Jack knew he knew about pain. He knew all about pain. He knew about the kind that settles in your mind like a migraine, clouding your ability to think, making your decisions. He knew about the kind that came next, the aftermath, when you realize that despite your conviction (and maybe your intentions), you've lived thru that and must now live thru this. And, he knew about that moment when you first open your eyes and the pain is gone. That perfect, gentle, moment when you first belong to yourself again.
Ah, yes, he knew about pain. It was in the way he never, ever talked about it, and in the way his eyes never stopped telling the stories. Jack could read them there; hell, he could almost hear them. Not the details, but the shapes - the outlines - and they were enough. Details so rarely mattered where agony was concerned, Jack knew. And, Jack knew Ianto knew all about pain.
He had no idea, however, what Ianto knew about joy. He wasn't sure if the man had once, even one time, really let himself go. He'd never seen Ianto get drunk, go wild, start a fight or have a fling. Even if he had, Jack was sure, he'd probably woken up regretting it. Jack tried to imagine Ianto as a boy, the Ianto that wore blue jeans all the time, and shoplifted for thrill, and had probably snuck his father's beer and smokes, and he couldn't. This Ianto's eyes didn't tell those stories. It was interesting and odd. Jack didn't understand it. Without a good nights debauchery every once in a while, he was sure he'd go insane. It was his experience that anyone would.
It wasn't that Ianto was a boring person; far from it. There wasn't a lot of company Jack would prefer over his. The boy was funny and smart, and interesting. He was also good-looking and inventive in bed, and that certainly didn't hurt. It was just how reserved he was that Jack didn't like. He asked Ianto about his life quite frequently now, and Ianto would talk about his childhood, his time at school, and his family. He would laugh as he told tales of brothers and lovers and friends. But, the stories were hollow and the laughter sounded old and canned. Jack hadn't noticed at first, but he did now. He noticed the way Ianto treated his happy memories as things precious and intimate, to be enjoyed seldom, and often alone.
What Ianto needed, Jack suddenly decided, was a good night out. He spent far too much time at the hub, either working or with Jack. Although, Jack thought with a grin, when we're alone together Ianto does enjoy it immensely. Still, it was too much. After everything that had happened, everything they'd been thru together, isolating himself was doing Ianto absolutely no good.
Jack stood from the desk where he'd been ruminating and went to find the man. Though it was late, and Gwen had been gone for hours, Jack knew Ianto would still be around, because he always was. It was this knowledge that drove Jack down this particular path in the first place. Ianto practically lived here now. He seemed to leave only to trade one suit for another and his flat might as well be a large, expensive closet.
Sometimes, he'd come to Jack and they'd talk and maybe play a game, and they always ended up naked. Jack understood those nights and he felt in control. Other nights, most nights maybe, but Jack couldn't be sure, Ianto was like a ghost, not seen but felt, making busy work for himself. Jack was only aware of his presence because the coffee stayed fresh and every once in awhile he'd hear his muffled voice. Jack didn't understand those nights and he didn't like them.
On this night, Jack found Ianto in the archives, jacket off and sleeves rolled up, moving things from here to there, reorganizing things in a way where everything ended only slightly to left of where it had begun.
Jack leaned against the wall and watched him. It felt good to see Ianto when he thought he was alone, with his defenses down and expression unguarded. He looked innocent and young and, actually, slightly pissed off. Probably because he was finding it difficult to do a better job down here than he'd already done. Jack smiled and cleared his throat. Ianto stiffened, (oh, so slightly,) and set a stack of files down where he'd grabbed them. He slowly wiped his hands on his trousers and turned to face Jack, a careful smile on his lips making him look cautious, and weary and still kind of pissed.
"I didn't see you there," Ianto said "did you need something, Jack?" Jack shook his head. "Nope, just thought I'd come and see what you're up to. Or, you know, if I could get you up to something..." Jack trailed off as Ianto stared at him, hands on hips. Jack rolled his eyes (he really wasn't on his game tonight. Shit) and he placed his hand on Ianto's shoulder. "Don't you think it's time you got out of here, Ianto?" he said, " It's late, and there's really no reason for you to stick around. This place won't burn down without you." Ianto shrugged. "I'm of more use here than I would be at home." Jack nodded. He understood that. "Why don't we go out?" he said, "We could get a drink, or a lot of drinks. We could have some fun, meet some people." Ianto scoffed. "Jack I am far too old to party all night."
"You're twenty-five. I'm… older, and I'd love to party all night. You're not too old. Come on."
Ianto was silent for a moment, head down, gazing at the floor. "I feel old, Jack," he finally said "sometimes I feel like the oldest man in the world." Ianto shook his head and giggled as he realized what he'd said and whom he'd said it to. "Well" he said, still looking at their shoes, "that probably sounded ridiculous." Jack was silent, and when Ianto finally looked at him, Jack saw a story in his eyes he could have written himself.
Jack remembered being a young man, centuries or five years ago, depending on perspective. He remembered what it was like to be young and healthy, and so worn out and dejected that he felt he'd been alive forever. Even now, he had no real comprehension of forever, but he had an inkling. He could feel forever stretching out in front of him, and he could see it in Ianto's eyes. Not for the first time, it occurred to Jack that there would be hundreds, maybe thousands of years, when everything in front of him right now would be nothing but dust. He was again aware that Ianto, like so many others, would be lost to him, and that there would be no afterlife to meet him in. Not just because there wasn't one; even if Heavens pearly gates were existent, even if there really was a white light that led to a land of milk and honey with streets paved of gold, it wouldn't matter; because Jack would live forever, and Ianto, would not. Then, for the first time, it struck Jack that Ianto was aware of this too. The stories in his eyes all had the same moral. They said that life was good while it was here, but that it went to fast and hurt too much and that you often lost more than you gained. Jack knew Ianto knew about pain, but he hadn't realized how much that pain could hurt him too.
He stood, staring into Ianto's eyes, reading passages and prose and dialogue that almost killed his heart. Ianto stared back for a moment, than shifted uncomfortably. "Jack," he said, "are you alright? Jack, what-" Jack cut him off, pulling him into a tight hug, and shoving Ianto's face against his chest. Ianto stood rigid for a moment, then relaxed and wrapped his arms around Jack's waist. They stood like that for a long while, the sound of their breathing loud in such a quiet place.
After what seemed like hours, Jack touched Ianto's jaw and tilted his head up to meet his eyes. "Are you alright, Jack?" Ianto asked and Jack nodded. He took a deep breath and asked the one question he'd never asked Ianto before, the one question he should have asked a long time ago. "What makes you happy?" Ianto smiled, and pushed away gently. "Work," he said " and coffee. Bad American sit-coms, good books, single-malt scotch, old movies, blues music, people who clean up after themselves. And you. You do, when I'm with you, or just… being near you, even when I need to be alone." He cocked an eyebrow and smiled. "Really," he continued, "there's quite a list." Jack looked puzzled for a moment, than burst out laughing.
He sobered quickly and grabbed Ianto's hand. "I'm not sorry you're here," he said "But I'm sorry for what you've been thru, and I'm sorry for what's my fault." "Jack… what's this about?" Jack rubbed the back of his hand and wandered what to tell him. He settled quickly on the truth, because after so very many years of life, he'd learned that the things you couldn't tell the truth about were simply the things you couldn't tell.
"I'm worried about you," he said "you never seem to let go, you're here all the time, I don't think you sleep very much and you just don't seem happy anymore. I want to help you, but I just can't see how to make it better, and I'm sorry that I can't." Ianto shook his head. "Jack" he said, "that's because you can't. After everything… I am happy in general, and when I'm not it's because I shouldn't be. Right now, I just feel worn… and things are so bad and so chaotic, and I'm just tired, Jack." His voice broke, and he started to cry. "I'm just so tired. It's not even that I miss them. I do, I mean I do miss them, every day. Every day I want to talk to Tosh, and every day, every single day, I want to see Owen, I want to tell him that I hated him so much, and that I loved him much, much more. Every day. But that's not it Jack. I'm just so tired of wanting every single day." "I know" Jack said, and cradled Ianto in his arms. "I know, honey, and I'm tired too. I wish I could help you. And, I wish I could have protected them, and I'm afraid that… I won't be able to protect you, or Gwen. And, do you know what the hell of it is? I know I'll lose you. I have to. I know I'll lose you and I know it's gonna hurt like hell, because I love you. I love both of you, so much. Just know that, okay? Please just know that, and know that you will always be in my heart." He felt Ianto nod, and his arms squeeze tighter. "I love you, Jack." Ianto said, and Jack pressed a kiss to his temple. "Do you want to be alone?" he asked and Ianto shook his head. "No. Not for tonight, not anymore. We could get those drinks you were on about, if you want." Jack smiled. "Alright. Get your coat." Ianto turned, then stopped. "Thank you, Jack." He said and proceeded to put things back in order.
As Ianto retrieved his jacket, and re-filed the stack he'd had when Jack walked in, Jack thought about what they'd said to each other. Specifically about what Ianto had said to him; Ianto had said he loved him and Jack knew exactly how he'd meant it. Jack had known for a while that he alone owned Ianto's heart these days. As they walked to Ianto's car together in silence, Jack realized he didn't know which was worse: the fact that he hadn't even thought of saying it back, or that Ianto had never expected him to.
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A/N: So…well, yeah. I don't own a blessed thing. All rights belong to the BBC and RTD. And probably other people as well. * A plea for R and R seems to be standard so… plea, Plea, PLEA. R/R is love. I do hope you enjoyed it. Do let me know. Much love, Kristy a.k.a Amberssister.
*Should I really need to disclaim, if I never claim in the first place?
Jack worries about Ianto and himself. Set after Exit Wounds, so spoilers for that. Just a plot bunny that would no let go. JANTO. I 'ship them. Wish I could ship them to my house but FEDEX disapproves of 'human trafficking', whatever that means.