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It was, Owen Harper thought, a bloody miracle. Not the Rift behaving itself for once, not Tosh’s ability to drink three energy drinks without vibrating through the floorboards, not even Gwen managing to talk Rhys out of demanding “just one more little peek” at the Hub. No, the true miracle was that Captain Jack Harkness — immortal pain-in-the-arse extraordinaire — had finally shut up.
And fallen asleep
With Ianto Jones.
On the couch.
In full view of everyone.
They weren’t just asleep, either. They were cuddled. Jack’s head rested on Ianto’s shoulder, his arm slung around Ianto’s waist like some kind of 1950s starlet clinging to her heartthrob. Ianto, for his part, was tipped slightly sideways, cheek against Jack’s hair, one hand lazily curled around Jack’s wrist as if to say, “Fine, but only because I’m too tired to argue.”
The effect was… well. It was something.
“Don’t wake them,” Tosh hissed from her workstation, eyes wide. “They look—” she faltered, clearly at war with herself. “—peaceful.”
“Peaceful?” Owen snorted, lowering his voice only because he valued his life. “They look like an advert for insomnia medication. Or a really bad Valentine’s card.”
Gwen, who had just arrived with a takeaway coffee tray, froze mid-step. Her face split into a grin so wide Owen thought her cheeks might cramp. “Ohhh, look at them! That’s adorable.”
“Adorable?” Owen mouthed, horrified. “We’re Torchwood, not the bloody Care Bears!”
“Shhh!” Tosh waved her hands urgently.
Jack stirred at the sound, snuffling slightly. Ianto shifted, tightening his grip like a man who refused to relinquish a particularly comfortable pillow. They both stilled again, and a collective breath of relief swept the room.
“Okay,” Gwen whispered, tiptoeing closer for a better view. “I knew there was something going on between them.”
“There is,” Owen muttered. “But this is exhaustion. They’ve been up thirty hours. You stick anyone on that couch long enough, they’ll collapse like that. Could’ve been me and you, Gwen.”
Gwen gave him a look that could have frozen the Thames. “If you ever try to cuddle me, Owen, I’ll deck you.”
“See?” he said triumphantly. “Not adorable. Practical.”
Tosh tilted her head, a mischievous smile creeping in. “Practical doesn’t usually involve hand-holding.”
They all looked. Sure enough, Ianto’s fingers had laced through Jack’s in the most understated, unconscious gesture imaginable.
Owen groaned. “Bloody hell.”
“Should we… cover them with a blanket?” Gwen whispered, suddenly maternal.
“Oh yes,” Owen said, deadpan. “Let’s tuck them in, sing them a lullaby, maybe roast some marshmallows. Tosh can knit matching pyjamas.”
Tosh pursed her lips, fighting laughter. “I don’t knit.”
“Good,” Owen shot back. “Because I draw the line at pyjamas. Next thing you know, we’ll be taking a family photo.”
“Actually…” Gwen raised her phone.
“No!” Tosh and Owen hissed in unison, but it was too late — Gwen had already snapped a shot. The shutter noise was a death knell.
Jack’s eyelids fluttered. He mumbled something unintelligible, burrowed deeper into Ianto’s shoulder, and promptly began to snore.
A very small, very dignified snore.
Ianto, still half-asleep, muttered, “Five more minutes, cariad,” in a voice so soft it made Tosh clutch her chest and Gwen nearly melt into a puddle.
Owen gagged. Loudly.
“Do you mind?” Gwen hissed. “That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!”
“It was Welsh for ‘kill me now,’” Owen said flatly.
“Was not!” Tosh whispered fiercely.
“Was too!”
Their bickering escalated, whispers turning into not-so-whispers. Which, inevitably, turned into Jack shifting again. One blue eye cracked open.
Owen froze mid-gesture. Tosh slapped a hand over her mouth. Gwen dropped her phone behind her back like contraband.
Jack blinked at them, head still on Ianto’s shoulder, hair sticking up in six different directions. “Are you three spying on us?” His voice was low, gravelly with sleep, and just a touch amused.
“Uh…” Gwen stammered. “No?”
Jack smirked, nuzzled into Ianto’s hair, and promptly closed his eye again. Within seconds, he was snoring once more.
Ianto murmured, without opening his eyes, “If you wake me, you make the coffee yourselves.”
The Hub went silent.
Dead silent.
Torchwood operatives knew when to respect a threat.
So the day proceeded as quietly as Torchwood ever managed: Weevil reports typed with exaggerated delicacy, Rift alerts muted to the lowest volume, Gwen making coffee so badly Tosh poured hers into a plant, Owen muttering obscenities under his breath every time he looked at the couch.
Hours later, when Jack and Ianto finally woke and slipped away toward Jack’s office, the rest of the team pretended not to notice.
But Gwen’s phone definitely buzzed with a new photo upload to her “Torchwood: For Blackmail Purposes Only” album.