Ianto drove Jack home dead, more often than not. He'd carefully arrange Jack's body in the passenger seat of the SUV, leaning Jack's head gently on the side door window as if he were merely asleep, and then take the safest route home through the streets of Cardiff until they pulled into the underground garage.
Jack died more easily now, and stayed dead longer, than he had before. The first time he was killed after the incident with Gray he'd stayed dead almost an hour, and Gwen had started to hyperventilate fifteen minutes in.
After that, Ianto had started leaving Gwen to clean up the details and taking Jack's body back to the Hub where he could come back to life in peace.
Sometimes Jack would come awake on the way, gasping unintelligible words and whacking his head against the window. Mostly, though, Ianto could get him into the Hub and onto the sofa first, in the perhaps pointless hope that Jack wouldn't get any more head injuries than necessary. In these moments, Ianto couldn't help carding his fingers through Jack's hair, couldn't help but remember Jack alive, reckless and wild.
When Jack woke, he'd shrug off Ianto's hands, hunching into himself.
"I just need some time," he'd say.
Ianto always said "okay" to this. But he knew that the one thing he couldn't give Jack was time.
--
Ianto's philosophy was: when in doubt, make coffee. At this point, he was making upwards of six cups a day. Coffee to make sure Jack was awake, coffee whenever Gwen burst into tears at her computer, coffee when they returned with yet another sedated Weevil, coffee and coffee some more. It never failed to bring a faint smile to Jack's face when he took the first sip.
But sometimes Jack would stay locked up in his office for days, sending Ianto and Gwen out on chases and diplomatic missions. Looking up through the glass, Ianto could see Jack staring blankly at his computer, or stretched out on the floor for hours at a time, unmoving. Once a particularly large Rift spike broke Jack's concentration, but mostly it appeared to be hunger that made him give a sudden shake of the head and wander down the stairs with a dazed look on his face to see what Ianto and Gwen were doing.
During these times the Hub seemed to smell like death to Ianto, and he spent the evenings scrubbing until the scent of pine drowned out everything else. Weeks went by in a fine dusty haze of coffee and running and coffee and filing. It was almost as if nothing had happened. Time passed.
--
Jack was on the roof again, and the pizza was getting cold. Ianto soothed Gwen with an expressive grimace and made his way up the thin metal stairway, propping the door to the roof open behind him. He made his way into the wind across the tar paper until he was standing near Jack but well away from the edge. Jack spared him a look.
"They build buildings so tall these days," Jack said. "D'you know, when I first came to Cardiff, there wasn't a roof to stand on higher than three stories?"
"Where did you do your brooding, then, The Golden Cross?" Ianto aimed for light sarcasm but didn't think he quite managed it. Still, the corner of Jack's mouth turned up into a wry almost-grin.
"That and St. Peter's," he said. He pivoted on the ball of one foot, a precise maneuver that left him crowded right at the edge of Ianto's personal space.
"Jack," said Ianto, then stopped. Should he give way, make space, as he had been doing for so long? Or should he give in to desire, wrap his arms around Jack and just reel him in?
Finally, he took a half step closer, bringing his hands up to rest on the lapels of Jack's coat. "We're running out of time," he said.
"Last warning," said Jack, almost to himself, but he didn't move away.