Ianto slept, but not well.  When he did manage to drop off, he was plagued by dream after dream, each containing what appeared to be visions of a warped reality.  Not nightmares, more like…everyday scenarios where everything was slightly wrong.  Disturbing more than horrifying, but wearing nevertheless.  It was a relief to get up a little earlier than usual and spend a long time in the shower, propped up against the wall, lukewarm water pounding down on him, washing away the night and helping him prepare for what was bound to be another stressful day.

If nothing else he was determined to reign in his temper today.  He wanted to go back to being the old Ianto, the one who’d signed up for Torchwood Three with the impression it was going to be an undemanding position in a familiar city, and regain the equilibrium he’d arrived with, regardless of his terrible secret.  He didn’t like the person he’d been yesterday, and he was the only one who could make a difference to that, so today he’d be calm and composed.  He felt healthy enough, which was a relief, and he’d deal with Jack if and when he had to.

Just before he opened the front door to leave his mobile rang.  Nothing on the caller ID and Ianto knew it was Jack.

“No,” he firmly told his phone.  “Not yet.”

…

Ianto waited until he knew Toshiko, Gwen and Owen were in the boardroom and silently brought them coffee.  The three exchanged quizzical looks and all remembered to thank him; the suspicion in Owen’s expression almost cracked his façade but, as he had promised himself, he clung on to the old Ianto.

Coffee served, he placed the tray down and dipped into his pocket, bringing out the sample vial and placing it mid table.

“What’s this?” Toshiko asked, peering closely at the contents without actually touching the vial.

“Beer.”

“Is that what yesterday’s hissy fit was about?  Screwed up the home brew?”

Ianto ignored Owen.

“I need it analysed.”

“What for?” asked Gwen.

“Not certain.  Possibly RetCon, or something similar.”

Toshiko sat back and gazed at him in dismay.

“Someone tried to drug you?”

“I don’t know.”

“But why?”

“I don’t want to say anything more until we know for certain.”

Owen, grim-faced and exuding irritation at the thought of some faceless threat interfering with the remainder of this team, snatched up the vial and headed for the door.

“Won’t take long.”  He paused, turned back.  “Whatever, Ianto, we…” he gestured to the four of them, “deal with this.  No renegade heroics.”

“This is me you’re talking to,” Ianto reminded him.

“Yeah, and you’re bloody weird.  Behave yourself.”  Owen marched out, came back for his coffee, and marched out a second time.

“Ianto…” Toshiko and Gwen began in unison.

“If you ladies will excuse me, the Vale of Glamorgan Railway calls,” Ianto smiled politely and exited, leaving two highly disconcerted colleagues in his wake.

…

Ianto was admiring a fully stocked leaflet display when Owen joined him in the Tourist Office mid-morning, the Welshman’s anxiety well-disguised as he calmly looked toward the doctor for the result of the analysis.

“Clear,” Owen informed him immediately.

“Good,” Ianto said lightly, determined not to give a hint of the emotions that raged in his chest and belly.

“Want to tell me what this is all about?”

Ianto began to restock his postcard rack.

“I wasn’t feeling right yesterday, I probably imagined it.”

“Imagined what?”

“Or I’m paranoid.  That’s more than possible in this line of work.”

Owen crossed his arms, leaned against the wall, and stared.  And stared.  And stared.  Eventually Ianto gave up on Multiple Vistas of Cardiff Bay and stared back.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me,” Owen assured him.

Exactly as he had decided he would play this moment, Ianto took a deep breath, slowly releasing it as his shoulders slumped in defeat and his features tightened in distress.  Nice pause for effect.

“I’ve never known…  I never found out what Jack told head office about Lisa.”

“What’s that got to do with anything happening now?”

“You know that everyone has been preoccupied with getting Torchwood One re-established?”  Owen nodded.  “Well, it’s been on my mind: once London was up and running there’d be time for the powers that be to catch up on us, so when exactly would they get around to reading a report about Lisa – about me – and…  What if they decide I’m a liability and have to go?  I was in the pub and thought I saw someone near my drink when I was playing pool and…”

“No, Ianto.”

“No?”

“Jack filed the incident as an alien infiltration care of the Rift.  He didn’t mention your part in it.”

“How do you know?” Ianto asked, genuinely interested despite the departure from his prepared script.

“He wanted a doctor’s opinion on your state of mind.”

“And you said?”

“Unofficially: that you had to be barmy to work here.  Officially: good chance of PTSD but otherwise horribly stable.  Or at least, no more unstable than the rest of us.”  Ianto gave a shallow, thoughtful nod, not happy that Jack had discussed him with Owen, but more amazed that Owen hadn’t used the opportunity to get him kicked out of Torchwood.  “I’m not always the bad guy, y’know,” Owen insisted, having apparently read Ianto’s expression.

“Just…usually.”

“So you thought you’d been drugged by…”

“It seems stupid now.”

“Always good to be wary.”

Ianto gave Owen a knowing smile.

“Are you in charge today?  You sound like you’re in charge.”

“Bollocks to that,” Owen snorted as he disappeared through the door into the Hub; seconds later his voice echoed back, an entreaty for Ianto to stick the kettle on.

“Bollocks to that,” Ianto offered an echo of his own and, despite his mind being full of Jack and sadly no trust and happily no drugs and questions about PTSD, he turned his outward attention to Glamorgan’s Heritage Coast, methodically straightening the brochures he’d tidied less than an hour earlier.

…

Jack was still watching, still waiting.  He hadn’t bothered finding somewhere to stay, he’d simply changed the car, upgraded to an SUV now that he didn’t have to be quite so inconspicuous, and was basically living in it.  All the better to facilitate his stalking of Ianto, although even Jack in his presently obsessed state knew it couldn’t go on indefinitely.

Yesterday, he’d followed Ianto to work, followed him when he collected dry-cleaning, followed him when he nipped out of the Tourist Office to buy fish and chips for the troops, followed him home, followed him to the bar, lost him for a while when a Weevil crawled out of a nearby sewer and had to be persuaded back down, then found him again when he and Bryn were canoodling by the bay.  Jack had taken his gun and played at shooting Bryn’s head off, trigger finger decidedly twitchy, but that had given way to an irrepressible smugness when the snuggling had abruptly ended.  The satisfaction had momentarily peaked when it became obvious that Ianto was going home alone, at least until the dejection on the young man’s face caused Jack pangs of deep and genuine guilt for gloating over Bryn’s departure.

Ianto had stopped and gazed around the street when he’d arrived home, knowing Jack was there somewhere, and if he’d so much as whispered a word of encouragement Jack would have joined him, but no.  Ianto looked worn out and thoroughly pissed off with the whole state of affairs, and who could blame him.  The idea of giving Ianto a few days to recover from the shock of Jack’s return was fleetingly considered, and rejected even more speedily: Jack’s obsession with the Doctor had been confronted and too easily extinguished.  Jack’s fixation with Ianto had emerged like a phoenix from those particular embers and, although Ianto was a lot easier to pin down than the Doctor, Jack wasn’t going to risk him getting away.

Still, a new day in which to pursue his chosen one, and Jack was ready for a challenge.  He wanted to hear Ianto’s voice and was tired of being ignored, so…logically, he shouldn’t call Ianto’s mobile with its ID facility.  A self-satisfied smile spread over Jack’s face as he began to tap a familiar number into his telephone.

…

“Good afternoon, how can I help you?”

“You could talk dirty until I get off, that’d be a help.”  Jack read the indignant pause well, and just before Ianto disconnected the call he jumped back in.  “Please, Ianto, please don’t hang up on me.  Please?”

Ianto fumed quietly for a moment, and the temptation to hurl the phone at the wall was somewhere beyond huge, but…the sound of Jack’s voice made his body prickle with need.  Calmcalmcalmcalmcalm, he reminded himself.

“What is it, Jack?” he eventually asked, impressed that he managed to sound unruffled.

“I was there last night.”

“I know.”

“Then I got distracted by a Weevil and…”

“I wondered why you disappeared.”

“You noticed, huh?  Is my company better than his?  Even at a distance?”

“He’s wonderful company and, luckily, nothing like you so…”

“How can you say that?” Jack challenged.  “In a poor light he could be me.  Basic model me, none of the upgrades.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“The hair, eyes, the build…”

“He’s a type.  Like you, like me, whoever you care to name, we’re all a type.  He’s my type.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Did you ever consider that?  I only looked twice at you because you’re my type, nothing more?”

“No.  I can honestly say I never considered that.”

“Why?” Ianto demanded bitterly, “because you’re so extraordinary that…”

“Because you are,” Jack interrupted.  “You’re extraordinary.  No-one could ever accuse you of being so shallow as to fall for a hair colour.”

Ianto swallowed hard, too vulnerable when Jack made comments like that and sounded as if he truly meant them.  On the back foot, Ianto rewound the conversation to where he felt a little safer.

“He isn’t remotely like you.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“That’s a yes?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Because if it’s yes, a sincere yes, I can drive away from here and never…”

“Don’t you bloody dare!”  Ianto regretted the words even as they burst from his mouth and he frantically thought of a way to cover his mistake.  “You have to make peace with the rest of the team before you go.  They need closure, and I don’t want to think you’re so selfish as to deny them that.”

Now the pause was Jack’s.  The pause, and the disappointment.

“So…  I don’t hang around for you, but for them.”

“Yes.”  A long, empty silence stretched out between them.  “Jack?”

“Fine.  There’ll be a time and a place.”

“Good.”

“I’ll talk to the team then leave.”

“All right.”

“And your willingness to let me go implies that you are in love with Bryn.”

“I never said—  How do you know his name?”

“I was close enough to eavesdrop.”

“Jack, that is unacceptable.”

“Whether or not you’re in love with him, I will never believe he can touch you like I can.”

“Haven’t you forgotten something?” Ianto sniped.  “You can’t touch me at all.”

“Ianto…”

The door to the Hub sprang open and Gwen emerged; Ianto immediately compensated.

“Thank you for calling, Sir, I think you’ll find Porthcawl absolutely ideal.

“Ianto.”

“My pleasure.  Have a good afternoon.”

Ianto dropped the receiver back into its cradle and looked expectantly to Gwen.

“Owen said the beer wasn’t drugged,” she fished.

“That’s right.”

“Why did you think it would be?”

“Because I’m paranoid,” Ianto grinned, and Gwen couldn’t resist that; she smiled back.  “Shall I nip out for some treats so we can celebrate?” Ianto offered.

“Celebrate you being paranoid?” Gwen teased, happy to join in his good mood, especially after the previous day.

Ianto grabbed his coat out of the ante-room and strode purposefully around the counter.

“Now…  Cakes or chocolate?”

“Cakes.  No, chocolate.  No—  You sod, you had to stick that ‘or’ in there.”

“Makes a nice change.  It’s normally you sticking your oar in.”

Gwen called Ianto something unrepeatable in their native tongue and he chuckled, pulled his coat on, and left the Tourist Office.

…

Now he was a mere blip on Gwen’s radar Ianto’s mood sobered.  Hands in pockets, he strolled to his favourite bakers and bought far too many cream cakes, doughnuts and Danish pastries, all the time looking out for that giveaway greatcoat whilst trying not to appear as if he were looking.

Would Jack really leave again?  Past experience told him, ‘like a shot’, but the present situation didn’t sit as comfortably with that sentiment as it should.  Jack the stalker?  It was nonsense.  Jack should’ve marched into the Hub and taken over like he’d been away minutes rather than months, he shouldn’t be pussyfooting around the bloke who does the filing.  Ianto could have kicked himself.  If he’d bothered to hold a civil conversation with Jack rather than let the phone call turn into a pissing contest, he might’ve known what was on the captain’s mind.  Other than Bryn, naturally.  And, knowing Jack, Ianto had probably misread that: he didn’t have a problem with Ianto finding a boyfriend, he just wanted a threesome.

Okay, not good to go there, even momentarily.  Especially when Ianto would be the first to admit that Jack’s propensity to flirt with any Tom, Dick or Harriet who happened along had, on numerous occasions, made him want to scream ‘time and place!’ and slap the man so hard his head spun.  It might be funny if it wasn’t so infuriatingly unprofessional.  But that was Jack; charm was simply another weapon in his formidable arsenal, and Ianto was just one of many to have weakened under a sustained attack.

Now, not only was Jack infuriating him, but Ianto was supplying his own dodgy scenarios to make everything worse.  Jack wouldn’t be meeting Bryn, that was for sure.  Ianto wasn’t one to share, not like that.  Insecurity or possessiveness, he didn’t know, didn’t intend to find out.

Ianto took another look around: no sign of Jack.  Which was good.  A relief.  Huge relief.

At least, that’s what Ianto tried to tell himself.

…

Mid afternoon and, stuffed to the gills with cakes and coffee, they were obliged to investigate a series of unusual readings in the vicinity of Port Talbot.

“Come with us,” Gwen told Ianto as they made their preparations.

“I don’t think so.  If it’s nothing we’ll only end up in a pub and I’m sick of being the designated driver.”

“I’ll drive.  You can get rat-arsed and seduce the barmaid, how does that sound?”

“Like he’s living my life,” Owen interjected as he appeared in the main doorway.

“Shall I order some Bromide to slip into your coffee?” Ianto offered, and Owen actually grinned at that.  Ianto was secretly glad he couldn’t read the doctor’s mind.

“C’mon, Ianto, it’d do you good.”

“Thanks, Gwen, no.  Someone should stay here.”

With a sigh Gwen took her leave, Toshiko was already in the SUV, only Owen remained.  Ianto threw him a curious glance.

“You all right?” Owen asked in response.

“Perfectly.”

“What I said about the PTSD…”

“You’re wrong.  I don’t know if that’s what you want to hear.”

Owen considered and, despite being entirely unconvinced, nodded.

“I should have said borderline OCD.”

“Being able to alphabetise is not a disorder.  One day I’ll explain the mysteries.”

Owen rolled his eyes and gestured toward the autopsy room as he left.

“If something goes ping ignore it.  If something goes tweep press the blue button.  If something goes kaboom…  Well, it’ll be too late to worry.”

…

Ianto finished his usual duties quickly with the rest of the team out of the way and, once done, he sat at the computer and pulled up file after file that contained images of Jack.  Ignoring the fact that this was further torment, he stared at them, long and hard, comparing Jack to Bryn and still refusing to see any more than a type in common.

A remarkably flattering informal picture from the off-duty file that Gwen was compiling: Ianto ran a fingertip over Jack’s smiling face and couldn’t help smiling back.  There was no denying the pull Ianto felt when confronted with the man, either on the screen or in the flesh.  There had been moments in the past when his interest in Jack had teetered on the edge of infatuation, but thanks to an indomitable streak of realism he’d managed to keep his feet firmly on the ground, allowing his affection to become heartfelt and deep, but never irrational or demanding.

Nine months ago Ianto had known what he was worth to Jack, that he mattered, was needed even, but he never tried to fool himself that there was any love on Jack’s part.  Jack’s heart belonged to another – a long-time absent other – and Ianto understood that perfectly well.  A convenience more than a problem: he never wanted to be anyone’s be-all and end-all ever again.

He wished he understood Jack now.  Not some extraordinary insight, just a clue as to what was going through his mind.  There was nothing flattering or endearing about being hounded, and Ianto wasn’t prepared to spend all his free time looking over his shoulder, so he had to find a way to deal with this.  If only he had a clue where to start.

…

The Tourist Office was shut and Ianto in the Hub when an insistent vibration reminded him to switch on his headset.

“Still alive then?” Owen asked.

“No kaboom.  I hope that’s not too insurmountable a disappointment.”

“No worse than this.”

“Have you tracked down the source of the anomalies?” Ianto asked as he crossed to Toshiko’s computer station to follow up on the original readings.

“Nope, it’s like they never happened.”

“Nothing showing here either.  The disturbance has been intermittent since it started so this isn’t unusual.”

“Bloody tedious though.  Now we have to hang about and take readings of fuck all for the next three hours.”

“Shame,” Ianto audibly grinned.

“You’ll keep, you smug tosser.”

Ianto laughed at Owen’s discontented growl and increased the parameters of the search area on the off-chance the irregularity had shifted.

A noise above his head made him jump and he peered up, surprised that the pterodactyl was awake this early but surmising she was peckish or simply demanding consolation as she did on the rare occasion.  Who’d’ve known dinosaurs had bad dreams?  Ianto automatically ducked as Myfanwy swooped and weaved above him in a flurry of leathery wings.

“Yes, all right, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Ianto spun around at the sound of Jack’s voice, finally understanding the cause of the dinosaur’s consternation and his own prickling skin.  Setting his personal feelings well and truly aside, Ianto Jones the Company Man stepped between Jack and the computer he was heading for.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

Jack peered over Ianto’s shoulder at the monitor.

“It’s a recurring phenomena in that region; it’s never been possible to track down the cause.”

“Right, thank you for that.  Now, I have to ask you to go.”

“But this was your idea.”

“My idea?” Ianto frowned.

“A fond farewell to the rest of the team?”

“And you just happen to turn up when they’re in the field?”

“I took a chance.”

“Bollocks, you did!  You’ve been watching me ever since you came back and I’m supposed to believe you didn’t see the SUV leaving?”

“Man’s gotta eat.  I obviously missed…”

“Did you set this up?  Did you manufacture that anomaly?”

“No,” Jack protested, fairly credibly.

“I don’t believe that either.  Get out of here, Jack.”

“Five minutes, Ianto, that’s all I want.”  Absolutely fuming, Ianto started to turn away, but Jack was with him in a split second, grabbing his arm and bringing him back.  “I have so much to tell you.”

Ianto tore his arm from Jack’s grip and retreated several steps.

“What makes you think I want to listen?”

“I know this is hard, but…because of what we had…”

“What we had?”  A spiteful laugh escaped Ianto.  “Shall I tell you what sums up what we had?”

“Please.”  Ianto took a breath to speak but bit back the words.  It happened a second time.  “Ianto?”

Ianto stared into Jack’s eyes, searching, even if he didn’t know quite what he was searching for.

“Why did you kiss me?  Publicly, when you came back after Abaddon?”

“I was happy to see you.  What was I supposed to have done?”

“You could have shaken my hand.  Or hugged me, like you did the others.  But no, you had to kiss me.”

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time.”

“I was traumatised.  You were dead.”

“Yes.  And I came back, and one of the first things I wanted was to…”

“You kissed me, and then you abandoned all of us.  Want to know how that was perceived?  Everyone else was left, but I was dumped.”

“You know…”

“The pity from Tosh and Gwen was bad enough, but Owen, fucking Owen…”

“I’m back, here, now, doesn’t that prove anything?”

“I could have killed Owen thanks to you.  I was insane, the gun was in my hand and I actually fired…”

“Again?”

“Again.”

“Then…  Don’t blame me for that.  I think you just enjoy shooting him.”

Shaking his head, Ianto took a further step away.

“The last thing I need is to be reminded that what disturbs me is nothing more than a joke to you.  Get out.”

“You wanted me to…”

“I was wrong.  They’re over you, I don’t know why they should suffer this too.  You never thought of them when you went swanning off, it’s almost an insult for you to pretend to care now.”

“Well said!” Owen’s voice rang in Ianto’s ear.  “Now hit him, hard, and give the arrogant twat one for me!”

“Shit,” Ianto moaned, realising that he’d never turned the headset off when Myfanwy had interrupted his computer check.  Jack looked at him questioningly.  Ianto’s hand rose to touch the headset and Jack’s face fell.  “You heard everything?” Ianto asked Owen.

“We all heard,” Gwen said flatly.

“I—  I should have told you Jack was in Cardiff but he asked me not to, he wanted to do this in his own time.”

There was a distinct click and the call was transferred to conference; Ianto glanced around to see Jack with his finger on one of the communication hubs.

“Gwen.  Toshiko.  Owen,” Jack greeted them, each name bearing weight.

“You’re back then,” Toshiko stated the obvious; she sounded stunned.

“I’m back.  I apologise for the way I left.”

“You can have this conversation another time,” Ianto interrupted.  “Captain, you have to leave, the rest of you…”

“I can’t leave, not like this.”

“That’s it,” Owen snapped, “we’re turning ‘round.”  Self-consciously adding for Ianto, “You shouldn’t have to deal with this by yourself.”

“You can’t come back yet,” Ianto protested, “you have to complete your investigation.”

“What?  The anomaly that Jack built?”

“I didn’t…!”

“Like any of us believe you.  We’re coming back.”

“Do that and I’ll lock down the Hub so you can’t get in anyway,” Ianto warned Owen.

“I seriously doubt you’ll lock yourself in with him.”

“You think?  I might enjoy the opportunity of discovering how many times he can be killed in six hours.”

“Ianto, if you’re sure you’re…”

“Yes, Tosh, thank you, I can cope.  You do what you’re supposed to be doing.  I want a report on my desk in…”

“Do you?” Owen snarked.  “And who put you in charge?”

“The three of you, first thing.”

“Oh.  Right.”

“Jack?”

“Gwen,” Jack smiled.

“Are you staying?”

“That depends on Ianto.”

“I want you out of here,” Ianto insisted.  “A year ago you’d have been quoting rules and regulations at me about unauthorised personnel.”

“Ouch.  Looks like I’m leaving.”

“Leaving, or leaving?”

As Gwen waited for an answer, Jack stared hard at Ianto and Ianto reciprocated without flinching.

“I’m sure you can meet up in the pub later.  But now…we all have work to do.”

Ianto marched to the communications hub and broke the connection, but it was only when he turned to once again demand Jack go that he noticed how close they were, and that Jack was surreptitiously narrowing the gap.  Ianto knew he should make a break for it, but he didn’t seem to have a scrap of self-motivation left in him.

“Can I tell you something that will appal you?” Jack asked, quite happy to be appalling Ianto if the sheer naughtiness on his face was anything to go by.

“Do I have any choice?”

Jack moved to within inches of Ianto, who merely closed his eyes and turned his head, inadequately avoiding temptation.  Jack nuzzled his cheek, breathing in hard and wallowing in the satisfaction of being so near to Ianto, unaware of the goosebumps he’d raised all over the young man’s body.

“I like you like this.  The reserve is cute but…I always like you feisty.”

“I’m still throwing you out.”

“I know.”

Jack was unable to resist pressing a trail of kisses along Ianto’s jaw.

“Don’t,” emerged more as a desirous moan than serious instruction, two bodies shivering in response.

“Ianto…  I know it’s hard for you to trust me again but I’ve changed,” Jack whispered, “more than you can possibly imagine.”

It was only when he discovered his hands automatically reaching to touch Jack’s body that Ianto broke away, and when he spoke, it was quietly.  Sadly.

“I’ve changed too.  It’s pointless pretending I don’t want you…”  Jack looked delighted at that.  “…but there’s no pretence when I tell you I don’t want us.”  Ianto saw the gradual onset of understanding as simple sincerity worked where all the anger and noise had failed.  “Jack…”

“Please don’t say it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ianto.”

“I don’t want us.”

The brief glimpse of tears welling in Jack’s eyes was enough to let Ianto know he had to cut himself off from the distress of this situation.  He hurriedly returned to the computer he’d been working on, shaking fingers fumbling over the keys as he tried to pursue his customary activities.

“Don’t imagine this is over,” Jack’s strained voice told Ianto’s equally tense back.

Calmcalmcalmcalmcalm.  Ianto twisted around, ready with entreaties and threats and a twenty point list of why his way made the only sense, but Jack was gone, as silently and as unnervingly as he’d arrived.

“It’s for the best,” Ianto told himself, his voice sounding small and unsure in this vast empty space.  After staring unseeingly at the computer monitor for ten minutes he jumped as his headset demanded attention.  “Yes?”

“Has he gone?”  Gwen.

“Yes.”

“What do you want us to do?”

Ianto hated being in charge.  It was so open to abuse.

“Come back.  Come back now.”

…

Ianto was feeling distinctly foolish by the time the remainder of the team returned, although they were pretending – badly – that there was nothing questionable about ending an investigation with a handbrake turn on the B4286 and Owen burning rubber all the way back to base.  They often left the Hub in a frantic dash, it was rarely how they returned after a false alarm.

Now aware of their pity at the time of Jack’s departure ‘being bad enough’, Gwen and Toshiko had decided to be bright and horrendously cheerful, dismissive of the cloud of gloom and embarrassment that hung over Ianto.

Even Owen was trying to be supportive, albeit in a ‘cessation of antagonism’ way.  Once he’d made sure Jack was nowhere in the vicinity he’d hidden in the autopsy room amid the pinging and potential tweeping, suffering with the belated self-revelation that what he’d done to Ianto in the hours after Jack’s departure would have been akin to his associates spitefully and unceasingly taunting him about Diane leaving.  Not nice.  Anyone would think he hadn’t learnt a thing from what he’d been through.  Then again…he wasn’t entirely sure that he had.  Amid much muttering and scowling, he settled at his computer and searched eBay for a bullet-proof vest.

Eventually they all met up in what had been Jack’s office, Ianto bringing coffee but serving up scotch.

“First things first,” Owen began after a fortifying swig.  “How was he able to get in?”

He looked to Toshiko.

“We never changed the security protocols,” she responded, looking slightly surprised that she had to supply this information.

“Why?”

“You know why.  Precisely because of this.  Because of Jack coming back.”

“We didn’t know he would.”

“We didn’t know he wouldn’t,” Gwen insisted.

“What if he’d been got at?  Influenced by a race that needs to subvert Torchwood so they can get a foothold on this planet?”

“We don’t know he hasn’t.”  Three heads turned in Ianto’s direction, three aghast faces.  “I’m not comfortable with the way he’s acting.  He says he’s changed, but…”  Ianto sighed miserably and shrugged, turning back to the scotch.

“What kind of ‘changed’?” Owen asked, and Ianto simply shrugged again.

“It sounded like he just wanted to see us,” Toshiko offered.  “Wanted to see you,” she added for Ianto, almost apologetically.

“He’s been following me.  It’s not normal.”

“But he—”

Ianto looked to Gwen: whatever she’d been about to say, she appeared to have changed her mind.

“But what?” Ianto pressed.  “You weren’t fooled into thinking he felt anything special for me?”

“Well…”

“I don’t dispute that, in his own way, he cares for us all.  But I’m realistic.  He cares, but not so much that he can’t discard us the moment it suits him.”

Gwen was already shaking her head.

“Jack leaving us was about answering an urgent need.  I can’t explain it to you because he never explained it to me, but I know there’s been something he’s needed for a long time, and this must have been his opportunity to get it.  He talked about a doctor, a specialist I think, the right kind.  Maybe he’s changed because he’s been…healed.”

Owen gave a derisory snort.

“And now he’s conveniently well enough to break in here and plague Ianto.”

“He didn’t break in,” Toshiko reminded him.

“He’s going to have to next time.  Tosh, change the security protocols; Ianto, stick a closed for redecoration sign outside the Tourist Office, stay down here where he can’t get at you so easily; Gwen, find Jack and talk to him.  Make sure you’re armed.  If anything dodgy is going on with him, you might not be able to kill him but you can certainly slow him down long enough for you to leg it.”

“What are you going to do?” Gwen asked.

Owen considered for a moment.

“Hope that nothing goes kaboom.”

More than a little relieved that decisions had been made, the team spread in different directions to implement them.  Ianto saw Gwen out before printing a sign for the door’s window and taping it in place; he took a good long look around the room and thought maybe redecoration wasn’t too bad an idea, this had to be the scruffiest Tourist Information Office in the whole of Wales.  He thought about styles and colours and framed posters and improved lighting, and how he was using this to avoid thinking about Jack.

Then he thought about how it wasn’t working.

So he deliberately stirred painful memories, ransacking his emotional filing system and breaking open, shaking out the box he’d sealed Jack away in.  Desensitization, that’s what was needed.  If Ianto tortured himself with memories of the captain he would eventually become immune to Jack and all that Jack had meant to him.  At this rate it would only take…several decades.

“Fucking.  Hell.”

Why did it have to hurt so much?  Why couldn’t he simply thank his lucky stars that Jack (who would never love him or put him first) had absented himself long enough for Bryn (one of the kindest, most generous individuals Ianto had ever met) to come into his life?

“Whether or not you’re in love with him, I will never believe he can touch you like I can.”

How much of a betrayal was it to Bryn if Ianto admitted, only to himself, that no-one could excite him like Jack?  Not just sexually, they’d both known that wasn’t what Jack was referring to, it was the whole Jack vibe, his mere presence lifting Ianto’s spirits, twenty-four-seven, regardless of mood or circumstances.  Equally as often, he was a balm to Ianto’s troubled soul, and that was exciting too, in its own unique way.

Before Jack had left, their growing familiarity was such that, time after time, Ianto’s heart would pound in anticipation just from knowing Jack was on his way back to the Hub after a mission.  He wasn’t about to jump the man, just seeing him in, taking his coat and bringing his coffee was intimate enough to fill Ianto with pleasure and warmth.  The comfort of security.  He’d lost so much the day that Torchwood One fell, the obvious and an uncountable more: from simple joys to complex reassurances, a vast and tangled bundle that he’d thought irreplaceable until the night Jack had taken him home after Brynblaidd, tended to his injuries and all but rocked him to sleep before making an honourable withdrawal to the sofa.

Even after a long, tiring day when Ianto thought he was immune, Jack would do something as insignificant as smile into the coffee Ianto had made freshly for him, and Ianto’s heart would be thudding again, fit to burst.

“Whether or not you’re in love with him, I will never believe he can touch you like I can.”

Yes, Jack knew exactly what he was talking about.  And Jack knew that Ianto knew.  What Jack didn’t know was whether Ianto was prepared to remain untouched, opting for the kind of stability he craved, the variety that Bryn could provide.  After all, how could Jack know if Ianto didn’t?

“I will never believe he can touch you like I can.”

It was a favourite fantasy: a world where Lisa lived on and loved him, and Jack was the kind of considerate, respectful boss who wouldn’t dream of laying so much as a finger on one of his employees.  A world where Ianto could harmlessly, happily, and platonically hero-worship his captain, and go home at the end of the day with a clear conscience and a light heart.

“Ianto?”  Ianto jumped, so preoccupied with his rambling thoughts that he hadn’t heard Toshiko arrive at his side.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s all right, I was just…thinking.”

“About…”

“Genuinely redecorating in here.”

“Oh.  Oh, yes, I can see that it might…”  Toshiko’s voice tailed off and she handed over a sheet of new passwords and encryptions.  “As of now.  We’ll have to keep an eye out for Gwen coming back or she won’t be able to get in.  Owen won’t let me send the information in case it’s intercepted.”

“I doubt Jack’s that desperate, but don’t worry, I’ll see her in safely.”

“Thanks.”  Halfway back to the Hub entrance, Toshiko paused.  “It wasn’t pity,” she said quietly.  “Sympathy.  Empathy.  Compassion.”

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

“I wanted to give back a little of what you gave me.  After Mary.”

“Yes,” Ianto acknowledged, feeling suitably if unintentionally chastised.  “Thank you.”

Toshiko turned to face him, wanting to say what she imagined Ianto wanted to hear.

“Perhaps he’s gone for good this time.”

However encouraging the remark was meant to be, it was entirely undermined by the sadness in her voice.  Quite resigned to the truth, Ianto shook his head.

“He’ll be back.”

“You think?”

Ianto smiled wryly at Toshiko’s attempt at diplomatic unenthusiasm, then proceeded to shoo her out of his unimposing domain.

Thinking about not thinking about Jack, Ianto studied one wall after another, all possible angles, wondering about something fresh, pale green silk emulsion, fresh coat of a soft, not brilliant, white on the ceiling and…he couldn’t give a toss.  Really.

He slumped against the counter and dejectedly prodded his leek-wielding souvenir gonks.

From this viewpoint the leeks were positively phallic.

He missed Jack.

He called Bryn.

…

Gwen had no luck finding Jack, but Jack, typically, found her.  By then she was cold and frustrated and utterly elated to see him, and he was just so…Jack…that, without questioning whether she was right to do so, she automatically flung her arms around him in the biggest hug she could muster.  He hugged her back, keeping an arm around her as he ushered her to the nearest pub and found them a quiet table, deflecting her constant questioning until they were settled with drinks in front of them.

“Jack,” she said for the umpteenth time, still grinning like a fool.

“We’re not having the…prove to me that you’re really Jack Harkness conversation?”

“Should we?  We should, yes.  Can you?” Gwen asked.

“It’s kinda pointless, don’t you think?  If I was something capable of taking over Jack Harkness, I’d probably have the ability to know everything he knows.  If I was something capable of taking on Jack’s appearance I may have done my homework so well, the only way you could prove I’m not me is to kill me.”

“I don’t want to kill you, under any circumstances.  I’ve seen enough of your dead body to last me a lifetime.”

“That’s a line you’re never going to score with,” Jack chuckled.

“You certainly sound like Jack.  And…you feel like him.  You.  Like you.  Is it too wrong to go with my gut instinct, and let the others clean up the mess if I’m wrong?”

“Not exactly the approach I tried to teach you.  Are you sure you’re Gwen Cooper?  You sound more like Owen Harper.”

“Not funny,” Gwen scowled, and downed half her pint in one long swig.

“How are you?  All of you?  Ianto was too busy hating my guts to tell me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.  None of us do.”

“That’s nice, if not entirely plausible.”

“We’re well enough, we’re all coping.”

“Who’s in charge now?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Whoever has the best solution to any given crisis.”

“And beyond the crises?”

“It’s sort of…Torchwood by committee.  How scary is that?”

“I thought Owen couldn’t wait to step into my shoes.”

“He had the job first.  Lasted three days.  We’ve all taken a turn and none of us lasted a week.  We’re managing.”

“Not been too busy?”

There was a momentary tell-tale hesitation before Gwen changed the subject.

“We did think about hiding the fact you were gone, y’know, from head office, but if you never came back…”  Gwen took a drink.  “Well, I don’t know how long we could have got away with it but, in hindsight, we did have some fun working out how we’d try to.”

“Tell me.”

“Tosh took every piece of information about you, every recorded phone call, messages, e-mails, and wrote an interactive programme.  Captain Jack: available for download,” Gwen smiled.  “Of course, the technology to reproduce a person’s voice has been available since the last century, and Ianto forges your signature very well.”

“Figures.”

“CJ even flirts.  Our programme flirts, automatically.  I think Tosh is equally thrilled and disturbed.  The rest of us amuse ourselves by running CJ on two computers just to listen to you chatting yourself up.”

“I can’t wait to meet me.”

“Not going to happen.  Unfortunately we left the programme running unattended and it intercepted a communication from Number Ten.  After CJ traumatised an under-secretary, Tosh filed the programme away and won’t tell us where she hid it.”

“I’m surprised I wasn’t replaced.”

“We were told we could apply for a replacement, but as we’re only a monitoring station…”  Gwen left that hanging and rolled her eyes.  “Besides, all the focus has been on London recently.”

“You mean…?  Torchwood One?” Jack asked in surprise.

“Up and running for about six months, progressing in leaps and starts.  It was a good moment when they officially opened for business.”

“How was Ianto?”

“He was…quiet.  He’s not so quiet any more, but that day he was at his quietest.  You could tell he was proud of them, of what it stood for.  There was a little ceremony in London that was beamed to us and Glasgow, that we watched in the boardroom.  Ianto was like a statue all through it, but you could see it behind his eyes, this absolute turmoil.  We all tried to show him some support, and I promise you we were very gentle – yes, even Owen – but he wouldn’t let us in, he suffered in private.”  Gwen closed her eyes and gave a quick shake of the head.  “God, you wouldn’t want his memories, would you.”

“I wish I’d been here,” Jack said solemnly, hating the thought of Ianto going through that time alone.

“So do I.”

Jack picked up his glass and offered it to Gwen.  Her pint rose to meet it, and the glasses clinked.

“Torchwood One,” they toasted, and drank.

“Can I ask…” Gwen began after ten minutes of respectful silence.  Jack looked at her curiously.  “Did you get what you needed?  From your doctor?”

“To a degree.”

Gwen paused, waiting for more.  Jack didn’t deliver.

“To a degree,” she mused.  “Does that mean there’ll be another day in the future when we’ll turn our backs for a moment and you’ll be gone again?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Positive.”

“Once is forgivable.  Twice would be pushing your luck.”

“Reasonably positive.”

“Jack…”

“Want me to be completely honest with you?”

“Please.”

Jack inhaled deeply, letting the breath out slowly as he composed his thoughts, looking away for a long time before apparently remembering that Gwen was there, turning back and giving her a soft, apologetic smile.

“If you didn’t already hate me…  I didn’t come back for you.  For you, or Tosh, or Owen.  However much I’d like to regain the life I had here, I didn’t come back for Torchwood.”

“You came back for…”

“Ianto,” they finished together.

Gwen drank her beer in silence as she gradually accepted what she’d been told.

“He said you’d been following him.  That won’t win him over.  It disturbs him.”

“I’ll stop,” Jack said, but Gwen could hear he didn’t like the prospect.

“What if he doesn’t want to take another chance on you?  Then you’ll go?  No matter how much the rest of us need you?  ‘Cause – if I’m equally as honest – there have been times when we’ve only just managed to keep body and soul together.”

“I can’t…”

“We need you, Jack.  We need your knowledge, we need your strength, we need your leadership.  Too obvious, really, but what we discovered while you were gone…”

“Shall I tell you what I discovered while I was gone?” Jack interrupted, voice brittle and intense.  “That I’m haunted.  Haunted by the memories of loss after loss.  I had to look at myself, at my past, my life, and there they were, laid out before me.  Loss after loss.  All the times I was too oblivious to care, the times I didn’t realise I cared until it was too late, the rare occasions when I was desperate to hold onto what I had only to have it ripped from my grasp.  Loss after loss, Gwen.  I don’t intend to let that happen again.”

“So…?”

“Best case scenario?  Ianto accepts me, I come back to Torchwood, and everyone is happy with that.  Normality ensues.”

“Worst case?” Gwen tentatively asked.

Jack seemed to take a while to think, but he knew, he absolutely knew.

“I refuse to consider a worst case scenario.”

Now Gwen took time to think.

“If I can persuade the others to let you back, you’ll…”

“Not without…”

“Wait, let me finish.  If you come back, if you stop harassing Ianto, then maybe…eventually…normality really will ensue.  The normality you want.  You can’t force the situation, Jack, you have to let him remember why he wanted you in the first place.”

“Yes.  And I’d be there to make sure he’s safe.”

Gwen tutted.

“If you like, but I wouldn’t use that argument in front of him.  The last thing he wants is to be an obsession, even if it is yours.”

“I can’t seem to help it.”

“You’re going to have to.”

“I’m terrified of losing him,” Jack admitted, so quietly Gwen had to strain to hear.  “I’ve changed, and…  I need him more than ever.”

Gwen reached across and took Jack’s hand, squeezing hard.

“I’ll do whatever I can.”  Jack studied her until she felt obliged to add, “Ultimately…  I’m as selfish as you.  And I want you back.”

…

Eventually Toshiko called Ianto into the Hub and gave him a break from his doorman duties, sitting herself in front of the CCTV monitors and waiting for Gwen to return.

Ianto made drinks and gave Toshiko hers in passing as he carried on to the autopsy room, finding Owen sitting on the table and staring into space.

“Here,” he offered.

“Hmm?”

“Coffee.”

Owen took his drink and placed it beside him, back to gazing at nothing.  Ianto began a silent retreat, somewhat relieved that Owen didn’t want to talk about Jack, but was brought to a halt mid-getaway.

“Gwen back?”

“Not yet.”  There was an uncomfortable pause before a strained look passed between them.  “I’m sure she’s okay,” Ianto said firmly.  “I’m sure.  It’s Jack.”

Owen grunted affirmatively.

“They’re probably shagging in an alley somewhere.”

“Yes.  That would be suitably classy.”

“Fucking Ada, I’m sorry, I…”

Ianto waved away Owen’s sudden and surprising apology.

“Jack’s Jack, but you’d hope Gwen would have more sense.”  Ianto pointedly studied Owen, head to toe.  “Then again…”

“Gobshite.”  The insult was without venom and merely brought a ghost of a smile to Ianto’s lips.  “Trouble is…” Owen began, managing to sound both regretful and resentful at the same time.  “Trouble is…”

Ianto sat on the top stair and drank his tea.

“Trouble is…?” he prompted when, in due course, his backside began to go numb.

The doctor looked distinctly uneasy.

“I want to back you up on this business with Jack, I really do, you know how pissed off I am with him.”

“But?”

“Whether it’s self-preservation or sheer logic, if we have Jack around we have someone we can send into situations that’d leave the rest of us permanently dead.”

“That’s a brutal reason for letting him back in.”

“So what?  He uses us, doesn’t he?  Why shouldn’t we use him.”

“D’you think you could get accustomed to seeing him dying?”

Owen gave a derisory snort.

“Not a problem.  And it isn’t every job where you can kill the boss when you’re having a bad day.”

“You won’t do that again.”

“You reckon?”  Ianto didn’t really know, so he kept quiet and finished his tea.  “I took him at his word,” Owen explained.  “He forgave me.  He meant it.”

“That’s enough to clear your conscience?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

“You mean, despite how you suffered over Diane, you really are as shallow and ignorant as I imagined?”

Owen mulled that over.

“Not entirely.  But I’m working on it.”  Ianto stood and, once again, tried to leave.  “It’s better than being you though,” Owen told him, and without the attitude that would’ve made the comment instantly forgettable.  “At least I can face Jack, I’m not scared to have him walk back in here and…”

“Why would you think I’m scared?” Ianto frowned.

“I heard you.”

“I was angry, not…”

“It was him, wasn’t it?  You thought he tried to drug you.”

Ianto contemptuously shook his head and, this time, managed to leave the autopsy room, peeved and deep in thought and not noticing where he was going until he found himself in his tiny retreat behind the Tourist Office.

Bloody ridiculous, he wasn’t scared of Jack.  Sometimes he was scared for Jack.  Not of Jack.

On automatic pilot, he reached for some brochures to tidy, cursing as they fell through his inattentive fingers and spread across the floor in a glossy wave.

This was what he needed to concentrate on, the run of the mill duties that kept him sane, not Jack, or any cockeyed theories Owen might have.

He wasn’t scared of Jack.

He knew what he was afraid of and it was not Jack.

It was the thought of Jack staying.

It was the thought of Jack leaving.

…

There was palpable tension in the air when Gwen returned, picked up on the CCTV strolling back to the Hub with Jack.  Owen and Toshiko studied their monitors, following the step by step progress, not sure what they expected to witness, but this was…Gwen and Jack.  Strolling arm in arm.  Sharing a joke or two by the look of it.

Ianto waited by the entrance, buzzing open the door to allow Gwen in, a stun gun in his concealed hand should Jack become a problem.  But Jack simply said goodbye to Gwen six feet from the door, called a hail and farewell to Ianto, and ambled away.

The door once again secured, Ianto turned to where Gwen was staring, stony-faced, at the stun gun that now sat on the counter.

“We need to talk,” she said grimly.

“What has he…”

“All of us.  C’mon.”

She led the way down to the Hub, Ianto following and torn between curiosity and apprehension.

When the entire team was gathered in the boardroom Gwen told them what they’d all guessed.

“Jack wants to come back.”

“That’s fantastic!” Toshiko virtually bounced in her seat.

“Is it?” Ianto asked.

“He needs us to agree to it,” Gwen continued.  She looked pointedly at Ianto.  “All of us.”

“No,” came the predictable response.

“He’s promised to stop following you, he’ll leave you alone from now on.”

“No.”

“Ianto…”

“Gwen, you don’t know…”

“I do know that we need him.  I know that we need to put Torchwood first.”

“Ianto…” Toshiko all but pleaded.

“I miss him too,” Ianto told her, his voice rough with emotion.  “But no.  And if there ever seems any danger of me saying yes, Owen, you have my permission to shoot me.”

“It’d be my pleasure, mate.”  The women turned to glower at Owen and he held his hands up in mock surrender.  “All right, I know he’s joking.”

“You think?”

“Will you at least sleep on it?” Gwen asked.

Feeling too weary and demoralised to argue, Ianto shrugged, buried his fists in his pockets and left.  Toshiko sent a hopeless look to Gwen and Owen and started after him.

“What else did Jack say?” Owen asked once they were alone.  “Where’s he been?”

“He’s been all over the Universe.”

“Doing what?”

“Apparently…missing Ianto.”

Owen groaned.

“This is going to be a bloody disaster, isn’t it?”

Gwen gave him a resigned smile.

“No argument from me.”

…

Ianto managed to avoid Toshiko, leaving the Tourist Office and hurrying to his car, concentrating on not looking for Jack.  He drove straight home, parked up, remained blinkered as he entered his house.  Once inside he threw every lock, drew curtains and closed blinds, disconnected the phone, switched on the stereo and turned the music up loud enough to drown out any sounds from the street.

Changing into t-shirt and jeans, he padded around barefoot as he made himself food he knew he wouldn’t eat, and poured himself a large scotch that was gone in one draught.  It was rapidly followed by a fuller glass, and as the alcohol burned into his gut and rapidly infused his blood he began to wind down.  It was almost painful, the relaxing of muscles that had been clenched for too many hours, and Ianto twisted and stretched, almost in time to the music that filled the house; another drink and he’d be dancing, then he’d be crying because booze and dancing always left him wallowing in memories.  His mother, laughing until she wept as she attempted to guide her uncoordinated seven-year-old in a traditional dance; of Lisa patiently trying to teach him to waltz for her cousin’s wedding, of her relentless good humour and poor trampled feet; or Jack sneaking up behind him as he swayed to the music from the radio in the Tourist Office, slipping arms around his waist and moving in time.  Ianto had chided him about harassment but Jack had simply tightened his hold, kissed the nape of Ianto’s neck, and sung along in a whisper, the only words of love Ianto had ever heard from the captain’s lips.

His only means of communication with the outside world rang and Ianto retrieved his mobile phone from his coat, squinting at the caller ID as he turned down the stereo.  Bryn.  His sweet, uncomplicated Bryn.  So why was he disappointed?  Why did he want it to be Jack Harkness offering to come around and be shagged six ways till Sunday?

“’lo, Bryn.”

“Hello, Love, how are you?”

The sound of Bryn’s rumbling Welsh baritone brought a sad smile Ianto’s face.

“Knackered.”

“Too knackered for me?”

“Far too knackered for you.”

“Not well?”

“I don’t know.  I think my knackeredness is overwhelming my potential not wellness.  I estimate I need a solid eight hours sleep before I’ll be fit enough to be ill.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Lots.”

“You’re not taking any medication, are you?”

Ianto bristled at the suggestion.

“I’m tired, not stupid, I wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m only worried about…”

“Don’t, you hear?” Ianto snapped.  “Don’t fuss, I don’t want to be fussed over.  I don’t need it, I just need to be left alone.”

“All right, keep your hair on.  I’ll call tomorrow, shall I?”

“Don’t bother, I’ll—”  Ianto paused momentarily to ask himself why he was taking his frustration out on the person who least deserved it.  He took a deep breath and softened his manner.  “See why I don’t want you here?  I feel like shit and I can’t play nicely.”

“I don’t mind, I’m not exactly fragile.”

“I mind.”  Several seconds of awkwardness came and went.  “I’ll call you tomorrow, Bryn, and in a better mood, I promise.”

“Only if you want to,” Bryn told him, unceasingly, infuriatingly cheerful.  “Night, Gorgeous.”

“Bye.”

The CD had finished; Ianto sat in the silence, staring at his phone and feeling like a proper bastard.  A week ago he’d been happy, a few days ago he’d been happy, and now…  Nausea set in like a kick to the gut and he barely managed to scramble to the kitchen sink in time for a gush of near-neat whisky to scald its way past his throat and spatter the bowl.

“Tired and stupid,” he hoarsely corrected his previous words to Bryn when, several retching spasms later, he charily forced himself upright to drink a pint of water before weaving into the hall and checking the locks on the door, shakily climbing the stairs, and falling into bed fully clothed.

He slept for two hours, drifted for another one, then his guilty conscience insisted that he get himself up, find his phone and text a simple ‘sorry xxx’ to Bryn before ensuring it was switched off.  Another pint of water then a quick shower and back to bed, the undisturbed side, sheets cool and smooth against his naked skin. 

The merest hint of physical stimulation and Ianto’s mind shot to Jack, body reacting too fast and too willingly at recollections that made Jack so overpowering a presence he may as well have been there in the room.  As Ianto’s hand wrapped around his stiffening cock, he could feel the man, he knew his scent, the flavour of his skin; his mind could map that beautiful body as it sprawled and invited attention.  Ianto groaned pitifully, fucking his fist, feeling miserable and manipulated and—  He wrenched his hand away, wanting sleep, peace, not further confusion at a time when his life should be back on track, post-Jack Harkness.

Once again out of bed, Ianto turned his phone back on, ignored a message from Bryn and sent a text to Jack.

‘Fuck you.’

The reply arrived within seconds.

‘Ask nicely.’

Ianto stared at the words for a full minute before a not entirely sober giggle emerged.  Then he laughed.  He laughed and fell back into bed, and laughed until he felt breathless and sick.  Then he laughed at that.

However convenient if would be to hate Jack, Ianto had enough common sense to know it was impossible.  Even when he’d had the most excellent reason to hate him he’d found it impossible after the initial twenty-four hours.  Of course, he desperately wanted to stop lusting after Jack, that in itself would restore a little of his equilibrium, but given his privacy and a head full of Jack, Ianto was bound to do exactly what he was doing now.

He stroked himself, a little more forgivingly this time, fantasising about Jack’s expert touch, reliving memories of that talented and persuasive mouth, envisaging and unable to help being moved by the man’s ability to give himself to the moment in a decadently erotic manner that Ianto had never experienced before and seriously doubted he’d ever witness again.

During their first time together, Jack had literally handed his body over for Ianto to learn on and play with.  It was sublime.  Even now, all it took was the resurrection of the moment when, having fucked Jack in every way his imagination could supply, bar the obvious, Ianto had been coaxed into a missionary position…

“I have to see your face when you come in me for the first time.”

…and Ianto was pumping, bucking, teeth gritted as his orgasm hit him in an unstoppable rush.

With a final moan of satisfaction, Ianto collapsed, barely finding the energy to pull the covers over himself.  He absently wiped his hand and stomach on the corner of a sheet and his thoughts drowsily meandered through laundry to groceries to furniture polish to Nan’s cracked vase and a white ring on the polished sideboard and in the top drawer was a photograph of Jack that he wasn’t supposed to have and tomorrow he’d deal, if he could just rest now.

Heaping dozy blessings upon his hormones, Ianto felt the last of his tension seep away with the promise of sleep, but there was a last, lethargic thought.  Had Jack responded to their texts – their contact, days of frustrating contact – in the same way as he had?  There followed a pointless few seconds of muddled conjecture – pointless because he instinctively knew.  He knew Jack, and he knew them.  He knew, and he drifted off to sleep with a hint of a smile on his face.

Attrition 5       Attrition Index       Attrition Notes

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