Monday was easy.  That surprised Ianto, and pleasantly.  He dressed to please himself but he knew Jack would like the clothes, bought a week before the major cock-up with the Rift and Jack’s disappearance, but never worn.  The suit was dark charcoal, a three-piece wool and cashmere blend that he’d spent a small fortune on – evident in the excellent cut and very becoming fit.  His shirt was crisp white cotton, his tie a silky, electric blue.  The ensemble was completed by cloisonné enamel cufflinks, the same colour as the tie, and freshly polished black shoes.  Sounded basic enough but when Ianto was groomed and dressed and staring in the mirror assessing the impact, he could see himself through Jack’s eyes and knew his effort would be appreciated.  It wasn’t that he wanted to drive Jack insane with lust before he left, he just…okay…wanted to.

Into work, bright and early, Ianto spent time over the first brew of the day, the one that he always felt needed to be utterly perfect.  He tingled because Jack was near, and…why?  He’d asked himself the question too many times to count, and once again found himself pondering if this was in any way connected to how easily he’d sailed through the psychic training at Torchwood One.  Not that it had ever done him any good, or allowed him to develop any unusual skills.  Not that he’d been aware of any kind of enhanced intuition at all.  ‘All bollocks,’ one of his closest colleagues had declared it as he struggled with the basics.  The reminiscing came to an abrupt and breathless end as Ianto remembered that he’d last seen that particular man struggling against being deleted.

Ianto clumsily crammed that memory back into its particular mental box, swearing at himself for his carelessness.  That box was the trickiest of all to keep sealed, needing the least encouragement to burst open, the contents still able to shake him to the very core of his being.

Willing his hands to stop trembling, Ianto filled Jack’s mug and went looking for him, letting anticipation dull both the tingle and the tragic memories, although the pounding of his heart was for reasons other than a meeting with his captain on this particular occasion.  Jack was at his desk, studying yesterday’s rediscovered gadget, and his presence was immediately soothing.  He glanced up as Ianto entered and did a distinct double-take.

“Damn, you look good.”

“Thank you, Sir, however…”

“Blah, blah, harassment; like I don’t know.”

Ianto carefully placed the coffee, within easy reach but not about to get knocked over by Jack’s dismantling of the artefact.  As he leaned over the desk, he murmured,

“Think of me, did you?”

“Yeah.  You were great,” Jack assured, unable to resist reaching up to brush the back of his fingers over the new jacket.

Suitably flattered, Ianto took a good look at Jack.

“Did you sleep?”

“Couple of hours.”

That would do for now.  Ianto nodded his approval and left Jack to it.

…

The week was easy.  That surprised Ianto, but he began to take the ease for granted.  Back on form, back to the Ianto he liked to be, he kept himself to himself and, outside of their snack or dinner breaks, hardly bothered to speak to anyone unless it was absolutely crucial.  Plenty of work to be done, but it was soothing in its familiarity, and no longer having to cope with their own plus Jack’s responsibilities removed a massive weight from everyone’s shoulders.

Apart from the expected flirtations, Jack was businesslike, back to being the boss, and Ianto stopped looking over his shoulder in fear of being ambushed.  With every positive interaction, Jack the stalker took one step further toward being a persona of the past, the alarming instability that periodically showed in Jack’s eyes gradually being soothed away by the constant that was Ianto.

Toshiko was soon her old self and that allowed Ianto to stop cosseting her, releasing all his free time so he could concentrate on the archives, and he’d meticulously arranged A to B, and C to D by Friday.

Attrition 10       Attrition Index       Attrition Notes

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