Chapter Text
Ianto Jones is leaving Cardiff. He’s tired of fighting aliens and losing jobs, sick of random people showing up at his flat, and the weather sucks. Just the weather would be tolerable, but with the others? Yeah, Ianto is totally done with Cardiff. He told Rhiannon, he’s all packed- not that he unpacked much- and as soon as he tells Captain Harkness that he’s going to have to deal with his own damn problems again, Ianto is leaving. Not back to London; he’d like to have a quiet Christmas holiday someday. No, he’s found a sleepy little town in North Wales, where the climate may be just as bad, but at least he won’t have to worry about the Rift.
Ianto has spent all day trying to think of what to say to Jack, and by the time he’s convinced himself that he doesn’t owe the man an explanation, it’s late evening. He’ll just pop over to the Plass, tell him he’s leaving, then go. He walks purposefully toward the tourist center, certain that if he waits there long enough, someone from Torchwood will see him and come to investigate. Halfway there it occurs to him that this will be the last time he ever sees Jack Harkness, and maybe he should have taken a little more care with his appearance. The thought surprises him a little; why should he care how he looks? Still, a suit would be more respectful than his worn out jeans and jumper, and his hair is in disarray in the way it always gets when he goes too long without a haircut. Maybe he should come back tomorrow? He can’t believe he’s considering getting a haircut and dressing up to say goodbye, but he’s already turning around to leave when he sees her: Suzie Costello, there on the Plass with a gun pointed at some woman Ianto doesn’t recognize.
One last bit of help for Torchwood Cardiff, then? Ianto slides his sidearm from its holster, glad he’s taken to wearing it at all times since Jack gave it to him. He takes careful aim at the woman and waits to see how Costello will handle it. Is this woman an alien? Possessed? Infected? Out of her time? He doesn’t know and won’t act until he does. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but words drift to him on the light breeze. Shit. Kill. Violent. Glove. Ianto sees Jack rise from the sidewalk in the same place he stood the morning Ianto watched him from the café. No one else appears to notice the bloody great gap, (how do they keep people from falling in?) and Jack is just a little blurry; the perception filter must be on the paving stone, not worn. Jack’s eyes are glued to Costello, he’s barely looking at the other woman at all. Is Costello the threat, then? While Ianto considers, Costello turns and shoots Jack. On instinct, Ianto swivels his aim and fires. Costello goes down in a heap, and the other woman screams. Ianto rushes over to her. She’s fallen to her knees and is whimpering, “I remember.”
“Shhh, shhh,” he soothes, taking her in his arms and rocking her gently. She’s not an alien, she’s Welsh through and through. Older than Ianto, but still young, and she’s clearly experiencing a Retcon break. “It’ll be all right,” he promises, hoping he isn’t lying. She sniffles. She’s shaking from fear, and he would be too if he weren’t so focused on containing the situation. Suddenly, she goes rigid in his arms, gasping as she peers over his shoulder. Ianto turns, and there’s Captain Jack Harkness, alive again and surveying the scene. Ianto has read the reports on Captain Harkness’s special ability, but seeing it first hand is, well, unsettling. He promises himself plenty of time to process it. Later. Right now there’s work to do.
“Captain,” Ianto calls. Harkness’s eyes widen in shock when he sees Ianto. He shifts his gaze to Costello, checks her and, finding her dead, motions Ianto over. Ianto stands, helps the woman to her feet, and joins him.
“This you?” he asks, gesturing at his former teammate. Ianto nods. “Nice shot.” Ianto can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant about it, but there’s a tightness of pain in his voice, so it’s no surprise when Jack’s face crumples and he says, “If I’d only been paying attention- god, what a waste.”
Ianto wants more than anything to wrap his arms around the man and comfort him as he had the woman, but she’s watching them, so he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out and puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself for other people’s choices,” he says, “And if you want to wallow in self pity, it will have to wait until after we’ve tidied this up. Come on, before anyone sees.” He knows his words are a bit harsh, but right now Jack needs to be the Captain. Grief can come later.
Jack reaches up and pats him on the hand. “Thanks.”
“Any time.”
“You mean that?”
Ianto thinks about it. “We’ll talk later.”
Jack nods, then they’re too busy to discuss anything but what to do with the woman -Gwen Cooper is her name, and she’s with the Heddlu- while they maneuver Costello’s body into Torchwood’s base and down to the morgue. While Jack preps her for storage, Ianto cleans up what he can of the scene, mopping up blood from the Plass and disinfecting with bleach. Jack’s coat he spot treats with seltzer from the vintage soda syphon he finds near the crystal scotch decanter and glasses in the conference room. The coat will need to go to the dry cleaners, but he worked at one a few weeks back, and the guys there still owe him a favor and won’t ask questions. Cooper's clothes will have to go, too; she's in the scrubs he found for her after he helped her clean up.
Once the physical messes have been handled, Ianto tries to locate the ‘killed in the line’ paperwork he’s seen over and over in personnel files. It’s not in any of the obvious places- the cabinet in the main area, the file drawer in the big oak and glass desk in what he assumes is Jack’s office- no, Ianto finally finds them blank side out, taped together to form a larger piece, on which is a surprisingly good drawing of a blonde woman he remembers having seen somewhere.
The entire place is like that, full of things he almost recognizes. He can smell the old paper and ozone he knows from Torchwood One, but while the halls in Canary Wharf smelled of fresh paint, these have an under layer of mould. Some of the furniture is clearly requisitioned from the same stores, but other pieces are antiques or flat-pack junk. The technology is amazing, but pieces and wires trail everywhere. Alien artifacts clutter every flat surface next to dirty dishes. There’s the constant drip of water. Ianto crouches and ducks when he hears a screech, but it’s just the pterodactyl. She seems to be doing well, which pleases Ianto. He wonders if any of this will ever seem strange to him again, or is his definition of normal will be forever skewed from everyone else’s. He gathers the forms he needs, carefully disassembling the drawing and photocopying the official side with a machine that is, amusingly, the same mundane model he used at Chandler and Bell Accounting. He reassembles the drawing, setting it on Jack’s desk, and fills out the forms as well as he can. When he’s done, he tucks them in a folder and carries them down to the main area, looking for the others.
He finds Gwen Cooper in the conference room still blank with shock. Tea, he thinks, but all he can find is an ancient espresso machine and some cheap grounds tucked behind a jar of instant. It will have to do until he can get some proper beans in here. Grateful for his time as a barista, Ianto adjusts the machine into working order before brewing two cups, adding the sugar he finds nearby and a generous pour of the non-dairy creamer that was in the mini-fridge next to a medical sample. Or maybe leftovers. It’s hardly ideal, but he has to do something to cut the bitterness, and caffeine is a desperate need. Jack will probably want some too, so Ianto brews a third cup and rummages around a bit until he finds some stale biscuits. He juggles the three mugs and the biscuits muttering to himself that he’ll have to get a proper tray, and it’s not until he sets everything on the conference table that he realizes that he’s making future plans that involve staying. It’s one more thing he puts off thinking about.
Jack comes in and sits down at the head of the table. Without thinking, Ianto sits in the chair to his immediate right and passes him a mug. Cooper, several seats over, has been sipping from hers and is starting to look more coherent. He wonders how she got caught up in this and what Jack will do with her now. As if answering Ianto’s unspoken question, Jack turns to Cooper. “Against my better judgment, I am sending you home with your memories intact. I think you realize that it’s imperative that you not mention this to anyone?”
Cooper nods.
“I’d like you to come back tomorrow. We’ll talk more then.”
They finish their coffee, saying nothing about the recent events as if by mutual agreement. Ianto offers to take Gwen Cooper home while Jack finishes up the reports. She follows him, silent and still shell-shocked. She doesn’t speak until Ianto gently asks her where she lives. Then the floodgates open.
“What’s your name?” she asks. How odd, that he’s wiped blood from her face but never introduced himself. “You weren’t there last night,” she continues, “when Jack gave me the tour.”
“Ianto Jones. I don’t work for Torchwood. Not anymore.” He glances to the side. Cooper is biting her lip, looking confused.
“But you and Jack- I mean, the way you just… fell into place. You barely spoke, but it was like you could read each other’s mind.”
Ianto opens his mouth to argue, but looking back, he realizes that Jack never asked him to do anything. He moved a corpse, cleaned a murder scene, compiled paperwork, and provided refreshments, all without request, thought, or hesitation. And looking back, he can see that he and Jack worked flawlessly together. Ianto doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Really doesn’t want to talk about it, but he’s met people like Gwen Cooper, who won’t let things go. Hell, he’s related to one, and he knows that the best way is just to plow through it.
“I used to work for Torchwood in London, but I’d never seen the Cardiff base until now.”
Gwen doesn’t look as if she believes him. The interrogation continues, but there’s so much she wants to know that Ianto can’t answer. He doesn’t know what Jack will do about Gwen. He doesn’t know where Jack put Costello’s body. He has no idea what Gwen is supposed to tell her boyfriend (who, coincidently, was his boss back at the haulage job.) And he sure as hell can’t guess how the police hadn’t known about Torchwood all along. Still, these questions are a good distraction from the things Ianto is happier not discussing. Until-
“You said you don’t work for Torchwood anymore, and that you’d never been there before. Is there another Torchwood?”
“London. Canary Wharf,” he answers curtly.
Her eyes go soft and full of pity. “Oh, sweetheart. The terrorist attack. I’m so sorry. Were you, you know, there? In the building when it happened, and not one of those people who called in with the trots that morning, like you always hear about?”
Is this really any of her fucking business? No, of course not, but he knows that won’t matter in the end. She won’t let it go until she knows. He fires off his words like an attack. “Not terrorists. Aliens. I survived the attack. My girlfriend died there.”
Now Gwen looks as if she’d hug him if he weren’t driving; Ianto thinks he might gag on her sympathy, but she means well. He begins to hope that maybe he’s finally silenced her.
“But,” she says quietly. There’s a long, awkward pause. “That was only a few months ago. What about you and Jack?”
“There. Is. No. Me. And. Jack,” he grits through teeth clenched so hard they might crack. That’s it. He’s done. He’s not saying another thing, or else he might have to reach across the car, open the passenger door, and shove Gwen Cooper out into the night. Her questions continue, of course, but he focuses on the drive, pretending he can’t hear her.
It’s a relief when he can finally let her off at her flat. He ignores her awkward offer of “If you ever want to talk,” but still waits politely until she enters the building before he drives away.
Dawn is just starting to blush when Ianto finally makes his way back to his own flat. The flat that- he reminds himself- he’s moving out of today. He groans, wondering if he can put the movers off a day without losing his deposit. He’s shattered, physically and emotionally. It’s finally starting to catch up to him that he’s killed someone. A human being. Someone whose name he knew. Yes, he’s had to kill aliens, but that was always in self-defense. While he had something to do, he could push it to the back of his mind, but he doesn’t have that luxury now. His hands start to shake and his breathing becomes tight and fast. He needs to get home, where he can have a panic attack in safety and comfort. Hold it together, Ianto mutters to himself as he drives. Just get home. Hold it together. Just get home. He repeats it like a mantra, like a prayer, clutching his steering wheel until he imagines the bones of his knuckles might split the skin.
Home. So close. Ianto is parking, still whispering to himself. He’s gnawing at his lip as he locks his car, digging his nails into his palms as he approaches the building. Hold it together. It’s not worse than the Cybermen, he tells himself; he can handle this. Just get home. Except he suspects that’s a lie. It’s not worse, no, but he was already half broken and he suspects this has finished the job.
Into his block of flats, up two flights of stairs. Almost there. He’s fumbling his keys when he sees him: Jack is sitting against Ianto’s door, his arms wrapped around his legs and his head resting on his knees. Ianto can’t help but go to him, though he stops short of embracing the man the way his instincts insist he should. He kneels in front of Jack, putting a hand on his cheek to raise his face. “Hey,” he says, “let’s get you inside.”
Ianto knows he’s back to using work to stave off the emotional tsunami he’s been fighting, but he’s been doing it for months with his various jobs, and it’s familiar and comforting. He bustles about in the kitchenette making coffee while Jack sits without a word on the sofa. When Ianto sets two mugs down on the small table, Jack whispers, “I’m sorry.”
Ianto sits on the other end of the sofa, and nothing else is said for a few minutes. They don’t look at each other, they just sit, sipping their coffee.
“She was my second in command. My protégé,” Jack says after a time with a tear slipping down his cheek.
“I’m sorry Jack,” he says softly, struggling not to scoot closer, to keep his hands to himself. “I should have aimed to disable. But she killed you, and I-“
“Did you know?” demands Jack.
“Know what?”
“That I’d come back. When Suzie killed me and you shot her, did you know?”
“I didn’t think about it at the time, but yes, I knew.” And he shot to kill anyway. Without hesitation, for Jack. Not to save Cooper, but because Costello had killed Jack. It drives home how much he’s come to care for the man, against his wishes and good sense. “I couldn’t hear what they were saying, what the hell happened out there?”
Jack scrubs his hands against his face. “Suzie had this alien glove. It could resurrect the dead. She got addicted and started murdering people. I should have seen it, but we’ve been so busy; the Rift is on an upswing, and 4 people is just not enough. I was thinking of recruiting Gwen.”
“Which puts you back at 4, with Costello d- gone.”
“I was sort of hoping…” Jack looks at him, then away. “Nevermind.”
“Do you think she’s a good fit, though? I mean, she seems nice enough, but you said she’s a police constable.”
“Yeah? So?”
Is this how Harkness hires people? Seat of his pants? Can he not see that the qualities that make a stellar police constable- close focus, curiosity, empathy, stubbornness- are a terrible thing in a Torchwood employee, especially a field agent? If he hires her, Gwen Cooper will question every decision Jack makes. She’ll defy his orders, ignore protocol. She’ll never accept that there is sometimes no good solution. He tells Jack this.
“I was hoping she’d bring some humanity to the team.”
“Your team is human enough. Do you really doubt it?” Ianto’s not sure how or when it happened, but the gap has closed between him and Jack, and Jack’s hand is on his knee. Ianto puts his own hand on top. It feels good, warm and comforting.
“I suppose not. How are you doing? I hadn’t asked, but tonight must have been rough on you.”
“I’ll manage.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yup.” That’s really all there is to say. He twines his fingers with Jack’s. Ianto still doesn’t know what this is, but right now he doesn’t care. In Jack’s company, he’s calm, even without anything to do. After a time, Jack’s fingers tighten on his. He turns to meet Jack’s gaze, tilting his head slightly, questioningly.
“Your things are all boxed,” Jack says, pointing out the obvious as if he’s only just noticed it.
Ianto nods. “I’m leaving Cardiff. Today. I’m going to a quiet town without any of this. I was only on the Plass to say goodbye”
“Please don’t. Not now, not when I need you. Stay? For a while at least, until we get back on our feet?”
Ianto almost can’t resist Jack’s pleading eyes. Almost. “I can’t. I’ve already broken my lease and scheduled movers.”
“Stay,” Jack repeats softly, lifting his hand to caress Ianto’s cheek. There have been kisses between them, two of them, but the gesture is startlingly intimate. There’s longing in Jack’s eyes, not just lust. Ianto’s been thinking about this thing between them all wrong; it’s not about what happens between two men, it’s what happens between two hearts, and his is beating fast. He cups Jack’s hand in his, turns to kiss his palm. It feels right. Sliding his free hand behind Jack’s neck, Ianto pulls the other man close, their lips together. Jack sighs, breath soft against Ianto’s mouth.
It’s nothing like he expected, kissing Jack like this. Jack’s lips are soft, warm, and firm. That, yes, he was prepared for that. What knocks his world off kilter is the tenderness. Like this kiss is a secret they share, fragile and precious. With a sudden sense of surety, Ianto knows he can’t give this up. He shifts to face Jack properly and teases hip upper lip with his tongue. Jack groans and opens to him; the kiss deepens, becomes a desperate outpouring of all the things they can’t say. I’m sorry and I’m scared, stay with me, and I want you. Ianto tastes the salt of tears, but he’s uncertain whose they are. Jack pulls him down, they lie on the couch, kissing, touching. They’re both aroused, Ianto can feel it, but that can wait. Right now that’s not what either of them needs. Together they let go of the pain, the fear. Though the morning sun is streaming through the window and bathing them in a golden light, they fall asleep, exhausted.
Ianto wakes to pounding on the door. He’s on the couch nestled against Jack with the other man’s arms wrapped protectively around him, and he’s more comfortable than he can remember being in a very long time. He doesn’t want to get up. In fact, he thinks maybe he doesn’t want to move from this spot ever. The pounding stops, and a moment later, his mobile rings where he’s left it on the counter. Ianto ignores that too.
Eventually, he knows, Jack will wake and they’ll shift from the couch and have to face the aftermath of Costello’s betrayal and Ianto’s actions, but they’ll do it together. Ianto thinks he might be able to manage that, with Jack by his side, maybe holding him while he weeps and shakes. And he’ll call the movers to cancel and ask his landlord if he can stay, and take the job at Torchwood Three. He’s looking forward to meeting Sato and Harper properly, and even if Cooper ends up with them, he thinks he won’t mind. He’ll accept Jack’s other offer too, see where this thing between them goes. He’s choosing excitement over safety, just as Rhiannon always accuses him of doing. He’ll chase aliens, file reports, clean messes, make coffee, and save the world. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll do it all with the love of a man who’s lived lifetimes and seen amazing things and still thinks Ianto is worth his time. He can’t imagine why he’s spent months running from this, but Ianto has finally accepted that he’s been falling toward Jack since the moment they met. It was always going to end up like this, wrapped in each other’s arms. It was inevitable.