's hands as he approached, snatching it out of the air as Jack reached to pull Ianto on top of him by a hip. As he straddled Jack's hips, the other hand tried to remove the full suit Ianto still wore. Ianto fought off that hand as well. The fake-happy smile on Jack's face disappeared into a scowl when he saw things weren't playing out as he wanted. It was a change of expression Ianto rather welcomed. The unnatural pep was just wrong
Ianto knew he didn't have much time, Jack's skills at hand-to-hand were far superior to his, but he knew he was working with surprise and the unexpected. He managed to get Jack's hands above his head (with a curse from Jack) and let go of one arm only long enough to jab at the ulna nerve he knew ran right along Jack's elbow (if Jack was from a distant enough time, perhaps evolution had worked the funny bone right out of the human system).
Jack's responding roar -- not in pain Ianto knew as the sharp poke wouldn't do any damage, but in what Ianto was fairly certain was shocked outrage -- gave him enough time to secure the ends of the band tucked beneath the pillow. Earlier he had looped it twice around the bar of the bed frame; now he pressed the sensor-tipped ends to Jack's wrists. He spoke the alien words, a deceptively light, airy sound, just as he felt Jack's muscles coil beneath him, distraction and surprise banished and fight unleashed. But the words had been spoken and a soft blue light filled the room (a blue the exact shade of Jack's eyes, he noted). Ianto could feel the bands thicken under his hand and circle Jack's wrists.
Handcuffs from the Ghost of Jupiter, a nonviolent race who had produced the most remarkable materials. The band held limited elastic properties but was impenetrable by any tool Ianto had seen. It wouldn't damage a human's thin skin, which made it far superior to the metal handcuffs or the plastic ties used on Earth. And good for Jack, who was violently testing the limits of the band and shouting the release words in the alien language.
Of course, they voice locked on whomever triggered the locking mechanism until the counter was spoken or the individual died (how the creators had done that Ianto didn't know; he'd studied similar bands at Torchwood One and had never figured it out). Jack surely knew that, but Ianto couldn't fault him for trying. Ianto would have been displeased as well.
"You are fucking fired, Ianto Jones. Do you hear me? You're mom's not around anymore, she can't force me to do anything and I'll go public with the identity of Mr. Black. You are finished. I should have--"
While ignoring the words he knew Jack didn't mean, Ianto sat patiently on Jack's hips, arms crossed, riding the bucks and thrashing with caution. Jack was restrained, but that didn't mean he was indefensible. One carefully placed foot or thrust could launch Ianto from the bed. And possibly kill him. Ianto was hoping they could avoid that possible outcome.
Finally, Jack lay panting and spent on the pillow, though fury still lined his face. The blue light from the activated band washed the bed in a glow the color of a summer cloudless sky, casting an unusual pallor to Jack's skin and making his hair even darker but Ianto couldn't say that the effect was unpleasant. "Are you finished?"
Jack glared and didn't respond. Ianto couldn't blame him, though he would be willing to put his next paycheck on the fact that Jack was no longer thinking about Suzie.
No, this wasn't going to be just a mindless fuck. It had everything to do with the mind.
"You're not to blame for Suzie's death or downfall." Ianto watched as Jack pulled hard at the band holding his hands; it gave just a little with the pull to prevent harm but kept him secured.
"I know I'm not," Jack replied quickly and automatically, words sounding as false as the earlier cheer.
Ianto uncrossed his arms and placed his palms on the pillow near Jack's head, lowering himself with deliberate slowness (all the while mindful of Jack's teeth and the distance between them from any part of Ianto's body he preferred to keep). "I don't believe you," he whispered in Jack's ear, feeling the tremor that chased the words. "Tell me to stop."
He pushed back far enough to see Jack's face, watching his eyes, his lips, anything for a sign that this wasn't welcome. Ianto understood the earlier anger, had been prepared for it. But now, now it was up to Jack; Ianto would release him without question, though he rather hoped Jack wouldn't ask.
Jack didn't move, eyes never straying from Ianto's. If Ianto hadn't been carefully he watching, he might have missed the slight shake of Jack's head. If he didn't know better, Jack appeared...vulnerable. But like jealousy, Jack didn't do vulnerable. Ianto knew he was mistaken.
Just to make sure he had interpreted Jack's movement correctly, Ianto dropped his head, pressing his lips to Jack's in a gentle-yet-querying kiss. He wasn't about to force Jack into anything, and they'd never discussed their kinks and hang-ups. For all Ianto knew, Jack feared ropes or anything of the sort. But Jack's lips opened beneath his, allowing Ianto to deepen the kiss and Jack followed.
Message received: do not stop.
Ianto lingered just a moment more before he eased off Jack, to the man's confusion. He knew Jack was watching as he walked to the table where he'd sat with a frozen arse for nearly fifteen minutes. The stopwatch was still there, softly ticking away the seconds. He quickly reset it, holding it out for Jack to see. "There are lots of things you can do with a stopwatch," Ianto repeated, hitting the button to start the timer. "This is one of them."
With a grin, he placed the stopwatch in one of Jack's bound hands, positioning it so the stop button rested against his fingers. Ianto curled the fingers around the stopwatch, making sure it was cradled safely by Jack's hand. "Don't press too hard, you'll stop the time" Ianto directed, hands rested on Jack's closed one, "Thirty minutes, Jack. Thirty minutes must pass without you hitting stop, otherwise I leave and unlock you in the morning after I start the first pot of coffee, if I'm feeling generous."
Jack's head jerked in affirmation and Ianto stepped away, gesturing to Jack's hands as he voiced a warning. "And Jack? Don't drop it. That watch is special to me." Ianto could see the muscles tighten in Jack's arms, the fingers moving to test what movement he had while keeping a grip on the stopwatch.
Satisfied that Jack understood the rules, Ianto tugged at his tie, loosening it as he spoke. "I wanked in the shower that morning at my father's house, you know." He snaked the tie through his shirt collar, setting it carefully on the desk. His jacket and cuff links followed. "I'd kind of hoped you'd ignore what I'd said and join me. Or walk in on me. I would have enjoyed that. You, on the other hand," Ianto toed his shoes off as he unbuttoned his shirt, "I don't think you laid a hand on your cock in the shower, did you? You were hard as stone when we kissed against the SUV. How long did you last on the drive back to Cardiff until you pulled over?"
The answering voice was low and hoarse; Ianto was pleased to note that Jack had turned as much as the bonds would permit to watch and his arousal was quite evident. He had been a bit afraid that Jack's earlier anger would have killed any desire. Or, perhaps, the anger just fueled it.
"Around the first bend."
"Hmm...about half a kilometer then." Ianto placed his folded shirt next to his jacket and began working on his trousers, belt first, then button and zipper. He risked the next question, needing as much to hear for himself as to tease Jack. "And who were you picturing, Jack? Kylie?"
Jack's laughter sounded slightly choked, like he'd tried to catch himself, or perhaps it was the sight of Ianto wearing just his socks as he folded first his trousers and then his briefs that did it. Ianto would probably never know.
"You."
"Me?" Ianto bent to take off his socks, one hand bracing himself against the desk, his arse in full view thanks to the blue light chasing the shadows. "And how exactly were you picturing me?" Ianto had his socks off and was leaning against the desk, cursing the idea once that cold band of metal chilled a stripe of skin. But he ignored it, casually stroking his erection while Jack watched.
Watched and didn't answer. For a moment, Ianto thought he wasn't going to respond; his eyes seemed fixated on Ianto's fist slowly pumping up and down. He licked his lips, then finally spoke.
"Asleep." Ianto blinked though he covered any other surprised reaction to Jack's statement, delivered in a soft honesty that left him confused. "You were...asleep. And...you called my name. In your sleep."
Any attempt for Ianto to dissect that comment failed, unsure if it was what Jack had pictured or if it had really happened and Jack "responded" to it. Or, he could be lying to throw Ianto off. No matter the explanation, Ianto quit his show for fear of coming a bit prematurely and stalked towards the bed. He first checked the stopwatch in Jack's hand, smiling to see (and hear) that it was still ticking, a quiet tick that one had to be listening for to hear. He'd pay attention to it, listen for the cessation that was a signal for him to leave.
He rather hoped it didn't stop ticking any time soon.
Ianto walked the length of the bed, giving Jack's feet a shove as he knelt on the mattress. The blue light barely reached the foot of the bed, more a faint reminder of the source which haloed Jack's head in a white-blue brilliance. Quite the picture Jack painted, Jack dressed in blue, arms and neck straining as he tried to keep an eye on what Ianto was doing at his feet. Blue deepened to black over his bent legs, maintaining purchase on the mattress where his knees had laid, moved to accommodate Ianto. It was the feet that were Ianto's first focus. He again admired Jack's flexibility as Ianto picked up Jack's left foot and supporting the heel in his palm. "Ticklish?"
Jack shook his head "no" but Ianto continued on without pause. "There are twenty-six bones in each foot, thirty-three joints, one hundred ligaments and..." Ianto lightly ran a finger down the arch of Jack's foot, "more nerve endings in the sole of your foot per square centimeter than anywhere else in the human body." He didn't miss the toes curling in reaction to the touch. He held Jack's foot firmly in place, despite Jack's jerk to free it form his hand. "Sensitive. I wonder if it's just your feet, Jack, or if the rest of you reacts the same way." Slowly, Ianto licked a path, feather-light, up the arch of Jack's foot, then breathed air over it to chill the stripe.
The answering gasp was worth the initial fear of death or vengeance.
With the smirk of one whose victory was far greater than had been hoped, Ianto mapped Jack's leg with an ear constantly tuned to the ticking of the stopwatch. A nip and lick at the ankle merited a groan, a spot three centimeters up from the tender skin at the back of his knee nearly earned Ianto a bruised shoulder from Jack's involuntary kick, and the inside of his thigh was especially sensitive. Ianto sucked and licked until the skin was bruised. Jack's squirms were almost enough to draw Ianto further up Jack's body to take pity on him and turn the attention to his cock.
Ianto continued from the foot of Jack's other leg, maintaining a firm grip as his reactions grew less predictable, a bruise matching the one on his left formed after Ianto discovered a new range in Jack's vocals.
And still the stopwatch ticked.
Sliding over Jack's hips, Ianto sat with Jack's cock trapped beneath him. He waited patiently while Jack demanded and begged. Jack breathed heavily from the sheer volume of words. When he realized Ianto wasn't moving or listening, he quieted and, finally, stopped. The stopwatch ticking sounded loud in the blue-lit chamber. "Are you quite finished?"
Jack nodded, stilling his fight against the bonds that refused to let him go, and quit trying to hump Ianto despite Ianto's advantage. It wouldn't work; Jack ought to know better. Or perhaps he was just that unused to relinquishing control, no matter how small it might appear. Ianto supposed in the time he'd been at Torchwood, an extended period of time at that, the opportunities may have been few and far between.
"I will take care of you," Ianto nearly cringed at the unintended double entendre, but then realized it was quite true. He ignored that thought and continued, "but only when I say it's time. Understand?"
He nodded again, and Ianto watched as he visibly relaxed against the alien handcuffs. Ianto waited a while longer, waited until even Jack's breathing had calmed to a steady waltz with the ticks of the stopwatch. Then he moved again,
This time, his path was different. Fingers traced Jack's torso, running down his arms and sides. Ianto had to stifle a laugh when Jack twisted to try to escape the (not tickling) hands. "So sensitive," Ianto murmured as he applied tongue and lips to the scarless skin. Such an anomaly for all the times Jack's died. Such perfection, deserving attention and focus.
Ianto retraced certain points he'd hit before, biting gently on a nipple, flicking the nub with his tongue, and finding new spots (just to the right of his navel, creates the most endearing moan). But with all the sounds Jack made, with all the moans, gasps, and steady litany of unconnected words and phrases, he never demanded. Humoring Ianto? Or had Ianto's plan worked to some extent?
And still the stopwatch ticked.
Jack's pleas lost meaning, lost cohesion and soon all that remained were syllables Ianto wasn't sure made sense before Jack tried to form thought into spoken word. Sweat plastered his hair to his brow, beads of blue running over his temples to drop into dark blotches on the pillow. Jack's cock was a solid steel lance burning with fire. Ianto knew the man had to be beyond need for orgasm but he wasn't sure which was the greater need -- staving off orgasm or keeping the stopwatch ticking. Ianto could see the muscles in Jack's arms bunch and jerk; at time his efforts nearly lifted them to pull them towards the head of the bed. Awareness, at least on some level, all to keep the watch ticking.
Ianto didn't stop, although he took a moment to slick his fingers for a quick stretch, almost unnecessary as undone as Jack was. He smiled as he nipped a tiny spot of skin on Jack's hip that turned the nonsense syllables into a keen (and partnered with a blind thrust of hips which Ianto carefully avoided). Jack was always focused during sex, attention always directed on every movement and sound Ianto made. Jack was simply intense when it came to sex, and he was very good at it. Ianto didn't figure there were any who were left wanting more of the encounter. But this...this was different.
He wondered if Jack was aware at all outside of touch and the unconscious desire not to make it stop.
After spreading a liberal amount of lube on his aching erection that Ianto'd all but ignored in favor of Jack (god, sex wouldn't be lasting long), Ianto slid into Jack. Tight heat enveloped him, and between the hoarse shout from Jack and the vise grip on his cock, Ianto nearly ended the night extremely early. He rested his forehead on Jack's shoulder for a moment, feeling the rapid rise and fall of Jack's chest that nearly matched his own harsh breathing.
Finally regaining enough composure, Ianto moved, tapping Jack's cheek to get his attention. "Jack." When Jack didn't look, his eyes still closed and face pressed against one arm, Ianto moved enough to put pressure on Jack's chin, turning it so it aligned with his. "Jack, look at me."
Jack slowly opened his eyes, the blue glow matching his iris exactly, washing everything in Jack's view of the world. Ianto had caught glimpses before of Jack unguarded, had felt what he had felt through the ghost machine, but now the burden of time, knowledge, and battle scars spilled over and around them, filling Jack's quarters with a desperate longing for something Ianto couldn't begin to understand.
Ianto wondered how long it had been since Jack had known peace.
"Jack," Ianto whispered his name, afraid to break the still calm which had settled over them, but uncomfortable leaving Jack so...alone. With Jack's answering shudder Ianto believed he had been understood. Perhaps. Jack's breath hitched, and for a moment Ianto thought he had come, but he watched as Jack's eyes widened, noticing what Ianto heard as well.
Silence.
Ianto rolled his eyes as he reached over Jack's head for the stopwatch, cursing Jack's timing and knowing he'd have to leave as he'd said if not enough time had passed despite being buried balls-deep in Jack. The captain seemed reluctant to give up the stopwatch as well; he probably was thinking along the same lines as Ianto, except Ianto could pull out and wank in front of Jack if he wanted before he left. Jack would remain tied (and hard) until morning. A quick glance at the time assured Ianto that none of that would happen, Jack had made it by three minutes. Not that Ianto told him as he carefully set the watch on the floor, just under the bed to keep it out of stepping range.
Jack held his breath and didn't move, waiting while Ianto studied him, extending the suspense as long as he could maintain. Which, if he were honest with himself, wasn't very long. He answered with a sharp thrust of his hips that had Jack's eyes rolling back with pleasure, growling Jack's name to get the attention back on him, not the blue-tinged ceiling. He wanted to see Jack, to see the open expression in his eyes, to know that Jack understood
Some things were just beyond his control; he was not responsible for the fate of every person any more than Ianto was responsible for all in Torchwood One.
Lessons hard to learn.
The actual sex didn't last long, but then, the night hadn't been about tantric demonstrations of intercourse. Ianto reached between them, wanting Jack to come first, and gave Jack a brief nod. His hand had barely touched Jack's cock before he felt Jack's orgasm tear through him, heard it in the hoarse shout that echoed off the walls and saw it in the shudders and jerks at the restraints. The man was breathtaking in his release and it was all Ianto could do to watch and not join him in abandon, to cease the steady rock of his hips or the pumping of his fist, wringing every last shake, pulse, and cry from Jack.
Beautiful, as Jack liked to say. And, perhaps, Ianto better understood why he said that.
Jack relaxed into a trembling heap on the bed and Ianto quickly sought his own release, not caring for finesse or show. With a grunt far closer to a sigh, Ianto came, falling into the sticky mess coating both his and Jack's chests.
He didn't move, not for a while, just listened as Jack's frantic heart beat slowed to a steady pulse in tempo with Ianto's. With renewed energy and knowing that, despite all appearances Jack's sleeping position couldn't be comfortable, Ianto reached up and spoke the words for the handcuffs' release. He touched them, blinking rapidly as the room fell into darkness when the device turned "off." Jack didn't even stir. Ianto was mindful of Jack's shoulders, massaging each as he rotated both arms and lowered them to the mattress. Then he nabbed the flannel he'd stuck under the pillow (along with the lube, stopwatch, and a blindfold he hadn't needed) and did his best to clean the two of them before they were permanently fused by Jack's semen. Hard to explain to the rest of the team why Ianto was sitting on Jack's lap during the conference calls with Mr. Black, though the idea did amuse Ianto. Owen's face would be priceless.
Before he drifted into slumber, Ianto gathered Jack into his arms, taking the rare opportunity to watch Jack sleep.
***
Ianto wasn't surprised, not really, when he woke to shallow thrusts and the odd sensation of being disconnected from his leg. The leg thing was a bit more of a shock until he realized the missing leg was just flung over Jack's legs to open him up a bit, giving Jack access so he could fuck Ianto while they both rested on their sides. Ianto did vaguely remember a pleasant dream where Jack was blowing him while he made coffee. Seemed that wasn't far off from the truth, only it was more a hand job while Ianto slept. Wasn't actually anything like his dream except it had involved sex with Jack and that's all that really mattered to Ianto at that point. Still foggy with sleep, Ianto twisted his neck until Jack met him with an awkward, clumsy kiss.
It didn't take long for Ianto to come again, though how long Jack had been awake Ianto didn't know. Didn't really care, either, because the soporific warmth and calm defeated all concern. Jack's orgasm followed soon after, sharper thrusts and a sigh Ianto's key clues as he floated in a haze of almost-sleep.
Ianto allowed his eyes to close as Jack panted in his ear. He wasn't so far gone to miss Jack's whispered "thank you," however, and Ianto smiled to himself as he slipped away.
***
Ianto got into the habit of venturing out onto the rooftop of a tall building at the hours of eight and eight. Sometimes he came across Jack, other times he didn't and on some of those occasions, it was not unheard of to receive a text from Jack "I c u". which was slightly unnerving for both the spelling and the spying. From his high vantage point, Ianto dropped his trousers and wanked once after receiving one of those messages; Jack claimed he nearly fell off his own neighboring rooftop. It didn't matter now if they went together or went their own way, though the sex they sometimes partook in when they did meet up was thrilling. Ianto understood, or at least had a better understanding, of what Jack spoke of when he explained why he came up to such heights. What Ianto lacked in time and space, he made up for with a better grasp of the big picture on earth, and that was overwhelming enough to drive him to the rooftops to catch his troubles on the wind and renew his focus. They were why he did what he did. And even though he might despair at the lack of evidence concerning the children of Avalon, up at those heights, he found hope again, a rare commodity.
Jack teased one day that he had been a bad influence on Ianto. Instead of burying himself in the Archives for hours on end, Ianto now got fresh air and slacked off on the job.
Ianto didn't argue.
***
Ianto coordinated efforts to create an emergency band connecting the different countries he'd (Mr. Black) contacted. While not a perfect system, Ianto hoped a repeat like Torchwood One could be avoided, at least on the alien incursion front, if not from an outside perspective on research. Not that he wished to share any information; the other leaders were as reluctant as he to part with any tech or intelligence, but the other leaders had experienced close calls of their own, and it seemed only logical to have the capacity to warn other nations if the base was overrun.
Surprising himself, Ianto found himself getting along rather splendidly with the leader of the US base -- a retired Colonel Sheppard. He was new to the command, the previous leader killed defending his country from little naked green men. Or so Colonel Sheppard had claimed. With the rampant tales of Roswell and downed alien spacecraft, Ianto wasn't quite sure what to believe when it came to aliens and Americans.
Apparently Wilson held a desk job. He might be missing three years of his life but he could still file paperwork. Sheppard didn't quite know what to do with him; in fact, he wasn't sure why he had been sent to Wales in the first place, but the filing suited him.
And he still wore the same pale grass green shirts.
Avalon was also being rebuilt, even if there was a lack of children to educate. "Mr. Black" needed offices and Jean-Luc and Stephen (he and Ianto had mended fences and Stephen stuck strictly to their script) couldn't stay with his father indefinitely, so land was purchased outside Cardiff ... land which conveniently housed a large, sprawling manor. Jean-Luc had immediately claimed the master bedroom -- an enormous monstrosity of a room -- for his own, to which Ianto agreed. He then hired a contractor to divide the room into three smaller rooms who performed the work in less than a week.
Jean-Luc was not amused when he arrived in Cardiff and saw what had been done to "his" room.
For some reason, Ianto and Stephen found this terribly amusing.
Stephen walked with a cane now, faring a bit better than Jean-Luc who still suffered from debilitating headaches. Those had lessened with time, but after a particularly frightening instance where he had attempted to use his gifts ("I only wanted to show Bryce and Gareth a cool trick...") he hadn't tried anything since, to the concern of both Stephen and Ianto. Stephen swore Jean-Luc should be able to at least do small things without pain and believed it psychosomatic after the trauma at the original Avalon. Ianto didn't disagree. They tried everything they could think of, short of putting one of their lives in definite danger, but to no avail.
All the while, they continued their search for the missing, every day achieving the same answer as the day before. Ringing the children's parents or guardians with the lack of updates had been especially hard -- they had believed Avalon would protect their loved ones, and now the protectors had lost their children. Ianto felt guilty for wishing he could tell them they had killed his mother, but at least their children might be alive. But he refrained, applying concerned interest to his voice and listening to each of them, taking his frustration and anger out on a dummy Stephen had purchased for training purposes.
It worked well for exorcism of ghosts as well.
The next day, Jack and John used his car to perform a shared suicide. His entire life spent protecting life, of cherishing it and going to great lengths to save it (even if he failed), and Jack and John take their lives in his fucking car.
And Tosh wondered why he looked cross and Jack had the nerve to ask what was wrong.
Ianto didn't come down from his rooftop for a very, very long time.
***
"Ianto! Wait up!"
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting. Instead, he calmly spun on his feet and gave Tosh the polite smile he reserved for tourists on one of his bad days. Tosh had been through a lot that day, the extent of Jack and her escapades still largely unknown, but everyone was aware of what he had done, of what Owen had done.
"You're just a teaboy."
"I am much more than that."
God, he'd shot Owen and nearly blown his cover in the same breath. What kind of person did that? Moreover, what kind of employer shot his staff?
And Jack was despondent, for unclear reasons. Not that Ianto hadn't tried to figure it out. He had asked Jack if he was okay, if there was anything he could do. The answer had been a resounding "no" and a polite "leave me alone."
So he had, watching Tosh and Jack share a drink in his office as he nursed his ribs and pretended to check information on Tosh's computer. Ianto had caught part of what Tosh had said from reading her lips (they had made no effort to hide the conversation in the office), something about taking a name and toasting to Jack Harkness. It wasn't difficult putting the information together. Ianto knew from his father that Jack had borne another name, in another time. That he had taken Jack Harkness and met the real one should come as no surprise.
"Your report on activity while we were gone. A dragon sighting in the Beacons?"
Ianto could barely remember what he had typed up in the report. The entire day had been a blur of fear, pain, and self-hatred for his refusal to leave the Rift as it was and leave Jack and Tosh in the past. It was for the greater good, Rifts should never be opened. Perhaps a course in Torchwood history would do wonders for those at Torchwood Three -- a reminder of all things wrong when human arrogance oversteps their comprehension. He had never envied Jack's burden of weighing options and choosing the one least likely to result in mass destruction of the earth and her people. He was now getting a taste of it, and he didn't like it any better than it had appeared in the display case.
He skimmed through the report, nodding as he handed it back to Tosh. "Yes. I phoned and got a description. A large, pale shape in the sky. In other words, a cloud. Or a bird. There was no Rift activity in connection with it and only the one report."
"Right. You marked it unworthy of further investigation?" Tosh paused, seeming to judge her words carefully, "I don't want to return, either. But if there is unexplained activity, Torchwood should investigate."
It took a moment for her words to filter and the purpose reasoned. She was chastising him for his report? On the basis that he was, what, frightened to return? Of course he was and had no intent of ever returning to that cursed land that occasionally haunted his dreams, but all the same, the idea he'd keep everyone from going in case of an alien threat was ridiculous. "And if it merited Torchwood investigation, I would have deemed it such, Tosh. If there's another sighting, we'll send Jack and Owen."
Tosh's smile faltered at Jack's name, and Ianto used this to push for information. "Are you okay? You both seemed pretty upset. Can I get you some tea?"
"Oh, I'm fine." Tosh shook her head and waited for her to continue. People as a general rule were uncomfortable with silence in a conversation, lesson #53 in Torchwood One's Inquiry training manual. Wait a bit longer than normal and one usually walked away with far more information than was originally offered. That lesson was immediately followed by rules of interrogation. With Torchwood One, there hadn't been many; pretty much anything went. Not that anyone talked about it. "Jack will be okay, too. Going back in time, you know."
No, Ianto didn't really know. But he knew Jack, and a trip back in time would have been child's play. Ianto took a leap with what he knew, "Tosh. I know about Captain Jack Harkness, Jack's namesake. I know what happened."
Her head jerked up in surprise, the reports spilling from her hands. "But...how?"
Ianto carefully bent to help her pick things up; he was going to bruise spectacularly, but Tosh didn't need to be concerned with that. She was going to tell him what he wanted to know. And that was what was troubling Jack. "The pictures. It wasn't hard to piece everything together."
She appeared relieved to talk with someone; Ianto wasn't going to dissuade her from divulging information. "Oh, Ianto, he fell so hard. I hardly noticed at first...too caught up in figuring out how to deliver the calculations to you." Ianto tipped his head in acknowledgment of her efforts and smiled, his insides growing cold as she continued, "and then there was the dance. They kissed..." Tosh fanned herself, smiling as Ianto helped her to her feet. "Can a person really fall in love at first sight? I didn't believe it until now. He's heartbroken, and I don't know what to do for him."
Jack Harkness and...Jack Harkness. Of course. How appropriate.
He was a fool.
Ianto pointed out to Tosh, with as much warmth and cheer as he could apply without coming off smarmy and attempting to bed her, "your conversation in his office helped. Whatever you said to him, you said the right thing. He just needs time."
Her smile was brilliant, pure Tosh shining through the unnatural gloom, and her quick hug sincere if not a bit painful. Ianto just maintained his polite smile and winked, feeling again when he spoke with Tosh like he was speaking with Elaine. They were remarkably similar at times. "And I promise you won't be sent back to the Beacons on a wild-dragon chase. I'll slash the tires of the SUV if I have to. It'll be our secret."
She laughed her unique Tosh laugh, carefree and innocent. On any other occasion it would have spread to him as well and he'd have to consciously stop himself from laughing as well. She told him thanks and hurried back from the kitchen to her desk where Ianto assumed she would file her report.
Given it was after hours, Ianto had no qualms in leaving. He grabbed his jacket and keys from the Information Center and never looked back.
***
Ianto was three glasses into his bottle of whiskey when his phone rang. At first, he thought it was Jack and now would not be the time to talk with Jack -- Ianto was perfectly maudlin and he'd hate to ruin his inebriated state by becoming angry with the man. Jack wasn't the one he was angry at; he had never pretended that whatever he and Ianto had was more than a buddy fuck. Ianto had grown careless. He understood that and owned his responsibility in the night's drinking. That didn't make him overly eager to speak with Jack, however.
It was Jean-Luc, though, and Ianto grinned at his phone, having considered calling him half-a-glass ago. He answered on the second ring. "Are you psychic? I was just thinking of calling you."
"Very funny, Ianto. Are you pissed?"
"Quite possibly. My glass says yes, but the bottle says no. Ask me in two more glasses, the bottle might agree."
"Fuck, mon grand. What happened? Where are you? I can come over, Stephen's just going over these files again and he wouldn't mind if I leave."
"No, you wouldn't mind if you left. He would." Ianto flipped through the channels on the telly, finding nothing on but Red Dwarf re-runs. The time dragged by, and Ianto wondered if Jean-Luc had read the same training manual he had. He obfuscated, selecting another topic which was equally troublesome but less embarrassing to admit to. "I shot a coworker today. Intentionally."
A blur of French followed, of which Ianto caught only a phrase or two. His mind was still concentrating on his fourth glass.
"Was it Jack?"
God, Jean-Luc sounded almost hopeful. "No. Owen."
"Him? Good. He deserved it for drugging you and being a twat."
Ianto snorted, having forgotten that Jean-Luc knew all of that. "That's no excuse. I shouldn't have done it."
"You had reason, you wouldn't have done it otherwise. What'd he do?"
He considered what he should say, then dismissed it in favor of shock value. "Destabilized a space/time Rift creating a tear which could splinter over the globe and eradicate what we understand as linear time before erasing our very existence in the universe."
Jean-Luc's silence was worthy of another sip from his glass after a mock toast.
"Well, you lot don't do anything by half, do you?"
Ianto laughed; he couldn't help it at the gross understatement. Events did seem quite large, even leaving out the part about choosing to strand Jack and Tosh in the pages of history.
"How are you doing? Are you sure you don't want me there?"
"In your dreams, Ianto, in your sad, wet dreams where you're his part-time shag." Ianto shook his head, glad for Jean-Luc's inability to read his thoughts. How was he doing? He was doing splendid. He had a bottle of whiskey, an empty flat, plenty of idiocy, and Red Dwarf on the telly. What more could he ask for from an evening at home? "No, don't bother. I'll be right come morning. Remember the time we snuck into Mr. Shoemaker's room and stole that bottle of brandy he hid in his desk drawer?"
Jean-Luc's laughter echoed in the hollow, empty corners of Ianto's flat. "We drank it all. And you were so sick the next morning. Took me bribing Betsy in the kitchens to get you some ginger ale and cream crackers."
"Always looking out for me, weren't you?"
"Still am." Ianto didn't say anything, just stared at the telly and refused to give in to the weeping mess he wished to become. It'd be so easy.
God he was a fool. He'd thought he'd actually meant something.
"Mr. Shoemaker. He wasn't gifted."
Ianto nodded before realizing Jean-Luc couldn't see him. He raised his glass in silent toast to the dead and drank before responding. "I know." The three of them had gone through the list of staff, noting everyone who was gifted and who wasn't. The ones who weren't...they probably never made it out of Avalon. The others...
"We'll find them, Ianto."
He grinned sadly, laying down on his couch and pulled a blanket over his shoulders. "Are you sure you're not psychic?"
"Right now, I'm as good as you, with only half the brain."
"A sorry state for you. I'm going to hang up now and fall asleep." Ianto fluffed the pillow behind him, but didn't bother shutting the telly off. Maybe he'd dream of Red Dwarf.
"Are you sure--"
"No."
"Okay, then. I'm calling in the morning to make sure you're alive."
"Goodnight, Jean-Luc." Ianto clicked the mobile off and silenced it, throwing it onto the coffee table without a care watching as a rose petal floated to the floor. He'd pick it up in the morning.
Fool.
***
He woke to insistent taps on his face, taps refusing to go away no matter how much he batted at them. For a moment he was confused, thinking it was his nephews -- this was a very nephew-thing to do. But no, he'd come home after sentencing Jack and Tosh to the 1940s, shooting Owen, then learning Jack loved Jack.
Jack squared.
He tried to calculate what that would equal, but it just hurt to consider.
"Ianto."
Speaking of Jack's squared, Ianto tried to focus on the visions swimming in front of him. "Jack?"
"Let's get you to bed. You smell like a distillery."
Bed? Right, he was on the couch. But...Jack was in his flat. "Why're you here?" was what Ianto meant to say, though he was pretty sure it came out "Yoorear?" He was drunk, not deaf.
Jack's laughter didn't sound amused, but Ianto couldn't remember why he wouldn't be. "I looked for you and you were gone."
"Sick."
"You were sick?"
Ianto shook his head, cursing his stupidity as the room swam and his stomach rolled with it. He should have just said so. "No, sick." He pushed his way past Jack into his bathroom and shut the door, much preferring to vomit in private. Not that there was much there; he couldn't remember eating but then, there had been other matters to consider, like leaving Jack and Tosh at the dance hall when he knew what happened the following day.
He hated his job.
How did Jack do it?
He rested his head on the tile for a moment to gather enough strength to crawl to bed, where he hoped he would sleep through the day and into the next month. He would have stayed there too, except the floor was freezing and his teeth were chattering.
Ianto stood up and grabbed the sink, finding his toothbrush too quickly clean his teeth, followed by a glass of water which appeared by his hand that he couldn't remember pouring.
Jack.
The other man was standing in the bathroom doorway, waiting patiently with his arms crossed. His hair looked less perky than it usually did, but Ianto supposed a broken heart did that to a person -- inflicted calamities of hair proportions. Ianto drank the glass dutifully and moved to walk into the bedroom, but Jack motioned first with his hands, then he tugged on Ianto's shirt. Off. But it was so cold. His bed would be warm, however, and so he stripped it off with Jack's help with the braces, shucking the rest of the clothes easily after the tricky braces were dealt with. He was stopped from entering his bedroom by Jack, whose hands pressed the spectacular bruise on his chest.
Felt spectacular too.
"He kicked me. I shot him. We're square." Ianto answered Jack's unspoken question, pushing his way into his bedroom and falling onto the bed. A bit of a mistake, but he could breathe after a moment. The bed dipped as Jack climbed onto it, feeling wonderfully warm as he enveloped Ianto in his arms and pulled the linens up around Ianto's chin. The shakes from the cold tile floor melted away and once Ianto could think beyond cold, he hated himself for enjoying the warmth.
He was just a part-time shag. He had to remember that. And yet there he was, basking in the warmth. Jack was just this giant black hole of charisma and charm and Ianto had fallen into it as easily as the ones he'd mocked for failing to pay attention to the path they were headed on. He knew better.
Yet, there he was, half-drunk and clinging to Jack.
"You didn't have to leave."
Oh, yes, he did. Ianto was quite certain in this. Jack had fallen in love in a matter of hours, and fallen hard enough to droop his hair. Ianto had no business staying at the Hub. Not in his sad, wet dreams.
"Work was finished."
"That's never stopped you before from staying."
Ianto didn't answer, pretending to sleep. It was safer, and excused by his drinking But as much as he wanted to pretend that he was more than just a tea boy, lying in Jack's arms, he knew what love was to Jack, and he knew he wasn't it.
It was just a part-time shag, after all.
***
Four days had passed since Jack vanished without a trace.
Four days and no answers.
Ianto wondered if there was a magical day when he would stop caring, when it should stop bothering him that Jack left with no note, no farewell, no goodbyes.
It had been ten days since Ianto had watched Owen kill Jack.
Ten days since Jack had died without immediately waking.
Six days since Jack had played Lazarus and rose from the dead, hugging all of them and kissing Ianto like he meant it.
Four days since he'd vanished, and now Ianto was accepting. Jack was never coming back.
"Tosh, watch it!" Ianto pulled Tosh out of the alien's path. It was an unknown to Ianto (Jack would know), a three-headed dog-like creature worthy of Greek legend. Perhaps one had ventured to earth before, inspiring the legends of Cerebus, but that information did not help them contain the beast.
They were falling apart.
Tosh felt nothing but guilt for her role in the Rift's opening. Billis had tricked her with memory of her mother, and she'd trusted Owen. That, and Ianto was rather certain she still carried a flame for him, even if he was a twat hellbent on self-destructing. She tried her best, chaining herself to her desk to run report after report searching for Jack, for Torchwood Four, for any anomaly she might help prevent.
She was the only one who didn't look at Ianto with pity, just empathy. He didn't mind making her tea.
Tosh and Ianto turned and fired their guns at the beast when they heard Gwen's scream. It hadn't touched her yet, but was threatening, massive jaws snapping and clacking with what Ianto was certain was enough force to snap a tree trunk.
Gwen appeared to take Jack's disappearance hardest, though Ianto doubted the sincerity. He supposed he was still bitter when she refused to leave Jack's side at the morgue -- not that Ianto wanted to sit in vigilance, but he might have enjoyed yelling at the stiff figure, cursing him in as many languages he could think of for the stupidity of dying for the greater fucking good and begging for an answer as to why.
But he couldn't, not while Gwen was there.
He wondered if she loved Jack. It was possible, it was easy enough to do -- Jack was a man many loved but few felt love in return -- but that left Ianto confused as to where Rhys fit in. She still lived with him, and yet she acted with obsessed compulsion to find Jack as though he were a lover who had disappeared. Perhaps Ianto had always been single-minded in his relationships, utterly focused on one individual. Or maybe it was that he had fallen for Jack himself -- cut out the middle man and went straight for the top.
That just left him farther to fall.
She barely ate, barely slept. Ianto had finally had enough of her wasting away and set a plate down in front of her and watched her eat. And then pass out as the sleeping pill he'd laced her dessert with kicked in. She looked better after the rest, color to her face. Rhys had been concerned when Ianto carried her to their front door, but he'd assured him it was a temporary thing. Then he'd proceeded to lecture Rhys on proper care of loved ones and to make sure she ate breakfast in the morning.
He hadn't argued. In fact, he'd offered Ianto a beer.
"Ianto!"
Ianto caught sight of Owen racing in, throwing Ianto a corner of the containment netting Ianto had remembered in the Archives. Owen had gone back for that and his kit -- all of them were banged up and Ianto would probably need stitches -- and had taken his time returning from Ianto's point of view.
Owen...Ianto had to, not respect, but admire him. He'd attempted to take control of the situation, claiming his status as new leader of Torchwood Three in Jack's absence as second in command. He'd tried, then sought Ianto while he had been lost in the Archives and asked if he wouldn't take over for a while, seeing as how Ianto was better at the diplomacy thing. Owen was far more a "practical approach kind of guy."
From the stories Ianto heard later from the Prime Minister, Owen had taken a very practical approach and told her to shove off.
He had been affected as well, Owen had, his barbs less pointed than they had been before, his complaining less amusing and more whining. The first few days after Jack's disappearance, Ianto thought he had actually caught Owen watching after him -- for what, Ianto wasn't sure, but he had appeared almost concerned. That was the thing about Owen, once one bothered to understand him. While he might take the piss and tussle with those of Torchwood Three, he watched out for each of them like they were family. He actually got angry at those who intended to harm the family.
Perhaps, for Owen, they were. Ianto didn't really know anything about Owen's family life -- aside from Torchwood records stating divorced parents, growing up with his mom, being bounced from school to school, and always getting into trouble but still managing to get into medicine.
Really, all things considered, Ianto thought as he gave one corner to Tosh to run to the hind quarters of the beast, that's how they functioned. A dysfunctional family unit. It had been easy for Ianto to turn his back on Jack, to side with Owen. Well, it hadn't been so much as side with Owen but to doubt Jack's superior knowledge of everything and everything. He had doubted Jack. Maybe he'd been swayed by his emotions in regards to his reevaluation of his perceived relationship with Jack, maybe it was remembering the regret on Jack's face in the viewscope of the ghost machine. But at the same time, Ianto had wept when he believed Jack permanently dead. His loss hurt, more than Ianto would have imagined given the distance he'd hastily built between them. Jack's greatcoat -- Ianto remembered sex on top of the Millennium Center and clutched it to his face. Life had been simple then, black and white, not these shades of grey that colored their world. Because nothing was simple anymore. They didn't chase weevils with weevil spray; they chased three-headed beasts with razor-sharp fangs with nothing but a net between them.
"Gwen!" Ianto threw the final corner at her, hoping she'd catch it while the beast's heads were distracted by Owen screaming (like a girl, Ianto thought). She did and the netting surged to life, snapping a brilliant red grid into place and a dome over the head of the beast, corners held by the four remaining of Torchwood Three.
Maybe they were broken, maybe they were falling apart. But they had a duty to perform -- to protect the citizens of Britain and from the size of things that popped through the Rift, the world. Jack had left them, abandoned them, doomed them to whatever destiny had in store. But Ianto would never run from his duty as Mr. Black -- nor as Ianto, temporary leader of Torchwood Three and tea boy extraordinaire. He had been borne into it. And so long as the others were willing, they'd do what they could to save those they could save, research what they could research, and claim what they could claim.
Because they were Torchwood. And Torchwood was them.
Next Chapter. Please read A/N.