Title: The Cold, Clear Night Sky
By: _usakeh_
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Every Torchwood fangirl must write at least one Jack/Ianto story, I suppose. This is mine. I wrote it for taffimai, who gave me the prompt "cold, clear night sky." Thank you, taffimai! I hope that you enjoy this.

***

They stood atop the ledge, together. Jack had his hand on Ianto’s shoulder. His touch was light; it was almost as if he were guiding the other man, clearing a path towards his destination.

“Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Jones?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing much to tell, sir,” Ianto replied, his tone as crisp and controlled as ever. “Just looking out at the city.”

“Of all the places in the world, those aliens just have to keep coming here, don’t they?” Jack chuckled. “Odd destination, eh?”

“It’s the Rift, sir.”

“Always so literal, you are,” Jack replied, leaning in towards the other man. “Of course it’s the Rift. I was just thinking about all the other cities they could visit, all the places they could see. And yet they end up here. Funny, no?”

“It’s the only city I’ve ever seen,” Ianto said with a shrug, “except for London.”

“That so?” Jack turned to Ianto, and – just for a second – made the other man his whole world. Ianto would never have all of him; nobody ever did. He’d be hurt if he let himself believe that he would. Jack could already tell the younger man was beginning to long for it, to wish for it. He wanted to warn him against that sort of attachment; he just couldn’t seem to find the right time to tell him. To tell him why he couldn’t get too close. “Well,” Jack continued, drawing Ianto into an embrace, “we’ll have to change that sometime, won’t we?”

“I don’t know about that. We don’t have time to go on trips, sir.”

“You’re such a stickler for the rules, Mr. Jones. Real shame, that is.” Jack shook his head in mock disapproval. “Guess we’ll have to do the best with what we’ve got, then,” he added, reaching towards Ianto and drawing him into a long kiss. When he pulled back he studied his lover carefully. In fifty years – if he got lucky and made it out of Torchwood alive – Ianto would be old, and he, Jack, would be unchanged. In a hundred the young, vibrant man standing before him would be dead. Years ago, he’d had to remind himself about that in order to ensure that he didn’t get to close. That way it wouldn’t hurt quite as much, when it happened. Now there was no need of that. It came automatically.

“I suppose you’re right, sir.” Ianto’s breath formed small white clouds in the cold air surrounding them. Jack always found it hard to believe that his lovers would ever age, would ever cease breathing. They were always so young and so beautiful. And yet they did. They always did.

“The cold, clear night sky,” Jack said at last, gazing upwards, “Cardiff,” he continued, gesturing out at the city lights, “and you. Ianto Jones.” He repeated the name slowly, savoring it. He never forgot their names. He vowed that he never would. He’d remember every single one of them; it was the least, really, that he could do. “It could be worse,” Jack concluded, bringing Ianto into another kiss.

“Yes, sir,” Ianto managed when they separated again. “It certainly could.”

***