Fic: Half a World Away
Title: Half a World Away
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto
Warnings/Spoilers: spoilers for S1E10, Out of Time; mentions of suicide
Rating: PG-13
Genre: episode related
Word Count: ~3,500
Summary: It takes Ianto about three hours to figure out that he's not really waiting for news about his car.
Notes: Brionyjae over on ff.net gave me the idea to write something based on Out of Time, and this is what I came up with. I actually think I’ve been imagining some version of this missing scene in my head ever since I first watched this episode, so it was nice to have an excuse to finally write it out! (The title is courtesy of REM. For an Out of Time fic, it seemed to fit. ^_~)
It takes Ianto about three hours to figure out that he's not really waiting for news about his car.
He’s sure it shouldn’t have taken him this long to work it out.
After all, he’s been pacing back and forth behind his workstation for what feels like forever, full of nervous energy, like he can’t quite figure out what to do to pass the time, even though he has a million things he could be doing, of course.
He could probably spend half a lifetime in those bloody archives alone, and not even make a dent, but the archives feel too far away from the center of the hub right now, so instead he mills around the workstations, dusting around monitors, sweeping around table legs, discarding take away containers and pizza boxes, paper coffee cups. Everything into its proper receptacle.
This could be any other day plucked from the last few months of his life, really, but it's not. Something feels different tonight, off, and there’s this energy buzzing around in his head, making him anxious, impatient.
Tosh sticks around for a while. He makes a fresh pot of coffee when it becomes clear she’s in for the long haul, and offers her his ear when she needs someone to vent to about Owen forgetting to turn over some report or another to her, but really, it's about Owen and that pilot, maybe. He doesn’t blame her.
Then she shows him a program she's been working on, tracing rift spikes, aligning that with CCTV footage from across the city, and they get caught up in it for a while, in the numbers and the neat lines of data. Finally, after Tosh is practically falling asleep at her workstation, Ianto sends her home with a soft smile, and a promise to hold down the fort.
After she leaves, he tries Jack on his comm, and his mobile, again.
When he gets nothing either way, he plops down onto the couch hastily, limbs splayed out in front of him in frustration, and contemplates his options.
He could call for a taxi. He knows where Jack is, after all, or at least where he went, but decides against it almost immediately. Jack had wanted to do this alone for a reason. And besides, someone had to be around for the so-called night shift. Especially if Jack ends up… out of commission.
Something dark and cold twists deep in Ianto's stomach, and he sits up straight, his muscles tensing.
**
An hour later, after he’s fed Myfanwy, and has taken a quick trip downstairs to check on their guests in the cells, Ianto puts the water on for tea.
While he waits for it to boil, he fishes one of Gwen's magazines out from the recycling, and thumbs through it idly, browsing the headlines, catching a flash of skin here and there, beach-bound celebrities in bikinis and Speedos. He recognizes them all, of course, but realizes that it’s just that, just surface recognition--he hasn’t seen any of the films they’ve starred in, hasn’t heard any of the records that have gone platinum this year.
Maybe Jack is right. Maybe he does need to get out more.
Ianto sighs, and for a second, he swears that the sound echoes in the hollowness of the hub, over the buzz of the mainframe, and the humming and ticking of half a dozen other monitors and devices going about their business in the vast space around him.
Jack's been gone for almost six hours. It's like Gwen and Owen have dropped off the face of the earth, too.
Ianto takes a deep breath, and tries to find something to do with his hands. Right, tea.
After he's carefully prepared his tea (milk first, always; no sugar), he takes a seat at his workstation, and pulls up several CCTV cameras--one from the southwest corner of the bay, one from just outside the tourist information office, one from across town, outside the Queen Street railway station. His eyes flicker over the screen, not really focusing on anything in particular. Besides, everything is dead at this time of night anyway. He types in a command and the footage changes. Different angles, different corners.
He sighs, and takes a sip from his mug. The tea is slightly over-brewed, but he takes another sip anyway, forcing himself to steady the nervous energy in his fingertips.
For the first time a very long time, Ianto thinks he might be craving a cigarette. It’s been years though, and he never much liked it to begin with, except for the obvious draw of being given something to do with his hands and his mouth at the same time, thus eliminating a certain amount of small talk in various situations.
Ianto wonders idly if Jack has ever smoked. Surely he must have. He’s been a soldier, after all.
Ianto is lost in thought for a second with visions of Jack, collar upturned, lips pursed as he brings a match to life between his fingers, and then Jack, exhaling slowly into the cold night air, on patrol, maybe, or huddled in some remote barracks somewhere…
That second turns into a minute, which turns into ten, which obviously turns into much more than that, because when Jack finally returns, Ianto nearly misses the sound of the cog door creaking open. He’s blinking up at the turning wheel before he even has time to stand and collect himself.
Jack looks exhausted when he enters, his face drawn tight, and his steps heavy, as if even the fabric of his coat is weighing him down.
Ianto stands to attention and crosses the room, approaching Jack with a reassuring smile, one that he hopes masks his tension, and his exhaustion from being up for going on twenty four hours now. It’s a smile that he’s perfected, and is more than a little proud of. If Jack can see through it, which Ianto has no doubt he could if he wanted to, he hasn’t let on.
“Welcome back,” Ianto says brightly. “Everything okay? Shall I put some coffee on?”
Jack just shakes his head. He looks surprised to see him. "What are you still doing here?"
Ianto shrugs noncommittally. "Night shift, remember,” Ianto says, and then pauses. “I was thinking about smoking, actually."
Jack raises his eyebrows and smiles, just barely, before he turns his back on Ianto, heading for his office.
"Go home, Ianto," Jack says, his voice tired, but it sounds a little half-hearted, from where Ianto’s standing.
"I used to, you know, smoke," Ianto continues, following Jack, almost catching up to him before Jack turns around, and fixes him with a sharp look.
"It's been a long night, okay. Go home and get some rest--I'll have a full report for you in the morning on your car.”
Ianto blinks. He’d almost forgotten about the bloody car.
“It's fine, by the way. I'll have it back to you good as new by the end of the day."
They've reached Jack's office now, and when Ianto reaches out to help him with his coat, Jack fixes him with another less-than-amiable look.
"What are you doing, Ianto?"
"Just my job, sir," Ianto says as he takes Jack’s coat and hangs it on the rack beside the door, ignoring Jack’s callous tone.
He pauses for a moment in the doorway, as Jack sits down at his desk without saying a word.
"I need a drink," Jack says, and then pulls out two glasses from the bottom drawer of his desk. Jack looks up, meets Ianto's eyes for a brief moment. Restraint flickers in his eyes.
"Care to join me?" he asks, hopefully, as if Ianto might actually refuse.
"A bit early for a drink, isn't it, sir?" Ianto says, glancing up at the clock, and smiling a little as he approaches Jack's desk, trying to ignore the way his stomach turns over as their fingers brush together when Jack hands him two fingers worth of his best scotch, amber and shiny through the thick glass of the tumbler.
The alcohol fills Ianto's stomach with a pleasant warmth, calming him a little. His senses are still heightened though, like they almost always are in Jack’s presence, all those dials tuned in and fixed on one thing.
He leans back against Jack's desk and feels the wood under his hands, the texture of the grain against the pads of his fingers, grounding himself against the emotions that are bubbling just under the surface of his skin. When did things get so bloody complicated, Ianto thinks as he glances over at Jack, who’s nursing his drink in silence, staring past him at the floor next to Ianto’s feet.
This was supposed to be easy, but… Well, whatever this thing between them was supposed to be when it started hardly matters now, Ianto figures. He closes his eyes, suddenly realizing how tired he is now that some of his tension is fading away.
"He was a good man," Jack says finally as he downs the rest of his drink in one swift movement, looking up at Ianto, his eyes suddenly flashing.
Ianto returns his gaze, focusing his attention, ignoring the pull of exhaustion that he can feel tugging at him behind his eyes. "So he's..."
"Dead," Jack says. "Killed himself. Carbon monoxide."
"Oh..." Ianto says, wincing a little when he thinks of his car. "That'd be why he needed my car, then?"
Jack’s face darkens. "Yeah, sorry about that."
"Ah, well," Ianto says, forcing a weary smile. "Nothing a good car wash won't fix, right?"
Jack is silent, and Ianto traces a finger around the rim of his glass idly.
Ianto never quite knows what to do with Jack when he's so focused on brooding like this. It always makes him feel incredibly small, even though he knows this isn't exactly about him. He takes a deep breath.
"You didn't stop him," Ianto states calmly.
"I tried to," Jack says. "I wanted to stop him...at first."
Ianto just nods, watching Jack, watching his brow furrow, watching his hands clench and unclench in his lap.
"He wanted to die," Jack says, quietly. "And after a while I realized maybe I understood how he felt."
Ianto swallows. Something stirs inside him, sets his heart on double-time, now that he thinks he understands what’s really happened tonight.
"You... joined him?" he says finally, choosing his words carefully.
"Yeah," Jack says. He looks up at Ianto. "That's nicer than I would have said it, but yeah."
"Well, I can't say I approve,” Ianto says, a little nervously, trying to lighten the mood, because there’s a current rising from the depths somewhere inside of him, and it’s a little like despair, like hopelessness.
“There's got to be a rule against killing yourself in another employee's car in one of those manuals we’ve got gathering dust in the archives," he finishes, trying to convince himself that he’s truly able to find humor in this situation, grasping.
All the same, when Jack smiles at him, a real smile, one that almost reaches his eyes, Ianto's heart soars a little.
"I promise I'll have it back to you as good as new. Like nothing ever happened."
"Right," Ianto agrees.
There’s a silence then, before Jack lets out a long breath and looks up at Ianto, his eyes dark, sad.
“I failed him, Ianto.”
“No.” Ianto shakes his head. "What happened to him isn’t your fault."
"I should have stopped him."
"Why?" Ianto hears himself say. "You told me once that there's always something worth losing, but… That wasn't true for John, was it."
"I still should have stopped him."
"He was alone, Jack."
"We're all alone,” Jack says softly.
Ianto takes a deep breath. He scoots over on Jack’s desk, a little closer to Jack's chair, close enough so that their legs are almost touching, close enough that Jack takes notice and sits up a little, looks him in the eye.
"Not like that,” Ianto says. “We're not alone like he was."
Ianto watches Jack close his eyes. When several beats pass and he doesn’t open them again, Ianto tentatively places his hand over Jack's, brushing his fingers against Jack’s knuckles.
"I saw myself in him," Jack says softly, squeezing Ianto's hand and releasing it.
The sudden loss of contact makes Ianto's heart seize up for a second.
"I'm sorry," Ianto says. And then, a little more urgently, "Jack, I'm really sorry."
Ianto has no idea what else to do, what to say--he always feels so lost, like this, like he has nothing to offer Jack at all, no insight, not even real understanding. Because Ianto understands loss, he does, but it’s not as deep or as inevitable for him as it is for Jack, and he knows that. There’s probably only one person who can understand death the way Jack does, and thankfully, he’s not here.
And then Ianto feels Jack's thumb brush gently against his wrist. Just a soft brush of contact, but it’s unexpectedly intimate, and Ianto can feel his face warm a little under the attention.
"You should be furious," Jack says, looking up at him, shaking his head, his fingers creeping under the cuff of Ianto's shirt, hovering just over his pulse point. "I died in your car, after all. How many times does that happen."
"Probably more often than you'd think, really," Ianto says, raising his eyebrows.
"Ianto," Jack says, and his tone sends a shiver down Ianto's spine.
"You gave John what he wanted," Ianto says. He fixes Jack with a long look. "He'd thank you, if he could."
"You think?"
"I'm sure of it," Ianto assures him. “Wouldn’t say so if I wasn’t.”
“And what about you?” Jack asks, his gaze turning thoughtful.
“Me?”
“What do you want?”
Ianto is quiet for a long moment. And then he says, finally, “I don’t know, Jack.” He pauses. “Tonight, I just wanted be here for you.”
“And now that you’re here?”
“I want you to know that you can trust me, that you can tell me the truth.”
“Go on.”
“Well, then of course there’s my car…”
Jack smiles softly. “Ah, the truth comes out.”
Ianto pauses, thoughtful, and then meets Jack’s eyes. “Honestly? I had a feeling tonight. About you.”
Jack smiles a little wider, and Ianto rolls his eyes.
“It wasn’t a good feeling, Jack. Like something bad had happened.”
“And that’s why you waited? Must have been a long night.”
Ianto just nods, not quite trusting his voice, and he’s relieved when Jack suddenly rises from his chair and cups Ianto’s face in his hands, pressing his lips to his forehead.
Jack’s lips are warm, alive, and Ianto focuses on that, instead of on the voice in the back of his head that’s whispering to him that Jack died tonight, that he died, and now, he’s here…
Ianto knows he should be relieved, knowing that Jack always comes back, knowing that Jack’s not going to go like that, like Lisa, and he is, but somehow it feels unnatural anyway, as if Jack’s constant revivals are desensitizing him, weakening his defenses, somehow.
But Jack is leaning over him now, one hand supporting his weight against the desk, the other wrapped around the back of Ianto’s neck. Ianto can feel Jack’s fingers against the bare skin there, and he leans into the touch, welcoming it. The important thing is that Jack is here, now. He’s not sitting in Ianto’s car anymore, breathing fumes into his lungs, slowing depriving his brain of oxygen… He’s here.
Ianto feels the weight of Jack’s lips against his--the contact, being this close, breathing Jack in--and just lets go, just gives in to this connection, for whatever it's worth, gives in to Jack.
Jack’s kiss is surprisingly tender, too, and just for a second, Ianto wonders if maybe Jack needs this too. If maybe Jack needs this connection as much as he does, this reminder that in the middle of all this, in the middle of life, and death, there’s this, and it’s safe, and it’s comforting. It’s clarity, in a sea of doubt and confusion.
Ianto has no idea what he’d do without it, where he’d go to seek this out, if not here. That’s why he waited. To remind himself that this is still here, that no matter what else happens, in his car, or out in the field, or anywhere else. No matter what secrets they keep from each other, this is still here, flesh and blood, real.
**
Ianto wakes up several hours later, his legs tucked up under a blanket on the hub's couch, the sound of Torchwood coming to life all around him. The lights hum on automatically, gearing up for another long day of work.
Tosh is at her workstation already--she never did mind working in the dark--and he wonders how on earth he’d managed to sleep so long.
He'd been exhausted, he knew that much, so much so that he'd refused Jack’s offer of driving him home, on grounds that it’d be easier to catch a few hours of rest on the couch than to go all the way back to his flat, only to have to turn around and come back, but.. He certainly hadn’t expected to sleep past nine. He wondered how Jack had fared, if he’d slept at all.
Ianto sits up, blinking, and fixes his eyes upwards, until he finds what he’s looking for. Jack--phone in one hand, pen in the other, scribbling something down on the paper in front of him, looking impatient, safe and sound.
Ianto lets out the breath he’s been holding, in relief.
**
He's a few steps away from Jack's office, adorned with a fresh shirt and tie, when Jack appears, leaning against the door frame. He gives Ianto a once over, and smiles brightly.
“Morning, sir," Ianto says, sounding overly chipper, even to himself. "Coffee’s on its way,” he adds, because suddenly, he feels like he needs to provide some reason for the fact that he's standing here.
Jack nods, and then studies him for a long moment, as if he’s suddenly remembering something. "So you really used to smoke?"
Ianto chuckles. Of course Jack would remember that.
"For a few years, yeah, when I was a teenager," he explains.
“Really?” Jack says, his brow furrowing, as if he can’t quite reconcile the thought.
"What can I say, it was a phase."
Jack just nods, and then raises his eyebrows flirtatiously. "It sure is a nice image, though."
"Thanks," Ianto says, still a little amused. "You never know, I might take it up again someday, what with this job and all."
Jack grins, leaning back against the door frame, bouncing on his heels a little. "Just don't try to blame it on me if you do."
"Never, sir."
"Thank you," Jack says, just after Ianto has turned to go, beckoned, as it were, by the coffee machine’s timer.
He sounds more sincere than Ianto’s used to. Ianto’s heart pounds as he turns to face him.
“For waiting,” Jack continues. “For staying.”
Ianto gives him a quick nod, swallowing hard.
He tries not to think too much, about Jack, taking his last breath, about how he's ever going to sit in the driver's seat of his car again and not have that image in his mind.
He thinks that maybe he might try walking to work, despite the distance, at least for a few days.
He doesn’t regret knowing the truth though, doesn’t wish Jack had kept this from him, like he could have, not for a second. If anything, it makes him feel like he has some stake in this, in Jack.
Then he realizes Jack is watching him, waiting.
Ianto clears his throat, forces a smile.
"Anytime, sir," he says calmly.
When he realizes how much he really means it, his smile loses all pretense as it spreads across his face.
***
Comments make me happy? ♥
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto
Warnings/Spoilers: spoilers for S1E10, Out of Time; mentions of suicide
Rating: PG-13
Genre: episode related
Word Count: ~3,500
Summary: It takes Ianto about three hours to figure out that he's not really waiting for news about his car.
Notes: Brionyjae over on ff.net gave me the idea to write something based on Out of Time, and this is what I came up with. I actually think I’ve been imagining some version of this missing scene in my head ever since I first watched this episode, so it was nice to have an excuse to finally write it out! (The title is courtesy of REM. For an Out of Time fic, it seemed to fit. ^_~)
It takes Ianto about three hours to figure out that he's not really waiting for news about his car.
He’s sure it shouldn’t have taken him this long to work it out.
After all, he’s been pacing back and forth behind his workstation for what feels like forever, full of nervous energy, like he can’t quite figure out what to do to pass the time, even though he has a million things he could be doing, of course.
He could probably spend half a lifetime in those bloody archives alone, and not even make a dent, but the archives feel too far away from the center of the hub right now, so instead he mills around the workstations, dusting around monitors, sweeping around table legs, discarding take away containers and pizza boxes, paper coffee cups. Everything into its proper receptacle.
This could be any other day plucked from the last few months of his life, really, but it's not. Something feels different tonight, off, and there’s this energy buzzing around in his head, making him anxious, impatient.
Tosh sticks around for a while. He makes a fresh pot of coffee when it becomes clear she’s in for the long haul, and offers her his ear when she needs someone to vent to about Owen forgetting to turn over some report or another to her, but really, it's about Owen and that pilot, maybe. He doesn’t blame her.
Then she shows him a program she's been working on, tracing rift spikes, aligning that with CCTV footage from across the city, and they get caught up in it for a while, in the numbers and the neat lines of data. Finally, after Tosh is practically falling asleep at her workstation, Ianto sends her home with a soft smile, and a promise to hold down the fort.
After she leaves, he tries Jack on his comm, and his mobile, again.
When he gets nothing either way, he plops down onto the couch hastily, limbs splayed out in front of him in frustration, and contemplates his options.
He could call for a taxi. He knows where Jack is, after all, or at least where he went, but decides against it almost immediately. Jack had wanted to do this alone for a reason. And besides, someone had to be around for the so-called night shift. Especially if Jack ends up… out of commission.
Something dark and cold twists deep in Ianto's stomach, and he sits up straight, his muscles tensing.
**
An hour later, after he’s fed Myfanwy, and has taken a quick trip downstairs to check on their guests in the cells, Ianto puts the water on for tea.
While he waits for it to boil, he fishes one of Gwen's magazines out from the recycling, and thumbs through it idly, browsing the headlines, catching a flash of skin here and there, beach-bound celebrities in bikinis and Speedos. He recognizes them all, of course, but realizes that it’s just that, just surface recognition--he hasn’t seen any of the films they’ve starred in, hasn’t heard any of the records that have gone platinum this year.
Maybe Jack is right. Maybe he does need to get out more.
Ianto sighs, and for a second, he swears that the sound echoes in the hollowness of the hub, over the buzz of the mainframe, and the humming and ticking of half a dozen other monitors and devices going about their business in the vast space around him.
Jack's been gone for almost six hours. It's like Gwen and Owen have dropped off the face of the earth, too.
Ianto takes a deep breath, and tries to find something to do with his hands. Right, tea.
After he's carefully prepared his tea (milk first, always; no sugar), he takes a seat at his workstation, and pulls up several CCTV cameras--one from the southwest corner of the bay, one from just outside the tourist information office, one from across town, outside the Queen Street railway station. His eyes flicker over the screen, not really focusing on anything in particular. Besides, everything is dead at this time of night anyway. He types in a command and the footage changes. Different angles, different corners.
He sighs, and takes a sip from his mug. The tea is slightly over-brewed, but he takes another sip anyway, forcing himself to steady the nervous energy in his fingertips.
For the first time a very long time, Ianto thinks he might be craving a cigarette. It’s been years though, and he never much liked it to begin with, except for the obvious draw of being given something to do with his hands and his mouth at the same time, thus eliminating a certain amount of small talk in various situations.
Ianto wonders idly if Jack has ever smoked. Surely he must have. He’s been a soldier, after all.
Ianto is lost in thought for a second with visions of Jack, collar upturned, lips pursed as he brings a match to life between his fingers, and then Jack, exhaling slowly into the cold night air, on patrol, maybe, or huddled in some remote barracks somewhere…
That second turns into a minute, which turns into ten, which obviously turns into much more than that, because when Jack finally returns, Ianto nearly misses the sound of the cog door creaking open. He’s blinking up at the turning wheel before he even has time to stand and collect himself.
Jack looks exhausted when he enters, his face drawn tight, and his steps heavy, as if even the fabric of his coat is weighing him down.
Ianto stands to attention and crosses the room, approaching Jack with a reassuring smile, one that he hopes masks his tension, and his exhaustion from being up for going on twenty four hours now. It’s a smile that he’s perfected, and is more than a little proud of. If Jack can see through it, which Ianto has no doubt he could if he wanted to, he hasn’t let on.
“Welcome back,” Ianto says brightly. “Everything okay? Shall I put some coffee on?”
Jack just shakes his head. He looks surprised to see him. "What are you still doing here?"
Ianto shrugs noncommittally. "Night shift, remember,” Ianto says, and then pauses. “I was thinking about smoking, actually."
Jack raises his eyebrows and smiles, just barely, before he turns his back on Ianto, heading for his office.
"Go home, Ianto," Jack says, his voice tired, but it sounds a little half-hearted, from where Ianto’s standing.
"I used to, you know, smoke," Ianto continues, following Jack, almost catching up to him before Jack turns around, and fixes him with a sharp look.
"It's been a long night, okay. Go home and get some rest--I'll have a full report for you in the morning on your car.”
Ianto blinks. He’d almost forgotten about the bloody car.
“It's fine, by the way. I'll have it back to you good as new by the end of the day."
They've reached Jack's office now, and when Ianto reaches out to help him with his coat, Jack fixes him with another less-than-amiable look.
"What are you doing, Ianto?"
"Just my job, sir," Ianto says as he takes Jack’s coat and hangs it on the rack beside the door, ignoring Jack’s callous tone.
He pauses for a moment in the doorway, as Jack sits down at his desk without saying a word.
"I need a drink," Jack says, and then pulls out two glasses from the bottom drawer of his desk. Jack looks up, meets Ianto's eyes for a brief moment. Restraint flickers in his eyes.
"Care to join me?" he asks, hopefully, as if Ianto might actually refuse.
"A bit early for a drink, isn't it, sir?" Ianto says, glancing up at the clock, and smiling a little as he approaches Jack's desk, trying to ignore the way his stomach turns over as their fingers brush together when Jack hands him two fingers worth of his best scotch, amber and shiny through the thick glass of the tumbler.
The alcohol fills Ianto's stomach with a pleasant warmth, calming him a little. His senses are still heightened though, like they almost always are in Jack’s presence, all those dials tuned in and fixed on one thing.
He leans back against Jack's desk and feels the wood under his hands, the texture of the grain against the pads of his fingers, grounding himself against the emotions that are bubbling just under the surface of his skin. When did things get so bloody complicated, Ianto thinks as he glances over at Jack, who’s nursing his drink in silence, staring past him at the floor next to Ianto’s feet.
This was supposed to be easy, but… Well, whatever this thing between them was supposed to be when it started hardly matters now, Ianto figures. He closes his eyes, suddenly realizing how tired he is now that some of his tension is fading away.
"He was a good man," Jack says finally as he downs the rest of his drink in one swift movement, looking up at Ianto, his eyes suddenly flashing.
Ianto returns his gaze, focusing his attention, ignoring the pull of exhaustion that he can feel tugging at him behind his eyes. "So he's..."
"Dead," Jack says. "Killed himself. Carbon monoxide."
"Oh..." Ianto says, wincing a little when he thinks of his car. "That'd be why he needed my car, then?"
Jack’s face darkens. "Yeah, sorry about that."
"Ah, well," Ianto says, forcing a weary smile. "Nothing a good car wash won't fix, right?"
Jack is silent, and Ianto traces a finger around the rim of his glass idly.
Ianto never quite knows what to do with Jack when he's so focused on brooding like this. It always makes him feel incredibly small, even though he knows this isn't exactly about him. He takes a deep breath.
"You didn't stop him," Ianto states calmly.
"I tried to," Jack says. "I wanted to stop him...at first."
Ianto just nods, watching Jack, watching his brow furrow, watching his hands clench and unclench in his lap.
"He wanted to die," Jack says, quietly. "And after a while I realized maybe I understood how he felt."
Ianto swallows. Something stirs inside him, sets his heart on double-time, now that he thinks he understands what’s really happened tonight.
"You... joined him?" he says finally, choosing his words carefully.
"Yeah," Jack says. He looks up at Ianto. "That's nicer than I would have said it, but yeah."
"Well, I can't say I approve,” Ianto says, a little nervously, trying to lighten the mood, because there’s a current rising from the depths somewhere inside of him, and it’s a little like despair, like hopelessness.
“There's got to be a rule against killing yourself in another employee's car in one of those manuals we’ve got gathering dust in the archives," he finishes, trying to convince himself that he’s truly able to find humor in this situation, grasping.
All the same, when Jack smiles at him, a real smile, one that almost reaches his eyes, Ianto's heart soars a little.
"I promise I'll have it back to you as good as new. Like nothing ever happened."
"Right," Ianto agrees.
There’s a silence then, before Jack lets out a long breath and looks up at Ianto, his eyes dark, sad.
“I failed him, Ianto.”
“No.” Ianto shakes his head. "What happened to him isn’t your fault."
"I should have stopped him."
"Why?" Ianto hears himself say. "You told me once that there's always something worth losing, but… That wasn't true for John, was it."
"I still should have stopped him."
"He was alone, Jack."
"We're all alone,” Jack says softly.
Ianto takes a deep breath. He scoots over on Jack’s desk, a little closer to Jack's chair, close enough so that their legs are almost touching, close enough that Jack takes notice and sits up a little, looks him in the eye.
"Not like that,” Ianto says. “We're not alone like he was."
Ianto watches Jack close his eyes. When several beats pass and he doesn’t open them again, Ianto tentatively places his hand over Jack's, brushing his fingers against Jack’s knuckles.
"I saw myself in him," Jack says softly, squeezing Ianto's hand and releasing it.
The sudden loss of contact makes Ianto's heart seize up for a second.
"I'm sorry," Ianto says. And then, a little more urgently, "Jack, I'm really sorry."
Ianto has no idea what else to do, what to say--he always feels so lost, like this, like he has nothing to offer Jack at all, no insight, not even real understanding. Because Ianto understands loss, he does, but it’s not as deep or as inevitable for him as it is for Jack, and he knows that. There’s probably only one person who can understand death the way Jack does, and thankfully, he’s not here.
And then Ianto feels Jack's thumb brush gently against his wrist. Just a soft brush of contact, but it’s unexpectedly intimate, and Ianto can feel his face warm a little under the attention.
"You should be furious," Jack says, looking up at him, shaking his head, his fingers creeping under the cuff of Ianto's shirt, hovering just over his pulse point. "I died in your car, after all. How many times does that happen."
"Probably more often than you'd think, really," Ianto says, raising his eyebrows.
"Ianto," Jack says, and his tone sends a shiver down Ianto's spine.
"You gave John what he wanted," Ianto says. He fixes Jack with a long look. "He'd thank you, if he could."
"You think?"
"I'm sure of it," Ianto assures him. “Wouldn’t say so if I wasn’t.”
“And what about you?” Jack asks, his gaze turning thoughtful.
“Me?”
“What do you want?”
Ianto is quiet for a long moment. And then he says, finally, “I don’t know, Jack.” He pauses. “Tonight, I just wanted be here for you.”
“And now that you’re here?”
“I want you to know that you can trust me, that you can tell me the truth.”
“Go on.”
“Well, then of course there’s my car…”
Jack smiles softly. “Ah, the truth comes out.”
Ianto pauses, thoughtful, and then meets Jack’s eyes. “Honestly? I had a feeling tonight. About you.”
Jack smiles a little wider, and Ianto rolls his eyes.
“It wasn’t a good feeling, Jack. Like something bad had happened.”
“And that’s why you waited? Must have been a long night.”
Ianto just nods, not quite trusting his voice, and he’s relieved when Jack suddenly rises from his chair and cups Ianto’s face in his hands, pressing his lips to his forehead.
Jack’s lips are warm, alive, and Ianto focuses on that, instead of on the voice in the back of his head that’s whispering to him that Jack died tonight, that he died, and now, he’s here…
Ianto knows he should be relieved, knowing that Jack always comes back, knowing that Jack’s not going to go like that, like Lisa, and he is, but somehow it feels unnatural anyway, as if Jack’s constant revivals are desensitizing him, weakening his defenses, somehow.
But Jack is leaning over him now, one hand supporting his weight against the desk, the other wrapped around the back of Ianto’s neck. Ianto can feel Jack’s fingers against the bare skin there, and he leans into the touch, welcoming it. The important thing is that Jack is here, now. He’s not sitting in Ianto’s car anymore, breathing fumes into his lungs, slowing depriving his brain of oxygen… He’s here.
Ianto feels the weight of Jack’s lips against his--the contact, being this close, breathing Jack in--and just lets go, just gives in to this connection, for whatever it's worth, gives in to Jack.
Jack’s kiss is surprisingly tender, too, and just for a second, Ianto wonders if maybe Jack needs this too. If maybe Jack needs this connection as much as he does, this reminder that in the middle of all this, in the middle of life, and death, there’s this, and it’s safe, and it’s comforting. It’s clarity, in a sea of doubt and confusion.
Ianto has no idea what he’d do without it, where he’d go to seek this out, if not here. That’s why he waited. To remind himself that this is still here, that no matter what else happens, in his car, or out in the field, or anywhere else. No matter what secrets they keep from each other, this is still here, flesh and blood, real.
**
Ianto wakes up several hours later, his legs tucked up under a blanket on the hub's couch, the sound of Torchwood coming to life all around him. The lights hum on automatically, gearing up for another long day of work.
Tosh is at her workstation already--she never did mind working in the dark--and he wonders how on earth he’d managed to sleep so long.
He'd been exhausted, he knew that much, so much so that he'd refused Jack’s offer of driving him home, on grounds that it’d be easier to catch a few hours of rest on the couch than to go all the way back to his flat, only to have to turn around and come back, but.. He certainly hadn’t expected to sleep past nine. He wondered how Jack had fared, if he’d slept at all.
Ianto sits up, blinking, and fixes his eyes upwards, until he finds what he’s looking for. Jack--phone in one hand, pen in the other, scribbling something down on the paper in front of him, looking impatient, safe and sound.
Ianto lets out the breath he’s been holding, in relief.
**
He's a few steps away from Jack's office, adorned with a fresh shirt and tie, when Jack appears, leaning against the door frame. He gives Ianto a once over, and smiles brightly.
“Morning, sir," Ianto says, sounding overly chipper, even to himself. "Coffee’s on its way,” he adds, because suddenly, he feels like he needs to provide some reason for the fact that he's standing here.
Jack nods, and then studies him for a long moment, as if he’s suddenly remembering something. "So you really used to smoke?"
Ianto chuckles. Of course Jack would remember that.
"For a few years, yeah, when I was a teenager," he explains.
“Really?” Jack says, his brow furrowing, as if he can’t quite reconcile the thought.
"What can I say, it was a phase."
Jack just nods, and then raises his eyebrows flirtatiously. "It sure is a nice image, though."
"Thanks," Ianto says, still a little amused. "You never know, I might take it up again someday, what with this job and all."
Jack grins, leaning back against the door frame, bouncing on his heels a little. "Just don't try to blame it on me if you do."
"Never, sir."
"Thank you," Jack says, just after Ianto has turned to go, beckoned, as it were, by the coffee machine’s timer.
He sounds more sincere than Ianto’s used to. Ianto’s heart pounds as he turns to face him.
“For waiting,” Jack continues. “For staying.”
Ianto gives him a quick nod, swallowing hard.
He tries not to think too much, about Jack, taking his last breath, about how he's ever going to sit in the driver's seat of his car again and not have that image in his mind.
He thinks that maybe he might try walking to work, despite the distance, at least for a few days.
He doesn’t regret knowing the truth though, doesn’t wish Jack had kept this from him, like he could have, not for a second. If anything, it makes him feel like he has some stake in this, in Jack.
Then he realizes Jack is watching him, waiting.
Ianto clears his throat, forces a smile.
"Anytime, sir," he says calmly.
When he realizes how much he really means it, his smile loses all pretense as it spreads across his face.
***
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