The Measure of a Man (8/9)
Jack waited until Tosh and Owen had gone before returning to Ianto’s bedside where he young man had finally fallen asleep, dark lashes resting on pale cheeks utterly exhausted.
“I am so proud of you,” he murmured, kissing him chastely on his slightly parted lips, feeling his warm breath ghost over his skin. He was perfect. He may not be as self-assured as Owen or an emotional vent like Gwen but maybe that was a good thing. Torchwood needed a good, strong, stoic person who could be depended upon to get the job done without ego or emotions hindering that. It also needed someone who inspired the team to pull together and Ianto was the only one able to do that. Gwen was too inexperienced, Owen was too out spoken and as for Tosh; she preferred technology and physics to people bless her.
In contrast, Ianto had been with Torchwood a long time, he was able to separate his personal and professional feelings, he knew when to assert himself and when to sink into the background and he knew exactly how to handle the team’s varying personalities and needs. In essence, he knew Torchwood.
“Hey, shh,” whispered Jack, caressing the side of the young man’s face as he stirred in his sleep and stilled under the Immortal’s touch.
It occurred to Jack that Ianto would be a lot more comfortable in a proper bed rather than what passed for one in the medibay so carefully lifted him into his arms; mindful of the young man’s numerous injuries. Unfortunately, this small amount of movement was enough to rouse Ianto from his sleep.
“Jack?” he mumbled, looking up at Jack sleepily.
“Shh. You go back to sleep; I’m just taking you to my bed so you’ll be more comfortable yeah?”Murmured Jack softly, Ianto nodded and rested hid head against his Captain’s chest, letting the steady heartbeat lull him back to sleep.
Jack smiled as Ianto dozed off in his arms, completely at ease his hand loosely holding Jack’s shirt. It was a testament at how far they’d come that Ianto felt safe and secure enough to do that when a few months ago Jack had thought they’d never reach this level of trust again.
Carefully, Jack carried Ianto down to his bunker and laid him down, tugging off his blood stained jeans and replacing them with clean tracksuit bottoms. He briefly debated about dressing him in a t-shirt but decided against it; not wanting to wake him when he was so settled.
It was only when he’d made Ianto comfortable that Jack realised his own exhaustion. In the terror and subsequent aftermath of today, Jack hadn’t had the time or the inclination to sort his own tangle of emotions out.
“Who’d be Torchwood eh?” murmured Jack, taking off his shoes and overshirt and lying on the edge of the bed facing the young man, watching the steady rise and fall of his bruised chest and vowing there and then to always be there for his team, because, at the end of the day, they were all he had; this assorted band of waifs and strays, outcasts and misfits and he wouldn’t change that for the world.
http://welsh-scotsman.livejournal.com/5115.html chapter nine