Disclaimer: I still don't own the copyright to Torchwood or the characters in these drabbles, I just like messing with their minds
Warning: More angst, but I shouldn't have to be warning you at this point. There's also a lot of leaping around in the timeline in these drabbles, and events from Season 1, I hope it makes sense! And, err, swear words. And very very tame smut.
006 Hot
The heat-wave is inescapable, even in the cold, clinical exterior of the Hub. Gwen, absent-mindedly fanning herself with last month's Rift data sheets; Owen, grumbling at the lucid humming of the fans scattered around his desk, shifting stagnant air; Tosh, used to this by now, ploughing through databases and coding and numbers, always numbers, flushed. Jack, coat tossed to one side, top button undone, asking, planning, barking out orders every so often. And Ianto is lost, lost in a heady daze of confusion and repression and heat, because all he can think of is the twisting in his chest whenever he sees the man who destroyed the only person who ever fully loved him. And the conflicts in his head are nothing to the conflicts in his heart, not even worthy of a comparison; to betray a memory or to betray something entirely more real, entirely more tangible? And he takes in a sharp breath, wipes off a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead with the back of his hand. Turns back to the filing cabinet, bites down hard on his lip. And so it begins.
007 Friend
In time, Owen and Ianto develop something resembling a friendship. They recognise each other in the dry humour, and the bitterness and the stifled anger that they share, and although the dead man and the lost man are opposite in nearly every sense of the word, they share this inextricable bond. They have lost, they have hurt, they have suffered, their pain mirrors each other's. A love, lost by Torchwood; a love, gained by Torchwood. Ianto notes this similarity as he presses the final Delete, a twinge as he realises that they were both far, far too late, and a regret for something that never even was. And a desperate, clutching plea to himself, to never make the same mistake again.
008 Floor
Ianto's knees hit the cold floor of the basement, and then he is slumped over one body, another sprawled behind him. Only it's not really a body, is it, a little voice niggles in the back of his head. Not really a body, Ianto, not really Lisa, not really anything, not even a Cyberman, not really. And Ianto sobs, and although the blood is seeping through his clothes and mingling with his tears and sweat, he can only see Lisa, and her broken body amidst the steel and the unspeakable destruction and the faint murmurings of his colleagues in the background. A voice asking him to get up from the floor, another voice ordering him to move away, and then another trying to console him, all fogged and misted and distorted in his grief and pain and confusion, and oh god, is this everything he's ever worked for, everything he's ever loved, reduced to this? And he is flailing, flailing in whatever emotion is overpowering him, blinding him in its intensity, and not even he can analyse what that specific emotion is, not even he can pin it down or categorise it or file it away to somewhere safer and less vulnerable. Another sob, harsh, ringing through the loaded silence, and Ianto looks up, eyes wild and distant, head jerking backwards, tears streaming and mingling with what's left of the woman he loved.
009 Cheat
'He cheats, he always cheats.' Said with a smirk, and Gwen smiles, because it's been a very long time since she's seen Ianto as happy as this, although he does an extremely efficient job of covering this up, fiddling with buttons and zips and feigning awkwardness very, very well. And he is happy, deliriously happy, content in the knowledge that Jack's always going to be there to shove him backwards against the artificially produced ferns and kiss him until his eyes roll back, and his lips are parted, and he hasn't even realised he's lacking a suit jacket and shirt until he feels Jack's breath skim over heated skin; deft fingers kneading and pulling and scratching with a desperation that Ianto's seen many times before, one that's never spoken of, one that's simply acknowledged. Acknowledged in the way that Jack bruises his lips with fierce intensity, acknowledged in the way that Jack rakes his fingers down Ianto's back, marking him, possessing him, acknowledged in the way that Jack clutches Ianto to him in the aftermath. And despite being a man who's cheated death more times than is worth counting, a man who has all of the time in the world – all of the time in the universe - Jack sure as hell knows how to live in the moment; a moment that both men know will eventually end, the ambiguity rendering their encounters just that little more frantic, just that little more reckless. And Gwen smiles, and blushes furiously, stifling a giggle in the back of her hand as she stumbles out of the heated room.
010 Think
'Months, Jack, you left me for months. Just when I thought things between us… shit,' Ianto turned away from the mirror, picked up the glass of water, took a gulp, then spun back, locked eyes with himself in the mirror. 'I think - I thought – I was – I am – falling in love with you?... No, god, god, far too forward. Come on, Ianto, think.' Ianto muttered and paced away from the mirror, a quick circuit of an immaculate bedroom, then back. 'I think I'm feeling…' Shit, what precisely am I feeling? 'I just wanted to say that I'm having deeper feelings for you than originally predicted… Oh, bloody hell, too formal, too bloody formal…' He gritted his teeth and downed the rest of the water. 'I'm going to need something stronger.'
But when the time came, Ianto was surprised to find that no amount of pre-planning could have prepared him; the sudden coil in his stomach, the immediate tightening in his throat and hands, seeing Jack at work again, with no threat of imminent danger to the Hub – at least, not yet. And it came naturally.
'It's nice to have you back, sir.'