Title: Somewhere in the hills
By: lower-case-me
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to and including ep 13
Summary: Jack comes back. He hasn't brought with him what Ianto wanted back most.

***


In the middle of a group hug, or more like underneath a pile of happy bouncing Gwen and Tosh, Jack laughed. Both were talking at a mile a minute, alternating between demands for an explanation and welcomes home. Jack laughed some more and wrapped his arms around them both. Owen grinned at the spectacle and gave a lazy wave when Jack turned. He picked up both women and swung them around with him, while the ever-present flappy greatcoat billowed around their legs like a flamenco skirt.

The Doctor poked at the hand in the jar and chattered excitedly to Martha when it poked back, fingering the glass.
'Hullo, me?' The hand sort of waved, and The Doctor gave an exclamation of delight.
'Would your guests like tea, Sir, or coffee?'

That voice. Slow Welsh vowels. No emotion there but a gentle reprimand for not introducing his friends.

Jack lifted Gwen and Tosh again, turning around more sedately this time.
'Ianto.'

Ianto with slightly longer hair, back the way it used to be before he cut it short to try and stop Jack messing it up during work hours. The suit, exactly the same, and a shirt so white it hurt the eyes, and that dark red silk tie.

'Er, I'd love a cuppa tea thanks!' The Doctor said, interrupting Jack's moment.
'And you, Miss Jones?' Ianto said smoothly.
'Oh, yeah. Coffee if you don't mind.'
'Not at all.'

As Ianto turned on his heel and went back to the kitchen, Martha frowned.
'How did he know my name?' she said, to Jack and The Doctor.
'He's Ianto Jones. He knows everything.' Jack grinned at the women in his arms- and wow, he'd missed that- and found Gwen smiling sweetly back. Tosh, though, didn't seem so happy all of a sudden. Her grip on Jack's shoulder relaxed. He gave her waist an extra squeeze and let them both go.

Owen demanded an explanation in a slightly more meaningful way, and before Jack could say anything The Doctor took over. Not many people could out-talk Jack, and the old Doctor never even came close. But this one rambled rings around him.

It didn't matter. He was home, and the TARDIS stood blue beside the water tower.

Ianto came back with the coffee. One for Owen, then tea for the Doctor and Martha, coffee for Gwen and Tosh and Jack last of all as he disentangled his arms to take it.
'I've missed the taste' Jack grinned. He'd planned this, the way the reunion would go. Ianto handed him the cup, moving his fingers quickly and deftly away before Jack could brush his own against them. Instead of taking a sip, Jack put it down. 'Not the coffee.'

So easy to grab him by the jacket and kiss him hard, there in front of everyone. Just for a second. 'You, Ianto.'

No reply, except a gentle touch easing his fingers away from the neatly pressed suit. And a sad smile, that might have been a rebuke for messing up the neatly pressed fabric, or might not.

Silence for a second, then the sound came flooding back. The Doctor telling grand stories, just like Jack's but without the fucking, the clink of cups and so many damn questions from the others that Jack didn't get to ask any himself. Ianto took his tray and left again. Apart from the ghost in the suit, the only one who didn't speak was Tosh.

+

He didn't come in the morning, and by 11 Jack knew he wasn't coming back at all.

+

Ianto had made it easy. He didn't bother covering his tracks in any serious way. It wouldn't have stopped them looking, but Jack knew that if he'd put the effort in, Ianto could have dodged them. True, he did the basic things every sensible man did if they wanted to avoid detection. Cleared out his bank account while still in Cardiff, left his car, and however he'd gotten out of the city, it wasn't bus or train or plane. But he didn't leave Wales, and he kept using his own name. It took Jack less than a month to find him.

He drove up to the village alone. The place wasn't hard to find, and mugshot and £20 left on the counter in the local shop gave him an exact location.

Jack made his way slowly up the steep dirt road behind the tiny town, cursing the Welsh weather and the mud and the mist rolling in. The caravan was yellow, like he'd been told, and pitched on what Jack thought must be the only piece of flat ground in miles, in the middle of nowhere. The only piece of anything in miles, except for bare hillslope and rocks. Grass and heath and mud and mist, and the sound of rushing water hidden by distance and whiteness.

Ianto's home was nothing more than a battered van and circle of rocks around black charcoal. He wasn't there. The fireplace was cold and damp. Hell, Jack thought, everything was cold and damp. He shifted and made himself as comfortable as possible leaning against the SUV. His throat felt impossibly tight and wrong somehow. The little bottle of pills in his coat pocket seemed more awkward than such a small thing could possibly be.

The mist rolled in as the light faded. Jack saw Ianto up on the hilltop as a dark shape before he resolved into a man making his way quietly and calmly down the path. He watched as the blur sharpened until he could make out the familiar shape, slim as a willowy boy
but too broad across the shoulders. Despite the waterproof jacket instead of a suit and tie, he was still so obviously Ianto. He moved like Ianto. Even in a confined space like the hub, Ianto walked tall and upright as if his eyes were on the horizon.

But when he looked closer, the details jarred with his memory. As the man who moved like Ianto approached, his hair looked too long and too messed up. It curled in a way Jack didn't remember ever seeing. Two yards away, the grief in his eyes marked him out as Ianto Jones and no-one else.

'Took your time, Jack.' The heavy Welsh accent was a shock. The soft, almost amused tone wasn't. The teenager in the shop had told him the man in the picture didn't speak English, couldn't or wouldn't, and Jack had smiled knowingly. He felt none of that assurance now.
'I don't have anyone to help me keep time anymore.'

Ianto opened the caravan door- it wasn't locked- and stepped inside. Jack followed, knowing he couldn't do anything else. He watched Ianto take his coat off and lit an old-fashioned lantern. He put the kettle on, and Jack noted the tea on the counter. No coffee.
'I-'
'Save it, Jack. I've no wish to listen to you unburden yourself. It'll all be the same to me by the morning. I worked for Torchwood for six years. Well beyond the Retcon performance limit. I suggest you take the time since Canary Wharf. The trauma would be more than enough to explain memory loss, and the other... problems Retcon won't get rid of. Tell me I was discharged from Torchwood or some other government department with PTSD after the invasion. My days are more or less the same, and if you tell me I've been travelling in the mountains since then, it'll be easy to believe and nobody will contradict you.'
'You're helping me Retcon you' Jack said quietly.
'If you want something done properly... Also, I'd prefer not to lose all memory of Lisa.'

His eyes went to a photograph taped to the wall above the bed. 'I was loved.'

And that seemed to be all he had to say until the kettle boiled. Ianto held himself well, out of practised control or anger, or simply because he was done with emotion of any kind, Jack didn't know. He watched Ianto pour out two cups.

'I assume you want one. Otherwise, where would the drama be?'
'Ianto...'
'I know who you are, Jack. Not all the details, but everything that counts.'
'Really.' Jack felt a twinge of annoyance. 'Who am, Ianto Jones? Tell me' he said, almost managing to be amused.

'I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate;
Those that I guard I do not love.
My country is Kiltartan Cross
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.'

Ianto drew a deep breath and stirred the tea.
'An Irish airman foresees his death. That's who you are, Jack. You're a figure from a Yeats poem.'

Jack said nothing. The words rolled through his mind and he thought, yes. A lonely impulse of delight. It was a long time ago.
'Do you know what I hate about that poem?' Ianto said, looking down into the warm brown tea in his cup. 'That man. He probably had a mother who wept over his death. A wife and friends who loved him. Maybe he even had children who went hungry without him. But he's the hero, and he doesn't have to give a damn about those left behind. I'm done with heroes and I'm glad I never was one. Finished.'

He could have been talking about the tea, maybe, because he turned around and put the two cups down on the tiny cracked plastic table. They drew the eyes of both men.

'I'm going to wash. I'll not make you do it while I'm watching.'

With that, Ianto left him alone with two cups of tea and a bottle of Retcon. For a moment, Jack just stared. Then his hands took over, doing what was necessary, just like they always did. So often, Jack's body knew what to do when his mind was all at sea.

He sat back in the only chair and looked around Ianto's new domain, not wanting to think about the consequences of what he'd just done. The lantern light was surprisingly bright.

It wasn't a big space, and there wasn't a lot there. It was clean, of course, as clean as an old and long-neglected caravan could be. Jack found himself avoiding the stained curtains and looking for traces of Ianto, like the well-scrubbed saucepan sitting by the gas burner and the neat layout of the sleeping bag on the narrow mattress. He checked the neat stack of battered books, but the only name he recognised was Dylan Thomas. No Yeats. Ianto had an old CD player, and a handful of disks. The Pogues' Peace and Love was the only title showing.

Ianto came back in carrying his boots, looking bigger than Jack remembered in the confined caravan. His face was dripping, and a few strands of hair were wet and plastered to his forehead. Jack watched as he dried his face on the tea towel and perched on the edge of the bed, pulling on a fresh pair of thick socks. It was cold in the van.

'I'm not stalling for time, Jack' he said, conversationally. 'I'm a creature of habit, of routine. The closer I stick to it the easier the Retcon will go down.'
'I didn't think you were stalling, Ianto. Give me some credit. I know you better than that.'

He thought of stopwatches. Ianto and his gorgeous games. Never once did Ianto crack before the stopwatch said it was time, always following the clock with perfect diligence and self-control. To the very second.

Those were better times. Or they weren't, really, they were terrible. Suzie's resurrection and death, for instance, had been horrific, but somehow what Jack remembered most vividly was a wicked, subtle smile on a man holding a clipboard, and warmth, and laughing. That was what Ianto had given him. The difference between adventure and insupportable struggle. It was fun to wrestle with weevils and fight off alien invaders you have someone waiting for you at home- a safe home- with a nice bath and hot dinner and a warm bed, no fun at all if you had nothing but more fighting and more blood to look forward to.

Ianto moved past him to brush his teeth in the sink. Jack didn't turn to watch, and it wasn't long before he took up the mug of tea Jack had left for him. Leaning against the sink, he took a long sip that drained most of the cup.
'That eager to forget everything, Ianto?' Jack knew he shouldn't ask, but did anyway.
'I wasn't aware I had a choice.' He didn't sound angry, but he did finish off the cup. 'You'll excuse me if I lie down, before I fall down.'

From where he was sitting, Jack couldn't see Ianto, but he could hear him slide into the sleeping bag. There was a long pause.

'You'll be sure to put out the light when you leave?'

Jack nodded before realising Ianto couldn't see him. He got up and moved around the table, but there was nowhere else to sit. The table itself didn't look like it was capable of supporting much weight, so he hesitated for a second and then sat down on the edge of Ianto's bed.
'Of course. Wouldn't want the place to burn down around you while you sleep.'
'That'd be a waste of good Retcon' Ianto added, in an offhand way that suggested he wasn't really paying attention. The silence settled over them again, for a minute or two.

'Jack?'
'Hm?'
'How are they? I know I won't remember their names in the morning, but-'
'They're okay. They miss you. Gwen's still with Rhys, more or less. Owen's still obnoxious as hell. Tosh is lonely now you're gone. The pterodactyl still hates me.'
'You'll look after them.' He sounded sure.
'I try, Ianto. It's not easy on my own.'
'Is this where I say you can find someone else to do the filing, and you say you did so much more than the filing? Don't, Jack.'
'It's the truth. The archives are in total chaos, none of us can find anything and I haven't had a decent cup of coffee in weeks.'
'Hire someone new, then.'
'I don't want someone new' Jack said, surprisingly forcefully.
'You don't always get what you want' Ianto replied, calmly. 'You didn't really want me, either. I'm not a hero. Just the tea boy.'
'Beautiful tea boy.'

Stupid. But his mouth was quicker than his brain. So was his hand, apparently, because it reached out of its own accord and grasped Ianto's left one where it lay on the sleeping bag. It was much rougher than he remembered, battered and calloused. The second knuckle was grazed and had half healed. Once, Jack would have smiled and kissed it better.

'A beautiful tea boy is still just a tea boy, though' Ianto said. 'And the world is full of beautiful people. Flawless people like you.'
'Hey, the world is not full of people like me. I'm unique.' Jack grinned, and for a second he thought Ianto might laugh. Instead, he shook his head, saying nothing, so Jack kept going. 'And by the way, I love your flaws.'

That did make Ianto laugh, or at least snort.
'Yes. Pimples and unruly pubic hair are so lovable.'
'You broke the first finger on your right hand playing rugby when you were 15.' Jack laid down the hand he had and gently pulled the other one out from where it had been resting on Ianto's chest. 'It got set crooked, probably because you couldn't be bothered getting it seen to in time.'
'So you've read my medical file and you know how I got my ugly lumpy finger. Well done.'

Jack rubbed the first finger on Ianto's right hand, across the swollen bony second joint. It wasn't even noticeable to the eye, even if you knew it was there. But by touch, it was obvious.
'It's my favourite finger. Ever. Okay, being honest, it's my favourite human finger.'
'Alright, I give in' Ianto said, sighing. 'Why is it your favourite finger?' That was the question Jack wanted to hear. He grinned, and meant it.
'Because it feels so good when you slide it up my-'
'Yes, thankyou Jack, I do remember.'

They were silent again for a few minutes. Outside it started to rain, drumming on the roof of the caravan.

'Jack.'
'Yeah?'
'When you were in 1941- when the rift opened and you could come home, you stopped and went back to kiss him goodbye?'
'Yes.' There was nothing else he could say to that.
'Then I did the right thing by leaving. And you're doing the right thing now.'

'Ianto.'
'Yes?'
'Don't think I didn't need you. When Suzie died- again- don't think I wasn't asking for help, or that...'
'Or that what?'

Jack squeezed his hand, tightly. Ianto stared at the ceiling and listened to the rain pour down. A thought occurred to him very suddenly.
'Why am I not asleep by now?'
'Ahhhh I must have calculated the sedative dose wrong.'
'Bollocks, Captain.'
'In that case, maybe I accidentally poured the Retcon down the sink.'
'Oh, for fuck's sake.'

Ianto freed his hand and smacked his own forehead with it. 'You're a selfish bastard, Jack Harkness.'
'I know.'
'You still think you can just have me back in your bed and in your bloody kitchen.'
'In the archives would be nice, too. And if you wouldn't mind feeding the pterodactyl...' said Jack, jokingly.
'You really think we can just forget this whole silly Ianto-wants-some-personal-dignity affair?'
'That isn't what this is.'
'It is, Jack, whether you know it or not. I'm not angry at you, I know I made enough mistakes of my own- serious mistakes, but I'm tired of being humiliated. Tired of being your part-time fuck, tired of Owen's jokes, tired of cleaning dinosaur shit off the floor because somebody thought it was funny to feed the pterodactyl a prawn biryani. I could handle it if I thought...'

'What?'
'I'm tired, Jack' Ianto said bleakly. 'I was tired enough that I let myself believe in something that wasn't there. I couldn't live on the occasional shag and watch you choose other people over me every time it counted, so I had to tell myself you needed me and I was special. The illusion didn't stand up to reality, as usual, and there was nothing else for me to fall back on. I can't do that again.'

He sounded exhausted, and angry. Jack knew why. He knew what it felt like to be abandoned.
'I'm sorry.'
'You're bloody not. You do it all over again in a heartbeat.'
'Probably. Doesn't mean I'm not sorry.'
'How can I come back now, knowing what I know? How can I look Owen in the eye- or even Tosh- or my own reflection- after you walked away from me without even a word?'

When Jack said nothing, Ianto continued. 'Tell me you want an exclusive relationship. Tell me you'll say you love me and mean it. Tell me you want hearts and flowers and dinner parties and... children and a puppy.'

Again, Jack said nothing. He took hold of Ianto's hand and squeezed it hard, running his thumb along the knuckles. If he could feel skin and the heat underneath it, he didn't have to feel anything else. Ianto laughed in a cold, hollow way that held no trace of humour at all.

'I want you' Jack said quietly. 'Isn't that enough?'
'No.'
'I need you. What about that?'

Ianto flinched visibly. He allowed Jack to lean down and kiss the back of his hand, but refused to watch. His eyes closed tightly, and stayed closed.

'I don't exist for your happiness' Ianto said hoarsely. Jack wondered who he was trying to convince.

'Are you saying I didn't make you happy? Come on, Ianto. Didn't I make you feel better? We had some good times. We made some good times out of bad times, with nothing to work with but a whole lotta grief and a stopwatch.'

Letting go with one hand, Jack scrabbled in his pocket until he found the cold smooth disk. His slid the stopwatch into the curl of Ianto's fingers and closed them over it. Ianto groaned as if it caused him physical pain. Maybe it did.
'I'm hurting you now. I know that, Yan, and I'm sorry, but I can make this better.'
'High opinion of yourself, as bloody well usual.'
'Your fault. You treat me like royalty-'
''M not a monarchist. Royalty are an outmoded parasitic relic of feudal society.'

Jack smiled and kissed the side of Ianto's head. His hair was still damp, and it smelt like water and stone. He said nothing more, giving Jack no help.

'It's true, Ianto. You treat me too well. I get anything I want before I even know I want it, half the time, and that's one hell of an achievement- I'm a man who wants things allllll the time.'

He allowed himself a smile, but Jack knew that following his instincts and sliding a hand into Ianto's sleeping bag would result in about half a second of warm, living touch before Ianto headbutted him in the face.

'That may be the most pathetic excuse I've ever heard' Ianto said sharply. Jack kept his own voice calm.
'I'm not making excuses, I'm just trying to tell you I appreciate how hard you worked and all the things you did for me, for us, for Torchwood.' Jack sighed. Apologising wasn't fun, and he was getting tired of it.
'Get a coffee machine. They're not hard to use. Easily programmable and guaranteed absolutely loyal.'
'Yan...'

Just listen to me, Jack wanted to say, but that wasn't fair. Ianto had listened, and paid attention, and had been diligent and caring for too long. He had helped Jack be the hero- needed Jack to be the hero, maybe, but that didn't change the fact that he'd been cast aside. But Jack had done what he had to do, and he didn't like feeling this way. It was really starting to grate on his nerves.

'You hurt me too, you know. Being betrayed by your whole team doesn't exactly leave you with a warm fuzzy feeling inside.'
'We know. You were... very cold.'

And with that Jack Harkness felt like a bastard again. Ianto continued, more smoothly.
'You don't get it, Jack. I'm not angry at you. You are who you are. You never pretended anything else. The only one who lied to me was me. I don't want to do that again. There's just too much, too much that's happened. It's not simple enough to allocate blame. I can't even think about our relationship except in small pieces. Most of those pieces consist of something terrible happening to one of us, often brought on by the other. Such a bloody mess.'
'To be fair, there were a heap of terrible somethings that weren't our fault' Jack smiled, and Ianto almost smiled back.
'True. But still-'
'No but still. Ianto...'

Jack paused, and Ianto did smile, at the ceiling.
'You always did like saying my name for no reason at all.'
'I did have a point, I swear.'
'Ah, dramatic buildup then. Please continue' Ianto said, subtly mocking. Jack resisted the urge to kiss him.
'The point is I've been immortal too long. I was young too long. Skipping through time, it's easy to leave all the mess behind you. You can start over whenever you feel like it. Leave whenever it starts looking too complicated. In 1941 with the Captain Jack Harkness who gave me his name, I got all the romance and the, okay, the drama, but only for a moment. Even with Estelle, and I loved her. You can have a patchwork life made out of all brightest pieces.'

He could have pushed the analogy further and talked about the squares of cloth being cut out of the middle of other people's lives and the ugly holes that left, but chose to let that thought stay half-formed in his head.

'I don't want an exclusive relationship. I don't want hearts and flowers and dinner parties. I like stopwatches and coffee breaks better. I will buy you a puppy if you want one.'
'I can't ask you to do that. Myfanwy would only eat it.'
'So does that mean you're coming back?'
'No, it doesn't' Ianto sighed. 'I can't, Captain. You ask too much. Torchwood asks too much. I don't have a lot left to give.'
'Bullshit. You have everything left to give. A whole life full of coffee and snark. And the kind of mind-blowing sex where I lick you clean and feed you cherries afterwards. Cute suits! Kinky sex in the hub library. Scoring points off Owen fourteen hundred times a day. Doing crosswords with Tosh. The aftershave you use when you wear the red tie.'
'Weevil claws' Ianto retorted. 'Being called the tea-boy fourteen hundred times a day. Cleaning up pterodactyl shit. Watching the four of you play basketball. Watching the four of you go off to the pub. Spending all day every day underground til I have no idea what season it is, let alone what the weather's like.'

'Being the only one not coated in alien bodily squidge' Jack said firmly. 'Fresh linen shirts. The royal purple satin sheets your boss bought because he knows you like material textures and that you'd look gorgeous lying on them. The orange cream candy bars only the post office in Marshfield ever seems to stock. Teasing your boss all day til he gives everyone the afternoon off and goes hunting for you in the archives with an extra-large butterfly net and a small bottle of olive oil.'
'If Owen would stop dropping things on the floor I wouldn't have to pick them up. And you never did that.'
'No. But I should have. I thought about it all the time. Still think about it all the time.'

The rain was getting louder. Jack, who'd been born and raised on a space station, didn't feel the 21st century human need to experience weather when he was indoors. He didn't mind the hub's lack of windows, but he remembered that Ianto actually liked to feel the rain on his face sometimes, and that it always made him gorgeously horny.

'I'm a selfish man, Ianto. We both know that. The real reason I want you back has nothing to do with anything except the fact I want you back. I know there haven't been enough good times between us to make you happy.'
'I never got the good times, Jack. I only ever got you when you were miserable.' At last, Ianto's tone turned bitter. 'Other people- Jack from 1941, your Doctor, even Gwen and God only knows how many others- you had your fun with them. You never even look at me when you're not thirsty or depressed' he snapped.
'Whoa. You know that isn't true, Ianto.'

Ianto paused. He put the hand that Jack had been holding over his eyes and left it there. When he spoke again, his voice had gone back to sounding tired and sad.
'Alright. Maybe it just felt that way. Maybe I would have preferred it that way so you weren't watching me on my knees scrubbing the bloody floor.'
'You people and your quaint little class issues.'
'Class issues are not quaint. Your time travelling activities clearly didn't include Merthyr Tydfil in 1831.'
'Are you calling me ignorant of Welsh history?'
'Yes. Obviously.'
'Ha. You'd be wrong, mister. Merthyr in 1831. Don't tell me. Something to do with coal miners getting their hackles up?'
'Iron workers. And if by 'getting their hackles up' you mean an armed uprising effectively owning Merthyr for four days, yes.'
'You could sing me the song and educate me.'
'Which song?'
'You're Welsh. Tell me there isn't a song about it.'
'Jack.'
'Ianto.' Jack grinned.
'You're a bastard.'
'Yes. You love me anyway.'

The only reply Jack got was a long and heartfelt groan. Ianto pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Come on, Ianto. Admit it. We're great together. And I'm not even counting the sex, which is, let's be honest here, fantastic. I still have the CCTV footage if you want proof.'
'We could argue about this all night and get no further. It's already gone on long enough.'
'Is talking to me such a bad thing?' Jack asked, putting on his best wounded face.
'I can't bear it. I really can't.'

Ianto's wounds were very real and the pain showed. He was right, too. They were rambling, getting no closer to anywhere.
'Okay' Jack said quietly, and intently. 'Cards on the table time. It's hard. I understand that. To forgive, to trust someone again-'
'I know I don't have the right to be angry, Captain.'
'Shh. I'm getting to the point. Interrupt me and we'll have to talk about the 1839 Newport Rising for another hour before it comes out, okay?'

A silent nod in reply, and Jack continued, fiercely.
'I expect this from you because I gave it. You said I felt cold when I was dead. It was cold. It was fucking cold, and dark, and it was the four of you who sent me there. The cyberwoman you stashed in the basement killed me twice. Owen shot me the head. So did Suzie. You say Torchwood asks too much of you, think how much it asks of me. What I get back is cute suits and stopwatches and perfect coffee, and yes, basketball games and the pub after work.'
'Is it enough?'
'It was enough to bring me back to try and answer that question.'

Ianto sighed and closed his eyes, but this time the tension was missing.
'Alright.'
'Alright what?'
'Alright I can see I'm going to lose. You're going to talk at me til I give in, probably out of guilt, and you've no doubt considered that the track down the hill is impassable in this weather so I'm stuck with you for the night anyway.'
'Always practical, my Ianto. If it's any consolation, I was hoping I could get you to give in out of lust instead.'
'You're a bastard, Jack.'
Jack considered the possibility, and shrugged.

'I'm still not coming back to Torchwood.'
'Also stubborn, my Ianto. So the giving in means I just get to share your sleeping bag for until you chuck me out at dawn?' Jack wasn't going to mention that there was more than enough space in the back of the SUV to sleep comfortably. He was good at talking, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut.
'You needn't sound so disappointed, unless you're trying to damage my already battered sense of self-worth, Captain.'

Gently and firmly, Ianto was kissed. It ended with Jack's lips curling into a smile. He pulled away, and then leaned down again and rested his forehead against Ianto's.

***

Notes: The songs appearing here are the Pogues' Lorelei, which may be the Janto song, and Dic Penderyn, which is, for the historically curious, about the Merthyr riots. I'm pretty sure it was Martyn Joseph who wrote the the original version.

Epilogue- Spring

Jack leaned against the SUV. The package in his pocket made a comfortable weight against his hip. The sun touched the edge of the mountain, and long curve of the valley was already falling into shadow, but the grass was still green and the sky was still blue. He felt liked he'd driven too far and accidentally ended up in another country. Somewhere warmer and brighter. It still smelled like Wales, though, of heath and damp earth, and the very last of the late daffodils growing in unruly clumps around Ianto's caravan along with those pale yellow things. Polysomethings, Jack thought. Estelle would have known the proper name, because it was her who'd told him, a long time ago on a day just like this.

He was drawn out of his reverie by the tiny figure of Ianto Jones striding out of the shadows under the ridge and into the light. A pair of rock climbing shoes dangled from one hand and a water bottle from the other. The canary yellow shoe leather and shiny red aluminium flask were incongruously bright, but that seemed fitting for today, when the grass was so green and the sky so blue. Ianto, in his black trousers and grey t-shirt and white skin, was a walking patch of monocrome, but he looked right. All clean lines and clear colours. Jack thought of fingerpainting and the taste of citrus fruit.

When Ianto was closer, Jack's mind turned to salt and fresh sweat instead.
'I think I took a wrong turning and ended up in Narnia instead of Wales.'
'Oh dear' Ianto said, smiling. 'I've always distrusted any allegory with talking beavers in it, Sir.'

Jack laughed loud enough to feel the sound lift into the sky, up and away. Ianto smiled placidly. The way he kept eye contact almost fooled Jack, until he felt the hand sneaking into his coat pocket.
'Hey! That's harassment!'
'You know the deal, Jack. No chocolate, no shag. Regardless of how bad a day you've had' Ianto said, in a reasonable tone. He unwrapped the chocolate bar he'd found and took a bite from the top.
'What makes you think I've had a bad day?' Jack said, drawing his coat closer to protect the rest of the hidden treats. There was a pause- Ianto didn't chew and talk at the same time. He swallowed and licked a crumb off his finger.
'Haven't you always, when you're here?'
'Not today. No. How could today be a bad day, look.'

Gently and playfully, Jack took Ianto's shoulders and turned him around, taking the opportunity to draw him closer and enjoy the scent and the weight he'd missed over the last couple of weeks. They looked out over the valley as the sun sank behind the high wall of hills. Jack pressed his nose to the skin at Ianto's neck and took a deep draught of the clean, salty smell just for the sake of it, before shifting his chin to Ianto's shoulder. More discreetly, Ianto allowed himself to settle back into Jack's warmth.

As a rule, Jack was a lot more likely to head for Ianto's little hideaway if something (or everything, this was Torchwood after all) had gone horribly wrong. Their relationship had begun with comfort and distraction, and regularly returned there throughout the short months before the Doctor's arrival. But not today. Today there'd only been a quiet, easy day at the office. In a couple of hours the stars would be out.

Epilogue- Summer

Jack had learned many things about Ianto Jones in the last few months. Most of them weren't true. For example, he now knows that Ianto was in the SAS and served with the Americans in Iraq. He saw torture, or children torn apart by cluster bombs, or just too much death- the stories differ on that point- and came home with severe post-traumatic stress disorder. Jack himself, as he heard from the unsubtly whispered conversation going on behind him in the local petrol station, is a CIA agent who comes to make sure Ianto isn't talking to the press. On the other hand, he also works for the British government, as he'd found out a month ago from the ear-bashing he received from a tiny old lady outside the bakery, who told him angrily that the Labour Party used to mean something in the mining villages and that English men should be left to fight English wars.

Smiling wryly and shaking his head as he walked through the mild, misty night, Jack got back in the SUV and headed on towards Ianto. One thing he did know was true: Ianto had never said a word about his occupation. The old woman's words reminded him of a song he'd heard in the caravan, and that piece of music lead to another in his mind. Jack sang under his breath as he opened the car door and stepped out onto the grass. A light was on in Ianto's window.

'But if my ship, which sails tomorrow
Should crash against these rocks, my sorrows
I will drown before I die
It's you I'll see, not Lorelei.'

Another voice replied, less polished but louder and stronger.

'Penderyn died for a reason
But the true charges never were read
Because Dic he lived for a union
Dic Penderyn is dead.'

Ianto was sitting in his step in the dark, scraping the mud off his boots and wiggling his toes in the grass. Jack started in surprise, and he smiled.
'Sorry Sir, I thought we singing at each other and it was the first thing that popped into mind.'

Something tight in Jack's chest eased. Another thing that was clear, he mused, was that Ianto had better night vision than him, because he found himself kissed and stroked and taken inside and undressed, then kissed and stroked some more. Maybe the stress showed in the wrinkles around his eyes. They were deepening now he was mortal again.

He'd didn't need to explain that Tosh had nearly died yesterday, or that Owen and Gwen were fucking again and hating each other for it. Jack didn't need to say anything. The bruises on his chest were lightly examined by Ianto's tongue and his hands allowed to settle in thick dark hair. It was getting longer, a reminder that he was supposed to be here to talk- no, to persuade by speech or other means- Ianto to come home, not to show him all the horror he'd left behind. He was definitely not supposed to be slipping into the old pattern of using him as stress relief.

Ianto nuzzled into Jack's collarbone with what could only be affection. Maybe he didn't mind. Maybe it was alright to do this. Maybe.

Epilogue- Autumn

There was paperwork to be done. And he should be in a telephone conference with UNIT, and if he didn't get this month's payroll sorted out by the end of the week his staff were going to be furious. Strange things were happening to manhole covers in Splott, and they were pretty sure that a clerk in the pet shop in Grangetown was up to something suspicious. Jack should have been busy. Instead, he was driving up the valleys to find Ianto. Gwen and Tosh had threatened to strip Owen naked, tie him up, cover him in strawberry jam and let the weevils loose if Jack ever, ever left the medic in charge again, and Jack knew they were capable of carrying through on their threat. But, it might either broaden his horizons or teach him a lesson, Jack rationalised, and grinned.

The sky was darkening already, and it was only just after noon. The cloud front had a blue-ish, strangely opaque look. Ianto wasn't home, Jack could tell that without even looking inside, so he followed the path up the hill. It wasn't the first time he'd walked it, and the thing that struck him the most today was the calm. Usually, the wind hit him with real physical force as soon as he crested the ridge, but now there was only stillness and silence. He could hear nothing but his own footsteps, and see nothing moving, just heather and grass and sky, and Ianto, standing on the rocks watching the heavy clouds move in.

'Funny sort of weather we're having' Jack called. Ianto looked down, with his usual calm. He showed no surprise, even though he'd had his back to the path.
'Going to get very funny indeed, if you think you're going to be able to get down that road in the snow, Captain.'

As if on cue, the first tiny flakes floated down between them.

They walked down towards the SUV and the caravan together, without speaking. Jack knew that Ianto, if he'd been a lesser man, would have made a remark about having to be quick.
'Come home with me.'
'We've talked about this.' Ianto frowned, as if Jack had broken an unspoken rule.
'Special circumstances' Jack said. 'Your weather monitoring program has been beeping at me all day. It's going to snow and snow real good, even in Cardiff. You might have the food for what- a couple of days? And it's cold in here. One little gas burner isn't enough.'
'Jack, do you think I've been idle all this time? Well I haven't. I'm a qualified Mountain Leader, and what's more, I'm not a bloody fool. I've plenty of food for a week and a four season sleeping bag. I could survive in a tent, let alone-'
'I'm not talking about survival' Jack interrupted, more forcefully than he intended. 'Why huddle in here eating cold baked beans and freezing your ass off when you could be at home with me? I've got a warm bed with new satin sheets. We can lie in it while I feed you hot apple pie and pumpkin soup and the really good special coffee we used to have when it was freezing.'
'It's always me who makes the coffee, Jack. Do you even know what goes into the really good special blend?' Ianto asked, quietly.

Jack said nothing, and after a moment of silence he continued.
'You still don't understand. Captain. I'm not punishing myself up here, or punishing you. This is where I want to be.'
'Alone' Jack replied flatly. 'In the cold and the dark.'
'I can survive here.'
'It shouldn't be about-'
'No, Jack. I'm not talking about surviving the winter. I'm talking about surviving every day as it comes. Before I go to sleep I tell myself, every night, that all I'll have to deal with in the morning is putting one foot in front of the other on the hill path, and I can just about cope. Anything more is...' Ianto trailed off and shook his head.

They were still standing outside. The snowflakes were bigger now, and starting to stick to Ianto's hair. Jack leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, by the edge of his mouth. It felt chilly already, and damp. He put his hands on Ianto's neck, on his face, and looked at the grief held in those blue eyes.
'It shouldn't be just about survival. You showed me a better way.' Jack paused, and kissed him again, lightly. 'I can handle weevil attacks and alien invasion. I can deal with Torchwood One and the Prime Minister's bullshit, and listening to Gwen and Owen bicker all day. I can. Casual sex with strangers and cold instant coffee are enough to keep me alive and awake and putting one foot in front of the other, but they are not all I want.'

Jack kissed Ianto harder this time, but still quickly, barely tasting him before pulling away. He was talking fast, because he felt close to figuring something out, and if he didn't do it now he might never. 'And sitting alone in a cold tin can waiting for the ice to melt, just surviving, is not all I want for you. Not when we can have so much more.'

Epilogue- Winter

On the drive back to Cardiff, Ianto's gaze drifted out the window. For a while his face had been a pictorial study of the phrase 'against his better judgement', but when they hit the A road, he'd taken one of the orange cream chocolate bars Jack always brought with him, and eaten it slowly and carefully. The last bite he'd fed to Jack, nodded decisively, and licked the crumbs off his fingers. Now, as the crossed the M4, he seemed to be just watching the snow fall. Traffic was already heavy with commuters trying to get home before the snow caused the usual chaos on the roads, and Jack went slowly anyway.

He wasn't in a hurry to get back to the hub. The deal with Ianto- a winter job, nothing more- was still tenuous, and Jack was treading carefully. When they got there, the first thing he'd do was talk Ianto into teaching him how to make the really good special coffee. Then, at least, he could make it as an apology when Ianto saw the state of the archives. More or less everything that had arrived in the last nine months had been cardboard-boxed and just shoved in any old how, until they'd run out of boxes. Jack didn't remember whose idea it was to start using leftover takeaway food cartons for storage of smaller items, but he did suspect that Owen wasn't always too scrupulous about scrubbing every bit of curry sauce out first. The databases had the electronic equivalent of madras sauce stains all over them as well, and as for the accounts and records... Ever looking on the bright side, Jack told himself that a short screaming fit would be good for Ianto. Let him get his feelings out in the open.

It wasn't all bad. He hadn't told Ianto, but Tosh had put her foot down and refused to let Owen dissect his trilobite-and-other-odd-rift-pool-crustacean collection. They'd all lived, except for one big stripy ammonite that had pined for its daddy and died a week after he'd left. In fact, Jack had moved most of Ianto's things into that room. Spare suit and field clothes and shaving kit. A few books and the framed picture of Lisa that had been stashed behind the second keyboard in the tourist office. Another, identically framed picture of Ianto with her in a group of people sitting in a pub, somewhere near Canary Wharf. A few less explicable things, like the unmarked postcard of a painted tile from the British Museum and a candle shaped like a sea turtle, and a lump of dark iridescent rock Jack had a vague idea was something to do with railway tracks. There wasn't much, but the traces of life were enough to make it look like someone's room, and that had been enough to prompt Jack to put a double futon in there as well. He'd had enough of single beds.

Maybe he could steal Ianto's Mountain Leader certification and get it framed, and stick it on the wall. He hadn't let it show, but Jack had been surprised by that, and the fact that he was still making mistaken assumptions about Ianto was sobering, but also pleasing. Jack loved exploring- places, times, and people.

He was delighted, anyway. The idea of Ianto alone and cut off from roads and people and, most importantly, from Jack, would have eaten at him like hungry ants. Bad enough to have him up there so far away. There were days when Jack wondered, when the phone rang, if this would be the call.

I'm sorry to inform you, Sir, Mr Jones was found dead this morning, cause of death exposure, a fall, sudden illness, suicide.

He'd wondered how careful Ianto was. If he did take a fall, how long would he lie before he was found. Once or twice, in weak moments, Jack had almost wanted Ianto to have an accident- not die, but just be hurt badly enough to need care. A dislocated shoulder or a broken leg so he'd have to go to hospital, Jack would be called, and would drive up to the rescue and bring him home. Of course he'd be grateful, they'd be even in the caring-for-one-another stakes, and they could go back to the way it used to be, fresh hot coffee on his desk first thing every morning, delivered by a man with with a gorgeous pinstriped ass and a cheeky smile.

But this was better. Infinitely harder and more fragile, but better. The man in that fantasy had the suit and the face, but when he turned around you could see he was a cardboard cutout, not a person, existing in two dimensions only. The one staring unreadably out the window as they parked, watching Gwen and Tosh throw snowballs at Owen, had his own path to follow- parallel to Jack's maybe, but his own nonetheless, and his own choices to make. He was real.

***