Work Text:
Ianto Jones stood and stared blankly into his wardrobe, his shower dampened hair tickling the back of his neck.The line of crisply pressed suits and button-up shirts stared silently back at him. He noted dimly that a thin coating of dust had started to form on the shoulders and almost mechanically added laundry and dry cleaning to his mental list of things to do today. His list was already much longer than a normal Monday’s. He sincerely doubted that his teammates had bothered keeping up with the Hub’s inventory and cleaning while he’d been gone, not to mention the backlog that was probably waiting for him down in the archives. And then there was the fact that his flat was completely devoid of anything more appetizing than tinned beans. He’d have to run to the shop this morning. Jack would be home from work by 5:15, and he had to make sure dinner was ready and… Ianto closed his eyes and took a deep, barely shaking breath and reminded himself that the mission was over and everything had gone back to normal. Well, Torchwood normal, but normal. With much less hesitation than he felt, he reached in and pulled out a dark pinstripe and a burgundy shirt.
As he dressed, Ianto noticed how different the wool and silk felt as it slid across his skin. It felt like years since he’d felt anything other than denim and cotton against him, and he allowed himself a moment to revel in the softness, the rightness of the feeling as he layered on his protective armour for the day. He tightened his tie as he finished and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Gone was Ifan, househusband. The man who stared back at him was every bit Ianto Jones, Archivist for Torchwood Three. The man who wears a suit to serve coffee. Ianto stared at his reflection longer than was strictly necessary to confirm everything was in order, and hoped he’d be able to match the confidence of the man in the mirror.
It was going to be a long day. The rest of the team had arrived at Serenity Plaza around midnight, and they’d spent the next four hours helping the authorities find the reason behind the “accidental” petrol build up that had caused the tragedy, and making sure every bit of alien tech brought in by Cell 114 had been destroyed. Luckily, the explosions covered up the vast majority of the evidence, including the melted bodies of the sleepers. With their job completed, and after what Ianto considered a completely pointless cursory field exam by Owen, Jack had ordered everyone home. Food, bed. In that order. Any further cleanup could wait until morning. And Ianto had been more than happy to comply.
He’d expected Jack to join him at his flat, and couldn’t help the sharp stab of hurt that ran through him when Jack asked to be dropped at the Hub. Fortunately, the car was too dark and the moment was gone too soon for Jack to notice anything that flashed across Ianto’s face. He felt silly and reprimanded himself for reacting that way. It was a mission. They had been saving the world. They had been forced to play happy families, and now that it was over, there was no reason to think Jack would suddenly start staying the night. He never had before. Why would he start now? Jack Harkness was a great many things, but domestic wasn’t one of them. Ianto knew this. He’d always known this. Even when Jack had returned from his unexplained absence and offered Ianto something that looked more like a real relationship than just a boss-with-benefits, he’d known that domestic was never going to be a part of their lives. They worked for Torchwood. Even Gwen, the only one of them to maintain a life outside of work, still had to lie to Rhys about where she went every hour of the day and night. Domestic was simply out of the question for members of Torchwood.
With a final nod of approval at his appearance, Ianto tucked his gun into the back of his trousers, grabbed his wallet and keys, and headed off to work.
***
The tourism office was dusty when Ianto entered around fifteen minutes later. It didn’t faze him. He pressed the button to open the wall and continued inside, hoping they had enough coffee beans to at least get them through the first round of caffeine before he needed to run to the shops. Gwen greeted him as he walked through the large cog door.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” She said with a genuine smile.
Ianto flinched internally at the use of the phrase he’d been greeting Jack with for weeks. Outwardly, he returned her smile, and found he meant it.
“So are you. Feels like ages since I’ve been outside. Thought I was gonna go mad in there.”
“Well it’s good to have you back, Ianto.”
“It’s good to be back. Where’s our fearless leader?” Ianto asked, glancing briefly at Jack’s closed office door as he headed up the stairs into the main Hub. As he looked, he noticed just how bad the condition of the Hub was. Trash and miscellaneous file folders littered every available flat surface, and there were artefacts scattered around wherever there was a space for them. Ianto repressed a sigh as irritation rushed through him. He’d hoped they might have done at least a little tidying up while he was away.
“He’s finishing up a call with the police station. Once he’s done, we can close this case for good.” Toshiko answered from her workstation, turning to greet him. “Welcome home, Ianto. We missed you.”
“Missed his coffee’s more like.” Owen added, bringing a folder up from the med bay.
Ianto smirked at the almost compliment that somehow also managed to be almost insulting that was Owen’s unique form of communication. He’d missed this. Banter, conversations, friends… He’d felt isolated from the world for weeks, and it was finally over.
As if on cue, Jack’s office door swung open, followed by the man himself. He smiled widely when he saw Ianto and gave him a not so subtle look up and down, grinning even wider in approval of Ianto’s return to his suits.
“Good morning, Ianto. Sleep well?” Jack asked casually, coming over to lean against Tosh’s desk.
“Better than I have in weeks, sir.” Came the reply. For a split second, Ianto thought he saw a flash of sadness cross Jack’s face. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, making Ianto wonder if he’d just imagined it.
“Good to hear it,” Jack nodded, standing up straight and putting his hands on his hips, “Looks like the rift plans on being quiet today, so short of an unexpected invasion, everyone can just work on whatever side projects you’ve got in the works.”
“I’ll just get started on the coffee then, shall I?” Ianto smiled and made his way past Jack towards the stairs that led to the kitchenette.
Once he was out of sight, Owen, Tosh, and Gwen all turned and looked sharply at Jack, who had slumped slightly once Ianto had left and was busy running a worried hand through his hair.
“You didn’t tell him?” Toshiko asked quietly.
“Jack! You said you’d tell him! Get all the drama out of the way before he came back!” Owen chimed in, his voice sharper but no less hushed.
“I meant to tell him!” Jack hissed back at the doctor, “You have no idea how stressful that place was for him. It just never seemed like the right time.” Jack sighed guiltily and chanced a look back towards the kitchenette. Any moment now.
“Oh that’s just great,” Owen rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up for enhanced dramatic effect, “And how do you think he’s gonna respond when he figures out what happened?”
“It’ll be fine,” Jack insisted, hoping that by voicing the words it would make them true, “He’ll be fine. I’ll take full responsibility for…”
Jack never got a chance to finish his sentence as the silence in the hub was suddenly broken by the deafening sound of three gunshots echoing from the kitchenette.
***
Everyone’s eyes went wide, color draining from their faces as the last echo of sound died away. Owen made to run for the stairs, but was stopped when Jack moved in front of him and held up a hand. When Gwen opened her mouth to say something, Jack held up the other hand, silencing her.
With a brief look that loudly ordered them to stay where they were, Jack turned and quietly made his way up to the kitchenette. He took a deep, steadying breath. Three shots. Ianto hadn’t shot himself. Another breath. No alarm. No shouting. The Hub hadn’t detected an intruder, and Ianto hadn’t seen one. Another breath, shakier this time, and he stepped into the small room.
Ianto was standing with his back to the doorway, about five paces in front of the table where his Italian made deluxe commercial espresso machine had sat since Jack had surprised him with it a week after returning from travelling with the Doctor. The old one had been starting to struggle, and Jack had hoped that the gift would earn him some points from the man he was trying to reform a relationship with. And it had worked. Ianto had treated it like a precious possession, and they’d all been treated to creative new flavors and styles as Ianto had cheerfully experimented with his new toy. Now, the treasured machine sat smoking and leaking water onto the floor from the three bullet holes Ianto had just put into it.
For a moment, as Jack took in the scene before him, it felt as though time had come to a screeching halt. The air was thick with a strained, uncertain silence, like a bomb with the countdown stuck between 1 and 0. Then Ianto lowered his gun, and the breath Jack had been holding came out in a quiet sigh of relief. He really didn’t want Ianto’s first day back to start with Ianto killing him. Again.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Ianto’s short, crisp voice cut through Jack’s thoughts, and Jack felt a small tingle of fear at the lack of emotion in his lover’s tone. “I’m afraid coffee will be delayed this morning. The machine appears to be malfunctioning.”
Jack had seen Ianto snap once before. There’d been a short, sudden outburst of violence then too, though at the time, Jack had chalked the response up to the recentness of Lisa’s death, and Jack’s hand in it. Now, seeing it repeated, (though thankfully the only victim this time was the coffee machine,) Jack reassessed his theory from ‘an uncharacteristic outburst of a man drowning in his own emotions’, to ‘a reaction born from the overwhelming need to claim even a hairsbreadth of control over the situation’. But it was the only similarity between the two circumstances. Before, Ianto had been reeling from the sudden loss of his entire world, his employment to Torchwood his only lifeline in a soul tearing hurricane of emotional pain. So it had seemed natural that the first step towards helping him heal would be to strengthen that lifeline. More fieldwork, more responsibilities, and eventually, more trust. Their relationship had followed, and was based around friendship, forgiveness, and mutual comfort. But things had changed. Jack had disappeared for months, only to return with a proposition of something more. Something solid. Something real. And Ianto had said yes.
Things weren’t quite as simple this time. Ianto had two life lines now. Torchwood... and Jack. And the two were so interconnected that they’d never had a problem with mixing work with pleasure. But now… now their relationship had become the job, and in such a way that seemed to do nothing so much as highlight the reality that they could never have a quiet, simple life together. As Jack eased himself towards Ianto, hands at shoulder level to make it clear he wasn’t a threat, Jack surprised himself by wishing, for the first time in a long time, that he could give Ianto that commitment. The house, the dog, the fence, the mundane conversations about laundry and washing up… He wanted to give Ianto all of it. If that’s what he wanted. Cautiously stepping around Ianto’s right side, Jack also realized that it was entirely possible Ianto would no longer be able to stomach a relationship with him. If there was no goal or future, what could a relationship bring besides pain?
“Don’t worry about it, Ianto. It’ll be fine. No one’s going to be upset.” Jack kept his voice even and calm as he spoke. He knew from decades of experience that any indication of anger or fear could tip an unbalanced mind well and truly off the edge. As he entered Ianto’s line of sight, Jack slowly reached down and pulled the pistol from Ianto’s hand, silently grateful when it was surrendered without complaint. Jack tucked it safely into the back of his trousers and reached out a hand to grip Ianto’s arm gently, trying to meet Ianto’s unfocused gaze with a reassuring smile. “Tell you what. Rift’s predicting quiet for the next few days, so why don’t you go home and take a breather. This was a long case, and undercover work is never easy. No one would blame you for taking a few days to relax and reorient yourself.”
“I’m fine, sir.” Ianto said, voice still sounding dead and hollow.
“Ianto,” Jack gently placed his palm on Ianto’s cheek, turning the younger man’s gaze to him, “You just shot the espresso machine. Three times. I think you should go home and rest.”
Ianto looked at the machine in question and his eyes widened a fraction, as though he’d just realized what he’d done.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what came over me.” Ianto dropped his gaze guiltily, and Jack recognized the fear of reprimand buried beneath it.
“It’s fine. I’ll get you a new one. Don’t worry about it. For now, let’s just get you home.”
“What about work, sir? I’ve already been gone too long. The Hub is a mess, and the…”
“Work can wait. You need rest. Now. No arguments.” Jack added a touch of authority to his voice. It always worried him when Ianto constantly called him “sir,” but he’d decided that it was likely an unconscious tick Ianto had developed when he was lost or overwhelmed and needed Jack to help him find his direction again.
“Yes, sir.”
Keeping his grip on Ianto’s arm firm, but light, Jack steered him out of the kitchenette and down the stairs, grateful that the rest of the team had the forethought to look busy when Jack and Ianto joined them.
“I’m going to take Ianto home.” Jack announced as calmly as though he were talking about the weather instead of informing them of how he was going to handle their suddenly trigger-happy teammate. “You three hold down the fort while we’re gone. We have our mobiles if there’s an emergency.” Jack smiled softly to himself as Ianto broke his grip and moved on auto-pilot to grab Jack’s coat from its hook and held it up for the Captain to slide his arms into while he continued, “In the meantime. Gwen, Owen, work on tidying this place up a bit. You can leave the files and artefacts, but get the rest cleaned up.”
“What?” Came Owen’s cry of dismay from the med bay stairs.
“Sir, please. It’s my job to clean. I don’t mind…” The fear had moved into Ianto’s voice now, but Jack set it aside for the moment. He had a point to make.
“We’re adults. We’re not children. And Ianto’s not a maid. Sexy as that idea might be.” Jack watched out of the corner of his eye for Ianto’s reaction to the overly flirtatious comment, and was pleased when he saw a slight blush blossom on the Welshman’s cheeks, a hopeful counter to the anxiety in his blue-gray eyes.
“But, Jack…!”
“Clean it up, Owen. We’ll be back in a couple days.” He took Ianto’s arm again and started heading to the door. “Tosh, send the rift alerts to my wrist strap. Remember! Emergencies only!”
And with that, they were gone. Leaving behind three very confused coworkers who were all thinking the same thing. What had really happened between Jack and Ianto in Serenity Plaza?
***
Ianto was silent for the entire drive to his flat. Jack decided to let the other man organize his thoughts and let the silence be, concentrating on the road and trying to organize the jumble in his own head. He remembered the last silent car ride he’d spent with an emotional Ianto, and wondered if this situation could be resolved the same way or if he’d have to use a different approach. Jack’s default solution to relationship problems had always been the judicial application of mind-numbing sex, and it was a solution that had served him well. Except when it hadn’t. The few times he’d allowed himself to have a serious relationship with someone, he hadn’t been fool enough to think that real problems could be solved with sex. Sex was for problems you wanted to ignore until the fling ended. Talking was for problems you wanted to fix .
Jack could tell something was broken in Ianto, and he wanted more than anything to help him fix it. Instinctually, he knew he wasn’t dealing with another soul crushing break. The world hadn’t ended, and they’d all come home in one piece. But Jack didn’t kid himself for one moment that it wasn’t just as serious. He thought back to all those nights over the last few weeks when he’d come home to dinner on the table, a welcome home kiss, and the smoldering fire of passion making his lover’s eyes shine. But as a week had turned into two, and two had turned to four, and four turned to six, Jack had watched that spark fade and dim until there was barely enough left to make the act convincing. And once the lights were off… The frequency of their sex hadn’t changed, and the lust between them had never faded, but afterward… that had been different.
Before Jack had disappeared, he’d only been to Ianto’s flat once, on their first night together. It had been a confusing evening followed by an even more confusing night, and they’d told each other it would only be the once. Jack was gone before Ianto woke up. And then Suzie had died. Again. Only this time, Jack had been the one to kill her. And Ianto had offered Jack the same comfort; a warm body, a caring touch, and nothing to occupy his mind for a few hours except bliss. Ianto had left while Jack drifted off. After John had committed suicide, Jack had returned to the Hub to find Ianto waiting for him, tie loosened and just enough buttons undone to make the offer noticeable if desired, and easily ignored if not. Jack had practically thrown Ianto into the nearest wall and kissed him to within an inch of his life, then taken him down to his bunker. He’d cried silently into Ianto’s shoulder as he’d taken him from behind, then buried his head in the pillow when they’d finished. Ianto had kissed the top of his head and gone up the ladder to sleep on the sofa. He’d done the same thing when they’d returned from 1941 and Jack had mourned the loss of his namesake. Then he’d been killed by Abaddon and his immortality had been revealed, and Jack had barely registered the idea that he might be developing feelings for the young Welshman when the Doctor had arrived and Jack had disappeared.
Jack had realized during the forgotten year he spent on the Valiant that he had been falling in love with Ianto Jones since the moment in the SUV when he’d asked Jack to kiss him. By the time the Master had been killed and the world had been saved, Jack had known that out of the billions upon billions of people in the universe, there was only one person he wanted to be with. But he’d returned months after he’d left, and dealing with Hart had left them no time for conversation. But Hart had left, and while the other three were enjoying their stay in their luxury hotel for the night, Jack had taken Ianto out to dinner and they’d talked.
It had been a much shorter conversation than Jack had been anticipating. Beyond a vague answer of “somewhere bad,” Ianto hadn’t asked him for details of where he’d been. In an ironic twist, Jack had asked Ianto to give him a second chance. Ianto had kissed him, paid the check, and taken him back to the hotel, where he’d then proceeded to spend the rest of the night showing Jack his answer. Then a few weeks later, Cell 114 had entered their radar. And instead of waking up one morning to the pleasurable surprise that the other had chosen to stay the night, they’d been forced undercover and spent every night together for the last six weeks. It was a huge shift in their tentative, young relationship. But they’d handled it. And for the first couple weeks it had been almost… fun. Jack looked at Ianto out of the corner of his eye and wondered if the destruction of their house in Serenity really had been a metaphor for their relationship. A brief flame of passion destroyed by excessive pressure. He hoped not.
He parked in front of Ianto’s flat and, after acquiring the keys, led the younger man inside. He flipped the light switch, illuminating the living room with soft, cool light. As Ianto helped him out of his great coat, Jack realized that a coat tree had been added next to the door since the last time he’d been here. Jack knew from a particularly stern scolding that Ianto never hung his suit jackets on hooks or pegs. They were always on a hanger, or if one wasn’t available, laid carefully over the back of a chair. Ianto was extremely strict with how he cared for his clothes, but he had never once made a fuss about anyone else’s. Except… for Jack’s coat. And as Ianto gently hung the battered military relic on the coat tree, Jack realized it had been added with the hope that someday, Jack would need it. A flush of heat rose in Jack’s chest and he clenched his fist until his nails bit into his palm to physically stop himself from pulling Ianto into his arms, kissing him until he was incoherent, and promising that as long as Ianto wanted him, Jack would never leave. He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, reminding himself that what he wanted didn’t matter right now. This was about helping Ianto, and trying to fix what their time in Serenity had broken.
When he opened his eyes, Ianto was looking at him with sadness in his eyes. After a moment, Ianto turned, breaking eye contact, and slipped out of his jacket, laying it carefully over the back of the sofa. Jack watched, curious, as Ianto stepped into the adjoining kitchen, loosening his tie and a couple buttons as he went, and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Jack was puzzled for a moment when Ianto pulled a bottle of pills out of the back of one of the drawers. He was about to ask what the pills were for when he remembered the morning’s events, and he could feel his own headache trying to find footing in his brain. He’d probably get an earful from Owen about letting people mix painkillers and alcohol, but Jack had no intention of letting Ianto have more than one drink. Alcohol was no more a solution to their problem than sex. Jack followed Ianto as he moved to the sofa, and sat beside him. Ianto carefully poured them both three fingers each of the whiskey without spilling so much as a drop on the coffee table, handing one to Jack. Then he opened the generic over-the-counter pill bottle and shook it just enough that two small pills fell out into his hand. With just as much care as he’d taken with the whiskey, Ianto replaced the bottle’s lid and set it back on the table. With a quick motion, Ianto swallowed the painkillers and washed them down with close to half his whiskey. Jack took a small sip of his own, bracing his arms on his thighs and looking down into the amber liquid as he spoke.
“Ianto, why did you shoot the espresso machine?” Jack kept his tone even and level, just a casual conversation, while also managing to marvel at the reality of a situation so uniquely bizarre that such a question was even warranted.
“It was broken. Seemed the thing to do. Put it out of its misery.” Ianto supplied, a slight shrug adding to the hint of sadness in his voice.
“Okay,” Jack said, a touch drier than he meant to, “But it’s an espresso machine, not a weevil.”
“I’m aware of the difference, sir.”
“Machines can be fixed.”
“I know that, sir.”
“Then why did you shoot it?”
“I just…” Ianto paused for a moment and took a sip of his whiskey. “I just got so angry. For a second, I saw myself turning on my heel, storming back into the main office, and yelling myself hoarse at the lot of you for messing with the machine when I expressly told you not to.” Another pause, another sip, “But then the anger was just… gone. I realized you’d known about it, probably for weeks, and that things between us had become so broken by that stupid place that you hadn’t even trusted me enough to handle the truth about my espresso machine. The one you’d gotten me when you promised to stay. And then…” Ianto took a deep breath and let it out in an equally deep sigh, “And then I found myself staring at the bullet holes wondering why my gun was in my hand.”
Jack set his glass on the coffee table and turned to face Ianto, placing his hand between them on the sofa, close enough that Ianto could easily reach out to him, but not close enough to initiate the contact if it wasn’t wanted.
“You think I don’t trust you? Why? Because you hadn’t been to the Hub in a while? Because I got so stupid one day missing the real you, with your suits, and your snark, and your damned amazing coffee, that I tried to make some, but I have exactly no idea how that contraption works!” Jack found he had lost his tenuous hold on his ability to remain calm, and his voice had risen to just a bit louder than was pleasant for casual conversation. Ianto was looking at him now, the sadness in his eyes fading into confusion and something that looked like the tiniest spark of hope. “You want me to hotwire an intergalactic transport beam so that it only teleports a person’s clothes to a galaxy seventy billion lightyears away, I can do that with my eyes closed, still tied to the bed. But coffee ?” Jack took his own deep breath and looked straight into Ianto’s eyes, his voice regaining its calm. “Coffee is a magic best left to magicians, gods, and one Ianto Jones.” He reached out his hand and smiled gently when Ianto took it. “Ianto. I trust you. Implicitly. If I had it to give, I would trust you with my life.”
“Well we’ve certainly proved what a foolish mistake that is.”
“Excuse me?”
“I shot you. Remember? You trusted me to trust you, but instead I shot you. You died.”
Jack resisted the urge to laugh with a great force of will. Someday, in the not so distant future, he hoped this would be a memory that caused them to fight off hysterics every time it was mentioned, but right now… Jack squeezed Ianto’s hand and gave him just the hint of a smirk.
“I came back.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Ianto shook his head, “The world was ending, you needed me to trust you, but instead I shot you.”
“Ianto, you were scared, you thought you were alone, and you didn’t know if you could trust me. I probably would have shot me too!” Jack did smile then, hoping it would help convince his lover that he wasn’t upset.
Ianto glared at him. Jack dropped the smile.
“I’m a fully trained Torchwood field operative. I’ve survived over a dozen attempted alien invasions, including Canary Wharf and the one I started with my cyber-girlfriend. And after I spent all that time proving to myself and everyone else that I could be trusted to handle an emergency situation, I found myself the only person standing between the world and total destruction, and my first instinct was to shoot my boss in the head instead of asking him a simple question!” Ianto’s voice rose just as Jack’s had. A small, background part of Jack’s mind was pleased to see Ianto’s emotions coming back. It was difficult to have an emotional conversation if the other person kept themselves closed off. “How? How can you trust me after that? How can you justify that trust now? I murdered you, Jack! In cold-blood! And then I got so upset at a bloody broken coffee machine that I shot it! You should be locking me in the vaults, buying me a doctored drink, I don’t know! But you shouldn’t be sitting here, holding my hand, telling me that a homicidal reaction is a perfectly normal reaction for a member of a secret organization to have in a crisis!”
Ianto stopped his rant and glared angrily at Jack, his eyes fierce and his breaths coming in fast and heavy. After a moment, his breathing leveled out and his shoulders relaxed a little when Jack squeezed his hand again.
“How many questions would it have taken to convince you to trust me?” Jack asked, voice thick and serious. Ianto blinked and stared at him, the anger in his eyes dimming. “Think about it. Really think. In that moment, knowing how you felt, knowing what you knew about their ability to access host memories, how many questions would it have taken to convince you I was really me?”
There was silence between them for a moment before Ianto turned his head away and looked at the coffee table. Jack knew he was getting dangerously close to getting Ianto to acknowledge the reason he was really upset, and if he let Ianto shut down now, it might take weeks to get him to open up again. He wished he could let up, sweep it under the rug with a kiss, and steal Ianto into the bedroom. But if he stopped now, if he let Ianto bury his head back in the sand, he might lose his one chance to make their relationship mean something. Something more than a warm comfort on a cold night. Something worth the coat tree in the entryway. Jack cupped his hand around Ianto’s cheek and turned him back to face him.
“How many questions, Ianto?” There was still silence in answer to his question, but Ianto was looking at him now, his eyes a confusing turmoil of emotions Jack couldn’t decipher. But he wasn’t looking away. Jack pushed on. “You know as well as I do that no matter how many questions you asked, no matter what answers I gave, you still wouldn’t have been able to trust me. Would you?” Jack emphasised the question with a small dip of his head, intensifying the look between them and telling Ianto that this was a question that needed an answer. Ianto blinked for a moment, trying to fight against the logic Jack was using to smother his self-doubt. Then he closed his eyes in defeat and shook his head. Jack slid his hand to the back of Ianto’s head and lightly twined his fingers in the dark, silky hair, applying just enough pressure to make Ianto open his eyes again and hold his gaze. He let a hint of a smile play around the corners of his lips. “There’s only one way to be sure I’m me. When the fate of the world hangs in the balance and a wrong answer could mean the end of civilization as we know it, there is only one way to be absolutely certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’m me. Kill me. Kill me and wait. And you know why that works?”
Ianto licked lips that suddenly felt far too dry, and Jack stifled the urge to kiss him again.
“Because you can’t die.” Ianto answered, voice raw with emotion.
“Exactly,” Jack confirmed, “And where someone else would have spent hours asking me a million different questions to confirm my identity, you realized that time was of the essence, and you made the most logical, efficient choice there was. Automatically. That’s proof of how good you are.” He paused for a moment and let the truth in his words sink in. He saw the fear starting to cloud his lover’s eyes and knew it was time for the final push. “Ianto, I need you to be honest with me. This isn’t actually about you killing your boss, is it?”
Ianto closed his eyes and let his head fall to his chest, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his guilt. Jack leaned down and kissed the top of his head.
“Why did you think I wouldn’t forgive you?” Jack asked, his voice soft, “After everything we’ve been through and made it out of, did you really think I’d hold this against you? Because if we’re being honest, this isn’t the first time you’ve killed me. And unless my memory has completely failed me, we had sex that night, so I obviously wasn’t too put off about it.”
He had expected a chuckle, or a slight shake of the shoulders, or even the small chuff of a repressed snicker, but there was nothing. Just more silence. Then Ianto pulled away from him, sliding his hand from Jack’s grip.
“You didn’t stay.” Ianto’s voice had become emotionless again.
“You mean when I left after Abaddon?” Jack asked, confused by Ianto’s sudden retreat back into himself and wondering how he’d managed to completely lose his grip on the conversation. “I came back. I told you why I came back.”
Ianto shook his head.
“Not then. Today. When it was all over, I came here and you went to the Hub. You didn’t stay. For weeks I’ve been locked alone in a house surrounded by a potential alien threat. The only thing that kept me sane was knowing no matter what happened, no matter how inane the chatter got, or how mind-numbing every interaction with those people was, I always knew that at a quarter past five, you would walk through that front door, and you’d kiss me, and the world would make sense again. I spent hours staring at the clock on the stove, willing time to move faster, desperately wanting to pick up my phone and call you just to hear your voice on the other end telling me I wasn’t alone.” Ianto paused, blinking heavily to keep his tears at bay, “And then it was over. The aliens had been stopped, the mission ended successfully, and our house was a towering inferno of burning wood and melting metal. But I was okay. And the world was okay. And you were there, right next to me, and the nightmare was over.” Ianto sighed and sank even further into himself. “And so was the fantasy. We went back to being Jack and Ianto. And we went home. But not together. That was over too. You didn’t stay.”
For a fraction of a moment, Jack wondered if there had ever been a moment in Ianto’s life where he hadn’t felt like he wasn’t worthy of affection. He looked at Ianto as the silence grew between them, taking in every detail. To the untrained eye, Ianto looked like a man who’d simply had a long day at work, and wanted nothing more than a stiff drink, a shower, and a good night’s sleep. But the untrained eye couldn’t see the slight tremor in Ianto’s hand, still holding the long forgotten whiskey, or the way his loosened tie was slightly askew. Even loose Ianto was still a stickler for keeping it straight. But the most telling thing of all were the tears Jack could see in Ianto’s eyes. He knew why Ianto wouldn’t let them fall. And as the thought slid into place, Jack's mind finished the puzzle.
He imagined Ianto standing in the kitchenette that morning, desperately needing to do something normal, but instead of the relaxing routine of making coffee, he’d found his gift, Jack’s promise to never leave again, broken. It had been the final straw. Weeks of being forced to live a life he could never have, of evenings, and nights, and mornings of nothing but time spent together, only to be broken when Jack had to work, had to keep up the facade, had to leave Ianto alone. Running down the street, but there are too many, too close, and they’d caught him, leaving Ianto running on his own, alone against the apocalypse. Minutes ticking past as Ianto sat by Jack’s corpse, waiting for him to come back, fear rising as each passing second made him think Jack was actually gone. Feeling the high from saving the world come crashing down around him when he came home after weeks away, only to find an empty flat and an equally empty bed. With a clarity so bright it almost hurt, Jack saw the fear in Ianto’s tears. The knowledge that if he let them fall now, he would be accepting that it was over, that Jack would leave, that he’d be alone. Again.
There’d been a reason, Jack knew, for not going home with Ianto that night. There’d been several actually. Forced cohabitation tended to put a strain on relationships and having time apart helped keep things in balance. Long term undercover work took a toll on the psyche, and some time alone to readjust and return to yourself tended to keep damage more limited. And then there was the not so little matter of Jack thinking that Ianto probably wouldn’t want to spend the night in bed with a man who’d just committed genocide. They were all good reasons. But that’s all they were. Reasons. They were not excuses. And in his determination to decide what was best for Ianto, Jack had completely ignored what his lover needed . And he’d done the one thing he’d promised he’d never do again. He’d left Ianto alone.
The silence had been dragging for nearly half a minute, and Jack knew that if he didn’t say something soon, Ianto would take his silence as confirmation of his thoughts. With no more than a split second of consideration, Jack slid his hands behind his head, leaned back into the couch, and closed his eyes.
“I think I’ve been too cooped up lately.” Jack said, voice casual and even.
“What?” Ianto asked, a little shocked. Whatever response he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it.
“My bunker. Under the Hub.” Jack clarified, as though he hadn’t completely derailed their entire conversation. “I’ve lived there for years. Decades. I’ve always liked it. It’s private, it’s convenient, and there’s just enough room for some quick horizontal fun. But it’s not really a home. I haven’t had a home in a long time.” Jack darted a quick look to gauge Ianto’s reactions. There was still mostly fear, but confusion seemed to be at the forefront now. “I think it might be time to change that. Find a nice guy, settle down between catastrophes. What do you think? You know, just because we save the world on a regular basis, doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to come home to a kiss and a home cooked meal every now and then.” He turned to face Ianto now, smiling softly at the rekindled sparkle of hope he saw there. “I’d probably still use the bunker. I’d still have to work late, and my assistant is far too enticing to pass up for paperwork for very long.” Jack’s smile widened as Ianto quirked an eyebrow and fought against a smile of his own. “So what do you think, Ianto? Know anyone willing to put up with an insane work schedule, canceled dinners, and sleepless nights, if I promise at the end of the day I will always come home?”
Jack kept his tone light and his smile gentle, but he held his breath. This was it. Jack had made his offer, and now it was up to Ianto whether he wanted to accept it.
“You’d be lucky to find someone who’ll put up with you.” Ianto’s face was unreadable. Jack waited. “But there may be one man I know who could handle you. Bloke from work. Smart, funny, makes amazing coffee. The only downside is you’ll have to share him with the boss. Lecherous old man can’t seem to keep his hands off the poor guy.”
Ianto looked up at Jack and smiled, the mischievous sparkle Jack had fallen in love with drowning out everything else, and Jack allowed himself to breathe. They were going to be fine. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
“That sounds downright awful.”
“Oh it is, poor man. Can’t make it through a single day without being groped, or fondled, or thrown against a wall or a desk at least half a dozen times.” Ianto reached out and took Jack’s hand tightly in his own. Gaze fully meeting Jack’s. “And if he ever stops, I’ll kill him. And then I’ll make him apologize.”
“Aren’t you usually supposed to get the apology before you kill someone?” Jack asked, amusement obvious in his voice.
“My boss is unique.” Ianto shrugged, still smiling. “Only one like him in the whole universe. And me?” Ianto leaned forward and pulled Jack towards him, kissing him softly, but soundly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m the lucky guy he apparently wants to come home to.”
Jack smiled even wider and kissed Ianto again. Despite his desire to deepen the kiss and let physical contact start balming their emotional wounds, Jack wanted to be sure there were no doubts left between them that could rear their ugly heads later. He pulled back and looked deep into Ianto’s blue-gray eyes.
“I promise.” Jack said gently. “Not even death can keep me away.”
“It better not. Or you’ll wake up in a cold shower with a lecture about getting blood on your coat again.”
Jack laughed and sat back.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ianto looked down, and Jack rubbed his thumb over Ianto’s knuckles. He knew there was one question still left, and he would wait all day if he needed to. He didn’t want to give Ianto a single reason to doubt himself or what they had.
“You’re really not upset? That I killed you, I mean.”
“Ianto Jones. You did what was necessary to save the world. I will never be upset about that. Now,” Jack continued, letting his smile show in his voice, “I’m not saying I’ll be thrilled if we start to make a habit out of it, but once or twice, when it’s necessary, or I really really deserve it, that’s not gonna bother me.”
“Oh right,” Ianto said incredulously, “Cause that’s a perfectly normal thing in a relationship. Circumstances under which murder is acceptable.”
“Maybe not,” Jack agreed, tilting his head slightly, “But who ever said this was gonna be normal?”
***
They hadn’t talked for much longer once all the smoke between them had cleared. Ianto had started to yawn, the sheer exhaustion from the last few weeks finally catching up to him. Jack steered them both to the bedroom, and helped Ianto out of his suit. He’d run his hands over every inch of Ianto’s skin he uncovered, but the touch was light and gentle, as though assuring himself that Ianto was real and that he wasn’t going to suddenly disappear.
Ianto had been confused and tempted to check for a fever or alien possession when Jack turned down his more intimate advances, but a gentle,
“Later. Right now I just want to hold you and sleep.”
Convinced him that perhaps, just this once, they could pretend like they were normal.
When Ianto woke a few hours later, he felt a rush of warmth at the simultaneously familiar and yet completely new image of Jack sleeping in the bed next to him. As quietly as he could, he slid out from under the covers, and slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms.
As he made his way into the kitchen to make coffee, Ianto saw the old RAF military coat hanging on the coat tree by the door, smiled, and wondered what he should make for dinner.