It would've been nice, Ianto decided. Dinner, maybe a movie. Sharing a bottle of wine, exchanging childhood confidences in the glow of sputtering candlelight, fighting off Jack's wandering fork as he tried to sneak a taste off Ianto's plate, capturing Jack's roaming fingers as he tried to stroke Ianto's inner thigh. Hearing Jack laugh, wincing as Jack made inappropriate remarks, ignoring Jack as he flirted with the waiter. Maybe even holding hands in a dark theatre, eventually forgetting the film in favour of furtive kisses and surreptitious caresses that were just short of indecent.
And afterwards, if it felt right and Ianto had worked past the hurt and confusion and profound anger that clouded his judgement every time he thought about how easily Jack had left them—left him—he'd invite Jack to spend the night, the first night they'd have shared since Jack's return.
Yes, like any overwrought, nonsensical fantasy, it would've been nice. But it wasn't ever going to happen that way, especially since Ianto was more than a little concerned that he was going to die in the next few minutes.
Dinner, maybe a movie.
What the hell had he been thinking?
He hadn't been thinking, that was the problem. Reuniting with his team, John showing up at the worst possible time (typical)—it had all rattled Jack more than he'd care to admit. But he could've handled it all if it hadn't been for one quiet question and one guarded glance from blue-grey eyes that had brought home every yearning, every wish, every dream that had filled the long, angry days and dark, bitter nights of a year that should never have been.
He'd certainly imagined what he'd say to Ianto if, no when, they met again. Jack simply wouldn't accept any other outcome, and sometimes the belief that he would look into those blue-grey eyes again one day was the only thing that kept him sane. Jack wasn't a man given to explanations, but he if he couldn't bring himself to tell Ianto exactly what had happened during his absence, he knew he had to acknowledge that he'd left far too much unsaid between them.
But dinner? And a movie?
That's what he'd offered and Ianto had said yes. It'd been a reluctant, distracted yes, but Jack had taken it as a promise that Ianto wasn't going to shut him out completely. If it wasn't the tender reunion he'd hoped for, he was happy to take what he could get and hopefully make it into something memorable for them both.
The trouble was that he'd been back for almost a week now and the promised date had yet to occur. Not just the date, but the resumption of any intimacy between them. They hadn't shared so much as a smouldering glance, let alone a touch or kiss. Jack found himself mystified as to how to go about winning back a lover, simply because he'd never wanted to do so in the past, at least not to the extent that it consumed almost every waking minute. To love and then leave used to be one of Jack's favourite pastimes, but now, with Ianto so close and yet so far, so immaculately dressed and so properly composed and so damn distant, it was obvious to Jack that he'd finally found something—someone—worth fighting for.
He just didn't know how to do it.
Ianto wasn't making it easy. Either on purpose or by accident, they were hardly ever alone. Jack had a lot of catching up to do and his first few days were filled with reading files, making calls, examining artefacts and going over the team's adventures while he'd been gone. Ianto was as efficient as ever, often anticipating Jack's requests and answering Jack's oft-voiced appreciation with a tight, impersonal smile.
It was driving Jack nuts.
It would've been easier if all he'd wanted to do was sleep with Ianto. Never one to take it personally when someone didn't seek the same kind of entertainment as he did, Jack found that making love with Ianto wasn't his highest priority. He missed Ianto's dry, sometimes macabre sense of humour and the quiet steadiness that surrounded him like a cloak. He missed the conversations that were often wordless, no more than a glance and the quirk of an eyebrow.
And hell, yes, he missed the sex, too.
So dinner and a movie he'd promised, and that was what he was going to deliver—as soon as he figured out what combination would finally break through the walls that Ianto had constructed between them. It pained him that he didn't know what kind of films Ianto enjoyed and a wrong guess would only point out how little he knew about Ianto himself. He briefly entertained the idea of breaking into Ianto's flat and checking out his DVD collection, but that smacked of cheating, and though Jack had no problem with the concept, he had the distinct feeling he was only going to get one more shot at this to get it right.
Which left him back where he started, staring at his screensaver, his eyes unfocussed and his thoughts centred on the young man tending the tourist office desk some three stories above him.
"Jack, have you seen Ianto?"
Jack started and looked up to see Toshiko walking into his office, a stack of folders in her hands.
"He's up in the office today. Why?"
Tosh frowned. "No, he's not there, I checked. He promised to take these old files upstairs with him so he can enter them into the logs for me. That was over an hour ago."
Jack shrugged. "Maybe he went to grab lunch."
"No," Tosh answered patiently, "it's only ten."
"Have you tried calling him?"
That earned him an impatient sigh. "He's not answering."
Jack felt a small curl of unease tighten inside his belly. He swerved his chair around and switched the local feed on his monitor to the tourist office camera, confirming that it was empty.
"Okay." He rose to his feet and nodded at Tosh. "I'll run up there and see where he's wandered off to. Probably giving directions to some poor lost soul, right?"
"Right." Tosh's tone was less than reassuring, but she gave Jack a smile as he headed toward the cog door.
He wasn't worried, not really. Not when he saw that the office was indeed empty, nor when he noticed that the front door was locked. It wasn't until he flipped around the little plastic and paper clock that indicated that the tourist office would reopen at nine-thirty did he acknowledge that the little flutter in his stomach was telling him something was wrong.
He picked up the office phone and called down to Toshiko's workstation.
"Did you find him?"
"No. I need you to track the GPS in his phone."
"All right, give me a minute."
Jack tapped his fingers against his thigh, his gaze travelling over the office as if it would offer up some clue to Ianto's whereabouts. Aside from the carefully staged clutter that Ianto liked to refer to as the proper ambience, the only thing out of place was a book of deposit slips left on the counter.
"Jack?"
Hearing the quiver in Tosh's voice, Jack swallowed hard. "Yeah?"
"I'm not getting a bounce."
"What do you mean, you're not getting a bounce? That's impossible."
"That's what I'm telling you, there's nothing. It's as if the phone doesn't exist."
Jack rubbed his palm over his face, thinking fast. "Okay, get Gwen and Owen started on reviewing CCTV footage. I'm on my way down."
Form 813-B. Requisition for a new mobile phone. Reason for replacement? Box number four: previous phone blasted into tiny bits by small arms fire.
Ianto shifted slightly, trying to relieve the pressure building between his shoulder blades. He kept the movement as unnoticeable as possible, having already been tasered and having no wish to repeat the experience. Lying face down on the bank's scuffed linoleum floor, a large piece of his once functioning phone only inches away from his cheek and his hands bound behind him with a computer cord, he had to admit that this wasn't one of his better days.
However, he was doing marginally better than the man slumped against the desk beside him.
The bleeding one.
But no one had died and Ianto needed to keep it that way. Even as his nerve endings began to recover from the tasering, the hysterical cries of one of the tellers, the sirens blaring in the distance and the belligerent shouts of the three young perpetrators made it difficult to think, let alone form a plan to make sure they all survived the next few moments.
An early run to the bank had seemed like a good idea at the time. After spending a week walking on eggshells around Jack, wondering if Jack had forgotten about their so-called date—or worse, had changed his mind—Ianto had decided that he hadn't been entirely fair about the situation, either. He'd certainly avoided giving Jack any encouragement, his pride too often getting in the way of letting Jack see how much he wanted to believe that Jack had been sincere about taking their relationship forward. He'd awakened that morning with the idea that he'd close the tourist office by noon, and, if the Rift was being cooperative, try and engage Jack in a private conversation that would make Ianto's position on the subject quite clear.
With that in mind, he assembled the small amount of cash that the tourist office generated by selling maps and cheap souvenirs, completed a deposit slip, and closed the office by eight fifty-five in order to be at the bank when it opened. Figuring he'd be out no more than fifteen minutes, he didn't bother to tell anyone where he'd gone, his plan including a quick stop at Tosh's desk on the way back to gather the files she needed to have logged in. In all, a neat, well-laid itinerary for a busy morning that would hopefully turn into a slower, more intimately spent afternoon.
But now it all seemed very unimportant, especially the nervous butterflies that had taken residence in Ianto's belly as he'd contemplated confronting Jack. He was Torchwood, he should've known better than to waste precious time on wounded pride and stoic acceptance when all he wanted to do was take Jack in his arms and reassure them both that Jack was back where he belonged.
As Ianto flexed his wrists, searching for any slack that would free his hands, his thoughts shifted briefly to Jack and the many opportunities that Ianto had missed in the past few days to make things right between them. After all the weeks he'd spent missing Jack, trying desperately not to mourn what Jack had started to mean to him, he'd been too busy protecting his hurt feelings instead of communicating. As the tension in the bank lobby ratcheted ever higher, he was swept with regret for what he'd been too stubborn to acknowledge.
The elderly security guard beside him moaned, raising an age-spotted hand to his bloody forehead. It was the pistol whipping he'd received that had prompted Ianto, who'd been standing silently with the rest of the hostages, to strike out. He'd managed to break the nose of one of the robbers before being tasered by another, and by the time he'd been able to catch his breath, his hands had been bound and he'd been dumped on the floor. Just as he was trying to gather his wits, his cell phone had begun to ring, and he could only be grateful that it had been ripped from his coat pocket before being used for target practice.
Ianto glanced up at the clock mounted above the counter. It was barely ten o'clock, which meant he'd been gone from Torchwood for only an hour. Chances were good that no one had noticed he was missing, and even better that no one would expect him to be in the middle of a botched-bank-robbery-turned-hostage-situation. And unless one of the bad guys suddenly sprouted tentacles or antennae, no one at Torchwood would be notified.
"Right, so he went to the bank. Mystery solved. Can we get back to work now?"
"Hang on, Owen, we know when he went in, not when he came out." Jack glared over his shoulder in Owen's direction. They were gathered around Tosh's computer after she'd called out, stating she'd tracked Ianto's movements as far as the bank.
"Then can we speed up this in depth investigation into the whereabouts of your boyfriend? I've got an alien corpse defrosting on the table and if I leave it out too long, God knows what it'll start to smell like."
"He's right, Tosh. Fast forward until we see Ianto leave."
"Got it." Tosh moved the CCTV footage forward and they watched several customers come and go. Nothing seemed amiss until someone walked up to the door and first tried to pull it open, then push.
The door didn't open.
"Do you see that?" Tosh pointed at the puzzled customer, who was pressing her nose to the glass door, shielding her eyes to peer inside. "She can't get—wait, what's she doing?"
The customer was backing away, digging into her purse. They watched as she turned and began to run, getting just a glimpse of a cell phone in her hand before the CCTV coverage ended.
"Okay, that's not good," Jack murmured. "Can you get an inside feed from the bank?"
"Trying," Tosh said beneath her breath. "That's odd, I'm in, but there's no—"
"Jack!" Gwen called out from her work station, phone pressed to her ear. "Police have been dispatched to the bank. Robbery in progress, hostages inside." She paused to listen, then raised stricken eyes to Jack's. "Shots fired."
Jack's heart plummeted to the bottom of his stomach. He stared at Gwen, ignoring Tosh's soft gasp and Owen's muttered "Fuck," then pivoted on his heel, calling out commands.
"Tosh, get into the police communication system—I need you to be my eyes and ears. Owen, bring the SUV around to the bank. Gwen and I will get there faster on foot but I want tech and fire power on-site. Everyone on comms? Okay, let's move."
By the time Jack and Gwen arrived at the scene, it had turned into a circus of Hollywood proportions. Helicopters dotted the sky and Jack counted three snipers on adjoining roofs. Tosh had been sending information as quickly as she received it so that Jack and Gwen were up to speed as they rounded the hastily erected barrier and approached the officer in charge.
"Oi! Get back behind the barrier!"
Jack threw a glance with Gwen, who immediately stopped to deal with the overly zealous PC. Pausing briefly to instruct Tosh to send the police feed to his comm unit, he strode up to a group huddled together at the bonnet of a police vehicle, recognizing the man leading the situation as Paul Foster, someone he'd dealt with before.
Seeing Jack, Foster stuck out his hand. "Harkness, what are you doing here? This isn't a Torchwood matter."
Jack shook the offered hand. "I think they've got one of my people in there. What can you tell me?"
Foster pointed to the blueprint laid out on the bonnet. "It's an inside job, apparently. We think one of them is a recently hired clerk, been there only long enough to learn the routine. Cameras were disabled first and so far they've been smart enough to stay away from the windows, so my sharpshooters can't get a clear shot. They can see in and follow some of the action, but we've got too many innocents in the way."
"How many?"
"Nine, we think. Security guard, five employees, three customers."
"Any casualties? I heard there was gunfire."
"We don't know. We've tried negotiating but they're either too smart or too stupid to give us something to work with."
It surprised Jack, as he listened to Foster, how calm he felt about all this. Ianto, his Ianto, trapped inside with three gunmen, knowing that there'd already been gunfire, it all seemed very unreal. He would not permit himself to believe that Ianto wouldn't walk away from this nightmare and into Jack's arms. There simply wasn't any other outcome that Jack would allow.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw the SUV edge through the gathering crowd and stop at the barrier. Owen got out and gave Jack a nod as Gwen joined him, both of them looking to Jack for direction. Jack was in the midst of asking what the plan was to bring this to a peaceful resolution when the sudden escalation of chatter from the snipers made everyone pause to listen. He had just enough time to turn toward the bank's glass entrance before the unmistakable sound of gunfire had everyone except Jack diving behind the nearest vehicle or building.
As the screams from the crowd died down, Jack stared at the front door, ignoring Foster's order to take cover as every muscle strained to do something now. At that moment, he knew he'd promise anything—and kill anyone—to have Ianto safe once again.
He'd rarely felt so helpless.
Ianto stared at the dead body at his feet. Beside him, the injured bank guard was retching, the sound drowned out by the sobbing of several of the other hostages.
Things had not gone well for the three erstwhile bank robbers. The leader, whom Ianto had privately named Spotty for the patches of scabrous skin revealed by his black balaclava, had long since lost patience with his two accomplices. They'd already made their clichéd requests for ten thousand pounds and a helicopter and been summarily denied, so things had reached an impasse.
Ianto had made it into a sitting position beside the still groggy security guard, his back supported by the same metal desk. He'd managed to slip free of the computer cord but had kept it looped around his wrists. The dead robber, whose name had been revealed early on as Tony, had seemed from the beginning to be the weakest link and, more worryingly, the one with the shortest fuse. It'd been Tony who'd smacked the security guard with the butt of his weapon when the guard had been too slow to lock the front door, causing a chain of events that had prevented their clean getaway. The hint of mental illness in his eyes had motivated Ianto to intervene, earning him a taser hit from the third man, a wiry, nervous youth that Ianto had nicknamed Sparky, once he'd blinked the taser-induced stars from his eyes. Sparky seemed to be the least enthusiastic but most intelligent of the three, patiently explaining to Tony that shooting Ianto's mobile just because he didn't like the ring tone had changed the tenor of the situation considerably.
Unfortunately for Tony, his solution to their problem was to go out in a blaze of glory, taking all the hostages with them. His suggestion was met with a bullet through the heart, and now Spotty and Sparky were arguing over how best to make it out alive.
Ianto glanced across the bank lobby to see if there was any help available from the other hostages. Everyone's eyes were downcast as they huddled together in front of the counter, clutching and comforting each other and plainly too frightened to be of any use. Turning his attention back to the robbers, Ianto's stomach clenched as he realised they'd come to a grim decision.
Sparky pointed his taser at Ianto and the guard.
"You two, over there with the others."
Ianto rose to his feet, careful to keep his untied hands behind him. He and the guard stepped over Tony's body and sidled their way to the other hostages, all of whom had been ordered to stand, their eyes wide with fear. Trying to position himself in the front of the small crowd, Ianto was shoved aside as Sparky reached into the knot of terrified hostages and grabbed the arm of one of the tellers. It was a young woman named Alice, whom Ianto had dealt with long enough to know she had two small children and a husband serving overseas. As Sparky began to drag her away, Spotty had chosen his own human shield, a middle—aged woman who, to everyone's surprise, decided at that moment to fight back.
It was a split second decision made the moment the woman twisted her arm out of Spotty's hold. Ianto let the cord he'd been hiding whip forward, wrapping it around Sparky's wrist and giving it a hard yank. The taser went skittering across the floor as Ianto pulled back the cord to wrap it around Sparky's neck, drawing it taut as he forced Sparky's body up against his own.
"Make a wrong move," Ianto pulled the cord tighter, "and I'll break your neck."
Spotty had backed away from the older woman and was shaking his gun at Ianto and Sparky, eyes wild.
"Let him go!" he screamed. Behind him, the hostages were running for cover, except for the security guard who was chasing after the fallen taser. Ianto kept Sparky in front of him and began to move them both forward, causing Spotty to back up toward the glass entrance.
"Drop it," Ianto advised. He tightened the cord and Sparky coughed, his free hand scrabbling at his neck.
"Do what he says!" Sparky choked out the words as Ianto forced them forward another two feet. Spotty took another step backward, reaching up to slide the action back on the semi-automatic pistol. Ianto held his breath, willing someone on the other side of the glass wall to take the opportunity before it slipped away into disaster.
The sniper's bullet caught Spotty high in the neck and he sprawled forward, dead before he hit the ground, his body showered with shards of glass. Ianto released his hold on Sparky and pushed him to the floor, quickly employing the cord to bind Sparky's hands behind him. The security guard came up and placed a booted foot in the middle of the now sobbing Sparky's back, taser pressed to the back of his head. He and Ianto shared a quick smile as the remains of the front doors shattered, letting in a stream of heavily armed individuals who spread out across the bank's lobby, brandishing impressive weapons that were no longer required.
Ianto let the noise and confusion wash over him, knowing that the next few hours would be lost to statements, investigations and a moment by moment rehash of the last sixty minutes of his life. Suddenly feeling unbearably tired, he lifted his head as another commotion at the doors caught his attention. He held his breath as a tall, familiar figure appeared, silhouetted by sunshine and dragging two other people with him as he marched over the threshold.
It was Jack, of course. Nowhere he should be and yet exactly where Ianto needed him to be.
It was Jack's worst nightmare, watching the situation fall apart and having no control. He had no idea if Ianto was safe, hurt, or even inside, only his instinct assuring him Ianto was involved. When Foster gave the order to go in, Jack didn't know whether to praise him or punch him, instead settling for ignoring him as he sprinted toward the ragged opening that had once been the bank's front door. He didn't break stride as first Foster, then one of his men, grabbed his arms, trying to hold him back before they'd ascertained that the situation had been secured. With a strength born of mind-wrenching fear, Jack kept going, dry-mouthed with apprehension but determined to find Ianto safe and unharmed.
Once inside the bank, Foster and his man released Jack and backed off, leaving Jack alone and staring at the chaos around him. He knew there were bodies on the ground but his eyes were for the solitary figure standing quietly in the midst of chaos, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets and head bowed. For the first time in what seemed like hours, Jack took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs as he drank in the sight of Ianto, looking weary and pale but otherwise unharmed.
Or was he? When Ianto lifted his head, his eyes tracking unerringly to Jack's and widening in surprise, Jack could see blood splattered along his cheek and staining his collar. Even as he was hurrying to Ianto's side, Jack was tapping his earpiece, gaze locked on Ianto, who was straightening his tie with shaking fingers as if he had nothing more important to do.
"Owen," Jack barked. "Get in here now."
"Jack, what are you—mmph!"
Whatever Ianto meant to say was muffled as Jack pulled him into a fierce hug, his cheek pressed against Jack's neck as Jack tightened his embrace.
"Are you okay?" Jack loosened his hold enough to look into Ianto's eyes, demanding the truth.
"Fine, I'm—what are you doing here?"
Jack ignored his question as he raised his hand to Ianto's chin, turning him to inspect the dried blood on his skin.
"It's not mine." Ianto tried to shrug out of Jack's grip but Jack held on, unwilling to let him go just yet. Feeling Ianto tense in his arms, Jack relented only as far as keeping his arm around Ianto's waist as Ianto turned to shake hands with an older man dressed in a security officer's uniform.
"Nicely done, young man," he said with a wink. He glared at Jack. "Make sure he sees a doctor, yeah?"
Jack turned Ianto around, placing hands on his shoulders, eyes narrowed. "And why do I need to do that?"
Ianto opened his mouth to reply, but the security guard spoke up first. "Nasty thing, getting tasered. Mind the burns, they can blister, y'see."
Mouth thinning into a straight line, Jack waited until Ianto reluctantly bowed his head, pulling his shirt collar away from his neck to reveal two angry-looking red punctures just below his hairline. Leaving one hand on Ianto's shoulder, Jack lifted his fingers to the tiny welts, brushing them lightly as Owen joined them.
"Taser burns," Owen confirmed, peering at the wounds. "C'mon, Ianto, lets move out of the way so I can have a look at you."
"I don't need looking at," Ianto argued. He glanced at Jack for support but Jack was already guiding him to a nearby desk with a firm grip on his arm. Jack knew that taser burns were minor, but used incorrectly, a taser could do nerve damage, or worse. He watched as Owen began to examine Ianto, checking his blood pressure and pulse, working efficiently despite Ianto's less than cooperative mien.
He turned away when Gwen beeped in his ear. "Jack, is he all right?"
"He got tasered, but he'll be okay. Owen's checking him out now. You and Tosh can head back to the Hub."
"Right, we'll see you later, then."
"Yeah, don't count on it. I think we're going to be dealing with this for a while."
"Are you all right?"
"Me?"
"You sound, I don't know, angry."
Jack glanced over to where Ianto was slipping his coat jacket back on, muttering something to Owen that made the doctor grin as he packed up his kit. Ianto looked up at Jack, fatigue clouding his eyes as he struggled to give him a reassuring smile.
"I'm not angry, I'm just—never mind. Listen, the three of you can take off early if you want. Ianto and I won't be coming back tonight."
Ianto turned off the water but remained in the shower, head bowed against his forearms as the water sluiced off his shoulders and down the middle of his back. The soreness that had leached into his muscles as the afternoon had worn on had finally been chased off by the hot water and steam, and now that he was clean and in his own flat, he felt up to dealing with quite probably the most intimidating situation he'd faced all day.
Jack Harkness, making himself at home in Ianto's kitchen.
Ianto had to admit that Jack had been in top form during the long aftermath of the robbery. He'd remained by Ianto's side, even refusing to be dismissed when it was time for Ianto to make his statement. He'd been charming, stubborn and arrogant in turns until the authorities had finally given up and let him do as he pleased.
Ianto wasn't sure what to make of Jack's behaviour, since he was neither intimidated nor irritated by the bureaucracy that accompanied this kind of thing and had been fully prepared to plough through the multiple recitals of his story and the paperwork that came with it. He knew Jack had been tempted to pull the Torchwood card and relieve Ianto of any further responsibility, but Ianto knew that would only make someone's difficult job worse and had allowed things to proceed as they should.
When he was finally released, he had expected Jack to take them back to the Hub. By then it was late afternoon and a full day's work had been lost, and Ianto was looking forward to a return to routine and the anonymity it represented.
Jack had other plans.
Instead of returning to Torchwood, Jack had driven them to Ianto's flat and when questioned, explained that a hot shower would soothe Ianto's abused body and help him relax. Ianto couldn't disagree and a shower did sound enticing, but he hadn't been prepared for Jack's next suggestion.
"You're going to what?"
Jack put the SUV in park and turned to face Ianto, who was slumped in the passenger seat.
"While you have a shower," he explained patiently, "I'm going to get us some dinner. If you have a preference let me know now, otherwise it's Captain's discretion."
"That could mean pizza, a curry, or ice cream."
"I was thinking maybe all three at the same time." Jack grinned at him, eyes beginning to shine with the mischief that had been missing since his return. "Hey, is it just me, or did that sound dirty?"
"Coming from you? Of course it did. But, really, I don't need—"
Jack tapped Ianto lightly on the wrist. "Go on. The boss gave us the night off."
Something in Jack's demeanour, hidden by his grin and flippant words, had set off a small alarm for Ianto. As he wrapped a towel around his hips and took another to scrub through his damp hair, he tried to pin down the undercurrents of Jack's mood since he'd come striding into the bank like an avenging angel in a swirl of dark blue serge.
Jack had only been home for a week and whatever had happened to him during his absence had altered him, leaving Ianto more uncertain than ever that they would be able to recapture the intimacy that had been steadily growing between them before the Rift had been opened. His earlier intention to let Jack know that Ianto's feelings for him hadn't changed had been subverted by the day's events, and now an emotional confrontation was the last thing Ianto wanted to face.
As he ambled into his bedroom in search of something to wear, Ianto could hear Jack puttering in his kitchen. He'd been in the shower when Jack had returned, so he had no idea what kind of meal Jack had decided to get for them. His stomach growled in anticipation as he picked up the scents of tomato and garlic and he felt his mood begin to lighten. Sharing a meal with Jack was an unexpectedly pleasant ending to a trying day, and if it got Ianto and Jack a little bit closer, so much the better.
He was just reaching for a dark grey tee shirt to go over his black sweatpants when he heard Jack swear loudly. Bare-chested, the tee shirt tossed onto the bed, Ianto trotted into the kitchen to see Jack running his hand beneath a stream of water that turned pink as it drained into the sink below.
Ianto took Jack's wrist and pulled his hand out of the water to see a clean, deep cut bisecting the middle of his palm. As he watched, the edges of the wound began to knit back together, the blood-flushed skin paling into its normal colour until the cut was completely gone.
Maintaining his hold Jack's wrist, Ianto shook his head. "Never will get used to that," he muttered. He looked up with a small smile that faded as he saw Jack staring back at him, lips parted and blue eyes so close that Ianto could see each individual, soot-black lash. Aside from their impromptu embrace in the bank, they hadn't been this physically close since the day Jack had left, and Ianto was suddenly overwhelmed by Jack's proximity, his sensual, breath-stealing scent and the finely grained texture of his skin. In Jack's eyes was a question, a plea and demand all at once, and Ianto knew, as he'd always known, that the answer was still yes.
Jack's intentions had been almost pure. Ianto had plodded through the aftermath of the robbery with equanimity, but as the day had progressed, Jack had watched the process with ill-concealed frustration. He listened to Ianto recite the events repeatedly and by the time they'd been told he was free to go, all Jack wanted to do was one, have a moment or two alone with the surviving bank robber, and two, take Ianto home. Despite his protests to the contrary, Jack could see that the day had taken its toll on Ianto, evidenced by the blue smudges beneath his eyes and the tired droop to his shoulders. Knowing that electrocution, no matter how mild, was unpleasant (unless properly applied with the appropriate party favours), Jack had prescribed a shower and a hot meal for Ianto, who, after putting up a mild protest, had acquiesced with tired grace.
Instead of pizza, Jack had opted for Italian food of a different sort, purchased at a restaurant not far from Ianto's flat. Pasta with bolognese sauce, garlic bread, a salad and, as a special indulgence, home-made cannoli—Jack knew he'd overdone it, but having Ianto in one piece after fearing he'd been lost to Jack forever was worthy of a feast.
Seduction, while not exactly the last thing on Jack's mind, had not been a priority.
He'd returned from the restaurant to find the door to Ianto's flat unlocked and the sound of running water, telling him that Ianto had taken his suggestion to use hot water to ease his weary muscles. Jack had swallowed hard and stomped into the kitchen, images of a wet Ianto Jones implacably banished from his imagination, and had begun unpacking his bounty.
Hearing the shower shut off, Jack had decided to open one of Ianto's bottles of red wine. Unfortunately, after quickly growing impatient with the foil top and unable to find something suitable to cut through it, Jack had grabbed a paring knife, determined to greet Ianto with a glass of wine and a kiss. Just as unfortunately, that thought had led him once again to visions of a warm-from-the-shower Ianto, and the knife had slipped, scoring his palm with a deep, neat cut.
Immortal didn't mean invulnerable and Jack had yelped, dropping the knife to stick his hand beneath running water so he didn't bleed all over Ianto's immaculate kitchen. His hope was that he'd heal quickly enough to regain his composure and follow through with his kiss-and-a-glass plan, but Ianto had apparently heard the noise and had hurried to join Jack at the sink.
That's when all of Jack's good intentions had flown out the window. A half-naked, damp Ianto beside him, his dark hair tousled from a carelessly applied towel and a look of concern in his eyes as he stroked Jack's palm, and suddenly it was too much. All the months he spent longing for this man, and the days since his return spent in a fog of uncharacteristic indecision, coalesced into a hunger so acute that Jack knew that Ianto could feel it, too. He watched, breath caught in his throat, as Ianto's expression went from one of wry sympathy to startled understanding before his eyes darkened with a passion that matched his own.
Reaching out blindly to turn off the tap, Jack slowly lifted his other hand to Ianto's cheek. It was as smooth and warm as he remembered, vividly alive beneath his fingertips. There was still a drop or two of water on Ianto's temple and Jack leaned in to gather them up with a delicate stroke of his tongue, smiling as Ianto shuddered beneath his touch. He let his mouth roam downward, each kiss a leisurely reintroduction to textures and flavours that had both haunted and sustained Jack during their separation.
Despite the inviting cant of Ianto's mouth, Jack let his lips travel across Ianto's jaw, sliding up to drop a quick kiss to his earlobe before dipping into the soft cavern beneath his ear. Ianto's hands came up to Jack's waist, fitting his palms beneath the slope of Jack's ribcage to begin a light massage that spread warmth to every nerve in Jack's body.
Continuing his journey, Jack laid a row of kisses along Ianto's bare shoulder as he slid his fingers into Ianto's still damp hair. He was rewarded with a sharply indrawn breath when he touched his mouth to the base of Ianto's throat, followed by his name, spoken with a soft, broken sigh. He lifted his head and framed Ianto's face between his palms, pausing only long enough to search out and find the answer to his unspoken question before pressing their mouths together in a kiss that they'd waited far too long to share.
This was nothing like their first kiss, a confused, tentative caress with too much history and very little trust behind it. Now there was no spectre of Lisa between them, no fighting the attraction that initially drew them. This was coming home both of them—Jack felt it in Ianto's touch, a need as strong as his to reconnect in the most personal way. Ianto's mouth opened beneath his, an invitation Jack could not refuse as he deepened the kiss, pressing Ianto back until his hips connected with the counter.
How had Jack lived without this? How had he survived a week, let alone a day, without Ianto back in his arms, returning his kisses with that single-minded intensity that blanked Jack's mind with pleasure? Ianto smelled like spring rain and tasted like Christmas and Jack drank him in, fingers slipping over the strongly set shoulders to pull him closer. Ianto's capable hands were tugging down Jack's braces as Jack worked his palms beneath the elastic waistband of Ianto's sweatpants, and all thoughts of dinner and anything else were swept away on a tide of exquisite sensation.
Jack was so intent on getting the thick, grey cotton past the slope of Ianto's hipbones that it took him a moment to realise that Ianto's hands on his chest were pushing him back, not guiding him closer. He lifted his mouth from Ianto's and gazed with fuzzy satisfaction at the rosy, swollen lips that were the results of his handiwork.
"Jack." Ianto's voice was hoarse and Jack managed to look into those odd, beloved, slanted eyes with enough composure to see that Ianto was trying to tell him something.
"Huh?"
Ianto's mouth twitched into a smile. "I said, we'd be more comfortable in bed."
Jack returned his gaze to Ianto's mouth. "Yeah, bed, sure. If you want to be conventional about it."
He bent his head to try and steal another kiss, but Ianto ducked and gave him a firm shove, then slid his hand into Jack's to lead him out of the kitchen. "Comfortable was the appropriate word, I believe." Ianto stopped them in the middle of the living room to pull Jack into a swift, ravishing kiss. "It's been so long," he explained, his mouth against Jack's.
Jack nodded his understanding. This wasn't time for a quick, happy-you're-alive fuck on the kitchen table—those had their place, but as Ianto began working the buttons of Jack's shirt, he realised that he too wanted more from this encounter than physical release. He wanted—needed—Ianto to know that Jack had come back for him, had lived each long, terrible day for him, and would gladly give his life for him, if he could.
And if the words didn't come, Jack would love Ianto with his body, and Ianto would know the truth.
It would've been nice, Ianto thought dreamily. Lovely, welcome-home sex. Even hey-I'm-alive-let's-celebrate sex.
Instead, it had been spectacular, unexpected, incredibly intimate sex for two men who knew each other's bodies so well.
Jack hadn't asked, Ianto had offered. Jack had been surprised, Ianto had been certain. Jack had been fantastic, and Ianto had never felt so cherished.
Ianto shifted, nestling deeper into a sleeping Jack's tight embrace, his breath hitching a little at the unexpected twinges that sang through his body. His hand drifted downward to find Jack's, his broad palm loosely curled against Ianto's belly. Ianto entwined their fingers and blinked his eyes open, content to the centre of his bones, unwilling to let the moment slip away in slumber.
Ianto had often wondered what it would be like. The initial prospect had not been attractive, but as his trust in Jack had grown, he knew that if anyone would take care of him, it would be Jack. And Jack had done exactly that, simultaneously soothing the nascent fears that Ianto couldn't hide and flying Ianto higher than he'd even gone, making him nearly insensible with caresses and kisses and slyly whispered words of encouragement. By the time Jack was buried inside Ianto's body, he'd been driven nearly out of his mind with pleasure, lost in the fierce, penetrating blue of Jack's hot gaze, unprepared for the cascading wave of ecstasy that crashed through him with every thrust.
So much more than nice.
Ianto's gaze drifted unfocussed as he idly rubbed his thumb across Jack's knuckles. The last thing Jack had murmured into Ianto's ear before falling asleep was that he expected Ianto to return the favour, and the thought brought a deeper glow to Ianto's flushed cheeks. Ianto had recognized the promise hidden in the sleepy, amused demand and it was that promise that had Ianto staring into the shadows, the weight of Jack's body resting trustingly against him, the weight of Jack's unspoken vow residing gently in his mind.
Jack sniffled into Ianto's shoulder and slowly raised their joined hands to the middle of Ianto's chest.
"Sleep, Ianto," he commanded softly.
"I will," Ianto replied, then hissed as Jack's fingers brushed a raw spot on his wrist. Jack immediately released him to slide his fingers along the soft skin of Ianto's inner arm.
"Did I hurt you?" he whispered.
The worried tone of the question teased a quick smirk from Ianto. "Hardly. Just a leftover from the day's adventure, I think. Although I have learned that computer cords make for very bad restraints."
Jack nuzzled Ianto's temple with his nose. "Good to know. I've always favoured silk, myself."
"Bondage, Jack? Why am I not surprised."
"Ianto Jones," Jack mocked with ill-concealed delight, "you mean you've never been tied up during sex? How did I miss that?"
Ianto shrugged. "Never appealed to me, I guess. Giving up that kind of control—"
"Is amazing." Jack planted a light kiss beneath Ianto's ear. "You don't know what you're missing," he continued softly. "I'm not talking about something boring like handcuffs, either. Imagine the softest, strongest material binding your hands above you. All you can do is take, not give, while someone—"
"You. Only you."
"Damn right, only me, while I spend hours making love to you. Your body belongs to me, you can do only what I allow you to do. I can touch you anywhere I want, put my mouth anywhere I choose. I can spread you wide and sink inside you and you can't move, you can't react—all you can feel is me."
Ianto swallowed thickly, his sated body trying to respond to Jack's erotic picture. "Sounds rather one-sided, if you ask me. All that taking without giving back."
Jack chuckled quietly. "Are you kidding? Think about it. You, open and panting beneath me, begging me to let you touch me, to let you go. And I won't do it, no matter how you beg or plead or, if I know my Ianto, threaten me with bodily harm. That's what I like to call a win-win."
"Jack." Ianto scolded him with a half-hearted sigh, torn between amusement and arousal. "All right, it sounds—intriguing—but not just at this moment, thank you."
"You're no fun," Jack complained, then chuckled when an impatient gurgle rumbled up from Ianto's midsection. He tickled Ianto's abdomen, making him squirm. "Sounds like maybe we should take care of this before anything else."
Ianto twisted around until they were facing each other. "Wait, before we do that..."
His voice trailed away as Jack stroked his fingertips along the firm line of his jaw. "Yes?"
"I just—I wanted to tell you." Ianto licked his lips, trying to find the right words. He felt Jack's curious gaze on his face and he plunged forward, anxious to get this right. "I wanted to say that I'm glad you're back. I really missed you."
He felt the impact of his simple declaration run through Jack's body before his mouth was taken in a rough kiss that bordered on desperation. Ianto revelled in the feeling behind the kiss, understanding that Jack was answering him in an age-old language because words, clumsy, noisy words, were so often inadequate.
The kiss broke and Jack leaned his forehead against Ianto's, warm breath caressing Ianto's lips. "I missed you, too," he whispered.
Ianto touched his mouth to Jack's in acknowledgement of all that Jack wasn't saying, resting there until another angry echo from Ianto's stomach made them both laugh. They disentangled their limbs and looked around for enough clothing to cover the basics, Ianto ending up wearing Jack's white tee shirt over his sweat pants and Jack making do with Ianto's black velour dressing gown.
Halfway through a candlelit, hastily reconstructed dinner, Jack's mobile phone began to ring. He hastened to pick it up, pausing only to drop a smacking kiss on Ianto's hair before answering. It was a brief conversation but before it was over, Ianto was already clearing the table.
"What is it?" he asked, eyes on the pasta he was scraping into a plastic container.
Jack slid his arms around Ianto's midsection, briefly resting his lips on the space between the taser blisters. "Two very dead burglars, one almost dead husband, and one completely unharmed wife."
"Bad times for the criminally inclined, apparently." Ianto turned in Jack's embrace and slung his arms around his neck. "But that hardly sounds like our jurisdiction. Why us?"
Jack placed a kiss on Ianto's nose. "Because no one can figure out exactly how it all happened. 'Inhuman strength' was the phrase they used, and from their descriptions of the crime scene, I'd say they're right."
"So we're on the job, then."
"We're on the job," Jack confirmed. He let Ianto go and picked up his wine glass, draining its contents in one swallow before handing it to Ianto. "Call the others and tell them I'm picking them up on the way, then head into Torchwood and start working the files for similar occurrences. With any luck, this will have a reasonable, non-alien explanation and we can all go back to bed."
Ianto regarded him with feigned respect. "Optimistic, aren't we."
Jack grinned and slid an arm around Ianto's waist, kissing him on the cheek. "I have a lot to be optimistic about these days." He released Ianto and left him to get dressed as Ianto hastily dropped the rest of the dishes into a sink full of hot water and suds. He heard Jack call out a farewell followed by the sound of the front door closing and he couldn't stop himself from smiling a little.
Jack was back, really, truly back, but until tonight, Ianto hadn't allowed himself to believe it. Now he had proof, evidenced by the love bites dotting his skin and the happy gleam in Jack's eye when he got the call to action. Yes, Ianto thought, it would've been nice to sleep the night through with Jack in his arms, or share an intimate dinner in a restaurant with all the romantic trimmings. He knew now that there was time enough for those things, Torchwood willing, and that was the nicest thought of all.
...love from one being to another can only be that two solitudes come nearer, recognize and protect and comfort each other.