It wasn't like Jack to be out of Ianto's sight, not exactly. There was a minuscule chance he lost the tabs he kept on the Captain every so often, but not a very high one. Ianto thought as he crossed each stair leading to that office. He thought of every encounter they had there, down below, at his modest flat, in the Archives. He thought of that night after Suzie had almost absorbed Gwen.
I won't send roses
Or hold the door
I won't remember
Which dress you wore
And there, on the desk, lay Jack's mp3 player. He had a large playlist, the volume excessive and nearly amounting to two full eight gig players. Ianto wasn't sure even Jack knew all the songs on the player. Of course, he had wise tastes and Ianto was tempted to just take one peak. How could he resist? The man he longed for was an enigma. But it wasn't completely his fault. Ianto supposed being immortal created that aloofness. It was a necessity. Otherwise, your heart would break every other second.
My heart is too much in control
The lack of romance in my soul
Will turn you grey kid
So stay away kid
The blinking turned his head. Ianto set the coffee mug down very slowly. He saw that the player was charging, ready for use. It winked at him, taunted him. Often, in the night, Jack would break down and would whisper a word or a phrase in his sleep. Not enough to tell Ianto much, but after awhile, enough to peace together some of the mumbles. Sometimes they were about Torchwood, sometimes about Grey or the Doctor, sometimes about people like Estelle or Jack. But it was always someone other than himself.
Forget my shoulder
When you're in need
Forgetting birthdays is guaranteed
And should I love you
Ianto wasn't sure what he would do being in charge. Surely bearing the brunt of such a task does take its tole. Ianto took it all with a grain of salt. The man lived to flirt; it was his mask. The bravado that hid the pain like a child under his great heroic coat. The emptiness held by rough assurance that he would survive and watch everyone die. He would watch Ianto die one day too. Well, this is Torchwood, Ianto thought as he shivered. Stranger things have been known to happen.
You would be
The last to know
I won't send roses
And roses suit you so
Ianto slid into the Captain's chair, noticing that he had never quite moved it from the viewpoint of Ianto's coffee machine. In the old days, he could have blamed it on Tosh, her computer was in the direct line of vision. But these weren't the old days. The leather felt cooling against the heat of Ianto's suit. He wore the suit for the benefit of his establishment as well as enjoying his own look on it. Vanity, thy name is Ianto Jones. Ianto chuckled as he lifted the headphones resolutely and propped his feet up. There would be hell to pay if Jack found him listening to his stash of music, more privately guarded than what was on his hard drive, and so he added another infraction to the list. It's not like he wouldn't clean up after himself.
My pace is frantic
My temper cross
With words romantic
I'm at a loss
He set the player to random and two words came up. The playlist that he had randomized belonged to...Ianto Jones? His brow furrowed. Jack had a playlist named after him. That was not unflattering, he supposed, and he readjusted his tie. He was wearing that tie Jack loved. His dark blue tie with broad pink stripes and tiny maroon stripes you had to squint to see. It was a little disconcerting and charming, such candid affection, until he looked at the playlist before. It made sense then. He had a Torchwood playlist. Each operative he had known, thirty on this list, seemed to warrant their own. Ianto wasn't sure if he should continued to feel flattered or not. He shrugged. As a matter of security, he was more worried about the SUV tearing through town and less about the Captain's mp3 files.
I'd be the first one to agree
But I'm preoccupied with me
And it's inbred kid
So keep your head, kid
Ianto thought that discretion is, of course, the better part of valour. Luckily for him though, discretion and valour had taken a nice little holiday as of recent. Each day without two people to replace Owen and Tosh had been dirtier than the last. The Rift hadn't closed or had a holiday since Grey had died. Ianto thought for a moment. Probably until the day he passed as well. There would always be the world, turning and moving. Ianto Jones was just another name and another road block in it. No, Ianto thought, I'm more. I'm more because I choose to be.
In me you'll find things
Like guts and nerve
But not the kind things
That you deserve
He listened to the first song and it stopped him. He felt the flush, those burning embers of a blush. His Captain wasn't watching him, but his presence was here. That great big coat flapped in an invisible wind. Those arms crossed, inviting and yet wary. The suspenders that made a little snapping motion when you teased him about how he had lost Naked Hide and Seek. Those trousers, tailored to perfection and those boots that made that signature Harkness noise when he ran. Light and yet authoritative. That was his Captain; something more in each quirk.
And so while there's a fighting chance
Just turn and go
I won't send roses
And roses suit you so
No, Ianto thought. Maybe he'd never send me roses. It would be a liability. He'd send me stopwatches and hockey sticks; paper clips and suggestively placed ads in copier magazines, but he'd never send me roses. That wasn't the style of the man he felt things for. Jack was a good man put into many extraordinary situations. He would endure so much. Ianto couldn't let him feel alone though. He'd do as much as he could to help that.
Ianto Jones smiled. Maybe he'd send the Captain roses instead.
C/N: This is from the play "Mack and Mabel" and someone told me that this would be a good "break-up song". Looking at the lyrics, I disagreed. I thought this was a perfect Jack loving Ianto song. It doesn't hurt that I've actually watched JB sing it on youtube. And c'mon. Jack's probably got a thing for Broadway anyways, right? Oh, I don't own it either.