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Cold hands were on is his shoulders, and he wiggled to get away from them. Burrowing under the covers, he grumbled at an amused Jack.
“Go ‘way,” he said into the pillow, avoiding the early morning light streaming through the window. The room was cast in soft greys, an early morning mist hanging outside. A cold wind blew through the room through the open window.
“You’re terribly cute when you’re like this,” Jack told him. Ianto rolled over, and glared at the other man.
“’m not cute,” he told him, then pulled the duvet up over his head again.
Jack pulled off the colors, and hauled Ianto into a vaguely upright position.
“Come on. I have a surprise.” Grumbling all the way, Ianto pulled on some old jeans a simple t-shirt. He rubbed his eyes, and let Jack drag him into the car.
Last night had been awful. Ten weevils in one day, Jack died twice, and a rift alarm that proved to be a very confused poodle being tossed through the temperamental tear in time and space.
He was fairly sure his current laziness was well deserved. Why Jack was still up and about was beyond him.
He had collapsed into bed at one am, too tired to remove his outer clothing. Jack had found him like that half an hour later, and had stripped him of his clothing.
“I wouldn’t drag you out, but this is the only night they’re here,” Jack told him as he man-handled him out to the SUV. It was a sign of how tired Ianto was that he let Jack drive. Most of the time, he refused to allow it, saying that he ‘wants to live to get to their destination, thank you.’
Ianto slumped over to lean his head against the window, and Jack rolled his eyes. Having lost his source of conversation, he turned on the radio.
It was an hour out of the city. Jack shook Ianto awake, ignoring the grumbling man. Far too excitedly for someone who had been up later than Ianto had been, he bounded out of the car. Ianto followed behind.
“Look,” Jack said, pointing at the sky. There were shootings stars.
“You’re such a girl, Jack,” Ianto mumbled, rubbing his eyes, “What’s so special?”
The other man looked at him bemusedly. It was times like these when he remembered Ianto was only twenty-five.
“You’ve been at Torchwood far too long if you can’t find any sort of entertainment in shooting stars,” he pointed out, folding his arms in front of him. Ianto gave him a pointed look.
“And these aren’t ordinary shooting stars,” he relented, “they’re the waste of a species who’s name even I can’t pronounce.”
Ianto stared at him, wide eyes incredulous, and pointed to the sky.
“So that’s…”
“Yep. The best part, though? Their waste is pure carbon. In thousands of years, those will become diamonds. They’ve been dumping their waste here for a long, long time.”
Ianto blinked.
“So what women wear in their rings…”
“The shit of this species. Thought you might appreciate the irony.”
“Thanks, Jack,” Ianto smiled for the first time that night, kissing him gently. “Sorry,” he apologized quietly, “nice of you to bring me out here.”
They opened the back of the SUV, perched on the edge. Despite his initial slumber, Ianto couldn’t help but wonder what Jack’s motivation was in coming out here. Perhaps he was leaving again.
Or perhaps, he thought wryly, he ought to give Jack the benefit of the doubt. Jack was right. He had been at Torchwood much too long. It changed you, and maybe not for the better.
It was too late now, in any case. He might as well be here as anywhere else.
As the star shower wore on, his eyelids grew heavy.
Jack was startled from the reverie that had overtaken in him the silence when he felt Ianto’s head fall onto his shoulder. He tucked the edges of the blanket he had brought around so that it wouldn’t fall off the younger man, then wrapped his arm around him comfortably. He was content; he could sit here a little while longer.