It was cold that night. Around October; sometime in autumn. Ianto hated autumn. It was so scattered, so unorganised. Autumn didn't make sense.
He went about the hub with a thick, black plastic tray, looking for mugs that he could wash and dry. It wasn't the most entertaining of work, nor the most important. But it would do. Anything to take his mind off of Lisa.
Besides, it wasn't as if there was anything that he would have rather be doing.
He thought he was alone. That would be why he was so startled at the sound of Jack's voice.
"Are you still here?"
"Jack?"
"Go home." It wasn't said angrily, just with command. It made Ianto think that Jack actually cared about his wellbeing. It was nice.
"I'll just finish up here, sir." Ianto agreed. "You go."
Jack raised an eyebrow.
"What, and find you've got a half-converted Dalek in the basement?" he joked. Ianto didn't find it all that funny. He would have compared it to sprinkling salt on a wound, actually.
Still, he did what he was supposed to do, and pulled his face into a smile.
"Dalek, sir?" he asked, picking a used napkin up off one of the benches by the computers.
"Worse than Cybermen," said Jack seriously. His eyes became frosted, and he looked as though there was somewhere he'd much, much rather be. Ianto wondered where it was.
There was silence in the hub. Even Myfanwy was quiet.
Jack glanced over at the Hand In The Jar. Ianto did, too. Was it the hand of a 'Dalek', maybe?
"Yeah, you could've done a lot worse than a Cyberman." Jack conceded, his expression jolting from daydream to reality.
"Cyberwoman." Ianto corrected him. Jack's face showed an unusual understanding.
"Yeah," he agreed, "Cyberwoman."
Ianto nodded, and as he did so, felt ashamed to notice that his eyes were welling. He quickly turned away from Jack, walked to the coffee machine and placed the heavily-laden tray there. He would clean it up in the morning.
He breathed deeply, and the tears sank away. He'd just hold them in until he could make it to his apartment, he decided, and drown himself in liquor.
He turned around again, to see Jack on the couch that rested against the wall. He had a glass tray and a drink set on the coffee table, and was pouring generous portions, of what Ianto assumed was whiskey, into two intricately decorated glasses.
"Drink." He said casually.
"No thanks." Ianto replied hastily.
"It wasn't a question." said Jack, his tone smooth but firm. Ianto sat on the couch beside him. He might as fucking well drink Jack's whiskey. Any alcohol would be good at this stage, especially the strong stuff.
He picked up a glass, and fingered the diamond patterns engraved deeply into the sides. He thought for a moment, and then downed the entire thing in just one swallow. It tasted vile, and made him want to throw up. No doubt it was Welsh. But it was… good, as all liquor in large quantities was these days. Anything to take his mind off of Lisa.
He went to pour another, fuller, glass.
"Slow down," said Jack, who hadn't even started on his glass. "It's not oxygen."
It might as well have been oxygen, though. He was equally dependant on both.
Jack took a small sip of his drink, and pulled a face.
Silence. Then;
"Do you think Tosh is the type to go to a pub quiz?" he asked, rather out of the blue.
"No, not really." Ianto replied, as though an expected question.
"Didn't think so." said Jack. He frowned for a moment, and then drank again. Ianto did the same, his mouthful slightly larger than Jack's.
They were silent, both lost in their own thoughts. Ianto was surprised at how much he was enjoying simply being with Jack. He had practically forgotten what it was like to actually be with people, besides fellow drunkards in bars. But this was Jack; someone he knew, someone he liked.
Because, oddly enough, Ianto did like Jack. Despite killing the woman he loved, Jack was kind, and brave, and cheerful, and funny, and great to be around. He had this way of making you feel better, no matter what was really wrong. When you laughed at one of Jack's jokes, when you actually laughed, you felt happy. When he winked at you, no matter what you'd previously stated as your sexuality, you felt suddenly breathless. And after knowing him, you just couldn't see the world quite the same way anymore. There was something there that Ianto would wholly forgive, no matter what happened
Still, he couldn't help wondering what lurked underneath. He wasn't nearly as perfect as he seemed, that was obvious. No one was as perfect as Jack seemed.
Ianto broke the silence eventually. It was sometime after Jack had last spoken. Neither had looked at one another since, but rather shared each other's company by feeling the other's body rest casually against the side of their own.
"Myfanwy's quiet."
Jack looked at him, stared for a few seconds, and then nodded.
"Ate a lot today."
Ianto reached for another drink – his fifth? Sixth? He really was rather drunk.
"How've you been, Ianto?" asked Jack quietly, watching Ianto's desperate, reaching hands.
"Perfectly fine, sir." Ianto lied, contradicting this immediately by downing a full glass in one swallow again.
"How've you been really?" Jack asked, a little disdainfully.
Ianto thought very carefully about the question and an appropriate yet truthful response he could give. He re-poured.
"Drunk." He replied finally.
Jack laughed, but Ianto couldn't help but wonder if it was genuine.
"I can see that."
"Lonely."
"Oh?"
"I fucking miss her."
He really was drunk. He just hoped that Jack was equally so, and wouldn't remember his drunk ramblings by morning. Had Jack had much to drink? He'd been more focussed on his own portions. Well, he didn't seem quite as out of it as Ianto. He was certainly sitting further upright.
There was silence, again.
Ianto met Jack's eyes, and wondered what lay behind them. They were quite pretty. Blue and penetrating, they were only enhanced perfectly by the blue shirt that he wore.
Jack's shirt was nice, too. It went well with his suspenders. And it was free from crinkles. Ianto hated crinkles.
It was while he was staring at the shirt that he fell over onto the floor. The glass tray went flying as he hit his head on the coffee table. It smashed on the floor, and the whiskey leaked out of the cracked bottle. Ianto thought vaguely about cleaning it up later.
Jack exclaimed, and hauled Ianto back up onto the couch with two arms.
Ianto's head was throbbing.
Jack moved closer. Ianto thought he was simply inspecting the wound until their eyes met.
And then Jack kissed him.
And... It felt so... good. Like someone cared, like someone loved him. Like everything was alright again, like it had always been alright, like it always would be alright.
They broke apart. Even for a second, Ianto couldn't stand it. He pulled Jack back.
He'd found new oxygen, a new way to breathe… and a much healthier oxygen than drinking, surely. It didn't even strike him that it was Jack, or that it was a man. And when Jack set to work on removing his suit jacket, he didn't even think about protesting.
Anything – anything – to take his mind off of Lisa.