Chapter Two
"The light's changed," Jack offered helpfully and Ianto realized that he was just sitting there, foot on the brake, staring forward as the bright green glow of the light in front of him stared back. It almost seemed like some sort of personal affront. That he was supposed to just keep going, just keep plowing through everything, all the time, no matter what.
The light flicked to amber, briefly, and then to red again. The car idled. Ianto glanced in the rearview mirror and saw nothing but pitch black road. Tall hedges lined the shoulder. This section of the road was flat; he'd be able to see the next car coming for a while. He could stay here forever, if he fancied.
Just as he began to turn to Jack, Jack shifted towards him, and reached for the keys in the ignition. With a flick of his wrist, the motor shut off. Without meeting his eyes, Jack gestured to the door.
"Get out. Switch with me," Jack said, casual as ever.
Ianto glanced in the rearview mirror again. Still nothing. He looked at Jack, confused.
"Ianto. Out," Jack said, with slightly more authority.
Ianto reached for the car door.
Outside the car, he could see Jack deftly climbing over the console, positioning himself in the driver's seat. The air was cool and wet; not quite raining anymore, but close, and the ground felt strange under his feet, walking where he wasn't supposed to be walking, in the middle of the road, in front of a traffic light that just kept blinking in cycles, over and over. There was a strange stillness out here, too, in the rustling of the leaves and the bend of the hedges overhanging either side of the road.
Eventually, he reached for the door, fingers sliding against the hard plastic handle, and pulled it open.
"If this is an elaborate ruse to kidnap me, you're going to too much trouble," he said with as much playfulness as he could muster.
"You're tired. I'm taking you home."
"Oh, good. I was really worried there for a moment."
Ianto closed his eyes and strapped on his seatbelt and wondered when Jack driving his car became an occurrence, a thing. Without even the smallest token protest, he'd just given it up. Then again, he was probably making a big deal out of nothing. It was a car, not a commitment.
Jack cleared his throat and glanced over at Ianto. "You look panicked. I promise I won't break your precious Audi."
"It's not the Audi I'm worried about you breaking," Ianto said sleepily, and then clamped his mouth down on the truth.
To his credit, Jack only made some indistinguishable noise and kept driving.
They weren't far now, less than ten minutes away, and Ianto forced himself to keep his eyes open for the remainder of the drive. He wasn't sure when the exhaustion had hit, or why it felt like rearing its head all of the sudden, but it was difficult to keep up with the swiftly passing streetlamps.
"You're not going to be able to stay awake for your tea," Jack chided softly, his voice gentle and smooth as a lullaby.
"I don't get your sudden –" Ianto stifled a yawn, "fixation with tea. Thought you preferred coffee."
Jack attempted a shrug while keeping his hands on the wheel. "Coffee isn't as romantic as tea."
He wanted to argue this point, vehemently, but it wasn't worth the energy. The air in the cabin was warm and cloying; he wanted to sink down into it like a duvet. He snorted his disapproval and hoped that Jack would get the message.
He deliberately kept any snide comments about Jack and romance sealed behind closed lips.
Jack flipped on the radio. Ianto listened for a moment to the chatter, but he was so tired he could barely follow the crisp, confident words of the BBC news correspondent. Then again, even perfectly rested, current events (except those surrounding the ten or so square kilometers that encompassed the rift) weren't exactly on the top of his agenda these days.
He tried to listen for a while, but after about thirty seconds he reached forward, switched the radio off completely, and settled back into his seat in silence.
He stared idly at Jack's hands on the wheel, trying not to fall asleep, until one of them moved and found its way to his knee.
"You keep doing that," Ianto mumbled and heard Jack chuckle in response.
"Just checking to make sure you're still with me."
"Is there somewhere else you think I might go?" Ianto asked. As soon as the words rolled off his tongue, they sounded ridiculous.
"Oh, I'm sure you could come up with a few alternatives."
"You overestimate me," Ianto replied, suddenly sitting up a little straighter in his seat, his eyes not quite so heavy anymore.
"You know," Jack continued, ignoring him, "find someone who hasn't spent so much of their life dying."
The houses were closing in along both sides of the road as they approached Ianto's neighborhood. The air in the car had turned from warm and comfortable to stifling, and Ianto hastily reached for the automatic window switch.
"I can't stand it when you do that," Ianto told him, trying not to lose his temper as the cool air rushed against his face. He had no idea what it was about them tonight, why they couldn't hold a normal conversation without this happening. It was only half Jack's fault, too, he knew that, but it didn't make him any less irritated. "It's not funny," Ianto muttered before fixing his eyes on the window again.
The rest of the ride was silent, though Ianto could practically feel the need to say something radiating from Jack. It didn't help that he was getting fidgety, either, tapping on the steering wheel repetitively, off beat, like he was trying to signal something with Morse code. It wasn't an SOS, though. Ianto was grateful for that.
They pulled into the small lot and Ianto quickly had the window rolled up before Jack could shut off the car. But as he reached for the door handle, Jack placed a hand on his arm.
"Is that what this is about?" he asked.
It was strange to hear Jack sound so soft, so concerned, and Ianto blinked at him for a moment before giving a half shrug.
"I – look, it's cold. Let's go in. I'll make you your tea."
"Wait," Jack insisted. "I don't want to walk in there until this is resolved. Tell me."
Ianto sighed, settled back in his seat, and stared forward. "I'm tired, Jack. So tired." He shut his eyes, tight, but his heart was pounding too hard to even consider sleep now.
"I know. I'm sorry." Jack actually seemed contrite, as though he had been the cause of Ianto's exhaustion. Maybe he had been, but that at least wasn't his fault. Not really.
"I'm just…I'm tired of lying, of running, of hiding. I'm tired of pretending to be okay when you die. I'm tired of having everyone assume that it's fine because you just come back, but none of that is your fault, and I'm really tired of not having someone to blame."
Jack stared at him and even though he wasn't looking, Ianto could feel the gaze burning along the side of his face. The hand that had stopped Ianto tightened, like Jack was trying to keep him from slipping away forever. Ianto turned to face him.
"Take me to bed, Jack. Please."
"I'm tired too," Jack said quietly, loosening his grip on Ianto's arm.
Ianto just nodded, waiting.
"There isn't anyone to blame; that's the problem, isn't it?" Jack continued.
He was staring past Ianto, out of the window at the street and into the darkness. Ianto turned for a moment to follow his gaze, but there was nothing out there. The lights in the houses on either side of the lot were dark. It felt a little like they were the only two people left on the planet. Ianto wished it were that easy, sometimes.
"Even if there was someone, or something to blame," Ianto said carefully, "I'm not sure it would help."
Jack shook his head. "It did. A long time ago..." He paused. "Having someone to blame made things feel less final. But I know the truth now."
"I don't care anymore, Jack, about who's to blame, or-"
"You can blame me, if you want," Jack continued, as if he hadn't heard him. "If it makes you feel better."
"I'm not going to blame you. Why the hell would I do that?"
"Because you need to. Because maybe it would make things better for you," Jack said matter-of-factly.
"It wouldn't help. That's not what I want."
Behind Jack's head, outside the window, the streetlamp glowed, golden and distorted through the glass.
"I just want you to want this," Ianto said finally. "I want you to let me want it."
Jack turned to face him, eyes wide; in fear or surprise or awe, Ianto wasn't sure. He felt like he should just give up, get out of the car, run down the street forever. He also considered staying in the car forever.
Slowly, Jack pulled the keys out of the ignition and opened his door and, when Ianto went to follow suit, made an abortive gesture. Ianto watched as he closed the car door carefully, a soft snick as the latch caught rather than the usual earth-shattering slam. Jack passed around the back of the car, opened Ianto's door, and reached out a hand.
Ianto took it, for lack of any better option, and stepped out. He'd barely placed his feet on the ground before Jack pulled him close. He smelled like rain, ozone - something that was completely natural and yet entirely mysterious.
His eyes were dark, not simply with lust (although, Ianto thought with a level of amusement, that was clearly part of it), but with hope, and that was quite possibly the most dangerous expression Ianto had ever seen on Jack's face.
"Jack, what –"
"Of course I want this," he said, and then kissed him.
The air was damp with post-rain mist, and cool, and the miniscule droplets clung to them and made everything hazy. Ianto felt Jack's hands slide up his arms, his shoulders, his neck, until they gently framed his face. His fingertips stroked the edge of Ianto's hair almost absently, a not-quite afterthought to what their mouths were doing.
Jack pulled away, puffs of panted breath the only touch against Ianto's tingling lips.
"And I want you to want it," Jack whispered against Ianto's mouth, "and I hate myself for that, but I can't help it."
It started to rain again, or the mist had coalesced into something more tangible; either way, it was almost soothing, temperate. Ianto watched as beads of water collected on strands of Jack's hair, his eyelashes, his lips. And suddenly, he was clutching Jack's shirt, spinning him, pressing him against the car and devouring Jack's mouth to quench a thirst that had risen up from the deepest parts of himself.
Ianto was pressed so thoroughly against Jack's body that he could feel the twitch of every muscle as it ceded control, and lay itself in Ianto's hands for his use. The power was heady and the knowledge that he wouldn't abuse it even more dizzying.
"Inside," he gasped and Jack nodded, trails of water rolling down his face and dripping from his brow.
His flat smelled old, closed up and stale - a little chilly, too. Ianto couldn't remember the last time he'd slept here, or the last time he'd opened the windows behind the sofa to air the place out, to breathe some life into the space.
The wind was blowing the wrong way for that now, though.
The air felt electric, magnetic as Ianto watched Jack strip off his coat, draping it haphazardly over the back of the sofa.
"It won't dry out like that," Ianto said, his fingers closing around the heavy wool collar. He crossed the room to place it properly on the coat rack that, if he were honest, he'd bought precisely for this purpose. It was a coat that needed a proper place to hang, after all. He fluffed out the collar with care, spreading the coat open so that the moisture would have ample opportunity to evaporate.
Jack was right on his heels, warm breath already grazing against his ear and his neck before he'd even had a chance to remove his jacket.
"You and that coat," Jack whispered, his lips quirking playfully though his eyes were dark as he snaked an arm around Ianto's waist.
"You should take better care of it," Ianto offered, glancing up to meet Jack's eyes.
"Why would I do that when I've got you?"
Ianto shook his head and let out a breath.
Then he let Jack guide him to the sofa, even though his hair was dripping freezing cold droplets of water that left dark blue stains on Jack's shirt, on either side of his braces. He should get them a towel to dry off, should find Jack a change of clothes, but he couldn't find the energy, the motivation to move away from the warm body next to him. Jack was solid, and under Ianto's ear his heart thumped in his chest with a steadiness that made everything go quiet and still in Ianto's head, and made his face feel warm, even as he shivered against the chill of the flat.
"Sometimes," Jack whispered, "I think you like that coat more than you like me."
There was a vulnerability to Jack's voice that startled Ianto, brightening his drooping eyes. He heard the message underneath, the need and the worry.
"Nope," he answered, staring at the weave of the upholstery. He felt Jack's fingers trace patterns in his hair and he wondered if they matched those of the fabric, or if they were symbols of a future language, maybe.
Ianto stretched his neck, rolled the tension from his shoulders, and lifted his head. "Coffee?" he asked, out of habit.
Jack chuckled. "I believe I was promised tea." He wrapped his arms tightly around Ianto and kissed the space just above his ear.
Ianto scowled even as he melted into the softness of the touch. "You were promised no such thing, Jack."
"Fine. But I'm going to make us some, anyway."
With that, Jack lifted Ianto's weight off of himself, gently, and slid out from beneath him. Ianto let Jack settle him back on the sofa and watched as he padded into the kitchen. It was strange to see Jack fill up the spaces of his tiny flat. He attacked it with a strange sort of grace, with the sharpness of a soldier, and danced across the area as though domesticity was a familiar, comfortable place.
It was entrancing, really, to watch Jack fill the kettle, to reach above his head and rummage through the high cupboards. The muscles in Jack's arms stretched, bunched and tightened as he shifted the tins. They scraped and clanked together like chimes. Ianto wondered absently what he would choose, though the choice itself didn't matter.
Incidentally, there were a lot of choices that had ceased to matter when it came to Jack these days.
Jack, padding around his flat, rummaging in the cupboards for tea in the middle of the night, or Jack pressing Ianto's face unceremoniously into a pile of papers on his desk back in the Hub while he fumbled with the zip of his trousers. Jack's face, contorted in pleasure while Ianto ran his hands down the smooth expanse of his chest. There were no real choices anymore when it came to any of this.
Ianto's heart pounded in his chest as a dip in the sofa jostled him back to reality. Jack handed him a mug, steam rising from its depths, and settled in next to him.
Jack's face was thoughtful, content, and Ianto watched him, absently letting his fingers close around the mug. He quickly unfurled them a moment later when he realized the tips were burning.
"Careful, it's hot," Jack said, chuckling a little. He nudged Ianto's side with his elbow.
"Thank you, I think I've figured that part out on my own," he muttered, and then glanced at Jack, lowering his eyes. "And stop - I'm going to spill this."
Jack nodded seriously for a moment, before he leaned forward to place his mug on the floor next to his feet. Then he leaned over to take Ianto's mug from his hands and carefully set it on the floor.
"Sorry, but you know me," Jack said softly, leaning in close, his hands framing Ianto's jaw, warm breath hovering against his lips. "Tell me to stop doing something, and I just..."
Ianto stared at him, trying to find the words to compose a full sentence of protest, something more than, "spilling…coaster…table," even if it was sufficient enough for Jack to get the message. The corner of Jack's mouth quirked up. Not the sharp angle that usually greeted the world, but a softer, warmer curve. Ianto closed his eyes instinctively.
Jack's lips were unnaturally warm against his own; perhaps he'd taken a sip of tea before, or maybe Ianto's lips were still chilled from the rain and the coolness of his flat. Either way, it was nice. He let Jack push him back along the sofa, felt Jack shift and rest on top of him, between his legs.
There was a thud and then a slosh, and the biting scent of orange peel and the bright warmth of bergamot flooded the room. It would stain the carpet, probably. Definitely, actually. Ianto didn't much care.
Still, Jack froze above him, his muscles tense, and he pulled away slightly. Shy, apprehensive, as though Ianto had a habit of doing worse things than frowning disapprovingly when Jack made a mess. Ianto stifled a laugh, reaching a hand up to pull at Jack's shirt, bring him closer.
"Doesn't matter," he whispered, and kissed him again.
Jack returned the kiss for a moment, before pulling back. "I should get something-"
"Doesn't matter," Ianto repeated, turning his face up to chase Jack's mouth, which kept evading him.
Jack frowned and Ianto frowned in response, wondering when they'd switched roles and when he'd come to not care that dark, hot tea was seeping into the fibers of his meticulously clean carpet. Well, it smelled nice, at any rate.
He averted his eyes from Jack's, and stared for a moment at the ceiling. There was a dust bunny, up in the corner over the window, and Ianto wondered, not for the first time, at the many changes his life had taken on since he'd started working for this man. If this continued, he might have to take Jack up on his offer of hiring someone to keep the flat clean. It wasn't entirely his fault, he'd always argued; Jack simply kept him too busy.
He sighed and felt Jack shift on top of him, still frowning. Ianto propped himself up on his elbows until his nose was practically brushing against Jack's chin.
"Always hated that rug," he whispered, his lips finally capturing Jack's and holding them.
Jack deepened the kiss now, giving in to momentum (and gravity, Ianto supposed) when Ianto stopped holding himself up to sink back against the sofa. All the same, there was a languid quality to Jack's movements as he settled against Ianto, and while Ianto rarely saw Jack give in to exhaustion (even after days spent on his feet, fueled only by a few minutes rest in the boardroom, or down in his bunker between emergencies), Ianto wondered if that wasn't what was happening right now.
He thought back through the past few days as Jack's tongue slowly explored his mouth, unhurried and familiar, and suddenly realized that he had no idea when Jack had last slept.
They'd all been going non-stop since the incident with the night travelers. Jack had spent hours at the hospital dealing with the paperwork associated with everyone they couldn't save. After that, when Ianto had practically collapsed on the sofa at the Hub, Jack had moved upstairs to his office, and his light had still been on when Ianto had woken up a few hours later. He tended to know when Jack slept, too, something about the lines around his eyes.
He allowed Jack one more toe-curling pass with his tongue, and then pulled away slightly. Jack's eyes drooped, even as he moaned in protest.
"You're exhausted," Ianto managed, as Jack's lips continued to nip at the corners of his mouth.
Jack laughed. "Didn't we already have this conversation tonight? The one where I'm tired and you're tired and everyone's tired?"
"Too tired to remember." Ianto yawned, on cue. Jack laughed again.
"Alright, you. Bed. Now."
Jack rose off of him slowly, as though his body ached (and it probably did). He picked up the mugs and placed them on the coffee table, on top of coasters without a reminder – he even went into the kitchen to grab a towel, and then made a hasty attempt at absorbing some of the spilled tea from earlier. Ianto thought it was the most romantic thing Jack had done all week. Whether that was a testament to Jack's definition of romance or the value that Ianto placed on cleanliness, he wasn't sure. Maybe he was just tired.
He laughed with an edge of weary hysteria, and Jack shot him a concerned look. He merely shook his head in response before Jack grabbed his hand and levied him up.
Ianto stood up, off-balance as his equilibrium shifted. "So, tomorrow. Samples. Nitrogen. I'll have a go at –"
Jack pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, long enough to shut him up but quick enough so that they didn't end up back on the sofa for another hour. Ianto smiled against his mouth and pulled away.
"Right, I know. Bed."
It was dark, but they managed to stumble the few feet to the bedroom. They didn't bother to turn on a light, simply stripping off their clothes and tossing them into untidy piles by their respective sides of the bed. Jack beat him (Jack always beat him) and flopped into bed, turning down Ianto's side of the duvet like he always did when the night deemed that the bed's purpose was only sleep, rather than sex. Ianto smiled and marveled a little at the routine, at the familiar way Jack's arm clamped possessively around his waist as though something would break into the flat during the night and try to steal him away, the way Jack's nose and mouth pressed against the back of Ianto's neck at just the right angle to be able to continue breathing.
Sure, Ianto would wake up alone, usually, but it would be to the sound of the shower or the soft rumble of television or something sizzling in a pan on the stove. And that wasn't really a bad way to wake up at all.