Jack: "I love you so, so much."

— Torchwood: Outbreak

After his verbal slip on the bus, Jack promised himself that he wouldn't say anything to Ianto about his feelings unless it was in more appropriate circumstances. Ideally, it should be someplace quiet and romantic, where he could focus entirely on Ianto and have a serious conversation about their relationship.

But then… he really couldn't be blamed for his actions while under the influence, could he?

The crises had abated a little after Gwen returned from her honeymoon, bearing souvenirs for all and an enviable tan. Gwen was as good as her word, taking the overnight shifts and making up for the work she'd missed before her wedding. The others, provided with an opportunity to catch up on lost sleep, soon forgot about their resentment and frustration. Jack didn't know what Gwen said to Rhys to explain her extra-long hours at Torchwood, but he was grateful that she seemed to have restored the team's peace and equanimity.

To burn off the stress of the past several weeks, the group had fallen into a pattern of going out for a pint (or three) at one of the Mermaid Quay pubs after they'd finished for the day. Jack joined them occasionally, but more often than not he stayed back at the Hub to monitor the rift, or catch up on paperwork, or deal with the bureaucratic nonsense that came part and parcel with working directly for the crown. Sometimes Ianto volunteered to stay in his stead, but Jack sent him along with the others. Ianto needed time to unwind just like everyone else, and since Jack didn't really drink anything but water anyway, it made sense for him to be the one to sit out.

Besides, he knew they liked to collectively complain about his leadership from time to time, and letting them vent their frustrations safely around a pub table prevented the pressure from building up to an explosion in the Hub.

But while this was therapeutic for his employees, it meant Jack felt the strain of the previous weeks even more acutely, and the stress was constantly building. Ianto helped, of course; on the nights Gwen had charge of the Hub, Ianto took Jack home, fed him properly, and set about relieving his stress with a singleminded dedication that bordered on obsession. Those nights, when Jack's soul had been reduced to a molten puddle by his lover's ministrations, he gazed at Ianto sleeping beside him and tried to imagine the perfect setting to offer his heart.

During the day, however, the battles of Torchwood took their toll, and gradually Jack became aware of a twinge of envy when he saw his team leaving for the pub. Some days, he felt he could kill for an opportunity to cut loose and get roaring, rollicking drunk, as he sometimes had in his youth. Sure, he treated himself to a scotch or a whiskey now and again, but for some reason he didn't quite understand, his accelerated healing ability reduced the effect of alcohol on his system. Even when he drank to excess, he found himself sober again within the hour—and in Torchwood, an hour wasn't nearly long enough to forget.

The flask must have come through the rift relatively recently, for the contents were still fresh and potent. Torchwood didn't learn of its existence until it was circulating on the black market for alien artifacts that had grown up in Cardiff over the decades. The label on the canister was torn and smudged, and most of the local alien enthusiasts couldn't read Bathirian anyway, so the vacuum seal was still intact when Gwen brought it back to the Hub.

Jack could read Bathirian, and even if he hadn't known the language, he would have recognized the iconic logo stamped on the container. He could scarcely believe his eyes—or his luck.

"I'll get the translation program on this right away," Toshiko assured him as Gwen handed over the object. "We'll find out what this is, and if it's dangerous."

"Don't bother." Jack swept the flask out of her grasp. "I know exactly what it is, and it shouldn't fall into the wrong hands. I'll take care of it."

Toshiko frowned at this breach of protocol. "We should at least record it for the archives, though. What is it?"

Jack shook his head, feeling only slight guilt for his deception. "It's going in my secure archives. I'll handle the paperwork." He made a show of looking at his watch. "In fact, you've all done so well today, why don't you take off early?"

Gwen stared at him and checked the clock. "Jack, it's only just gone five. Are you sure—"

"Sure, I'm sure. Go have a drink. Go home to your husband. You are married now, aren't you?" He grinned madly at her. "Surprise Rhys. Take him out on a date."

They had all been suspicious of this sudden generosity, but none of the team were willing to press the issue when an alien-free evening was on the table, so it was only a matter of minutes before Jack retired alone to his office with his prize.

He set the flask on the desk and released the hopeful breath he'd been holding. Earth's alcoholic beverages might not work for him any more, but this was a real treat, even if it proved not to have the same effect on his metabolism that it had once had. Jack hadn't tasted real hypervodka since before his first death more than a century ago, and the last time he'd indulged in the exotic liquor… well, that had been an evening to remember. Or not remember, as the case may be. It was all pleasantly hazy, but he had awakened nestled among a pile of warm bodies, with lipstick and love bites in places he wouldn't have expected.

Well, there was no chance of anything like that happening tonight, but that was fine. Tonight he would be drinking alone, but at least he would be drinking. Jack took a deep breath and broke the seal.

Unlike alcoholic beverages, which merely relaxed or sedated the drinker, hypervodka was designed to offer a full spectrum of experiences: A blend of pharmacological stimulants produced a euphoric high, while potent intoxicants reduced one's inhibitions to almost nothing. It was a dangerous and expensive indulgence, but Jack had never found anything else quite like it in all his travels.

Normally, bartenders would dilute the bottled cocktail with soda or ice before serving it, but this flask contained the pure, concentrated form, and Jack didn't want to risk weakening the effect. He needn't have worried on that account: Hypervodka, as it turned out, still had enough kick to send him sailing even in his faster-recovering immortal state.

He was flying after the first shot of the potent syrup, and he'd launched himself into orbit with two more before Ianto Jones entered his office. Jack blinked up at him through the kaleidoscope his vision had become. "Yanjo Tones," he slurred, then shook his head and concentrated. "Ianto… Jones. What can I foo der you?"

He couldn't quite focus on Ianto's movements, but he was fairly certain the young man did not look pleased. "On her way out, Tosh mentioned that you had a new artifact that hadn't been catalogued." He pointed to the canister on the desk. "Should I assume that's it?"

Jack tried to put a protective hand over the open top of the flask, but only succeeded in tipping it sideways. Ianto darted forward and righted it before it could spill.

"Oops," Jack murmured, then giggled. He felt as though he were floating, and seeing Ianto suddenly gave him ideas. "Hyver…cod… Hy-per-vod-ka," he tried to enunciate. "It's good stuff. Wanna drink?"

Ianto peered closely at Jack's face, and his mouth turned down in disgust. "I've never seen you drunk before. I don't think I like it."

Jack tried to pout, but the effort made his head swim. "Not drunk. Wired. This's not orindary liquor."

"I can see that." Ianto stepped around the chair and got his hands beneath Jack's arms. "Can smell it, too. Ugh. Come on, get up." He tugged at Jack's arms.

Jack, loaded with the stimulants that gave hypervodka its name, sprang suddenly to his feet and pulled Ianto in for a sloppy kiss. "Not drunk," he repeated, grinning madly. "Jus' flying high. It's fun, up here. You should join me." He nuzzled Ianto's ear. "You can fly with me any time."

Ianto shoved him hard in the chest. "Not with you in this condition. Come on, downstairs. You need to sleep this off before the others find out what you've been up to." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless I should call them now, and explain that their boss lied to them and sent them all home so he could get high off alien drugs?"

Jack protested feebly, but with Ianto so close, filling his senses, he could think of no reason not to follow him down to his bunker. Ianto steadied him on the ladder, and the moment Jack's feet reached the floor, he turned and slung an arm around Ianto's shoulders. "You're pretty," he whispered, trying unsuccessfully to nibble skin as Ianto evaded his embrace. "Really gorgeous. I could look at you all day." He fumbled at Ianto's necktie. "Could do more than look."

Ianto finally slipped out of Jack's grasp and shoved him toward the bed. "Are you going to undress yourself, or must I do it for you?" Jack's toothy leer answered that question, and Ianto rolled his eyes before tugging Jack's boots and belt off. He tucked the holstered Webley securely into his own waistband and turned to go. "You can do the rest yourself. Or sleep like that, if you prefer."

Jack lunged after him, catching his arm. "Stay with me," he crooned. "I want you."

"I'll bet you do," Ianto scowled. "And what are the odds you'll even remember it in the morning?"

Jack shook his head. "I'll remember. I always remember. Especially you. I could never forget you…"

Ianto turned sharply away and shook his sleeve free of Jack's grasp. "Get some sleep, Jack. I'll bring you some coffee early so you can sober up before the others get in."

"Ianto, please stay," Jack begged, reaching for him again. "I love you!"

"Don't," Ianto snapped, whirling on him with a fierce expression. "Don't you dare. Not when you're drunk. Not when you're only trying to get me into your bed."

Jack's brow creased in confusion. "But I…"

"I'm not your bloody plaything, Jack!"

Jack blinked wide eyes at him. Ianto drew back suddenly, as though startled by his own outburst. Without another word, he hurried up the ladder, slamming the hatch cover down behind him.

The rest of the night passed in a disjointed blur for Jack, but when he climbed out of his bunker the next morning—nursing a sizable headache, despite his advanced regenerative capabilities—the Bathirian canister had already been catalogued and stored away in the archives. He checked the contents, but the flask was completely empty.