Chapter Six

30 November 2006

Although Ianto had moved back to his own apartment at the beginning of the week, he found himself lingering at the Hub after the rest of the team had gone home. It was partly habit, although in the past he had stayed to spend time with Lisa, and to see to her needs. But it was also because he was reluctant each night to say 'goodbye' to Jack. Although improved, the pain of his injuries persisted, as did the ache in his heart, now made worse by the events of the day, by the betrayal of Tosh and the death of her lover at Jack's hand, stirring up Ianto's unresolved feelings about both Lisa and Jack; he wasn't quite ready to take the next step in his relationship with Jack, but he also desperately missed the intimacy he'd experienced staying with him after the Brecon Beacons—would he ever again be able to even think the name of that spectacular park without feeling a chill run down his spine? His soul hurt, his body hurt, and his heart was just beginning to show the first signs of healing.

So, Ianto had tarried down in the archives, taken his time with Janet and her fellow weevils, then lingered with Myfanwy while she ate. His relationship with the dinosaur grew steadily stronger, and had just reached the point at which she allowed him to touch her, scratch her above her eye ridge in the evenings after she'd eaten. That night she'd seemed in no hurry to take off, and so they had stayed for a long while, lonely man and anachronistic pterodactyl, enjoying the unlikely bond that had been forged between them.

It was therefore much later than usual when Ianto made his way back to the Hub, and instantly clear that Jack believed he had the place entirely to himself, as he was dancing about the place, clutching some piece of alien tech in lieu of a microphone, singing unabashedly at the top of his lungs, in the middle of belting out a Cole Porter standard from the 1930s:

…If driving fast cars you like,

If low bars you like,

If old hymns you like,

If bare limbs you like,

If Mae West you like,

Or me undressed you like,

Why, nobody will oppose!

And every night,

The set that's smart

Is indulging in Torchwood parties in studios,

Anything Goes.

Anything, Anything, Anything, Anything Goes.

Anything Goes.

Ianto stood stock still in the shadow of the entry, watching. Not that anything should surprise him any more about Jack, but he was really good! As in "star of stage and screen" good, for real! London or Broadway good. Hearing the Torchwood reference, watching Jack ham up the ending, Ianto held his breath for fear of interrupting the performance; as soon as Jack was done, he stepped forward, no longer able to withhold his applause.

"Jack! I didn't know you could sing!"

Still panting, Jack swung around, staring at the younger man in surprise.

"Ianto? What are you doing here?"

The Welshman shrugged.

"I was just finishing up. Feeding Myfanwy. You're very talented, Sir."

"I—I don't generally sing for an audience," Jack paused, and the younger man smiled—who ever would have imagined Jack would be reticent about doing ANYTHING in public!--and then Jack continued, "but I like it. It relaxes me. I like that era, Cole Porter, Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, swing, big bands, like the way it feels to sing those lyrics, so—innocent, trying so hard to be just a little risqué, and…" He hit a button on his wrist strap, and strains of In the Mood wafted through the Hub. Jack held out his arms in invitation.

"As long as you're here, Yan, care to dance?"

Ianto hesitated. Propriety warred with desire, and after a moment he stepped forward and walked across the Hub until he found himself standing directly in front of Jack.

"Yes, Sir, I would."

Earlier in the evening, Jack had left Toshiko up on the Plass and gone in search of Ianto, hoping to take him out to dinner, to get him away from the Hub, to talk to him about the thoughts Tosh had reported overhearing. It came as no surprise to Jack that alone amongst his colleagues, Ianto's thoughts weren't catty or cruel. Of course, he was somewhat glad that the Welshman hadn't been thinking about him when Tosh was eavesdropping, and somewhat sorry. He desperately wanted to know what was going on in the young man's mind, but not at the expense of those thoughts being revealed to someone else, not even Tosh, who of everyone he knew would probably handle the information most sensitively. Thank god it had been her and not Gwen Mary had targeted. He wasn't completely sure how vulnerable Gwen would have been to her approach, but based on her affair with Owen, her flirting with him and what had happened with Carys in the cells, all in the face of a supposedly good relationship with—what was his name?--oh, yeah, Rhys… Better not to have found out.

Tosh had passed on the little bit she'd heard of Ianto's thoughts, though, and the supportive comments he'd made during her debriefing after Mary's death, and Jack desperately had wanted to talk to him. When he returned to the Hub, though, there had been no sign of the Welshman, and Jack had assumed he'd gone home, like the rest of the team. Now, with Ianto held closely in his arms, he felt the younger man relaxing against him as they swayed to Miller's trademark combo of clarinet and tenor sax.

"Rough day, eh, Yan?"

Ianto answered with a desperate laugh that he struggled to cut off.

"Yeah. Well, Tosh said you were really kind, helpful. She appreciated it. On top of you saving her life last week—" he shushed the young man's protest at his characterization—"well, I wouldn't be surprised if she gets you kind of a nice Christmas present this year." Jack continued, then fell silent, dancing smoothly as the music transitioned to April in Paris. "Yan?"

"Hmm?"

"You know you can talk to me about anything, don't you? No matter what?"

"I-- I do know, Jack. And when I'm ready, well, there isn't anyone else I would go to. I just—there are some things I need to sort out for myself before I talk to you about them." He paused. "It's been a long time since anyone wanted to know what I was thinking, feeling… It's—nice."

Jack laid a gentle kiss on the younger man's forehead. "I wish I could help you be less unhappy, but until you're ready to say more, I guess I'll have to be satisfied with that."

"I do have one question. Not about me, but…"

"What is it, Yan?"

What Ianto asked was hardly what Jack had been expecting.

"Torchwood, it's the whole secret organization, hunting aliens from a hidden base thing, 'way beyond' classified… yet everywhere we go, we tell everyone 'We're Torchwood' and they back off. Or usually, anyhow. Everyone knows us, the cops, the pizza delivery guys…"

"I think Owen stopped doing that."

"None the less, hard to unring the bell. And when someone doesn't know us, we make a big deal about it, like with the Newport constables the other day. We have groupies, like Eugene Jones. It's no wonder Mary didn't have any trouble tracking us down. I even run coffee over to the Senedd, in our name…"

"Those guys are responsible for a chunk of our funding, Yan."

"I'm aware of that, Jack. I keep the books. But my point is—"

"Ianto, what you say is true, but Torchwood is like Area 51, or Hanger 18. People may have heard of it, know that it exists, maybe even think they know who we are, but no one really knows what it is we do."