Title: Better Wrong
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Spoiler: End of Days, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
Word count: ~6.800
Beta-work by: purestoneworker
Summary: Ianto leaves because it seems like the only reasonable thing to do. Telephone talk ensues.
A/N: I can't tell you how many times this has been sent to the beta. Every single time I read it I change something. I'm still not satisfied, but have been beaten by weariness. I'm thinking I'll probably end up altering few things here and there some time soon... But I figured if I keep it in my 'to do' folder I'll never stop messing with it and consequently will never get going with the rest of my stuff. It's close to what I wanted, though. But yeah, here it is.
-~-
If you're leaving will you take me with you?
I'm tired of talking on my phone
There is one thing that I can never give you
My heart can never be your home.
It wasn't that he was running away, though he was, too, by consequence. It wasn't even that he was dodging the problem altogether – ok, maybe that part was true. But, in his defense, primarily, it was about buying himself some time. He wasn't sure what for yet, but he'd figure it out. He wasn't sure what he was doing either, when he caught himself exploiting all his stealth to get away from the rest of the team while they debated where to go next, discussed paradoxes and checked (and rechecked) Gwen's condition – she was fine.
Jack, likely to be the center of attention, seemed disconnected, eyes haunted and brow creased in preoccupation, mind lost in some other time, perhaps even some other world. Something to do with Gray, probably, whoever Gray was. Ianto doubted they'd ever know what the deeper sense of that name was. Just one more secret to be added to Jack's gigantic list of mysteries.
He found Jack's distraction to be a good opportunity to sneak out, and did so because he couldn't breathe properly when Jack was staring at him. Life threatening occurrences had kept him well shielded from all the predictable reactions to Jack's return for the whole day, but now, with the adrenalin running out and reason fighting its way into his head, concerned about keeping what little dignity he still had, Ianto decided it would be better to step away until he felt it was safe to interact with his boss once more.
Whereas everyone else was, apparently, comfortable enough to act like nothing happened – like Jack never left - Ianto still felt out of tune. And it was good that things were mostly back to normality so fast; he was just having a hard time convincing himself of that when he still found it difficult to look at Jack. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say, didn't even know what to think anymore, what with that disjointed moment in which Jack went against all logic and asked him out. It had quite possibly made everything worse.
It was funny; Ianto would never have thought that sex could be the easier part of having a relationship with another man. Ask him for a casual fuck against a filing cabinet and he's cool; invite him for a seemingly romantic diner, and he's thrown far off his basis.
So Ianto walked away, benefiting from the others' inattention and protected by his ability to be functionally invisible, well at risk of seeming childish and petty, but having it truthfully as the least of his concerns right then. Ianto was determined to only be exposed to Jack's overwhelming presence when he felt confident and capable enough to present himself and do his job no less than faultlessly – or when reading fear and uncertainty and resentment off him wasn't as easy as reading a children's book.
He took the first taxi and headed to the more sheltering refuge of his home, and was honestly appreciative that he didn't live far from that particular multistory car park; his phone only began to bother when he was climbing up the stairs to his flat. Gwen was, predictably, the first one to call, followed shortly by Tosh. Owen, obviously, never minded. But it was only a matter of time until it started.
-------------------
And from the moment it began to ring, Ianto's mobile had traveled quite a distance across the coffee table. Some time between the sixth and the tenth call, Ianto turned the sound off, and watched with entranced interest as the phone vibrated and moved over the tabletop as though it were alive. He gauged it suited the name flashing persistently, attempt after attempt, on the blue-lit screen; a show of light and buzz and dance, just to make sure it wouldn't get ignored. Not completely.
Ianto wasn't in the mood to pick it up, and he didn't usually have the benefit of choice. Impressed, however, by the eager perseverance of the caller, Ianto decided to make a bet with himself; if the phone hadn't stopped ringing by the time it was an inch away from bouncing off of the coffee table, he would admit defeat and allow the victorious to speak his mind. Almost. Well, he'd listen, for a while.
He was, however, largely expecting Jack to give up well before that, which would be the attitude of most normal people. Regular standards of normality, though, were hardly ever applicable to Jack. It was why he sighed ruefully when, on the 24th call of the night (and he refused to look at the mobile viewer, honestly entertained by keeping count of the attempts), the phone started to dance dangerously on the edge of his furniture.
Thwarted, he stretched his arm, slowly moving for the mobile, sincerely wishing it would stop ringing by the time his fingertips touched the frenetically throbbing little box, all the while making up a new rule that stated that if he went for the phone and it ceased ringing, he would then be considered the winner, and therefore not have to answer it. Ever. Or until the next morning.
Obviously, it didn't stop.
"Yes?"
"Twenty six!" exclaimed his seemingly exasperated boss.
"I'm sorry?" Ianto tactfully kept the turbulent jolt of anticipation that ran through his body the moment he heard Jack's exclamation from affecting his voice. He had grown so unaccustomed to that sound it almost caused him to choke.
Predictable as the phone call was, Ianto wasn't sure he wanted to have the awfully cumbersome kind of discussion he knew would stem from it. But it still was, notwithstanding, a lot better than doing it in person; he wasn't a coward, he just fully trusted Jack's appeal and persuasion power to have much smaller impacts through the phone, wherein he couldn't make use of his imposing display of attitude or his piercing blue eyes (that Ianto happened to miss too much for his own sake).
It was, allegedly, easier to uphold his perfectly stoic composure when he didn't have to do it with Jack's gaze as well.
"I had to call you twenty six times before you picked up. Has to be a record."
"Huh," Ianto mumbled uninterestedly. "I only counted 24."
"You were counting?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't pick it up?"
"I did now."
"I've been calling you all night, Ianto."
"I noticed."
"You think this is fun?"
"More like distracting."
"I was starting to get worried. It's not like you to disappear without notice."
Ianto bit back a sardonic laughter. "No, it isn't. I'm not the one who disappears without notice. I apologize if my recklessness has distressed you, sir," he said instead.
Jack was quiet for a second. "Why didn't you pick it up?" he asked, opting to ignore the obvious taunt of the sly comment.
"I didn't want to," Ianto replied, matter-of-factly, striving to sustain an austerity that was more of an affirmation to himself than anything else.
"Where are you?"
"Home."
"Home?" Jack parroted, an edge of indignant disbelief on his voice. "You went home after I specifically told you not to?"
"I haven't been home all day, sir. It's the safest place to stay."
Jack heaved a long sigh of resignation on the other end. "How are you, Ianto?"
"I believe you've already asked me that question today."
"Yeah, and you tried to wind me up with your answer then as well."
Ianto hesitated. "I'm fine."
"Really?" Jack asked, defiantly.
"Yes."
"Then why aren't you here?"
Another pause. "I'm tired."
"And decided that walking down the street to find a taxi was a lot less weary than simply letting me drive?"
"It sounds illogical the way you say it."
"Because it is."
"No. I just wanted to get home, preferably skipping the part where you lecture me on paradoxes."
"Okay," Jack chanted. "Assuming I believe you – which, you should know, I don't; why didn't you let us know afterwards? We could've been out there looking for you until now. And I think you could've done good with a lecture on paradoxes, because you don't seem to understand how serious this is. Do you have any idea what could've happened if we ran into ourselves?"
Jack, it seemed, had little to no problem recovering command, already talking boss-like and hiding behind the appropriate mask of work. But Ianto wouldn't, no matter what, admit Jack was right; he'd given himself license to be unreasonably stubborn and irritated for a day.
"Clearly, you didn't assume anything fatal happened to me, otherwise I suspect I would've found you knocking on my door by now."
"Doesn't mean I wasn't worried."
"You could've also traced my mobile signal back to my flat."
"We don't have the equipment with us."
"Oh," Ianto exclaimed, sounding less than convincing.
"That's all beside the point, Ianto."
"I'm sorry then."
"No, you're not. Or you would've done the simple, but rather thoughtful gesture of picking up the phone when it didn't stop ringing."
"I was trying to rest."
"While counting," Jack remarked disdainfully.
"I've heard it's therapeutic."
"Ianto –" Jack huffed, clearly finding it hard to keep it civil just then. Ianto remained solid and as unfaltering as possible. "Surely you know I wouldn't give up until you answered, even if that meant I'd have to hunt you down," Jack completed, after a deep noisy breath that seemed to calm him down.
"Well…" Ianto shrugged to no one. "I took my chances."
"Couldn't you have just had your moment of relaxation with the rest of us and made it all easier?"
Ianto snorted. "Funny you should say that." He smiled grimly, but decided not to go further on the matter. "It's quieter in here."
"How do you know it's not quiet where we are?"
"I think it's genuinely valid to assume it isn't. You're there."
"Do you also think your flat is a better place for repose than a five star spa?"
Now that was unexpected. Ianto's eyebrow flew up questioningly. He'd bet good money there was a self-congratulatory smirk spreading widely on Jack's face.
"Is that where you are?"
"Owen's idea. And a surprisingly good one, actually. We could all use a day off getting our egos and backs massaged at an expensive spa, it's not like good enough excuses happen every day," Jack explained, suddenly losing a bit of the thread of annoyance and formality his voice carried so far. When Ianto didn't respond, Jack took it as a cue to go on. "They have a large indoor pool, delicious sauna and the room service is spectacular. You should see their salmon, Ianto," he remarked with enthusiasm. "I don't think I've ever tasted anything like that. Well, anything made of salmon. I think they also have Tai massages. It's a lot like the massages they offered at the Courtonian centurion, except Courtonians have six arms and no shame whatsoever." He laughed once.
Jack's prattling was filling the inevitable and uncomfortable silence with meaningless, embellished words about things of dubious veracity. As much as, astonishingly, Jack's frantic voice sounded soothing to Ianto, he could not ignore the rattling it seemed to cause in his stomach, or his gathering sense of uneasiness.
"That's wonderful," he said, feigning nonchalance to detract from his growing distress.
"And I thought it would be good for the team," Jack complemented. "But I suspect team bonding is not as efficient when the team's not complete."
"Interesting. Who would've thought that, sir?"
Jack exhaled, his previous flurry of excitement dissipating in the air. "Didn't we agree on dropping the 'sir'?"
"Sorry. It takes time getting used to," he replied with the formality of a bank clerk.
"Ianto," Jack said, equal parts pleading and demanding. "I thought we were past the furtiveness."
Ianto stopped, acknowledged how the conversation had drifted into different and more personal territory with that one simple phrase, recalling a treason that, though Ianto'd never completely regret it, would always hang over him.
He felt a rush of uncontrollable vexed ire run through his veins, the words boiling on his tongue.
"Hypocrisy doesn't suit you, sir," he said, coolly, in spite of his flaming indignation.
"What?"
"You're complaining that I came home without telling you when you know you wouldn't have let me. You're talking about being past furtiveness when you've been gone for months, took off while we were out buying you coffee." Ianto paused. "Pardon me, but I don't think you're in position of holding me accountable for anything right this moment."
The silence lingered for a while, filled with a sour combination of guilt and wounded pride, on both their sides.
"I know," Jack replied then, sounding more than a little contrite.
"Good," Ianto snapped back, contriving to keep his sternness.
"I know this is -" Jack paused, wistfully. "Well, I know you're uncomfortable."
Ianto rolled his eyes. "That's elucidating, sir."
"Jack."
"What?"
"Jack. My name sounds beautiful on your voice, use it."
"Sorry."
"Would you stop apologizing?" Jack ordered, with a hint of annoyance.
"I'm –" he swallowed back the apology. "Okay."
The heavy exhale from the other end came underscored with dismay and exhaustion. Ianto could almost see his expression; eyes dark and distant, suddenly bearing the weight of all the countless years of his life.
"Look," Jack started, unwilling to let go. "I understand you're upset. I don't blame any of you for being upset. But I'm not sorry either. I did what I had to do. I'd be lying if I said I regret going, so I won't."
Ianto bit several things, between replies – both polite or plainly bitter - and disdainful snorts. As if Jack had ever cared about lying before. Or keeping things from them, for that matter, which was, on most occasions, almost the same as lying. Worse, even.
Ianto, of all people, would know that.
"I don't reckon I've asked you to apologize."
There was a moment of plain, digital silence, in which the gap between them seemed to stretch wider than ever. Ianto desperately wanted to hang up, tell Jack to enjoy the spa and I'll see you tomorrow. He did. He really did.
For some reason, he couldn't.
"Ianto," Jack tried again, after a while.
"What?"
"Talk to me," he beseeched.
Ianto wavered, as the silence thickened, heavier and tangible. His mouth became oddly dry. Jack, he noted, didn't know what to say any more than he did; for some reason, though, he kept pushing when it would be much simpler to just let it be.
"I don't think I have anything to say."
"You don't have or you don't want to?"
"I don't…" he stuttered, inwardly cursing Jack for always, always – and still he could disrupt his normally unflappable eloquence. "I don't know."
"Are you angry?"
"I'm not angry," his response coming out perhaps a bit too quickly for spontaneity.
"Really?" Jack sounded disbelieving.
"I'm not," he decided. "Not really. It's not anger."
"That's not what it sounds like from here."
"I'm not exhibiting any standard enraged behavior."
"And what does that say?"
"It says I'm not angry. Not… mostly."
"So you are angry."
He held back a grumble. "Maybe."
"Well then if you're mostly not angry, what are you mostly feeling?"
He spared a moment to consider the question, realizing he wasn't sure what the main focus of his discomfort and uneasiness was. He remembered a time when things used to work according to logic, when he had a word over the course of his own destiny, something that seemed now so distant it was nearly a delirium.
Ianto normally favored what was understandable, comprehensible, what was tangible amongst the nonsensical lunacy that his life had become since Canary Wharf. Jack, definitely, wasn't one of those, albeit having been, for a while, a fixed, straight pillar Ianto could hold onto when everything else around him seemed to spin ruthlessly. That was, until he took off; for a moment, after Jack's departure, Ianto felt as though he was losing his ground. Usually, though, he didn't have to reason over the matter. And he was just making to realize that, perhaps there was no reason whatsoever in it – in him, or in Jack, or in anything in between.
"I'm confused," he supplied, after a spell in which Jack's even breathing was the only thing he could hear.
"And what's making you confused?"
The idea of Jack posing him that question – talking with some deep, placid wisdom, instead of as the devious source of all his current distress – was one Ianto found faintly hilarious, not to mention a tad ironic.
Wavering between genuinely laughing or weeping at the complete absurdity of it, Ianto said, "What are you now, my therapist?", and he was certain Jack could taste the pungent bitterness on his tongue.
"I just want to understand, Ianto."
A surly grin danced on his lips. "Do you honestly have to ask?"
Jack did not reply, stretching the void steadiness to a point of discomfort Ianto felt compelled, almost obliged, to talk.
"You left us," he spat it out as an accusation that was stuck on his throat, with coarse drenched emphasis.
"Yes," Jack replied rather calmly.
"You left me."
For the two long seconds during which Jack hesitated, Ianto was sure the erratic, drumming rhythm of his heart was loud enough to be heard from the other end of the line, and had just made a point to send all the apparent poise and self-control he strived so hard to maintain, down the drain – and possibly his dignity along with it. Suddenly everything seemed awkwardly inappropriate.
"Yes," came Jack's composed reply, after long, breathtaking seconds.
Ianto ghosted a laugh, shook his head helplessly. "I shouldn't have said that. I don't even know if I'm allowed to feel that way, I don't know if I should be – I don't know," he blathered.
Jack laughed; a dry and short sound that said yes and I know and aren't you pathetic? (Ianto was conscious that Jack probably did not mean the last part, but his current slightly baffled state did not stop him from perceiving it that way.)
"You're too complicated." Ianto sighed, resigned in his confusion.
"So I've heard."
"I'd be frankly stunned if you could drain sense out of yourself."
"I can't. Most of the time."
"Yeah." He released a slow measured breath. "I figured."
"We have more in common than you think. You're not so easy yourself, Mr. Jones."
Ianto's lips quirked up into a condescending smile. "Probably not."
Quietness followed yet again, this time considerably lighter, slightly tranquilizing, as though something had, just for a second and completely by chance, fallen in place. Ianto relaxed on his couch, wriggled on the softness of his seat and wished it would stay like that, wished he could grab onto that fake pretence of settlement and hold it still.
"I know our –"
"Can you –" Ianto stopped him before he could go any further. Jack was breaking his soothing moment, presumably with the best of intentions, but still. "Not say anything?"
There was a moment of puzzled silence from Jack. "All right."
"Thank you," Ianto retorted, earnestly. And his desired quietness fell upon him – them – like fog. The sizzling sound of Jack breathing on the other end being the only thing breaking through the cloak that seemed to revolve around him, warm and welcoming.
Ianto closed his eyes and went back to a time not so long ago when he used to live under the constant, slightly terrifying yet incredibly delightful sensation of having accidentally bumped into happiness when he was absolutely convinced he'd never live to find anything resembling it again; back when he didn't overanalyze or risked himself in failed attempts of rationalizing the complex turmoil that were his feelings and the circumstances of his life; when aliens and unexpected boyfriend-like involvements were the least important part of his problems, because they just were, and Ianto didn't care as long as they continued to be. It all combined on the most improbable way to make him happy.
He remembered lying with Jack being the high point after long, exhausting days. He recalled, in richness of detail, Jack's chest rising and falling rhythmically like a symphony, pressed against his back, arms wrapped around him possessively; the whispering sound of Jack's breathing vibrating close to his ear, at times muffled by the warm encounter of lips and neck, lulling him to sleep.
Life seemed like an easy, pleasant thing after all, back then.
"Do you want to hang up?" Jack asked, after what seemed like hours.
"No."
"Okay."
Ianto could go on like that forever, reclusive in the safety of silence, accepting the pretence of being frozen in a still moment when everything was exactly as it should, like before, perfect in all its flaws. But it was probably not fair. He pondered momentarily if the concept of fairness should be applied to that specific situation, considering it was meant to be anything but just, especially not now, and especially not to Jack. He concluded, however, that this was no punishment, and though still not completely at ease with conversations, Ianto was inclined to let Jack apologize, however he felt he should.
He opened his eyes again, dragging himself out of his thoughts, small slits refusing to face the world just then.
"Can I ask you something?" The question poured out of Ianto's mouth as though of its own volition, contradicting his personal resolve to be economic with the words to avoid letting the talk advance into less dignifying and overly compromising fields, however lost that resolution might've already been by that point.
Ianto heard something – like a movement, but maybe it was a change in Jack's spirit, as he sounded slightly livelier when Ianto addressed him again. "Anything."
He stuttered. "Why did you ask me out?" There it was.
Jack chuckled, quizzically. "Is that one of those trick questions?"
"I never pegged you to be the dating type. And then you left, for the Doctor. Your Doctor." He tried not to sound jealous, because in honesty it wasn't the case – not exactly, and not mostly – but his sharp tone didn't do much for his cause as coarse resentment bled through his intonation. Ianto swallowed, finding it hard to keep the crack out of his voice. "Then you just swan back in, and, well - I didn't think you would – a date, me, I thought that would be – admittedly, the last thing to ever cross your mind, if ever." Ianto gulped. "Did he dump you?"
Jack's infectious laughter resonated long and loud, expanded and gained life to fill Ianto's living room and reverberate of his walls as though Jack was there, sounding thoroughly entertained by what he had just said. Enough so he made Ianto feel slightly, if not completely, ridiculous.
"Oh, Ianto," Jack heaved affectionately, as someone who talks to a child who'd done something incredibly dull but adorable. "I wish things were that simple. He dumped me." Jack chuckled again. "Well, yeah, I guess – partly, he did. But I dumped him too. In a way."
Ianto exhaled in helplessness. "Everything is always something else entirely with you, isn't it?"
"Not entirely," Jack countered.
"Have you ever considered writing an instructions manual for handling with Jack Harkness?"
"Not the first time I hear that. But I'm afraid I wouldn't know all the directions to give."
Ianto shook his head lightly. "Of course not."
"Oh, come on," Jack protested. "I'm not that hard to read. You don't have to overcomplicate everything. When I asked you out, it was solely my earnest desire to take you on a date speaking."
"Which reminds me –you haven't really answered the question yet. I believe you're trying to wind me up, sir-Jack?"
Jack laughed once, before releasing a long and weary sigh.
"Because…" he began, pensively. "I did my share of thinking as well, while I was gone. Where I went, thinking was pretty much everything I could do."
"That's a shock. No senseless shagging with tentacled Courtonians?"
"They had six arms, not tentacles."
"Just as lovely, I believe."
"You'd be surprised."
Ianto gulped back the bantering, pressed his lips tight and silenced to smooth down the dangerous uproar rising in him.
"Did you think about us? I mean – us, Torchwood, the team," he blurted out.
"All the time."
"Seems incongruous." Ianto shrugged, fiercely wanting to believe Jack but doubting him in equal measure.
"Incongruous?"
"You left us for something you had been expecting for God knows how long. I reckon that should say a lot of how much we, and everything in here, mean to you."
"Is that what you think?" mild hurt resonating on Jack's voice.
"Shouldn't I? It seems incongruent that you would mull over the ones you abandoned when you were exactly where you wanted, with whom you wanted."
"Abandoned is a very strong word."
"Sounds perfectly adequate to me," Ianto grudgingly remarked.
"You don't fucking know what happened," Jack rose his tone defensively as his patience ebbed away. He closed his mouth shut with such strength Ianto heard it snap.
Another dreary moment of thorny silence lapsed, and Ianto sensed something throbbing violently and uncomfortable inside, making him both reluctant and restless, cracked between his will to let Jack make everything better and the more cynical and proud part of him that was simmering with fury, burning him up with all that had been kept cloistered and only to himself, threatening to come out at any moment. There were things unsaid, there were feelings unraveled; there was an entire situation completely unresolved and unexplained and god-awfully driven and Ianto was utterly lost amidst that torment of sensations.
"Damn it, Ianto." It was Jack who spoke first, sounding as tired and bleak as Ianto felt. "I thought we were progressing here."
He smiled dimly, thinking back of the moment when he decided to leave the team's sight to try and escape that moment right there. Utter failure, it seemed, to think that the phone would've been an impediment to Jack somehow. "I don't know what we're doing," he admitted. "I don't think I've ever known."
"I know we haven't developed exactly as advised, but I'm willing to make it right this time. That's what, you know, I've been meaning to say, if you'd let me."
Ianto quirked up an eyebrow. "Define right."
"Dinner. Movie. More than a camp bed and leftovers."
"You want to court me," Ianto concluded, mildly amused.
"That's one way to put it."
Unmistakably, Jack was making a proposition – perhaps not a straightforward one, but still -, renewing his earlier date proposal and going further in it. To Ianto, it sounded more like a peace treaty. He wondered if Jack thought he could buy back Ianto's trust by offering him a boyfriend. More darkly, he mused if that was how Jack felt after Lisa.
He remembered, with a bittersweet taste, waking up alone, in Jack's bunker, entangled on Jack's sheets, pathetically smelling of him like an abandoned property, wondering what had he, or they, done wrong, a week after Jack left with his Doctor.
Finding himself in that dreadful situation had scared Ianto on so many different levels he could hardly define.
"You shouldn't say that." It came out more shaky around the edges than he had aimed for.
"Why not?"
"Because you can't keep it."
"What makes you think that?"
Ianto's heart skipped a beat. Or several. "What happens when you leave again?"
The distance between the two of them became even more pronounced, impossibly insuperable for as long as Jack allowed the space between the question and his answer to grow and turn into oppressive digital static. A thousand things slipped through Ianto's mind quicker than he could absorb, but slow enough to send a rush of brand new uncertainties through him.
Granted, it led Ianto towards at least one conclusion: the lack of response was in fact all the response he needed from Jack, and positively said a lot more than anything the other man could ever put into actual words, what with being absolutely sincere and unveiled of Jack's characteristic deceiving euphemisms. Fantasy and reality constantly merged to the extent of becoming impossible to distinguish one from the other on Jack's words. Ianto suspected perhaps not even Jack could tell the truth from the florid lies anymore. If it was a purposeful mechanism to prevent others from discovering details about his past he wasn't willing to share or if Jack had truly become the person from his stories, Ianto couldn't tell for sure. And for most of the time, he didn't care either.
"I'll give you this," Jack bargained. "I can't promise I won't leave. That might be beyond my control or not a matter of choice at all. I'd like you to understand that, Ianto. But –" A subtle thread of anticipation on his halt. "If I can, I will always choose to stay."
Ianto threw his head back, covering his eyes with one of his hands. "Why?" he had to ask.
"I realized I had been hiding for too long."
"Hiding from what?"
There was a break, and then when Jack spoke, though sounding spent, he did it like he was smiling, dazzlingly beautiful and absolutely honest. "From life, Ianto. From everything and everyone around me. I had been preparing myself to leave for so long I didn't realize how much I'd changed during the process. Not saying I wouldn't have gone, but maybe – maybe I should've been more honest. Both with you all and myself."
"What are you trying to say, Jack?"
Jack breathed out loudly. "I'm trying to say that I'm exactly where I want to be. I know I'm probably not the most trustworthy person right now, but I can honestly say that for as long as I have somewhere – someone, to go back to, there will be nowhere else, in this world or out of it, that I'll rather be."
Ianto found Jack's words to be surprisingly sincere, almost pained. He couldn't remember ever hearing Jack talk with such crystal honesty. Jack had spent the last hour or so trying to settle things with him, a conversation that was an apology all in itself. And the bottom line was, he didn't have to. Ianto knew, as well as Jack, that he wouldn't leave Torchwood. No one ever did, not willingly. They could just go on with their lives as though nothing ever happened; Jack would still be the boss, Ianto would still be the multitasked employee and their professional relationship would remain unspoiled.
He thought maybe he could just ignore everything, go on acting like he was all the better about having you back, sir, as he had done for most of the day, dryly swallowing back his need to shout and revolt against the inequity of his life. But evading the subject, he reckoned now, would do him no good; quite the contrary, it would probably throw an oppressive weight of unfinished business over his shoulders, which time would fatally turn into sorrow and deep-rooted bitterness. And anyhow, he didn't know if he had the heart to do it again, pretend not to feel the gnawing of what would remain unsaid.
Instead, Ianto evaded the scene, evaded Jack's inevitably overwhelming presence. But Jack had to go and hunt him down, had to go and ruin his plans, had to go and make him speechless, had to go and say all the things Ianto wanted to hear, but was so ready not to; Jack had to go and undo him. Always.
There was no way this wouldn't end in tears, he thought, even if those were never shed.
"Jack…"
"Yes?" Jack replied, expectantly.
Ianto exhaled heavily, shaking his head. "Don't try to make it right."
"What?"
"Don't. You're trying to do what you think I want, but this is not it. You got it all wrong."
"Oh," Jack said, more than a bit downcast, making Ianto feel slightly guilty. He understood, if not completely at least superficially, that the implied proposition Jack was making meant a lot to him, and was perhaps more than Jack had been willing to offer anyone else in a long time. Or that was what Ianto perceived in snippets of life and flimsy impressions he got from his boss during the time they spent together as something like lovers, but not quite.
It took him more to give in than it would've to just call it over. That he was ready to do, accept and move on. It was easier – probably more painful, but simpler nonetheless.
Now Ianto couldn't deny that, albeit everything, he still preferred the flustering disorientation of not having a fucking idea of what he was doing or where he was going instead of the certainty and decisiveness that the end of everything implied; he'd rather be abashed and not sure with Jack, than not be with Jack at all.
Regardless, there was still something terrifying about the way the word right didn't ring true at all.
"Why don't we just – let it roll? See how it goes. When you say you want to make it right you're stipulating something, automatically creating rules by defining what right is meant to be."
Once upon a time, his life had accepted the making of plans, he could've expected to live to see the next day. He was acutely aware he wasn't that person anymore, but the thought still made him shudder, and realize that, after everything that'd happened to him in the meantime, maybe he'd never be ready for that kind of life again.
"That type of perspective would serve us no good," he explained, calmly and successfully maintaining the firmness of his voice. Perspective was a word abolished from Ianto's dictionary, with no imminent prognosis of return. "That is not for me, neither it is to you."
His softened tone, instead of evidencing the harshness and undeniable fatalism Ianto's current view on his own life concealed, confided him a sense of a somewhat reasonable rightness.
But it wasn't all that calamitous, all angst and cataclysms. It seemed perfectly fitting to their needs, adequate to their singular situation, appropriate to the unusual type of not-couple they'd formed, the way they coped with their limitations and problematic and lived thus far. Ianto got used to the winding ways and inevitabilities of this new life – perhaps a bit too soon. He didn't want anything else; he didn't want Jack to change who he was or what he did just to make it right.
Rightness, like happiness, was (had become) a subjective and extremely relative concept.
"What do you want then?" Jack asked the all-encompassing question.
However never really focusing on the matter of what was it that he wanted after all, it didn't take much for Ianto to realize what the answer to that crucial query was.
"I just want –" He paused, trying very hard not to sound foolish. "I just want you. That's all."
It took a little breath-holding moment, but he heard the grin forming on Jack's lips as he spoke, and felt the broad weight of uncertainty leaving his back, felt his soul inexplicably lighter, felt his heart thumping madly and vividly inside his chest. "I think I can arrange that."
"Thank you," Ianto said in honest appreciation.
When stillness ensued once more, it felt different. There was no grim atmosphere, no uneasiness, no fear of what would come next. Ianto relaxed, leaned back on his seat and looked outside the window, to the rare and astonishing clear night sky.
Oblivion was comforting, he thought.
And Jack was back, for real rather than on his late night reveries. He seemed slightly changed, bearing new resolutions and upholding new perspectives, bringing a whole new pack of stories to tell, but as essentially Jack as always, possibly as his as never – and that was most definitely terrifying.
"Well," Jack sighed. "No roofs, no movies and no dinner then."
Ianto rolled his eyes, couldn't quite keep the corner of his lips from quirking up discreetly. "I suppose dinner is okay," he said.
"What are the chances of you being talked into getting here in ten minutes?"
Ianto grinned. "I'd say there's hardly any."
"I wasn't lying when I said the salmon is spectacular," Jack insisted.
"I didn't think so."
There was a break. "Am I not making you even slightly curious with my culinary enthusiasm?"
It seemed amusing how eager to reconcile Jack was, but not exactly strange. There was a fine thread of desperation behind his words, as there had been a flicker of longing anxiety ill-disguised behind his eyes earlier. Jack wanted to engulf them with his arms and claim them back, and he wanted it now. Jack was all about now; dreadfully bad-mannered. He wanted to be the boss and the captain and the friend and the lover he was before, not the bastard who left a bomb in their hands and disappeared without further notification. It seemed as though he had been away for much longer, as if the endless time his absence appeared to have dragged on for them had been real, somehow, to Jack.
Ianto knew he owed the compassionate act of absolution, free of charges, to Jack, who had saved his life in probably all ways a person can be saved, and not only because it was part of his job. But Ianto wasn't quite there yet, and reckoned there was no asset in being dishonest – he owed Jack that, too.
There was, however, a natural measure of forgiveness on his tone.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you," he said, but he wasn't really.
He heard Jack inhaling the air slowly, wearily letting it out. "You know, we don't have to do –"
"That's not the problem, Jack."
"I thought we were good." It was almost a question, colored by the silver of uncertainty sharpening his voice.
Ianto sighed. "We are. Or something. I just– dynamics are always suddenly altering when you're around. It takes a little reacquainting."
"Oh," Jack said. "That's… understandable. I think."
"It is."
There was another moment of indecisiveness, neither of them knowing what to do next. Logic said it was time to hang up, being done with their share of long juvenile conversations on the phone for a day. Or more likely for a lifetime.
"I should then–" Jack staggered.
"Yep," Ianto finished for him.
"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Jack tried one last time.
"Positively," he replied, beaming at the delightful familiarity of the innuendo, but opting not to mention it.
The whooshing sound of air breathed out filled the line. "Ok," Jack finally gave up. "Will I see you tomorrow?"
"Absolutely."
For the first time in months, Ianto felt the universe reasserting itself around him. He felt the appeasing bliss that civilized his will, quieted his losses and gave meaning to his days, back. Jack seemed to have it in him; to exude a sense of safety and assurance all the while making all things sparkle differently and reflect more interestingly on his words and on his smile and on the gleam of his eyes. The man, who made no sense whatsoever, stripped everything of significance when he took off, leaving a monochromatic hollow behind him.
Ianto missed Jack, desired Jack, trusted Jack. He'd go to the end of the world, and back, with a goddamn smile plastered on his face, for Jack. But he came to understand he didn't need Jack. It had been hard for all of them in the beginning, they wouldn't even know how to start their day, waiting for greetings and orders that never came. They didn't know how strong they were, or how fucking good they could be together, but realization eventually dawned into them as time passed and nothing happened – Jack didn't come back, and the world, surprisingly enough, did not end on their shift. They ought to have been doing something right.
Ianto was made a survivor by circumstances, had learned, with harsh penalties, to grasp at the smallest of things for the sake of his well being, even if just barely. He was, he suspected, a slightly twisted kind of incurable optimistic, willing to weather the stormiest of seas in hope of finding placid waters. Some people would describe him as obsessive, perhaps more than a little insane; he'd rather look on the bright side instead.
And so Ianto, as well as the others, realized he could manage without Jack. He'd just rather not.
When it came to Torchwood, it didn't matter how brilliant the team was, how perfectly well they performed their job – that was one ship that would never be complete without its soul, its mentor, its captain. And Ianto had, long before, sold himself entirely to this man's cause. He'd stick to it, 'till the end.
That was the very wicked thing about Jack Harkness; Ianto suspected you could never get completely over him.
Then again, no one said life was a fair deal.
"Good night, Ianto," Jack said at last.
In the wildest and most tempestuous of people, in the least probable of places, Ianto found his placid water again. Independently of his reluctance in admitting it, even to himself, Ianto knew that man who had the power to frighten away his tears with his explosive laughter would be, quite possibly for the rest of his life - even if only partially, even if there were others - where he'd find his peace of mind.
It was ludicrously ironic, if he stopped to think about it. And it would be laughable, if only he wasn't so ridiculously in love with him.
"Good night, sir."
Fin.
*The song at the beginning of this is Stand by me, by Oasis.