Just a quick note – I don't own Jack, Ianto, or anything to do with Torchwood. :( But that doesn't stop me writing about them! :D
Jack was worried. Something wasn't right.
Ianto wasn't making coffee. He wasn't hoovering. He wasn't on duty in the little Tourist Information office, helping out lost or inquisitive tourists. He wasn't even kissing him, or something else among those lines, thought Jack.
He'd checked the archives, the little kitchen where Ianto kept his precious coffee and heated up the chinese if it arrived late. He'd looked in the showers (disappointment there when there was no sign of the Welshman), and in the Boardroom. Hell, he'd even checked Myfanwy's nest, but no, Ianto wasn't around.
Jack began to wonder if he was here at all, whether he'd gone home without telling him. He pulled a face, thinking either Ianto was ill, or the young coffee boy had lost interest in him. He decided he would go round to Ianto's flat. If he was feeling rough, then Jack would make him feel better. Because he would do anything for Ianto.
A noise from the Hothouse made Jack turn around. Tosh, Owen and Gwen had all gone home early, he'd made sure that they did, insisting they deserved a bit more time off. He'd been making them work too hard recently.
Jack rushed up the stairs, and flung open the door. Ianto had his back to him, and was sitting between two alien flora, shaking uncontrollably. I've got to help him, Jack thought instantly, and ran over to him. Jack picked him up, making Ianto yelp in panic.
"Christ, Jack. What did you do that for?" Ianto yelled at him, squirming to get free of Jack arms. When Jack looked at his astonished expression, he realised Ianto wasn't having a fit, after all. A pair of headphones was in Ianto's ears, although one had dropped out when Jack lifted him up, and was now dangling stupidly.
"You were...listening to music?"Jack asked, feeling embarrassed at his brave, but unnecessary, rescue.
"Yes, Jack. I was," Ianto said, and took his MP3 player out of his suit pocket, winding up the headphones until they were wrapped neatly around it.
"I'm going to put a fresh pot on," he told Jack. "Would you like a cup?"
"Yeah, sure," Jack said meekly. Ianto gave him a small smile, then went downstairs, carefully shutting the glass door on his way out. Jack waited until he was out of sight, then reached out and picked up his MP3 player, which was lying on one of the tables supporting the vast number of plants and flowers.
The song Ianto had been listening to was still on the screen; the Welshman had forgotten to turn it off. He'll wear down the battery, doing that, Jack smiled to himself. He picked up the music player, and looked at it with confusion, reading the name of the artist.
"Blue Gillespie??"