When Ianto switched his phone on that afternoon there was a message waiting for him.

“Hi, Ianto, it’s Jack.  Sorry to bother you on a Sunday but is there any chance you could spare me a couple of hours?  I’ve made such a mess of this archive material I don’t know how to start putting it straight.  I could really do with your help.  …  No other agenda, I swear.  …  Hope to see you later.”

Still a little numb after the night’s events, Ianto listened without irritation and thought about Jack’s request.  He remembered the mess on Jack’s desk, and the disruption to his precious archives.  He remembered Jack putting an idea into his head…

“I guess you’ll be wanting RetCon with your coffee today.”

…but that was no longer permitted to be important.

It would be helpful to keep his mind occupied; he’d go to work.

Upstairs to get dressed, Ianto wasn’t in the mood for a suit, he wasn’t in the mood for anything he’d bought since landing his first job with Torchwood.  Buried at the back of drawers and wardrobe were some clothes he’d had before his life was enhanced and destroyed, and he sorted through the limited choice before finally settling on form-fitting, shabby, grey jeans and a khaki t-shirt.  As he studied himself in the mirror a not-so-nice smile transformed his face.  There was a t-shirt that Bryn had gifted him which was perfect for his present frame of mind.  He threw off the khaki and rifled through a drawer, tugging out the black shirt and pulling it on.  Untidy hair, a pewter choker, and ancient, once-white trainers completed the look, and Ianto was more than satisfied when he turned back to the mirror.

He smirked as he thought of Jack’s reaction, and if that was mean, so what?  Jack was a big boy, he could take it.

Ianto pulled on his usual overcoat so he wouldn’t look too different if Jack was watching for him on the CCTV, and he picked up his iPod as he left, knowing that it would serve as a means to ignore Jack should a diversion become necessary.  No agenda?  That’d be a first.

…

The presumption was correct: Jack was closely monitoring the CCTV, waiting avidly for a sign of Ianto and hoping that any perceived threat to the archivist’s cherished organisational system would be enough motivation.

It wasn’t particularly long before Ianto showed up but it felt like hours; Jack grinned and whispered a salacious hello to the figure on the screen before taking up his pre-planned position in the boardroom, ready to emerge and give Ianto the chance to take a good look at what he was missing as Jack traversed the walkway and stairs.

It didn’t work quite that way, however, because when Ianto entered the Hub and shucked his coat, Jack almost tripped over his tongue as he hurried to stare out of the nearest window.

Ianto knew he was being watched but he played his part perfectly, taking a quick glance around, supposedly for the captain, then shaking his head disapprovingly before heading for Jack’s office to start his rescue operation.  Any thoughts of playing cat and mouse with Jack disappeared the moment Ianto saw the state of the place.

“Tosser,” he ground out through clenched teeth, and he reached for the first stack of crumpled papers.

…

Jack sensibly gave Ianto an hour to calm down.  Then he casually strolled into his office, finding Ianto sitting at his desk compiling the latest file and matching it to the piece of space junk at his side.  Good progress had been made, the floor being fairly clear, and Ianto was plainly content in his work.

From Jack’s point of view it was both terrible and wonderful that Ianto could drive him crazy by simply being there.  Ianto plus Jack’s desk equalled horny memories.  Ianto arranging sheets of paper, swiping his thumb across his tongue every so often to add a means of purchase?  Too sexy for words.  Ianto, wires hanging from his ears, head bobbing and foot tapping along to whatever the music was, suggesting a perfect rhythm to fuck to?  Wet.  Dream.

Waiting for an obvious break between songs, Jack greeted Ianto with an apologetic,

“Sorry.”

Ianto jumped, dropping the file and pulling the plugs from his ears.

“Sorry, Sir?”

“The sorry was mine.  I started it.  Sorry for dragging you in.”

“Was there anything you wanted?  Beyond getting this done?”

“Anything I want?  Stupid question, Ianto, you look…”  Ianto fixed Jack with a pre-emptive glare.  “Harassable?”  Jack smiled broadly at the glare, but his expression softened as he added, “Gorgeous.”

Ianto flinched at that, recalling the amount of times he’d been called it recently, a different voice, different accent, now lost to him.

“I’m not here to be gorgeous,” Ianto dismissed Jack crossly, finding a piece of hardware he’d set aside from the main heap on the desk, rising and offering it.  Jack took it with an enquiring look as Ianto explained, “I think something was missed.”

Jack carefully studied the artefact for a good five minutes, about to pass it over as common detritus when Ianto stepped in to rearrange his fingers; the correct grip and it throbbed peculiarly in his hand, sending a shiver down his spine.

“That’s…not entirely pleasant,” he grimaced.

“Take it back for further analysis and…” Ianto produced the paperwork. “…sign for it.”

Jack did as he was asked and looked to see who had initially authorised it for archiving.

“Owen shouldn’t have missed this.”

“Not his field of expertise, is it.  Besides, I found that reaction by accident, and you weren’t here to find it at all.”

“Sure, but…”

“This is why they need you, Sir,” Ianto told him with his professional smile.

“They?  Not we?”

Ianto acknowledged that with a noncommittal tilt of the head, checking over the papers in his hand.  Jack found himself staring at the slogan on the t-shirt; Ianto wasn’t exactly subtle in getting his message across.  Who’s responsible? it asked.  Jack sighed.  Ianto returned to the desk, treating Jack to the answer splashed across his back.  You fucking are.

Okay, the point was made, but it also gave Jack a conversational inroad.

“What’s the story behind the shirt?” he asked, moving to perch against the edge of the desk as Ianto sat in the chair.

Ianto glanced down as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing, then affection spread across his features.

“Nothing that’d interest you.  All a bit daft.”

“Try me.”

Jack reached over and brushed imaginary fluff off the shoulder, and they both knew it was simply so he could touch Ianto.  Ianto followed the movements of the hand, then his gaze zipped up Jack’s arm to his face.  He knew that face so well and he thought he’d never see it again.

‘You’d have to love him or hate him, wouldn’t you.’

Momentarily flustered, Ianto turned back to the papers on the desk.

“Bit of a squabble,” Ianto explained, voice full of strained amusement, “over who left the lid off a full blender before switching it on.  Never resolved.  We’re looking at the possibility of involving ACAS.”

“What were you blending?”

“Banana smoothies.  As far as I’m concerned, there rests the case for the prosecution.”

“Bananas.  Good source of potassium,” Jack said with a distant smile.

“I believe so, but not the most practical wall finish I’ve ever encountered.”

Jack stroked his fingertips over Ianto’s shoulder, not even pretending to find fluff this time.

“Have you asked him to go to London with you?”

“Yes,” Ianto replied without hesitation; it wasn’t a lie, after all.

“And he said?”

Ianto took a deep breath.

“With all due respect, Sir, that’s none of your business.”

“True,” Jack agreed.  “He said yes, didn’t he.”

“If you’ve nothing better to do, perhaps you could start taking some of these down to the archive?  This pile is ready to go.”

There was a pregnant pause before Jack did as he was asked.  In his absence, Ianto remembered to change Bryn’s phone records, using Jack’s computer to do so and then taking the added liberty of making sure all the information Jack had collated about Bryn was deleted.  Satisfied with what he’d achieved and hadn’t found, he wiped all trace of his activities and went back to work.

It took hours to finish the sorting and assigning, but eventually all the necessary forms were in the correct folders, and the associated artefacts were present and correct.  Ianto stood and stretched, aware of Jack appearing in the doorway as if by magic.

“Don’t mess them up again,” Ianto warned.

“Fit of pique,” Jack admitted, trailing behind Ianto as he made his way into the main Hub and routinely checked any monitor or contraption that was passing on information.

“There’s that anomaly again, Port Talbot; are you sure it’s untraceable?”

Jack came to his side and glanced at the readings before wandering away.

“Same old same old.  But we could go and take a look if you’d like.”

Ianto wanted to say yes, and the streak of curiosity in him nearly won out over his common sense.  Nearly.

“I didn’t sleep much last night, I need to get some rest.  You don’t want me late for work for a third time, do you?”

“Are you seeing Bryn tonight?”

A considerable twang of self-pity was Ianto’s immediate response to the question, but he covered it artfully, his expression neutral.

“No, not tonight.”

Ianto sensed Jack close behind him, almost touching.  He was aware of his heat.

“Let me come home with you,” Jack asked, voice low and tempting.

Turning to meet Jack, nose-to-nose, Ianto studied the troubled face and tried to feel nothing.  Impossible, when Jack looked like he felt.  Ianto took Jack into his arms for a short, sympathetic hug.

“Me an’ Bryn are not like you, Jack.  Fidelity matters.”

“I never meant…”

“But we know, don’t we.  From past experience?  You always have the need for a grope at the most inappropriate moment,” Ianto couldn't help chuckling as he said that, remembering the fun they’d had, “and it invariably leads where it shouldn’t.”

“What?  You’re no longer pretending to disapprove?”

“I never pretended.  It’s more easily appreciated in hindsight, that’s all.”

Jack’s hands ran around Ianto’s waist and down.  Before Ianto could protest, Jack had yanked the iPod out of his back pocket and was on his way to connect it to a computer.  Seconds later music filled the Hub and Jack was beckoning to him.

“Come and dance with me.”

“Sod off.”

“It’ll be more easily appreciated in hindsight, I guess,” Jack grinned, making a lunge and catching Ianto, pulling him close, one arm around the narrow waist, free hand winding their fingers together.  He tried a few circa nineteen-forty steps that Ianto had no choice but to keep up with.  “You could do this well if you practised.”

Ianto prised himself free of Jack’s grip and stood, hands on hips, staring as Jack danced with an invisible partner.  Envious of thin air, Ianto went and retrieved his iPod, tucking it back into the rear pocket of his jeans.

“Spoilsport,” Jack chided, but he didn’t stop dancing.

“I’m going home, Sir.  Pardon me if I skip the full cabaret.”

Finding his coat and pulling it on, Ianto didn’t have time to fasten the buttons before Jack was there, diving inside and winding his arms around Ianto’s body.

“Stay,” Jack implored, “you don’t have anywhere better to be.”

“I’m tired.”

“I’ll keep you awake.”

Jack’s hands slid down and cupped Ianto’s backside.  That was too much.  Retaliation was inevitable.

“No, Bryn keeps me awake.  Like last night.  You know how it is, when you fuck and fuck and fuck and it’s still not enough because you’re so excited by the person you’re with.”  Jack froze.  “It was light before I got any sleep, so…”  Ianto very pointedly returned Jack’s hands to him.  “Bit of catching up to do.”

“That should be us,” Jack told him with quiet ferocity.

“Jealous, Jack?  Didn’t you tell me – often – that you don’t do jealousy?  That it’s as senseless and archaic as monogamy?”  As Jack stepped forward Ianto jerked away, turning avoidance into retreat and casually backing to the exit.  “You should try it,” he advised.  “Sleep, I mean.  Get some sleep.  You look exhausted.”

Exhausted and despairing.

“Are you ever going to forgive me?”  Not what Ianto had been expecting.  He wasn’t sure he knew the answer to that himself.  “Can you forgive?” Jack pressed.  “Some people don’t have that capacity, do they?”

Ianto wondered about that too, as he found himself walking slowly back to Jack.  Forgiveness.  Perhaps this was something he had to deal with before he moved on, not for Jack but for himself.  Maybe it was necessary and if he said the words he could convince the both of them he was sincere.  He stopped in front of the captain and thought, in passing, what the fuck.

“I can.  I do.”

“You forgive me?” Jack frowned.

“Yes.”

“Am I allowed to be shocked?”

“You can be day-glo pink with a paisley motif for all I care.  I forgive you, and I’m going home.”

Jack caught Ianto’s arm as he started to turn away.

“Wait a minute.  Nothing is that easy, not with you.”

“Can be.  You left me for nine months, I was in mourning for too much of that time simply because of your selfishness.  Your fuck-up negates my fuck-up, the slate’s wiped clean.  Unless, of course, you want to play head games.  Weigh your desertion against my betrayal.”

“You know I’d already forgiven you.”

“I hadn’t.”

“Now…you have?”

“Yes.  And if I forgive myself, I have to forgive you.”

“This sounds a little too detached for you, Ianto.”

“I do hope you’re not accusing me of being insincere.  That would be rich, coming from you.”

Jack shook his head and sighed.

“You haven’t forgiven me.”  Ianto just stared impassively at him.  “Admit it.  I’d like to know where I stand.”

“It’s immaterial.”

“No.  It isn’t.  You know it isn’t.”

“I—  Maybe I can’t, all right?  Maybe I can’t forgive you until…until you admit that you don’t deserve it.”

“But I do deserve it.  I had to go.”

“Jack, you left me – us – feeling—  Ah, forget it.”

Once again Ianto tried to leave and Jack drew him back.

“I had to go.”

“You love it, don’t you,” Ianto sneered, shaking off Jack’s grip on his coat.  “To be surrounded by people who revere you whilst you remain unaffected.”

“Unaffected?  You think?” Jack demanded, growing angry now at having his feelings dismissed.  He grabbed Ianto’s hand and pressed it onto his chest, over where his heart was pounding.  “That’s how much you unaffect me, Ianto.”

The thumping beneath Ianto’s hand was strangely calming, if he wanted to be overly dramatic he might have thought healing.  The urge to snatch his hand away came and went; Jack’s fingers slid into his coat sleeve and caressed the smooth skin of his wrist.

“What do I do?”  Jack spoke in a near-whisper, not wanting to disturb the sudden peace.  “There’s nothing I can say, I don’t have the words.  What grand gesture can I make?”

“Nothing Shakespearian,” Ianto said in a similar tone, still transfixed by the rhythm beneath his palm.  “Do I need to spell out how spectacularly unmoved I’ll be if you kill yourself?”

Jack smiled.

“Even if I’m mortal nowadays?  Would that make a difference?”

“To you killing yourself?  A rather drastic one, I’d imagine.”  Ianto surprised Jack by leaning in and giving him a chaste kiss.  “Don’t do it.  That’s one mess I don’t want to clean up.”

“I won’t.”

Jack returned the kiss, taking longer, watching Ianto close his eyes.  Taking longer, but not too long.  He had that much sense.  Breaking the kiss he hugged Ianto to him, squashing Ianto’s hand between them as it remained, unmoving, over Jack’s heart.  Their heads rested together, and for every extra second they shared, Jack worried about the next second, and the next, and the next, so when Ianto murmured,

“I’m leaving now,” it was an unwelcome relief.

He watched Ianto walk away, feeling cold despite not being cold, and maybe Ianto felt that too because he tugged his coat closed and hunched his shoulders, burying his hands in his pockets.

Jack saw him back to his car via the CCTV, made sure he drove away safely, then felt completely lost.  A couple of minutes to erase any footage of himself and Ianto within the Hub – no-one was permitted to be privy to their exchanges – and, that dealt with, he felt lost again.  Still, that was nothing new.  Nights could be very empty.  On his way home Jack had woven together this little fantasy that involved Ianto relieving rather than exacerbating the situation, but even back then he’d had a sinking feeling that he’d blown it.

He wasn’t quite sure whether or not progress had been made this evening, but probably not.  It was the thought of probably not that allowed him to text Ianto once he’d given him time to reach home.

‘Do I pay you enough to order you to wear those jeans all week?’ he asked, sniggering to himself at the imagined outrage on Ianto’s face.

He was floored by the reply:

‘The hand that felt your heart is wrapped around my cock.’

“Fuck,” Jack gasped, taken completely by surprise, instantly horny and hard and breaking into a sweat as he made for his living quarters and the comfort of a bed, where he could explore at length the pornographic images that now flooded his mind.

…

At Ianto’s, the hand that had felt Jack’s heart was actually wrapped around the handle of a mug of tea, and although he could imagine well enough what Jack was up to now, his enjoyment of the game was tainted by the enduring sorrow of his loss.

But it was undoubtedly better to miss Bryn than be unfaithful to him, even in this small way.

Twenty minutes later he changed the sheets on the bed before he undressed and climbed in, glad to be exhausted and knowing he’d be asleep very soon.  Jeans, he pondered.  In the days after Jack’s disappearance, when life itself had seemed unimportant, Ianto had still worn a suit.  Jeans?  Not likely.  Tomorrow…  A cute suit.  Ianto smiled at the thought of Jack coining that phrase.  Cute suit.

Ianto wondered if Jack was going to sleep too.  He wondered what Jack had thought about when he was wanking.  It had better have been him.  Him in his tatty old jeans, hard cock sticking out of the open fly.  Fair bet.  Jack on his knees and licking—  Nonono, he didn’t want to get horny.

His phone was on the bedside table.  He sat up and sent a text.

‘Done?’

‘Yes,’ came back immediately.

‘Good?’

‘I miss you.’

‘Sleep now.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Sleep.’

There was a longer wait before,

‘Yes,’ arrived.

Ianto didn’t believe that, but he hoped it was true.

Attrition 9       Attrition Index       Attrition Notes

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