Written for the "grateful" square of alphabetasoup and for an art exchange with mad-hattie on DeviantArt. Also, oh my god I've written some semblance of fluff! That's rare!
Jack is storming when he gets back from the island. Ianto watches the CCTV from his hiding place in the archives as Jack kicks uselessly at the leg of his desk and collapses into his chair, pouring himself a big drink and pounding a fist on the blotter. Ianto decides to give Jack his privacy and files away reports from the 70s for a while. When things seem calmer, he goes up to the main Hub and makes two extra-strength coffees. He adds a shot of whiskey to Jack's.
"Yeah, come in." Jack's voice is weary when Ianto knocks tentatively on the doorframe.
Ianto sets the tray on Jack's desk and hands him a mug, taking his own and sitting on the chair across the desk. Jack wraps his hands around the mug like it's a security blanket and inhales deeply, sighing at the scent of the familiar coffee.
Ianto looks into his cup. The dark liquid is decorated with milky swirls. "I'm sorry for helping Gwen."
Jack swallows his coffee loudly. "I know."
Ianto looks up into Jack's eyes. The captain is watching him, posture stiff yet tired. "But she wouldn't have let it go, Jack. She would have just kept pushing and one of you might've said something you'd regret, or you'd get hurt trying to hide it from her."
"I know. But I didn't want it to do what it did to her." He sighs. The look in his eyes reminds Ianto of just how many years of Torchwood Jack has seen. "She doesn't need to be as damaged and cynical as the rest of us."
"But at least now she understands, Jack."
"I took away her hope. Some sort of faith she had in me died back there." He puts his coffee down, pushing it away, and folds his arms.
"And was replaced by respect when she saw what you deal with every week, how much you've helped these people who have no one else to look after them." Ianto insists. He knows. It happened to him, too. It helped him see Jack as a man, not a god. It helped him to see Jack as real, fallible and vulnerable.
"Thank you." Jack says solemnly, and Ianto frowns.
"For what?"
"For keeping that secret for so long. For helping me through each time I went out there. For making the decisions I couldn't make."
Ianto shrugs and takes a sip of coffee. "It's my job, sir."
"It isn't your job, Ianto. But you do it anyway and I thank you."
"You're welcome."
They're silent for a few moments, both pondering the day's events. Ianto thinks of how he watched Jack ferry out to the island, head hanging but shoulders back, and how only hours later he'd watched Gwen leave PC Andy on the dock and ride out with determination in every muscle. He thinks of Jack's on the ferry back to the mainland, thinks of the pain and sorrow set in grooves around his eyes and mouth.
"This damn job," Jack mutters to himself. Exhaustion is apparent in his features and the set of his shoulders is bleak.
"It'll be better in the morning, Jack." Ianto tells him.
Jack nods, unconvinced, sighs again and stares at the top of his desk. His coffee is only half-drunk and cooling on the blotter. There are dark circles under his eyes and his face is drawn. Ianto stands up and puts his coffee down beside Jack's. He holds out a hand.
"Come on," he beckons softly.
Jack takes his hand and stands wearily, following Ianto down into the little bunker. He leans back against the ladder, watching as Ianto removes his jacket and unknots his tie, placing them neatly on a chair.
Then Ianto steps forward and pulls Jack's braces down, unclipping them. He unbuckles Jack's belt and slides it through the loops, the soft zzt of the leather loud in the silence. Pulling Jack's shirt loose from his trousers, he unbuttons each button and slides the cloth from his shoulders, the backs of his thumbs running softly against Jack's bare skin. Jack is already breathing deeply from the calming effect of watching Ianto slowly release him from the clothes and confines of the day. They both know this is not about sex; it's about letting go. Ianto kneels and unlaces Jack's boots. He presses his shoulder against Jack's hip to balance him as he lifts each foot and slides the shoe off, then the sock. Unbuttoning Jack's trousers, he pulls the fabric down to the floor and Jack steps out of it. He's left in his pants, but this is not about sex.
Ianto stands and undresses much more quickly. He leads Jack to the bed and sits beside him at the edge. Jack stares forlornly at his knees. Ianto presses up against him, shoulder, hip, knee, and foot flush together.
"I just—that scream," Jack admits softly, shuddering. "It was the first time all over again. I can't get it out of my head."
"Come here, Jack." Ianto knows sometimes that Jack needs someone else to think for him. He tugs Jack down onto the bed and pulls the blankets over them. Immediately, Jack curls around him, holding him tightly.
"It just reminds me of all the things we can't do." The sound is muffled into Ianto's shoulder, but he still understands the words.
"It should remind you of all the things you did that no one else did. It should remind you that you care more than any of the other leaders of Torchwood ever have, and that you've helped more people than they ever will. Jack, the island is a good thing. That shelter is a good thing. You're giving a home to people who have been trapped somewhere cold and far from earth. You're trying your best to make them well again. It's a good thing you're doing, Jack."
Jack only tightens his hold, but Ianto thinks he hears a "thank you" whispered against his skin. He smiles softly and strokes Jack's hair. They stay that way for a long time. Finally, Ianto hears his captain sigh, and feels the body beside him relax and let go.
He kisses Jack's forehead softly. "It'll all be better in the morning, Jack, I promise you."
Jack's limbs are already floppy and loose, and he nods drowsily and sighs again as Ianto curls around him. Ianto watches as Jack drifts into sleep, breathing deep puffs of air into his shoulder and across his neck. He gazes at the peaceful face that looks so young and vulnerable when stripped back by sleep, ready to chase away whatever nightmares may come.