Title: All I Loved, I Loved Alone
Characters: Ianto/Andy, Jack
Setting: Post-End of Days, Pre-Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
**
#1
There is a point being proved here somewhere, in amidst tongues, and hands, and that strong scent of sex and sweat that sends all reason flying out the window. Not that he cares, honestly, but there is a part of him growing aware of this fact, one that seems to think the in-depth comprehension of this event is of major relevance – even when he's got his hands on other man's cock, and other man's got his teeth latching onto his neck.
He can't think clearly, but he knows, in some subconscious level, the importance of the fact that, for the first time in a long time, arousal is the reason why his heart is pounding maniacally in his chest and keeping his thoughts straight is so difficult. And he is perfectly conscious of that even as alcohol seems to drive his every move, even as he strokes the other man, and the sound of an equally drunk and completely unfamiliar moan joins his own labored breath and reverberates against the walls to fill his room.
He doesn't care, not really, because he's all about seizing the moment here; but it's something about how Jack had come and screwed him and left a wreck of him with a newly acquired taste for men, rather than man, that he hadn't completely figured out yet; something about how life isn't so ugly and complicated when he can still fuck it all better.
**
#2
When he wakes up and finds Police Constable Andrew Davidson lying in bed next to him, it's like the world stops turning for a second, leaving just a huge, blank space his brain fails to fill. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hands in the hope that it will somehow make sense (or make the PC disappear), and then the world is turning too fast to catch up, and his head is going to explode.
The first thing Ianto wants to do is scream, the second is laugh. Amongst the disarray of things hammering inside his skull is the sincere curiosity of how much more ironic and dire can his life get, because at this point, it seems like he's reached the bottom of something. It's in times like this he knows for certain that there has to be a higher force watching over his steps, because this is the kind of screwed up thing he can't credit merely to chance. And it has to be a very sadistic bastard.
Out of all the souls in the universe he could've randomly picked up in a crowded bar for a one-night stand, it had to be him, the guy who's friends with his co-worker, constantly poking his nose around their business, and quite frankly one he'd never, ever seen as... Well, anything, although Owen liked to make him the topic for his unpleasant jokes to provoke Gwen. And Ianto had laughed at some of them, if he had to be honest. He doesn't know if he's more guilty or ashamed; mostly, though, he's just confused as the night before remains a mystery to his throbbing mind.
Ianto swallows, tasting alcohol in his saliva. He looks at the man sleeping peacefully next to him, face down on the pillow, Ianto's navy blue sheet covering him from the waist down. He's never seen anyone else's skin under those sheets, and for a moment there, just a split-second, he sees past the awkwardness and the absurdity of it all. He sees the way Andy's back moves with his slow breathing, up and down, up and down… He sees his parted lips and his completely disheveled hair, and it feels… Strange. Different. He slides a hesitant finger down PC Andy's very naked back, finding how soft the skin under the sheets is, and when PC Davidson opens his hazel, hangover eyes and meets his, Ianto finds himself saying, "Good morning."
**
#3
When they find each other again, it's on a murder scene, and it can't get much worse than that, he thinks. Ianto is careful enough not to get too close, circling the area and taking notes, whereas Andy is following Gwen around and pointing to locations, but doesn't do a very bright job in keeping his eyes away from him.
Predictably, Gwen turns the statements over to Ianto, and before he even opens his mouth to do his job and ask what PC Davidson'd seen, his very well kept professional façade is cracked apart by, "Are you doing anything tonight?"
From all the extremely unusual and embarrassing conversations he pictured having with PC Andy after their night, this wasn't one he actually thought would happen.
Ianto is silent for a moment that seems to stretch beyond hours, his mind tripping over all the 1003 ways in which this is very, very bad. He can't decide whether Andy is more expectant or nerve-wrecked, the way he can't meet his eyes somewhere between utter nervousness and trying to figure out how fast he can disappear.
He should say no, tell PC Davidson that it was a mistake, and it should never happen again. But he must have lost his mind, because instead of saying all this, when he finally replies, what he says is, "I'm free."
**
#4
They are definitely not dating; it's just completely unpretentious text messages and meeting for a pint or two here and there, at the end of rough days when they both need to discuss worldly topics like football and rugby and politics and, well, Gwen, eventually, because there are still those days when he is further away from reality than usual, when Torchwood reaches such impossible levels of insanity that Gwen becomes positively the only thing he still has in common with the rest of the world – which in his case boils down to one person.
Ianto tells himself the reason he keeps doing it is because, well, first, it's not half bad, and second, he has to prove to himself that he is perfectly capable of ending this silliness and going back home on his own, no one else slung over his shoulder to share a bed. His life is sufficiently chaotic the way it is, shaped out of so many twists and turns he could write a novel; he doesn't need anything else to make it more complicated than it has to be.
And he definitely doesn't need PC Davidson.
It's funny, though, how he always goes to his not-dates determined to make it the last, but invariably ends his nights still not alone, and still not nearly as regretful as he probably should be. It's funny, except it isn't.
After what seems like the hundredth attempt, he looks at the man sleeping next to him, totally unaware of how badly this is bound to end, and realizes he's attracted to this oblivion like a sodding moth. Andy leaves an awkward scent of shampoo and something like possibilities and lost chances all over his linen; leaves a warm spot on the left side of his bed that feels like some other time, in some other life, when things were simpler. Andy twists and turns in his sleep, makes a mess of his sheets, rubs his face against his pillows and leaves an imprint of things Ianto cannot have anymore. He makes him wish, just for a second…
It's just sex. Except when it isn't.
**
#5
Having a conversation that doesn't have anything to do with which hole in hell Jack is hiding in, and how they're all going to die, or what about the cover stories for those three dismembered bodies you just put in the morgue, is incredibly satisfying, it turns out. It's good to be a 25-year-old person again, a normal one, even, for a few hours a day, like those ones with friends and hobbies and a job that isn't likely to kill them before they turn 30.
He enjoys playing the ordinary bloke, enjoys the films he watches and the food he eats and the music he listens to, and the company he's got, and he has a special appreciation for the part where, for the first time in years, he has something that isn't tainted or broken or completely miserable. Something that doesn't have anything to do with Torchwood.
Most of all, though, he likes the part where Andy is here, not riding a blue box in some distant corner of God knows where.
Andy is here. Jack is not.
**
#6
Andy makes considerably less money than Ianto, but he's the one who lives in the nice side of the city, and the one who's got actual furniture in his flat and curtains on his windows. Ianto could never be arsed to find himself a proper place to live, not even after it became sort of established that he'd keep his job and be very well paid for it. He is still not convinced he'll be needing a home for too long, and anyway, if he had to make somewhere more comfortable, it would have to be the place where he spends most of his time; definitely not his living room then.
Andy has all the right things, in all the right places, and it makes Ianto slightly uncomfortable to think that this would probably be what his own flat would look like if he cared enough, or if he worked for anything other than MIB. Well, except for the bedroom.
He has to suppress a laugh and all the hundred instant jokes that come rushing to his brain at the sight of Andy's incredibly minxy deep red sheets. They don't look like Andy at all, which makes Ianto wonder whether he keeps them for special occasions – and that's when he really has to make an effort to keep from bursting into laughter.
Ianto finds it both extremely corny and deeply amusing, and suddenly he is torn between his will to rip them off the bed or adding a couple of matching purple pillowcases to his shopping list, just for the sake of it.
But then Andy's hands are all over him, and he is ridiculously ingenious with his mouth, and quite skilful with his fingers, too, and there is no more space for jokes or shopping lists once it starts. And after what they do, Ianto decides the sheets are rather fitting.
**
#7
The world nearly collapses twice, and it involves lots of screaming, ugly wounds and probably some weeping, too, although they never do it in front of each other. It's like there's a message being spread across the universe in neon light, announcing to every hostile race out there that Cardiff's super hero has decided to take a break from duty for an indefinite period of time. The end has never come knocking on their door quite as often, and there is no one else to be stronger for them, to hold it together if they break. Crying makes them human, and they can't allow themselves to be just human these days.
They call a day off after convincing UNIT that they have it under control, though Ianto is positive they are barely hanging in there. He means to go home after everything, but he ends up on Andy's doorstep instead. It doesn't make anything better, but it buys him some time before reality catches up.
Andy doesn't ask him what's wrong, he never does, and Ianto is quite grateful for that; instead, he puts him in his car and drives away, and when Ianto asks "Where are we going?", Andy says, "As far as we can before we have to go back," and speeds up the car.
**
#8
They have this thing where they don't really mention work, but they keep this little competition to see who's got the most miserable job; needless to say Ianto almost always wins, what with showing up with bruises and scars and ruined suits more often than not. Which makes Andy decide that one of the requirements to work for Torchwood is to have a taste for masochism ("So your spooky-dos involve capturing Alien and Predator and subduing them into surrender by having sex with them?"), and Ianto can't really disagree.
On a particular spiky day, when Owen wakes up feeling like questioning everyone's authority and reminding them all of how fucked up they are without Jack (as if they don't already know), he receives a message on his phone with a picture of three men barking at the camera, visibly stinking drunk and with puke all over their faces and shirts, followed by the text 'I love my job'.
Ianto sends back a picture of Gwen, fists in the air, mouth wide open in the middle of an angry speech that will shut Owen up for the rest of the week. A moment later he receives the answer. 'I give up'.
His teammates are spitting out accusations they don't really mean at each other because the stress is too high and sometimes they have to let it out. In an hour or two everything will be back to normal, like it always is, but Ianto knows he isn't completely lost – not yet – if he can still look at that madness and find a reason to smile.
**
#9
Ianto gets home after midnight and a particularly feral hoix, goes to put the kettle on and is momentarily confused upon finding that someone else already did it. He casts an eye over at his home to try and figure out the explanation for the unexpected kettle activity, and finds it asleep on his couch.
Andy's known about the extra key for a while now, but the idea of another being taking over his flat when he's not there strikes him as absurd. Something about the easy domesticity of it makes him want to run away screaming.
He hesitates between shaking Andy up and just going about his life as though he's not even there, but for some reason he just can't stop looking. Ianto sits down on the opposite end of the couch, very careful not to wake Andy up, and watches the scene with a curious sort of detachment. He's got a feeling he should be angry, annoyed at the very least, because he's sure this was never part of the deal, but the soft snore coming from Andy's open mouth is too distracting for irritation. Andy's not a pretty sleeper, but he is a sleeper nonetheless, and Ianto knows he should quit the comparisons already but he can't help it. He's like the complete anti-Jack; there's nothing inhuman about Andy, nothing absurd or fantastic or completely inexplicable, and Ianto is frankly amused by this. By how all he needs to do to actually reach Andy is touch him.
Andy is flesh and bones and reason, not a greatcoat and a wrist strap and a bloody hand in a jar – Andy makes sense, unlike someone who seems to have popped out of a futuristic fairytale. There are times when Ianto is honestly scared by that, because dealing with real people becomes harder and harder by the minute when you're Torchwood. It's easy to forget how to do that. It's easier to forget how to be that. Sometimes he wants to turn around and never look at Andy again. But then sometimes…
He leans back on the couch and allows the little sounds he vaguely identifies as life, going on around him like it doesn't, normally, inside his mostly empty flat, to lull him to sleep.
Some nights are really tough, but this isn't one of them.
**
#10
He collects the SUV keys and his coat as he walks to the others, PDA in hand already gathering information and sending data to the other ones.
"Andy called," he announces. "Said he's got something for us. Yummy, in his words," he adds, with a smile.
Owen groans, Tosh gets her gadgets and heads for the car, but Gwen approaches him with her eyes narrowed, arms crossed and suspicion written all over her face. "What is it with you and Andy lately?" she asks. "Why is he calling you and not me to pass on information?"
Ianto keeps his expression impassive, merely lifts an eyebrow. "I've always come across as Torchwood's PR, and you're all busier than me; I'm easier to reach," he explains, shrugging.
Gwen hums, giving him a point, and then grins, in a way that almost, just almost, makes him blush. "And he's no longer PC Davidson, is he?"
**
#11
"What the bloody hell are you doing in the Himalayas?" Andy asks one night, as he watches Ianto pack.
Ianto shrugs disinterestedly, but the truth is he doesn't know any more than Andy does about this, and it turns out there is something such as too fucking strange after all, even for Torchwood. Sending the entire team to the bloody Himalayas when there is clearly something grand about to happen is one of those. It reeks of trap, but questioning is above him, especially when the orders came from the Prime Minister himself. He can have the most stupid reason to be sending them there, or one that involves the future of the entire human race, but at Torchwood, unfortunately, it's too difficult to tell when which is which, and so he just obeys, no questions asked, like the good soldier that he is.
"Are you coming back?" Andy asks, and Ianto stops for a second, realization dawning on him that they are at that point where Andy asks the questions that someone else never would. It's the point where he has to make a choice between being honest and admitting that Andy is more than a shag with a short-ish life span, or lying and relegating him to the unattended hall of his life where he puts everything that isn't confined in Torchwood's underground base.
"I intend to," he says, and then, "But the yetis are known to be vicious creatures." He smiles, briefly raises his eyes to Andy. A word to the wise…
Andy takes a minute, shakes his head and says "You better bring me some pictures, then." And when they lock eyes over a pile of shirts and socks, Ianto knows that he'll be waiting.
**
#12
Ianto isn't a fan of shooting, but he has exceptions. Like when there are hungry weevils with their nasty teeth some very dangerous inches away from his throat, with that horrible stench all over his face keeping him from thinking clearly. The sound of gunshots cuts through the alley like little blond angels strumming their harps to his ears. The ferocious snarls of the weevil morph into a morbid howl, and cease completely after one last mercy shot.
Ianto pushes the dead weight off him and takes a very deep, contended breath, delightful privilege of the living. Andy offers him a hand, kicking the weevil with the tip of his shoe to make sure it is very much gone.
"Is that what you lot do, then?" he asks.
"Sometimes." Ianto undoes the knot on his tie, still feeling the hot breath of the weevil on his throat. "Sometimes it's worse."
Andy snorts. "Worse than a B horror movie monster wearing a janitor's dungaree?"
Ianto laughs and Andy smiles shortly at him, eyes still flickering back to the weevil, probably expecting it to come back to life any minute now. He is a little shaky, more than a bit overwhelmed, but not scared, not… terrified. It makes him a little bit proud of Andy, like he is passing some kind of test, even though bumping into a weevil was completely accidental.
"Sounds more ridiculous than dangerous when you put it like that," he says.
"Do I want to know what they are?" Andy asks. Ianto imagines Jack pushing two little pills into his hands and giving him that look that says that if Andy still remembers anything that happened in that alley by morning, he wouldn't remember his own name the next time he ran into Jack.
"That's the part where I say something about having to kill you," and he feels a bit of a stab because he is only half joking.
Andy regards him for a moment, before turning his attention back to the weevil. "That's a very lame line, you know," he says, shaking his head, "I'm sure you people have better excuses. I expect to be amused at the very least. You can think of a better response while I help you put your pet here in the Mystery Machine."
Andy helps him with the weevil, but he doesn't ask again. It's Ianto who, a week later, decides to tell him about the weevils, and the pterodactyl, the bloody rift in time and space and how there's a whole universe looking down at them from above the stars.
**
#13
Jack comes back bringing a shitload of more mysteries, an ex-boyfriend and a new sort of sadness to lurk behind his eyes. But against all expectations, he asks Ianto out, on a date. There was perhaps a side of him that fantasized about that for a very long time, but that side had been shagging someone else, and actually liking it, so when Jack says the words 'dinner' and 'movie' and 'we' in the same sentence, Ianto honestly doesn't know what to think.
He says yes because he can't say no, albeit not being completely sure whether he fully meant it or not. But when Jack shows up at the door of his hotel room, he lets him in.
Jack says things about the Doctor, and not having a choice, and saving the world, but Ianto is only half listening until Jack looks in his eyes and says he's sorry. Says he misses him. It doesn't take long after that before the spiky silence left by unasked questions and the anger Ianto can't help but feel are all replaced by touches and kisses and the warm friction of skin on skin – a trick as old as life to distract from resentment, one they have mastered to perfection, together.
Jack maps him out with his hands and his lips like he never wants to forget, and it's slow and thorough and completely new. It's like he cares in a way he never cared before, and when he lies in Jack's arms afterwards, feeling weird and guilty for reasons he can't completely understand, Ianto wonders if Jack's really the one who's different now.
**
#14
He watches carefully as little droplets of water gather on the outside of the untouched beer bottles on the coffee table, and slowly begin to roll down the glass, one after the other, to pool around the base on the coaster. He is supposed to be having a conversation, one he thought he had all mapped out in his head, but now that he's here he can't figure out how to start. And so he watches with an uncanny interest as the beer gets warm and the bottle sweats on the coffee table, mostly because he can't get himself to look anywhere else. Especially not at the man sitting on the other end of the couch.
He hasn't said a word beyond the essentials since he arrived, some long minutes ago, and Andy hasn't said anything, yet, but Ianto can feel the tension rising, becoming almost a thid presence in the room, standing between the two of them on the couch. From the corner of his eyes he can see Andy's fingers tapping against his knees, the rhythm speeding up as he gets closer to his limit. So Ianto waits, because he's a coward, and there's a side of him that thinks he'll feel less like an arsehole if he waits for Andy to take the bait.
The other side says he is an arsehole anyway.
"So," Andy finally says, breaking the ice. "I think we can establish by now that this is definitely not going to be a good talk."
Ianto presses his lips together in a thin line, his expression confirming Andy's conclusion. He can feel Andy's eyes on his face, expectant, but he still hasn't taken his away from the bottles. "That obvious," he says when he can't come up with nothing better, and cracks a wan, broken smile.
"You've been staring in silence at your beer for the past twenty minutes. In my experience, that's usually not a good sign."
"I'm sorry, I… don't know how to start."
"Well," Andy says, conversationally. "Here's an idea. It´s Over." Ianto turns his head to him, the words hitting him like a fist. Andy shrugs, like he's fine with it, like it doesn't mean anything, only it doesn't quite meet the disappointment in his eyes. "You can never go wrong with a classic."
Andy leaves him silence to fill, and here's the part where he's supposed to say all the things he had rehearsed in his head. But it's like his words are getting lost somewhere on the way between his brain and his mouth, like they're melting away on his tongue.
He didn't think it would be this hard.
"I've been dumped before, you know, I know what it looks like. You don't have to make such a big deal of it," Andy says. "Just say it and get it over with."
Ianto opens his mouth once, twice, before anything actually comes out. "It's not like that. It's complicated, it's –"
"Oh, right, I'm sorry," Andy cuts him off. "I forgot everything with you secret agents has to come with an 'It's Complicated' sign. It's complicated, so you don't actually have to say anything, just sit there and stare at your beer. Let me make the assumptions."
There is a moment's pause before Andy sighs, his eyes settling on the beers on the table. "I knew this was going to happen."
"You did?"
"Yeah, you've been… different," he says. "And I heard Mulder is back in town, flapping his coat about private investigations again. I figured…" he tips his head to one side, then shrugs. "Can't compete with Captain Jack, can I?"
Andy never calls Jack by his name, always going for a long and far more creative list of nicknames, all very appropriate, Ianto has to admit. Whenever he does use Jack's name, it's always in a vaguely spiteful, almost mocking, sort of way. Granted, Jack hasn't been the theme of many of their conversations, which is something they were both very grateful for, so he never asked what it is with him and Jack. It isn't that hard to figure out, though; aside from the fact that basically everyone who doesn't work for Jack (and some who do) have a problem or two with him, especially the ones in the police, Ianto's guess is that Andy blames Jack for ruining whatever chance he thought he had with Gwen, even if it's still Rhys she's marrying in the end. They were close friends before she stumbled upon Torchwood, and now she barely answers his calls, "always too busy chasing after some beast of the apocalypse", Andy says. He begrudges Jack for capturing Gwen's attention so easily when he spent years trying and never succeeded.
It's not that Jack is taking something else away from him now, but if Ianto were in Andy's place, he'd blame the smug bastard in the greatcoat, too.
"Andy," Ianto shakes his head slightly. "It's not – Jack."
"Really? Just a big coincidence, then?"
"Well, it's –" He staggers, and then tries again. "You have to understand, Andy, this thing – Torchwood, it's – it's difficult. It's better for both of us if –"
"Oh, bloody hell," Andy says, rolling his eyes, and gets up from the couch. He walks a couple of steps forward, then stops and turns back, hands on his hips. "It's always like that with you lot, isn't it? There's always some greater good involved. Look, Ianto, if you want to break up with me, do it," Andy says, motioning his hands in a 'Be My Guest' way. "There's no need to sit there making up excuses, I'm not going to cry and beg you to keep me, if that's what you're thinking. If it's Wonder Boy you want, then just fucking say it, but don't turn this into an act of mercy with the courtesy of Torchwood."
"It's not – I don't –" Ianto stops, exhales, and shakes his head. "Fuck." He rubs his face. "This isn't how this –" he motions his head between the two of them, and leaves it at that.
"I suppose not," Andy says, "but you can't always get what you want." Andy casts a pointed look at him, before going back to the couch. He snatches one of the bottles on his way, and Ianto feels something start to twirl manically in his stomach. The sight of Andy sipping from his beer makes him sick, and he has to turn away to keep from retching.
Andy sighs, very slowly, and rests the bottle on his thigh. "It's just..." he starts again. "I could – Well, I thought we were – I really, I… I really like you."
"I really like you, too," he says, and thinks that's maybe the worst lie he's ever told, even if it isn't. He's a horrible, horrible human being.
Andy nods his head, but doesn't look at him. "You just like Falcon better."
"It's not Jack, Andy," Ianto sighs and slumps back against the couch, and when Andy cocks him an eyebrow, he rolls his eyes. "It's not just him." He takes a moment, organizing his thoughts in a way that it can make sense to someone else. "I'm not like Gwen, I don't know how to be."
Andy frowns. "What are you talking about?"
He inhales, deeply, and then continues. "She chose Rhys over us – over Torchwood. She chose to keep him despite the fact that it tears her apart. Whatever happens, he'll always come first to her, and I can't – I can't do that. I'll always pick Torchwood. I made that choice a long time ago; because that's everything I know how to do. I'm… beyond repair, at this stage, and I'm not good anywhere else. I can't leave, and I can't have both things. I don't know how to separate this – us, this… thing, that we're doing – from everything else. So I choose Torchwood. That's something I was always going to have to decide, at some point, Jack's return just hushed thing up, and maybe that's for the best, really. But Jack is part of the package, so… I guess that means I choose him, too."
It takes a moment before he can look into Andy's eyes, and then he wishes he hadn't. He feels his heart sink when he finds Andy staring vacantly at him, like his mind is thousands of miles away from this living room; lips parted like he wants to speak but can't remember exactly how.
"What…" Andy says, narrows his eyes like he's trying to remember something that keeps escaping him, and Ianto has to look away. "I don't… You…" Andy blinks, slowly, once, twice, looks down at the beer in his hands and then back up. Even amongst the confusion, Ianto can see that he knows. There's sadness and disappointment, and fear, and Ianto knows that Andy understands what's happening. He knows.
He feels like a monster as the light in Andy's eyes slowly dims and he knows that something inside the man is dying. He wants to tell Andy that he is doing this because someone has to let go, and he isn't strong enough, he can't stay away unless Andy does. Ianto wants to say that he could fall in love with Andy, that maybe he already is, but he knows it will ruin them both. He's not like Gwen. One of them has to walk away. And it can't be him.
He wants to say that he's sorry, but Andy's eyelids are getting heavy and he can barely keep his eyes open; the bottle slips from his fingers, breaking into a thousand little pieces. He wants to say that he's really, really sorry, but he doesn't, because in just about a minute it won't matter anymore.
Andy falls back on his couch, deeply asleep, and when he wakes up he'll have suffered an accident that will have wiped out the last three months of his memory. And Ianto doesn't kiss him because he's the monster who just did this to him, and Andy deserves better. Deserves someone who'll choose him first or walk away, not a coward who can do neither.
Someone has to let go. Andy just did.