Work Text:
Ianto's morning routine was the pinnacle of efficiency. He usually woke up shortly before his alarm, if he slept at all. He made himself a cup of espresso (he could barely function without coffee after all those years of drinking it) before showering and brushing his teeth. He tried to prepare his clothes the night before so he never had to think too hard about what to wear: socks, boxers, packer, binder, white undershirt, a colourful button-up (today's was pink), slacks—
He couldn't close the button on his trousers anymore.
Something sickening rose in him at the realisation. He recognised this pair as one he'd bought shortly after coming back to Cardiff, when the stress of caring for Lisa (keeping secrets, being alone, so alone, losing her a little more every day) had made him forget about his own needs, made him unable to tell whether that permanent, sinking feeling in his stomach had been hunger or anxiety. Back then, no one had noticed — no one had cared. (Jack had once made an offhand remark about vegetables, but Jack wasn’t here anymore.)
Occasionally, Ianto had caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and had felt vague satisfaction when he'd noticed that he'd looked a little closer to the lithe, masculine ideals he'd always dreamed of resembling.
Things were different now, though, weren't they? He hadn't noticed it until now, but his body had changed. Changing (getting fat) meant bigger hips and fuller thighs and a rounder body and you're finally becoming a real woman. He hadn't felt that way (that razor-sharp awareness of his own body) for a long time — but it only made him want to tear through his own skin until he was unrecognisable.
A part of him wanted nothing more than to hide in his flat (stay away away) and never come out again (ruin everything) but no matter how he felt, he couldn't neglect his Torchwood duties. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down. He discarded his slacks and picked up a new suit from his wardrobe — and hoped he could pretend to be alright well enough to be left alone until night.
By some miracle, the Rift today was quiet enough that Ianto could work in the archives undisturbed. He wanted to be alone as much as he wished he wasn't — something was pushing him to go as deep in the archives as he could, as far away from his coworkers as he could. (Funny how such a small problem had unravelled into something so big and awful that it took up every centimetre of his mind.) He itched for a cigarette, but he knew better than to damage documents with the smoke.
Sometimes work felt like the only thing he had left. It didn't stop him from thinking, but at least he wasn't wasting too much time feeling sorry for himself.
He’d already been down there for several hours when the computer on the desk next to him chimed with a new message.
JUETTE: we ordered pizzaaaaaa
JUETTE: well eat it all if you dont hurry
Ianto stared blankly at the screen. Ever since Jack had vanished, it had been rare for him to eat anything alone (he and the rest of the team were always together one way or another, and he simply followed their lead) but today he didn't want to go up. He could already imagine the crushing weight of everyone's eyes on him, of everything they thought when they looked at him and saw something that wasn't meant to be.
He typed up a reply he hoped was convincing enough.
IANTO: I'm working on something a little too complex to take a break, but don't worry about me, I'll eat later.
He waited for Juette's reply, but nothing ever came. A strange mixture of disappointment and relief washed over him. (Did he even care?) He went back to his work and tried not to think too hard about it.
Ianto soon heard steps approaching in the hallway and he immediately straightened, his entire body tensing up in preparation for an attack—
Juette showed up in the open doorway. (Knowing it wasn't a threat didn't help Ianto relax.)
"I brought the pizza," Juette held up a box with both hands. "We don't have to talk if it's, like, too distracting, but I just thought— it doesn't taste as good when it's cold."
"Thank you," said Ianto. He didn't know if he meant it.
Juette put the pizza box down on the desk, right in front of the pile of documents Ianto had been working on, and he grabbed a chair from the corner of the room to sit down. True to his word, he ate without saying anything. He looked around the room, he looked at his food, he looked at Ianto's hands working away, but he never looked at Ianto's face — he rarely did, now that Ianto thought about it, but Ianto could never really tell whether or not it was on purpose.
Ianto had quickly stopped reading the words in front of his eyes and had shifted to simply moving documents around aimlessly — at least it hid how much his hands were shaking. He couldn't focus with someone else in the room; it was easy for him to ignore the awful background chatter of thoughts describing in detail how easy it would be to hurt Juette (between his combat training and the intricacies of the layout of the archives, no one would ever know), but it was harder to ignore the sensation of being observed that made him so self-conscious about the way he moved and held himself. It was like being up on a stage.
Juette had made it through three entire slices of pizza when he spoke again.
"You're not eating."
- "I don't want to get grease on the files," said Ianto. It was technically true.
Juette didn't reply immediately, instead toying with the edge of the pizza box for a minute.
"I'm not the best at— feelings," he started.
Ianto put down the document he'd been pretending to read.
"You don't have to talk about what's going on, if anything is."
- "I'm fine," said Ianto, probably a little too fast to seem truthful. He tried to smile reassuringly, but maybe he hadn't been convincing enough, because Juette continued.
"You look out for me— for us, all the time." He risked a quick glance at Ianto's face. "I want— I want to do the same for you, if you'll let me."
Accepting help would've been— (a real man was strong, a real man didn't need anyone's help) but he wanted, no, needed someone, anyone to care—
He and Juette had barely— well, he didn't know if he could call it dating when all they'd done was share a kiss barely two months ago, yet he could already tell he'd be lost if they were ever apart. He recognised it, that pattern of attachment (too strong, too fast) that always ended up hurting him, but he was powerless to stop it.
Juette was reaching out to him — he was interested in this relationship actually going somewhere, interested in building something more, something real, and though all of Ianto's instincts were telling him to run (run so his worst fears wouldn't come true), he couldn't ignore that.
"Okay," he said quietly.
Juette straightened a little in his chair. "I noticed— okay, this is going to sound really weird. I noticed sometimes we order food and by the time it gets delivered, you've left and you never come back until evening. And sometimes you bring a Tupperware of food and you leave it in the fridge, but at 5 PM it's still sitting there even when we haven't ordered anything all day."
It was pointless of Ianto to try to defend himself. He sometimes did these things accidentally, but recently (ever since noticing he’d gained weight) he’d been doing them on purpose more often than not.
"I'm not trying to be— accusatory," said Juette. He did have a rather blunt way of talking. "I just— noticed, and I want to make sure you're eating okay."
Ianto caught himself before he could reply I am without thinking. Maybe it was best for him not to say anything. He nodded.
Juette pushed the pizza box towards him. "Can you try? Just a little bit?"
Ianto looked at him, then looked down at the food. He was willing to try, at the very least. He picked up a single slice and bit into it tentatively — he hadn’t eaten anything since the previous night, and he suddenly realised how hungry he was. It didn’t take him long to finish the slice. He felt guilty, yes, but he was still so hungry, he had to eat a second one, then a third.
Juette finished the pizza slice he'd picked up while watching Ianto eat, then he put his hands together and smiled. He had a bright, wide smile that went up to his eyes — quite a bit less on the flirty side than Jack's. Ianto wasn't sure he really deserved such a reaction when he'd barely done anything, but— it still made him feel a certain warm, soothing feeling that calmed some of the strange emotions that had been swirling through his body.
"Oh, right, I brought paper towels," Juette said, fishing them out of his pockets and handing them to Ianto.
- "Thank you," he replied, wiping his hands clean.
- "Do you need any help with this?" Juette asked, pointing at the pile of documents still on the desk. More than an offer to help with work, it was a way for Juette to stay with Ianto a little longer.
- "I might, actually.”