Rating: T (for now)
Word count: ~ 1,900
Warnings: Schmoop and a metric ton of fluff.
Summary: Ianto closes his eyes in Thames House, lungs full of choking alien gas, and opens them in his sister's house in Cardiff.
A/N: Please note that I'm disregarding everything about Abaddon that's learned in Twilight Streets; this version of Abaddon could be considered my own creation, as he's entirely different. Also note that this chapter descends into blatant, brazen schmoop. I regret nothing.
(The line at the end is also from the poem i carry your heart with me by e. e. cummings.)
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
1. and whatever a sun will always sing is you
Jack wakes to an empty bed, even though he distinctly remembers falling asleep the night before with a gorgeous Welshman tucked against him.
But the sheets beside him are warm, and Ianto's shirt, waistcoat, and suit jacket are still lying crumpled at the foot of the bed, where they had been discarded. The smell of coffee filters down through the open manhole, drawing Jack like a drug. He doesn't even attempt to resist, pulling on his trousers and climbing up into the Hub.
Ianto is seated midway up on the stairs leading down from Jack's office, wearing Jack's shirt, with a cup of coffee clasped in both hands. The shirt is too big for him, tailored for Jack's broader shoulders, and hangs open, the blue of it making his eyes all but glow in the pre-dawn dimness.
He's beautiful, Jack thinks, pausing at the railing to simply look at him. It feels almost sacrilegious somehow, to feel like this, to appreciate something like this, when Suzie lies beneath their feet, newly dead for a second time. But he can't help it, caught by the image that Ianto makes, solemn and somehow nostalgic, looking out over the Hub as though he hasn't seen it recently, as though it's new to him.
Jack's bare feet are nearly silent on the metal steps, but Ianto looks up anyway, offering Jack a small smile as the Captain settles on the stairs above him. Without Jack having to suggest it, Ianto leans back into the cradle of Jack's legs, resting against his chest, and lets Jack steal his coffee cup.
It feels far more familiar than it has any right to, as though they've been doing this for years already, instead of just this one morning. Jack takes a careful breath and curves his fingers around Ianto's surprisingly slim shoulder, holding him in place against him. The coffee is still piping hot, and nearly burns his throat on the way down, but it's the perfect dark blend of bitter and sweet, as heady as kisses on Jack's tongue. He closes his eyes and savors the taste, savors the heat of Ianto's lean body in his arms.
He takes a breath, lets the sounds of the Hub wash over him, and when he opens his eyes Ianto has his head tipped back, smiling up at him.
"Good?" he asks softly, voice throaty and low, and Jack's breath catches because he knows, knows that Ianto means far more than just the coffee.
"Yes," he answers, his own voice rough, and he means more than the coffee, too.
It's very, very good, indeed.
The coffee cup settles on the steps with a sharp clank, and Jack leans forward, wrapping his arms around Ianto and pressing his face into the side of his neck. Ianto smells of freshly ground coffee and a trace of spice, and Jack has to wonder at the liberties Ianto is letting him take. Most people from this time are uncomfortable with such intimacy right off the bat, such closeness in a new relationship. Jack had woken up expecting to find Ianto twitchy and uncertain, a belief only furthered by his absence from the bed. But instead, Ianto is acting like an old lover, a familiar partner, and Jack has no idea what he did right to receive a blessing like this, especially in the wake of Suzie's second betrayal.
Ianto's hands stroke over his bare arms, trace over his fingers, and Jack breathes out, all but boneless with contentment. But… "The others will be here soon," he murmurs into Ianto's skin, smiling a little at the small shiver his lips on the sensitive skin produce.
There's a momentary pause, and then Ianto's fingers settle more firmly on his skin, pressing just a little. Ianto hesitates, stills, and whispers, "Them knowing…would you mind? Would it be so bad?"
Jack lifts his head in surprise, looking down at the top of Ianto's head. "No," he answers honestly. "I'll shout it from the rooftops if you want. I just thought you'd be uncomfortable."
Jack counts six heartbeats in the silence before Ianto leans back against him just a bit, and says softly, "I'm in love with you, Jack."
Of all the many things Jack expected him to say, that was never one of them.
"I just…thought you should know," Ianto finishes, and turns his head to press his cheek to Jack's hair. "You don't…you shouldn't feel obligated to feel the same way. I've never thought that love is something that's only worthwhile when fully returned. But I'm in love with you, and if that can ever make you smile, or feel content, or give your world a little more light, well. I just wanted to…tell you."
Beneath Jack's hand, beneath the skin and muscle and bone of his chest, Ianto's heart flutters hummingbird-quick, so fragile and brave.
Smile, Jack thinks, even though he doesn't say anything. You should always smile, Ianto. Always.
There are many, many things Jack could say right now.
"Yes," he whispers at length. "Yes, it helps. Thank you, Ianto."
The decision not to tell Jack is easily made. Jack has his own burdens, especially now when he doesn't trust Ianto to share them, and Ianto refuses to add to them. And regardless, Ianto is going to change the timeline. Soon all of the knowledge he has, all of his information on the future, will be obsolete.
It won't matter. As soon as Ianto kills Bilis, the threat of that future will be gone.
He sighs softly, sliding an old file on alternate timelines and their effects back into place on the shelf. The Archives are quiet in the middle of the day, cool and dark and full of the musty, dry scent of old paper with a sharper bite of metal and electricity beneath. It's nothing like the whitewashed, clinical bareness that was One's Archives, or even the hushed library-like grandeur of Torchwood House. Three's Archives are strange and surprising and a little dangerous, like everything else about Torchwood Cardiff. Ianto loves them, loves their uniqueness the same way he loves Three in general.
In the dimness, the crescent moon on his head glows like a captured sun. Ianto glances down at it, then turns and heads for the main part of the Hub, where Tosh is bent over her keyboard and Jack is pretending to do paperwork but really only managing to work his desk into a disaster zone.
"I'm going to get lunch," Ianto calls, pulling on his coat. "The usual?"
Tosh looks up, startled, and then smiles at him. "Yes, please."
"Vegetables, Ianto," Jack calls. "Don't forget."
Ianto rolls his eyes, even though the Captain probably can't see from that distance, but raises a hand in acknowledgment. He takes the lift up to the Tourist Office, which is in fairly urgent need of care, and heads for the café across the Plass.
There's a woman waiting at one of the tables, businesslike in a neat pinstripe suit, her hair a wild tumble of fiery curls. She's reading a book, Ianto sees as he approaches, something ridiculously thick and heavy, with a noble hero and beautiful damsel on the cover. There's a dragon on there, too, and Ianto snorts softly as he takes a seat across from her.
Rhiannon peers at him over the top of the book, eyes bright with mischief. "Don't mock high fantasy, Ianto. The irony is wonderful."
Ianto politely refrains from pointing out that Robert Jordan might be high fantasy, but he also wouldn't know a plot hole if it bit him in the ass. "Is this allowed?" he asks instead. "Meeting with me? I thought you weren't allowed to interfere."
"I'm not." Rhiannon sets the book down, touching the cover lightly. "This is just…a friendly checkup on my avatar. Manger speaks to Abaddon frequently, after all. We're allowed to direct you, as long as we leave everyone else alone."
The silence between them is fairly easy, which surprises Ianto a little. He's used to being stiff and uncomfortable with strangers, only relaxing around the Torchwood team, but Rhiannon is…different. Perhaps that's to be expected, though.
"I'm not going to tell Jack what happened," he says at length. "There's no need for him to know, and it will only be more of a burden, especially when we correct the timelines and everything goes back to how it should be.
Rhiannon nods, easily accepting. "Very well, it's your choice. But you'll have to stop Manger before he can send Captain Harkness and your friend Tosh into the past. That's the trigger for releasing Abaddon; after that point, nothing can change significantly enough to alter the outcome of events. I can only bring you back to life so many times before the timelines are permanently broken, Ianto, so be careful."
Ianto nods in acknowledgment and contemplates his hands where they rest on the tablecloth. He's already got the workings of a plan, and idea stirring in his thoughts. It's not the best, not overly clever, but it should work for that reason. Simple is always best, in cases like these.
When he looks up, Rhiannon is watching him, lips tipped in a faint smile. She says nothing, though, vanishing without a word in the space between seconds, and Ianto is alone again.
Though not really, he thinks, glancing down at the crescent on his hand, then back towards the invisible left.
He's not alone anymore, and he hasn't been for a long time now.
When he carries the sandwiches and salads back to the Hub, there's a piece of paper propped against his coffee cup, on his desk. Ianto picks it up curiously; it's too deliberate to be a scrap, so maybe a joke? But Owen is in Holyhead with Gwen, so probably not.
There's a single line of Jack's neat, bold print on it, and Ianto has to read it twice to realize what it says.
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)
Ianto wants to smile, but it's too simple a response. Wants to cry, but that's too complicated. Taking a breath, a second, he raises the paper to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the letters, to this small bit of proof that he's not alone in his regard.
Jack loves him in return, and even if he never, ever manages to say it out loud, this is enough.
