For quitehomoerotic: The Truth Hurts (Everyone)

[hofficoffi]

He made the decision on the way back to the Hub.

The certainty he felt about it almost frightened him; it made him sick to his stomach. He knew he should wait, think about it for a few days, discuss it with her, plan. But he was tired, and he was tired of planning, and it had to be tonight

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[quitehomoerotic]

Long day.

Well, that was nothing knew. They were always long days. Often a long few days that sort of stuck together to make one. His team were as much workaholics as he was. He'd practically had to push Tosh out the door, and though Owen had made a great show of looking as though he wanted to leave, Jack knew better than that

[hofficoffi]

At first, Ianto said nothing.

At first, he continued to stare blankly at the wall. Then, after a few beats too long, he looked down at his hands, laid on his lap, and then back up at Jack.

He felt completely lost.

He felt like running away.

But he couldn't.

His whole demeanor was changed. He projected nothing of the quietly-capable man he usually attempted to be. The perfect cog in the machine, so perfect that the others often didn't see him at all. But not now.

This was Ianto without the mask. Nervous. Afraid.

Silent.

[quitehomoerotic]

Jack was tired. He was looking forward to actually getting some sleep. So to say he was short and a little testy would have been putting it lightly.

"Ianto!" he said, a little harshly. "What, am I talking to myself over here?"

He clicked his fingers in front of the man's face and stared down at him with a displeased expression.

And then? he looked at him.

His frown melted then, something a little more worried.

"Hey," he said, squatting down in front of him, "hey, Ianto. Hey, look at me. What's wrong? Has something happened? What's going on?"

Concern there, yes. But the boss as well as that. His concern for Torchwood and for Cardiff, more than for the man in front of him. He didn't mean to be that way, but habits could be hard to break, and walls hard to climb.

[hofficoffi]

Ianto forced himself to concentrate on Jack. To look at Jack. He saw concern, and though he couldn't quite believe it was for him, it was something. Perhaps it was enough.

"Yes, sir," he said, his voice dull and lifeless. "Something happened."

Could he say it? He wondered, even now, if he could go through with it. He didn't want to. He really didn't want to. He remembered, too vividly, Jack's words: You are not my responsibility.

To what kind of man was he telling his secrets?

He took a deep breath. Something in his chest twisted, something felt like it came loose.

"I love her."

Gruff, like sandpaper, and full of misery.