Eight ~ John

Sitting on the spiral staircase, he watches Jack – his Jack – trying to convince Gwen that yes, they really are who they say they are, and yes, danger is coming, and they should listen. Jack – his Jack – hasn't gotten to the 'I come from the future and know how things are gonna go down, doesn't that count for anything here?' moment yet, but he's getting close. Jack – the one from this time – is quietly watching, probably not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. He gave up some time ago, after Gwen not-so-politely reminded him that he left – never mind that he had no choice in the matter – and has no say in what Torchwood do or don't do – even if by 'now' he's been with Torchwood for longer than she's been alive – depending how he counts it.

So, he's just watching it from the sidelines. Much more fun.

Plus, a few steps down from where he is sitting, Ianto is making coffee. Jacket discarded, tie loosened up just a fraction, sleeves still buttoned but cuffs pulled back so they don't get in the way, and he can't help but thinking that those trousers fit Ianto much better than his other suits. By which he means, of course, that they hug his ass nicely. Gorgeous. The annoyance and anger that were so obviously seeping out of Ianto during their drive back from the hotel seem to have dissipated by now. Maybe making coffee really is calming. He may have to try it one day.

To most people, Ianto always steps away from arguments and hides behind the coffee machine, to emerge only when the discussion has died down with mugs of steaming coffee for everybody. As far as he is concerned, Ianto – very intelligently – walks away from the playground fight that will get nowhere, waits for the kids to tire up, and then puts forward a drink and a possible solution. By that time, everybody is so exhausted with useless arguing that Ianto's proposal is generally taken as a starting point to solve whatever it is. Strangely, not even Jack seems to have noticed that.

A mug of coffee appears in front of him, and he takes it, eyes still fixed on the three figures across the Hub. Jack – his Jack – is leaning on the railings, coat discarded and hung neatly to his right. Jack – Ianto's Jack – is sitting on the tattered sofa under the Torchwood sign, looking from his other self to Gwen and back with an expression that pretty much says 'why am I siding with her against myself?'. PC Cooper, as usual during these proceedings, is on her feet, taking advantage of the extra three inches those heeled boots give her, arms crossed in front of her, stern – some would say stubborn – look on her face.

"So, who do you think will win, Eye Candy?" Ianto leans against the railings, his back to him, sipping his own coffee. "Although, two against one, it's barely fair." He's pretty sure Ianto will notice the tremor in his voice, despite his attempts to keep it steady. He's not entirely sure how he's managed – so far – to keep his distance, when all he wants to do is wrap his arms around Ianto and bury his head on the crook of his neck and just feel him, alive and probably complaining about being squeezed a bit too enthusiastically.

Well, that, and he wouldn't say no to a good round of life-affirming sex.

Or two. Just for good measure.

"You should be helping, then." He can tell Ianto is smiling. "Or maybe not. I don't particularly want to scrub blood off that floor again." There's a hint of painful memories there, and suddenly he remembers the aftermath of Gray's madness. Toshiko lying dead on the autopsy bay. The concrete steps covered in blood. "So. How's life in 2037? Still fighting aliens from a super-secret underground base that everybody seems to know about?"

He takes a deep breath. He knew Ianto would ask, would want to know. Who wouldn't, given half the chance, despite knowing the news may not be what they are expecting? Pulling a face, he finds himself struggling for an answer, cursing Ianto and the quiet way in which he demands truth even from him, so used to lying for a living.

"Yeah." He forces himself to smile, hoping Ianto will leave it at that, but knowing he most likely won't. When Ianto looks over his shoulder and gives him a small smile, a resigned look on his face, it takes every ounce of determination he's got to not run away.

He must be getting too old for this. Pretending, putting up a front, used to come as second nature. Used to be easy. It still is, but not with Ianto.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask." He raises his eyebrows, puzzled. "I don't want to know if I will still be alive by then. I don't want to know how I will live or when I will die." He lets out the breath he's been holding. "Working for Torchwood, you learn to take life one day at a time."

Stupid as it is, he can't help but think Ianto knows what is coming. Well, maybe 'know' is not the word, more... Ianto has a hunch about what is coming. The idea of grabbing him and taking him away, away from the 456 and treacherous politicians and civil servants, away from death, crosses his mind again. He shakes his head, reminding himself again that Ianto would hate him for it.

Even if Torchwood managed without him.

Even if everybody lived.

"I wouldn't tell you if you asked." He smiles again, trying to hide every other emotion under a mask, as he's done all his life. Poker face, Ianto calls it. "Where would be the fun in life if you knew?"

Putting his mug down by the coffee machine, Ianto turns around, grabs the railings and stares at him, as if trying to take in every detail. A hand leaves the railings and runs through his hair; he can't help but close his eyes and shiver as those fingers travel down his face. The kid is too good not to notice.

"You haven't aged." There it is. Not even a question. "Almost thirty years into the future, and you haven't aged." He tenses, eyes still closed, leaning against the hand tracing patterns on his cheek. Will Ianto think he and Jack are lying? Or will he figure out what he's been doing? He swallows and forces himself to open his eyes, to look at Ianto and watch emotions and thoughts play on his face. "Are you... like Jack?"

He shakes his head. Much as he sometimes wishes he were, wishes he could stay with Jack, when thinking about it with a clear head, he's not sure he could handle immortality. He's always lived his life knowing that some day his number will be up and he'll die, and has never been afraid of it. But the thought of living for an eternity scares the Hell out of him. He has seen the toll it has taken on Jack - he would probably go mad. Ianto's other hand sneaks between the railings and grabs his wrist, fingers sliding over the leather of his Vortex Manipulator, and Ianto nods, as if everything were suddenly clear.

"It hasn't been thirty years for you, has it?" He pulls a face. Wants to look away and not give an answer, but he can't. Bites his lip. "You've been jumping in time." His heart misses a beat or two. "How long has it been for you?"

"Well, Eye Candy, that depends when you are counting from, and how you are counting." Full of his usual bravado and cocky attitude, but he knows Ianto can see right through that. Hell, the kid has probably put it all together in his head by now, and is just looking for confirmation.

"Since the day you disappeared from the Hub." Ianto's hand is still on his cheek, tracing bones and lines, going down to his neck before coming back up again. Almost uncertain of whether it is still welcome. He swallows. Resists the urge to drag Ianto to his bed. The bed they shared, just a few days ago – or a few decades, depending on perspective.

"Less than two years." Ianto nods again, and lets out a sigh. He brings a hand up and places it on top of Ianto's, leaning into the touch.

Part of him still wants to run away. Part of him knows he won't.

"Why?" In the background, both Jacks and Gwen are still arguing, voices a little louder, words a little harsher, but he couldn't care less. Both Jacks are immortal, neither of them will harm Gwen, and it won't be him scrubbing the blood of the floor if it gets to that, so nothing of consequence will happen. "Too used to non-linear time to stay in the slow path with the rest of us for long?" He pulls a face and tries to smile.

"Something like that." His voice breaks. Damn Ianto Jones and his way of getting the truth out of everybody around him. Damn Ianto Jones and his bloody brilliant brain and his ability to correlate every piece of information in his head and get a sensible conclusion out of it. Sometimes he has to wonder what exactly goes on in that head, how a simple human mind can put so much together.

"You are keeping Jack company." Barely a whisper, and this time he really wants to run before he says too much. "I've seen the way he looks at you. As if you were the only good thing left in his life." Ianto's voice is breaking now. He shakes his head, trying to throw Ianto off the scent. "I would know. He looks at me like that, sometimes." He wants to scream. Wants to tell Ianto it's not just sometimes that Jack thinks of him like that. "I die, don't I?" He's about to try a carefree 'we all die' when Ianto presses a finger to his lips. "I will die, soon, won't I? And Jack will lean on you." He doesn't move. He doesn't have a clue what he could say, even if he could get himself to say something. "So you keep jumping in time, trying to be with him for a bit longer."

An awkward silence settles between them. Ianto is still holding him, and he feels he is rooted on the spot, wanting to run away but not able to. Then Ianto pulls him towards the railings and kisses him, softly. It's almost delicate, almost as if Ianto thought he will push him away. He blinks, fighting the tears, because only Ianto, loyal Ianto, could put all of this together based on just a simple observation, while both Jacks – supposedly seasoned time travellers – have missed it completely.

"Thank you." Ianto pulls away, hand still on his neck, as if reluctant to let go. He nods, pursing his lips, hearing all the things Ianto wanted to say in those two words. He forces a smile. It's a strange thing, between him and Ianto. It always was, from the start. This just proves it, once again. Ianto looks over his shoulder, staring at Jack – his Jack, the one with the broken smile – for a moment. "He doesn't know, does he?" He shakes his head; Ianto snorts. "Sometimes Jack can be blind as a bat." He smiles, and this time he means it. "I won't tell yours, if you don't tell mine."

"Deal." They are good at this, keeping secrets. Pity they always seem to end up keeping them from Jack. Ianto straightens up, taking his hand away and dusting non-existent dust from his waistcoat. "Jack'll never believe you if you tell him, anyway." He has to snort at that.

"Now, let's go smack those three with some common sense, shall we?"