:This is a companion to Spending Time, so the dialog should seem pretty familiar to those who've read that one. I decided to write the same scene from Ianto's viewpoint because Jack's viewpoint didn't adequately explain the shift in Ianto's behavior at the end of the story, mostly because Jack isn't an empath and is as lost when it comes to figuring out Ianto Jones as everyone else at Torchwood is. I hope this will fill out the blank spots and help show Ianto's motivations. Like Spending Time, it's set right after Countrycide and has spoilers for S2 Fragments. I don't own Torchwood or the characters. They're RTD's and the BBC's.:

My Torchwood fics
Deus Ex Machina (not yet published)
Oberon's Wild Night
Tripping the Rift
Kyhl's Story
Archives of the Time Agency
Serenity in Cardiff
Spending Time
Invasion of the Vending Machine From Hell
My Hero Bares His Nerve
Torchwood X Reno 911

Serving Time

I had been standing there in his office door for at least ten or fifteen seconds. Either he was completely distracted or he was really dreading this little talk, perhaps more than I. Still, Mum always said putting off a nasty task didn't make it any sweeter. "You wanted to see me, sir?" I asked.

Jack looked up, his face seeming a very nicely preserved forty, his eyes seeming a hundred or so. I know he's been in Torchwood that long, even if he won't tell anyone his birthdate. I've found things in the archives with his signature from years before he should have even been born. "Ianto, come in. Close the door."

I did. Normally I didn't close it, because he has this effect on me. It's hard to describe, but anyone who's been close enough to smell him would know exactly what I'm talking about. He smells of fantasies you don't normally share with even your best mates or girlfriends. It's like a Calvin Klein Obsession advert exploding in your head and makes about as much sense. Still, have to say his skin smells much better than the Obsession aftershave. Up until recently I could always think of Lisa and walk away, but now she's--

"How are you feeling?" He winced. Did he have any idea what I was thinking? I've been so careful to keep a brave face on, chin up. Losing Lisa hurts, all the time. She didn't just die, she was cut down to stop her from killing more people than she already had, and I've got her death and my own guilt on top of it to deal with, but that's what I get for hiding my partially converted cyberwoman girlfriend in the basement and not being honest with Jack or anyone. I'm lucky I still have a job, or that I'm alive. Well, that doesn't seem so much a blessing, more like a sentence of penance for my part in our crimes.

"Fine, sir. Owen cleared me to return to my duties." I couldn't look at him, the man who kept showing me mercy in the most painful ways possible. "Nothing but a few bruises left."

"That's not what I meant, really, but I'm glad to hear it." I felt his gaze shift away to my relief. "This was your first field mission, and it was almost your last, so.."

"And I'm fine, sir. You saved the day." I looked at him. He really does think of himself as the hero, or tries to. Everyone else thinks he is, but I've spent enough time around him, watching him while he didn't even notice I was in the room, to pick up on the emotions he hides inside. He's got a soul as dark and sin-riddled as mine, compounded by being five times as old as me or more. It's like finding out your Dad is sleeping with the neighbor or did a term in prison. Makes me wonder how he can possibly sit in judgment over me just because he's the boss and I'm the low-man on the totem pole.

"So did you." Jack moved his hand over the paper on his desk as if he wanted to keep me from realizing the reason for our little chat. As if I couldn't recognize a psych eval from the outline of the table. We used them at Torchwood One for everything. Someone had a snit over a stolen stapler, everyone in the department would be queried as to how they felt about it by the director. I'd always had to bite the inside of my cheek during them to keep from giggling because it seemed like something out of The Office. It was easy not to laugh this time. I'd never seen him use one for anything, not even after Suzie shot herself, not even after Lisa. "That was incredibly brave, fighting an armed man with your hands tied so Tosh could go for help."

Was he serious? What else was I supposed to do? Let that bloody psycho kill the one person in this place who sometimes bothered to say hello to me before I said it to her? "It seemed more effective than letting them slaughter us both without any resistance, sir. I'm sure anyone else in Torchwood would have managed to get themselves out as well, but that's why I make coffee and file papers."

"I think you did pretty good, actually. Not like it's the first time I've seen you in a fight, but it's high time everyone else on the team knew you have it in you."

"I see, they didn't know I could throw a punch after I decked you, did they?" I shouldn't have said it, but I couldn't help myself. This false praise bit was getting old. I don't need to have my broken ego stroked and soothed. I just wanted him to get on with saying what he really meant, to get on with talking about the incident he really cared about. It wasn't cannibals or my ability to headbutt a nutter. I wished to hell he'd just come out with it. Stop avoiding saying her name.

"I'm sure they did, but nobody really wants to remember that night."

I leaned forward, putting my hands on his desk. I didn't care that I was invading his territory or overstepping my bounds. Did he really think it was that easy, that we should just drop the subject of what happened? I wasn't going to let him sweep it under the rug again, to act like I should just get over it. He didn't even say anything to Owen after Suzie and he knew they'd been shagging, or should have if he had any powers of observation. "I'm not so good at selective amnesia, sir. Exactly what parts should I forget? That my girlfriend killed two people and it was my fault? Maybe that she got killed, and that you were the one who ordered her death? Wait, maybe it's that I was killed, too, but I wasn't allowed to stay that way? Is that Torchwood policy, sir, to bring us back from the dead? Because someone forgot to mention it in my hire packet. Seems to have been allowed past Suzie, though."

"Suzie killed herself," he answered quietly. "And she was a murderer." I couldn't believe he was going to dismiss it so easily, or that I'd fallen into the trap of letting him shift the subject from Lisa.

"My hands weren't exactly clean at that moment, either."

"So if you want to compare yourself to her, are you're saying you're suicidal?" His words hit me like a slap. Was this what this was all about? I stepped back, genuinely surprised he took me as a suicide risk. "In the matter of a couple of weeks you lost someone you loved in a highly traumatic fashion, almost lost your job, and then got captured by cannibals. It wouldn't be unnatural to be depressed in those circumstances."

"I'm not depressed." I wasn't going to let him make me out as off the end, to dismiss my feelings so easily. "Mourning is not the same as depression. I have been here on time, every day, without exception, and have performed every task required of me."

"What about after you leave here?"

"I go home."

He got up, walking around the desk to sit on the edge of it, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ianto, you said that night that nobody ever asked you about your life. I'm asking. Tell me. What do you do when you go home?"

I shrugged, looking at the floor as I tried to figure out where he was taking this. I had said that, but my life seemed a bit pathetic at the moment. "I eat, I sleep, I watch sport on telly if Scrum V is on. I go out occasionally."

"With who? With mates? Do you even have mates?"

"What sort of question is that, sir?" I looked up at him, gobsmacked. I'm not a loner by nature. I've always made friends everyplace I worked before here. "Do I seem that socially incompetent to you? Do you actually think that because you, Tosh, and Owen are so wrapped up in work that you can't recognize the face of anyone outside the police department or the takeaway delivery industry that nobody else working for Torchwood can form friendships? I grew up in Cardiff. I went to school here. With all your research on me before my hire, surely you noticed that."

He nodded. "And you moved with your parents to Abergavenny when you were sixteen, then to London when you were eighteen. What about since you came back? Who do you hang out with? Your old school friends?"

I sighed, buying some thought time by smoothing my hair as he caught me in my bluff. To be honest, most of my old schoolmates didn't even know I was back in Cardiff. "Fine, I haven't spent too much time with them. Most of the ones haven't moved on already I don't have much in common with. Up until a couple of weeks ago I was busy with.. with Lisa anyway."

"I'm sure it's difficult finding new routines." He was using that soothing tone again. Sounded like my bloody school counselor. It's perfectly natural to question your sexual preferences at this age, Mr. Jones, but for your own safety I think you should avoid suggesting to your fellow students that bisexuality could be the norm, even if it's in the form of a humanities report. Some things are just not to be spoken about in public, especially when the research you cite is questionable at best. For the next few weeks I suggest you do home study until things are back to routine.

"I'm sorry, sir, is this a lecture or a counseling session?" I wanted nothing more than to get out of that room. I didn't care if I had to be fired or shot to accomplish it. "Because I don't see how you're qualified to do either when it comes to how to have a social life. Exactly what do you do on your off hours? Oh, right, you don't take off hours because someone always has to be ready. I wonder how it is you managed to pick up all those anecdotal boyfriends what with all your excursions into the scene."

He started to reply, then stopped himself, looking away. He hadn't seen that coming. If I could make him uncomfortable enough he'd tell me to get out. "We're not talking about me."

"I'm amazed to have gotten you off your favorite subject, then, sir." I wasn't going to let up when I was so close, when I'd seen an exposed nerve. That and I was amazed. He can talk about himself and his prowess as a seducer for hours. Don't know how his boyfriends, if they were real, put up with it.

He glared at me, but he didn't take the bait. He was going to try the soft approach until it killed one of us at this rate. "Fine, I haven't exactly had a boyfriend since I took over Torchwood Three. I'm a little busy. Part of the reason why I hired you."

"To be your boyfriend, sir? I really do need to provide you with that sexual harassment handbook. Sex with the boss is definitely not one of my administrative duties. That's a stereotype with receptionists, you know."

"I meant so I could find more time to have a life, Ianto, and you know it." At least he didn't throw one of his lines about my suit at me. I wasn't in the mood to deflect his flirting with a coy smile. The whole cat-and-mouse thing seemed a little risky without Lisa to think about.

"Then I'm doing a poor job because you haven't gone out with anyone since I've been here." I wished he would find someone. It could be irritating trying to work late at night with him stalking around like Hamlet's father's ghost. "Unless you're shagging Owen and just managing to keep it well under wraps."

He swallowed, looking at me with a moment of vulnerability that made me question for a moment if he actually could be doing the doctor, although he was the last person I'd have pictured Jack going for. He didn't want to work that hard to have someone tell him how wonderful he was. He'd be more interested in Gwen, if anyone in Torchwood was sharing a bed with him. When we'd been setting up tents at the start of the mission to the countryside he'd made no effort to argue with Owen's declaration that he should get to sleep solo and Jack could bunk with the tea-boy. "No, I'm not shagging Owen. Or Gwen. Or anyone else. Are you satisfied?"

His expression made sense now. He was telling me he was available. Please, Lisa's body was barely cold. Well, to be truthful it was frozen, but what did he want from me? Was he honestly offering a pity-fuck? Or did he think that I said that out of jealousy? "Yes, sir, it keeps me up at night worrying you're having it off with the entire staff," I replied, sarcastically enough to put that thought out of his mind.

"Damn it, Ianto." He dug his fingernails into the edge of his desk, trying to maintain his cool. I supposed he had imagined I would jump for joy, and he didn't know how to take even an ambiguous rejection. "Look, can we get back to discussing how you're doing?"

"I told you I'm fine, sir."

"Then tell me who you go out with. You said you sometimes go out." He was back to school counselor, but my irritation over that tone was a little exhausted. I'd play along if it would put him at ease and earn me an exit from this interview.

"I never said I went with anyone," I answered truthfully. "I go to the cinema. I like films. Recently there was a series of classic film at the cinaplex near where I live, so the last film I saw was Casablanca. It was the third time I've seen it, and I still liked it. Had the same script and everything. I had a small popcorn with butter, a box of Skittles, and a large orange fizz. That enough detail to convince you?"

"I'm not a cop asking where you were on the night of the eleventh, Ianto. Is that all you ate for dinner?" God, he could harp about my eating habits. I'm Welsh, what does he expect me to do, turn vegan?

"Popcorn would count as a vegetable."

That one amused him. He actually chuckled. "I'm just looking out for you. You have hypoglycemia. You're supposed to eat a balanced diet."

I couldn't help but smile. He did sound genuinely worried, as if all my problems could be fixed if I got my nutrition. Sometimes I think he might rat me out to Gillian McKeith if I don't venture outside the four food groups of bread, beer, bacon, and cheese. "I'm working on it, sir. I appreciate that you're concerned, really. It's touching, almost. I'm moved. Are you satisfied then, that I'm not on the verge of slitting my wrists or overdosing on aspirin?"

"Never even considered those as being your style, to be honest." He raised his chin. It's a gesture that doesn't come off as arrogant on him, just confident in the most seductive way. It was him becoming my boss again, though, and that was comforting. "But I'm not ready to clear you for field missions again until I'm convinced it's safe for you."

I shook my head. I'd muffed it when I got myself almost killed. It's not that easy to put up a fight when your hands are cuffed behind you, but the last thing I wanted him to see me as was the weakest link on the team. So the last mission had been an almost disaster. I didn't want to go back to being left in the Hub. Without Lisa there I'd have nobody to talk to but the weevil. "If you doubt my skills, sir, I can train more. I never got my combat rating in London, but I can learn what I need to learn here."

"I know, I'm confident you have what it takes if you get a little experience under your belt." That was a relief. I'd spend every evening in the shooting gallery if that's what it took, but I'd be on missions soon enough." That's not what I'm talking about, though. I'm worried because you don't fight back if it's your own neck on the line."

"I'm sorry, sir, what?" I looked away, the relief cut down to be replaced by a cold tangle of steel in my gut. I never expected him to show perception like that, especially about me. He wasn't supposed to know me, to get beyond what I let him see.

"You'd fight for anyone here, whether you like them or not. I don't question that for a second. Once they're safe, though, you don't have the incentive to fight any more, do you?" He was reading me like a book, and I'm not used to that, not even from other empaths like Gwen. Jack's grasp of empathy was limited to the skills of a con man to manipulate a situation to his advantage, so it had to be more than intuition on his part. "I've seen it before, Ianto. More times than I can tell you about. Young men who go to war because they have a need to protect those they love, or because they have a sense of duty or honor, but they seem to forget that they're worth fighting for, too. I knew you wouldn't shoot us that night with Lisa. Why? Because you didn't think there was anyone left besides yourself to defend, and for whatever reason you don't see yourself as worthy of protection."

"What makes you think I just didn't want to kill any of you?"

"You wanted to kill me, I know that much," he said softly. I looked at him and saw his blue eyes filled with true compassion. Being an empath can be a disadvantage at times like that, when the other person lets down their guard, when they make a show of trust and you can't stop yourself from receiving it. It wipes the anger right out of you. Anger is the one emotion that we empaths can use to shield ourselves from our own overwhelming emotions, so that kind of trust can strip us defenseless. "It's okay. Even if you had, I'd forgive you."

"Now who sounds suicidal, sir?" I heard my own voice almost betray me. All the pain of that night rushed back at me full force. As if my empathy wasn't enough to deal with, there was the added connection of what had happened that night. I died. I know I did. Lisa attacked me and I felt myself slip into a horrible lonely darkness, exactly the same as the corpses Suzie would bring back with the resurrection gauntlet would describe. I was terrified by it because, even though I was lonely, I wasn't alone. I had felt the predatory presence that haunted death, and that, even if suicide was something I'd consider, was enough to make me repulsed by the very idea. I hadn't stayed there, though. I was pulled back from that place of despair and opened my eyes to find myself in Jack's arms, his mouth against mine in a way that couldn't possibly be mistaken for an attempt at normal resuscitation, at least not the way the Red Cross teaches it. I could feel the life spilling from his body into mine, like an overload of the soul. Since that moment it's as if my empathy with him has been amped up to something close to telepathy. Thank God most of the time he's guarded or I couldn't stand it, looking into his eyes and seeing the complex mix of sadist and saint that wars inside him. Now he was hitting me with it straight on, and it was all I could do to stand on my own two feet.

"I can't die, remember?" He stepped forward, putting his hand on my shoulder, only intensifying the torture of our connection, the pain so raw it was like he was clawing me rather than just resting his palm on me. "It's okay that you were angry. It's okay to feel things."

"Is it?" I pushed his hand away, realizing he didn't even know how he was hurting me, or at least to what degree. I struggled to pull up the rage that would shut him out, protect me from the truth. The saint might want to comfort me, soothe me, but the sadist was still there, and that part of him knew I was in torment and took pleasure in it. If he was going to hit me with truth, I'd hit him with some of his own. "Are you asking me all these questions because you really give a shit, sir, or is it just so you don't have to feel guilty because you hired me in the first place, because somehow I became your responsibility when you didn't want it? You never even offered me retcon when you told me I couldn't join your team. You liked seeing me hurt because I was Torchwood One to you. I may as well have been the one who was tortured into betraying us. It might as well have been my hand that opened up the dimensional crack in the first place, right, sir? Hundreds of people died, people with names and faces and habits in the break room that I had the misfortune to know, and who did their jobs in a way you didn't approve of, so they deserved what they got, and I deserved to live through it and have to remember it. You hated me for even being a cog in the machine, for being a junior bloody researcher who didn't do anything more than hack computers and run errands for the people who made the policies, the ones who knew what was actually going on. I was alive and that was enough for you to want to punish me." The words spilled out of me in a flood, without thought or intent beyond slapping him in the face with his own sick nature, of making him face the fact that he was perfectly capable of being a cruel bastard. "You're so fucking magnanimous, sir. So ready to forgive, is it now? Do you really believe I'm worth protecting, or are you going to be just as relieved as I am when I get killed out there?!"

The outburst of anger cost me as it exhausted itself in the hateful speech, leaving me defenseless again. I turned away, shaking as I struggled to get control of myself again, hoping it had at least bought me some space, that he would leave me alone rather than stir up another attack. I could feel his shock at my words. He hadn't known I knew so much when he tried to pretend to himself that he wasn't the kind of person who could treat someone unfairly. He was stunned into questioning himself, questioning just how much he'd tried to punish me for sins committed by Torchwood London. It couldn't be easy, trying to sort out what I was guilty of and what he'd just piled onto that because there was nobody else handy for him to blame.

"I won't be relieved," he whispered finally. "Ianto, you're part of my team. You matter to me. I need you."

"I'm sure you could find someone qualified to fetch your coffee, detail the SUV, pick up your dry-cleaning." I felt weak, tired, and not quite ready to forgive him for hurting me, whether he meant to or not. "Not that they'd be so careful with your coat, probably not care if the cleaners lost buttons." I dropped my arms against the wall and buried my face against them to hide the tears that I couldn't halt. He had been so right. I couldn't fight for myself, at least not without suffering a nervous breakdown afterwards. If he stopped focusing on himself he'd see how helpless I was, and I didn't want his pity or his disdain. I just needed to keep talking so I wouldn't start blubbering like a complete twat. "Might be harder to find someone handy with mutilating corpses for cover stories, but Owen would probably be fine at it."

"You're not that easy to replace." I felt him step closer, not from empathy, but because I could feel the warmth of his body behind me, could smell those damned fifty-first century pheromones of his. "I don't want another admin, Ianto. I want you." He put his hand on my back. The sadist was gone, or at least it was the saint whose touch I felt. The only emotions I picked up were tenderness and caring, mingled with uncertainty.

"Why?" I asked, almost more of a hiccup than a question. I was surprised he understood it and didn't ask me to repeat it. He turned me by my shoulder to face him. I tensed up, keeping my face hidden in my arms, afraid I'd lose it again if I had to look him in the eyes and found him laughing at me.

He gently but insistently took my wrists, pulling my hands down from my face. In spite of my anguish, I couldn't help but lift my eyes to his, knowing full well I was laid bare to his wrath if he turned on me now. "Because I don't want to be a monster, and you're the only one who can save me. You're right, Ianto. I'm no hero. You're the only one who saw it and had the guts to tell me. You're the most courageous person on this team and I need you to keep me in line."

His voice, his eyes held no mockery. He was honestly apologizing in his own way, pleading with me to help him. I wasn't sure I could do anything for him or that he would stay so open if I really told him off when he needed it. "Like you'd listen to a tea-boy anyway."

"I'd listen to you. I promise you I'll listen if you promise me you'll talk. Please, Ianto?"

I searched his face for any indication that he wasn't aware of what he was asking me to do. "I can't promise I'll say what you want to hear."

"I know. That's why I need you to say it." I could see he meant it. He was determined. I had shone the light on the demon inside him and he wanted it gone.

I nodded slowly. "You have a deal then, sir. You can let go of my hands." During our words his hands had slid down from my wrists to wrap around mine, his thumbs gently massaging against the backs of my fingers in a terribly distracting fashion. We had just shared a moment more intimate than I had ever shared with anyone in my life, far deeper than making love, and I was still vulnerable to that connection. If he asked me to, I'd throw myself at him and seek to forget the pain, replace it with raw passion that could provide me an escape from being this close, this open, this emotionally naked.

He looked down, the faintest hint of a blush crossing his cheeks. I'd never see him blush before that, not once, and he's done a lot of things more than deserving of prudent embarrassment. "Oh, right. They're just so soft. Warm. Nice manicure." He cleared his throat as he released me, stepping away.

I fixed my tie as the risk of him offering me his bed passed, then wiped my cheeks of the last traces of tears. "I put lotion in the washrooms, sir. There's no reason you can't apply some after you wash your hands."

"That's what it's there for?" He raised a brow, his light humor returning, at least superficially. "I thought you'd noticed the whole no-boyfriends thing and were being considerate."

"I don't consider that my business, sir. Although I'm sure that's all that Owen thinks it's for, too."

"Ianto, do me a favor?" His expression of confidence cracked a bit. "Can you call me Jack instead of sir? It, I dunno, gives the impression there's the slightest remote possibility of a chance we could someday be friends? As you pointed out, I don't have that many of them and I'd like to have at least one more."

I nodded, turning for the door, my hand on the knob. I should have left it at that, but I hesitated to make my escape. "Will that be all... Jack?"

"I still have a question about this last mission."

"What is it?" I sighed inwardly at my own foolishness and looked at him from the side. He was leaning casually against the wall with his hands in his pockets, looking like some advert Adonis in his shirtsleeves and braces, those chiseled features and sensual blue eyes not helping me rid myself of the effects of his scent and ridiculous mental flashes of chasing each other through the dunes, finally catching him on the beach and tackling him to the sand as the waves lapped up to soak our trembling bodies. Damn the way those pheromones play with my mind when I need to be able to think straight.

"When we were playing truth, when Gwen asked us all about our last snogs, why did you lie?" His gaze was penetrating, but not angry as it had been when we'd been playing the game at the camp table.

My hand fell from the latch weakly. "It's not like you told them anything. Why should I?"

"I didn't lie, I just deflected the inquiry is all. They chose not to pursue. You told them it was Lisa. Sounded to me like a calculated psychological hit to repay us for our part in it." Again, it was softer this time, without the reprimand of his glare when our eyes met after I had made the dig at everyone else having fun and not noticing that I was still mourning the girlfriend who they'd all put bullets in without hesitation. There was almost a hint of curiosity to his tone this time.

"Then you already know the answer, don't you." I exhaled, hoping he'd accept that as apology and let it go. I'd felt bad about snarking them like that almost as soon as I'd said it, but I'm as bad as Jack is about admitting I'm wrong most of the time. "It won't happen again. I know you did what you had to do, all of you."

"So if she asked again you'd tell her it was me?" He leaned forward, raising a brow. I couldn't believe it. He was willing to forgive me for hurting them with Lisa, but he wanted me to out him in front of everyone over the kiss he'd given me when he brought me back to life?

"Jack, that wasn't a snog." I crossed my arms as I turned toward him. He wasn't getting credit for a kiss that was pretty much one-sided, no matter how much he wanted to be proven a lothario in front of the team. "I was dead, hence in no position to agree to it. You, on the other hand, were apparently having a fit of necrophilia, so I'd think you'd rather that little fetish wasn't exposed to everyone else."

"Are you saying I forced myself on you?" He was close to a pout.

"On my corpse, to put full detail to it." I couldn't help being a bit snippy in tone. His confidence bordered on arrogance and it was almost enough to counteract his charm. He'd been so much more attractive when he wasn't so sure of himself, when he didn't think he had the right to expect me to drool all over him just because of that one night so long ago when we caught a pterodactyl together and wound up rolling across a warehouse floor, tangled in each other's legs. A combination of adrenalin and his pheromones left me very close to acting on the sexual energy that had us both hard, staring into each others eyes with our lips so close together I could taste on his breath the coffee he'd drunk earlier, could tell it was a Starbuck's deadeye with one sugar. It took me several seconds of thinking about Lisa's plight before I could get off of him and walk out, but he knew what had almost happened between us as much as I did. That didn't mean I was going to be his convenient shag just so he could treat me like a sexual object. It didn't mean he could seduce me against my will. Or while I was dead. "I consider it just a sentimental goodbye. Sure you did the same for Suzie, although without the.. coming back to life bit."

"So if I kissed you now you'd refuse it?" He tipped his head to the side with one of those maddening Casanova grins.

I refused to reward it. "I'm not dead. What would be the point?"

"The point would be..." He sighed, the smile slipping away into that tantalizing hint of insecurity. "Nevermind. You're one man I guess I'll never figure out, Ianto Jones. We're still friends, right?"

I looked away, shaking my head. That was the look that was dangerous for me. Our connection still hung in the air, letting me feel his longing, his loneliness. He was full of need, not just for sex, but for companionship, for someone who knew him and could still care about him, fully aware that his feet were made of clay and willing to prop him up when he needed it. I needed someone, too, someone who could mask the endless pain of loss with warmth, someone so full of life he could make me forget about death for a few minutes. We might be the only two people who could save each other right now.

My decision made, I gave him no warning, no chance to take control of the situation. I wasn't being seduced. I was not going to be another one of his shags who would one day be referred to as 'I had this boyfriend once who made great coffee.' If we were going to be lovers, he was going to know it was my choice, not his command. I pressed myself against his body fully, embracing him tightly and kissing him with all the force of our mutual desire that had laid dormant for a year, rebuffed by my pretended accusations of sexual harassment. He was no longer the hunter, he was going to taste what it meant to be the prey. He was surprised, that was for sure, but he definitely liked it. He grabbed my hips and rocked against me, but I kept the upper hand, grinding back against him. I was starting to grow faint, unable to breathe with my tongue down his throat like that, but he didn't pull away. I finally had to break the kiss just to get some air, panting. "It's not.. harassment.. if I.. initiate it.." I offered as my excuse.

"Glad we have that sorted, then." His hands crept around to cup my ass, his eyes a little less focused than usual, almost drunk. I found that a turn-on, that I left him like that with just a kiss. "I really love this suit."

"I was hoping you'd want me to take it off, but oh well." I played the tease, pushing away from him. He deserved to have a moment of control before I forced him into complete surrender.

He growled in mock frustration and pulled me close again. "Give me ten minutes to get everyone else out of here. Meanwhile, I want you to go hang it up in my wardrobe so we don't mess it up. I'm hoping to harass every inch of you in every room I can catch you in." His lips tasted mine again, his breath catching in a very soft moan as he let me go and rushed out to ensure us some privacy. I laughed under my breath as I made my way to the hatchway that led to his bomb-shelter-turned-bunk to get undressed. If anyone else picked up on what we were doing, especially Owen, I'd be mocked as the boss's shag, but it wasn't going to be like that, not for Jack and me. I knew his faults, his weaknesses, and it was fine. I wasn't planning to worship him, because that's not what he needs. I would, I do, however, love him, take care of him, serve him, because that is what he needs. And that's what I, and only I, can truly give him.

:Please review and let me know if it helps make things clear from both sides now. To be honest, in Spending Time I was emphasizing how Ianto tended to keep Jack off balance, so it was hard to give the complete story and not leave the reader off balance as well, so I hope you're all.. uh. kiltered now.: