Title: He Looks Good In A Suit
By: bittersweet
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Summary: This one is my rather demented attempt to pin down what Ianto's job consists of.
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, but I do own naked hide and seek. And I always cheat.

***

"Where is my coffee? I have no coffee. Why is coffee gone?"

"Ianto's not here today, Owen. Jack has taken him to that conference up in London. You remember? They'll be back this evening."

"But... why is coffee gone?"

Gwen sighed. She should have predicted this... she should have grabbed Starbucks on the way here. Still, Owen was such a child sometimes.

"Blasted bloody teaboy, blasted coffee, stupid feral coffee machine..."

Ah. So he had tried to make some himself. That would explain the steam burns on his hands. In the corner Gwen caught a glimpse of Tosh staring at her screen like a zombie. It seemed Owen wasn't the only one suffering from caffeine withdrawal.

"You know, it isn't exactly in Ianto's job description to fetch us all coffee. You take him for granted."

Ianto hadn't expected a warm welcome, and he wasn't disappointed. After all, he was Torchwood One, and what little he knew about Torchwood Cardiff told him that this was not the best recommendation. The two women, Toshiko Sato and Suzie Costello, were polite but distant, clearly wondering why he was there. Owen Harper, the skinny doctor with the perpetual scowl, swaggered out of his chair - an impressive feat, when you consider the physiology of it – and looked him up and down with a shameless smirk.

"Hey, Jack... never mentioned that the creepy stalker of yours was a child. Are we hiring direct from school now?"

Even Jack didn't seem to have any idea what to do with him. He gave a brief introduction, something along the lines of 'This is Ianto Jones, born August 18th 1983, a drifter through his teens till he joined Torchwood One in London as a junior researcher. He's offered to be our butler, and he looks so nice in a suit I just had to say yes', and then left without a word of instruction.

"Great. Exactly what a crack team of alien hunters needs, Jack. A teaboy. Bloody hell."

"Owen!"

"Lay off, Tosh."

Ianto left them arguing and went to find the coffee machine. It was an old habit – when in doubt, make coffee. People liked you if you brought them coffee. Besides, if he could at least appear useful, it would be the first step to becoming indispensable – he needed for Jack to not regret a job offer that had, in reality, been based on adrenalin, sexual tension and a nice suit.

He quickly found the makeshift kitchen, and right in the centre stood an enormous coffee machine, as strangely alien in its shape as every other piece of equipment in this place. It almost throbbed; all twisted pipes and oddly shaped nozzles, screaming the promise of dark, rich caffeine infused darkness. It was ominous. But it was also a coffee machine, and if Ianto knew about anything he knew about coffee.

Fifteen minutes later he emerged triumphant.

"Coffee, anyone?"

"Yeah, that would be- hang on! What! Where the hell did you get that?"

"The... the coffee machine... it was on, so I..."

Tosh let out a little gasp. Suzie glanced up, coldly amused. Owen was on his feet now, approaching Ianto with an expression of horror.

"You made coffee? With the coffee machine?"

Ianto gave them his best blank look.

"Yes. Is that wrong?"

"No one has ever managed to make that machine work - "

"It's alien, and for a while we thought it was sentient -"

"There were instructions written in blood on the back... we never translated them -"

"Last time I tried I swear it bit me -"

"What's going on here?"

Jack had reappeared, and seeing Ianto holding coffee, grinned. Ianto risked a small smile back, and Jack did exactly what he had done not three days ago, when a stranger had turned up on his doorstep holding out coffee and begging for a chance. He took a cup, and took a gulp. Then he sighed with blatant pleasure.

"Just as good the second time round."

Owen made a strangled noise. Tosh looked uncertain, then took a cup and tried it. Her face lit up.

"Ianto... this is excellent! How did you do it?"

Uh...I know coffee. I worked the coffee shops from Cardiff to London when I was... drifting... as you put it, Sir." Ianto paused, feeling the explanation was somewhat inadequate. "It's sort of my thing."

Jack gave him a wink that Ianto was sure not only violated the Sexual Conduct in the Workplace Regulation booklet, but ripped it apart, scrunched it up, jumped up and down on the pieces and burnt what was left.

"Yeah. I noticed. Welcome aboard, Mr Jones."

"Of course it's his job to get me coffee... he's the bloody teaboy, isn't he?"

"That's complete bullshit, Owen."

"Really? Well, what is his job then? And why does he get taken up to a fancy London security conference?"

Gwen opened her mouth to reply, then found herself floundering. All she could think of was the way Jack had introduced him - This is Ianto Jones. Ianto cleans up after us and gets us everywhere on time... and he looks good in a suit - an insultingly dismissive description at best, not to mention inaccurate. Mercifully, Tosh came to the rescue.

"We all know he's the best person to take to that conference – he's the only one who connects this place to the outside world. He's general support, Owen. The archivist, the manager, the administrator..."

Ianto gravitated to the archives almost immediately. It was in his nature, the same way it was in his nature to serve steaming hot coffee on every desk before the others arrived, to pick up Owen's pizza boxes, and buy Tosh lunch when she forgot to eat. The same way it was in his nature to tidy up the tourist shop, even if it was just a front, and occasionally sit at the desk to guide their few visitors through.

They were, by far, the worst archives he had ever seen. Owen flat out refused to do paperwork. Tosh didn't really see the point in it if it couldn't be double encrypted and ghosted onto a separate hard drive. Suzie lived in her own world, and Jack... well, Jack just filed everything under "A" for alien. Still, Ianto never backed down from a challenge. Besides, Jack seemed to approve his choice of work, though he suspected that might have more to do with the fact the he was bending over a lot. In neatly fitted suit trousers.

Within a month he knew the archives inside out. He could find anything in minutes, and could tell you not only what shelf the item was on but which heavy piece of alien armour on the shelf above was likely to fall on your head if you weren't careful. He knew most files backwards, and had memorised the personnel reports dating back twenty years. He knew this was bordering on obsessive – Owen made sure he never forgot, giving him funny looks and muttering "unnatural" under his breath – but he also knew that it came from a need to control something in a life that had, so far, been largely dictated by unpredictable external forces.

The politics of Torchwood One, the things that had happened to him as a teen on the streets of London and Cardiff, Canary Wharf, Lisa... and now Jack, an overwhelming personality who took Ianto's life by storm. The archives were his refuge, the only way he could cope. Not that he would ever try to explain the reason behind his excessive knowledge. He'd just say what he always said.

"Don't you remember? I know everything."

"Yeah... well what does that mean any way?"

No one took the bait, both girls finding concentration increasingly difficult without their drug of choice. Gwen considered a foray into the kitchen, but Owen's burns looked really nasty.

"I'll tell you: it's a dressed up way of saying he cleans up after us and does our paperwork. Big deal."

Gwen frowned slightly. The banter between Owen and Ianto often got quite... well, interesting... but she was sure he genuinely liked the young Welshman.

"Do you really believe that?"

She said it quietly, looking into his eyes as she did. He had the grace to look embarrassed, and turned away. When he replied he spoke equally softly.

"Ah... 'course I don't. I've worked with him longer than you have, girlie. I've cleared away bodies with him. I've watched him be the undertaker for this place. That kid... he's a soldier. "

Of everything he was forced to endure in this job, Owen hated this the most. The bodies. They were both only in their teens – the idiots had been completely hammered, but they hadn't deserved to run into a three weevils at midnight. Now they were dead, and there was nothing he could damn well do about it. This time, though, his anger found itself directed straight at the new teaboy.

"The injuries are in line with a car accident. Their car is just over the hill. It will take a minute, but if we -"

"What are you suggesting?"

Ianto stopped, surprised, but Owen was just getting started.

"You gonna tidy this all away, is that it? Two children are fucking dead and you want to make it go away? Huh... why am I surprised? You're Torchwood One. Don't think I don't know how you lot work. Witnesses, victims, anyone who steps out of line – all end up retconned or a body dumped in a fucking lake! What is it exactly that they do to make you accept that? What do they do to you, up in London?"

The bloody teaboy never made any attempt to defend himself. In the face of this stoic acceptance Owen's tirade faltered and died. Only then did the kid break eye contact, staring past Owen with a strange look in his eyes.

"They make you into a soldier. Whether or not that is what you want... they don't care."

The words were murmured softly, clearly not intended for Owens ears. A moment later and Ianto was staring back at him, the strange expression gone. Owen wasn't even sure that the kid realised he had spoken out loud.

"What do you normally do? Leave them? Do you really think it is kinder to leave them like this? To put the family through months of investigation that will lead to nothing? To have them wondering, always, exactly how and why their children died? It's a lie, I know, but surely it's better -"

"Fuck you! Don't you dare preach to me. Don't you dare pretend you give a shit. All you want is tidy paperwork, a story that is neat enough to put on file and feed to the police. You make me sick."

He walked away then, too angry to care anymore, leaving Ianto standing motionless beside the two bodies. The worst part of it all was, he wasn't sure he was right this time. And he was always right.

The next morning, Owen arrived earlier than usual. Ianto was the only one there, as he expected, sitting alone in the empty Hub, his eyes fixed on the news report on his computer screen. The voice of some blonde reporter filled the air.

"In other news, two fatalities occurred last night on the highway, leading to a renewed push for drink-driving awareness. Leslie Corr, 16, and Joseph Lloyd, 18, died at approximately midnight last night... "

He'd done it. Alone, too... it would have taken all night. Owen took a deep breath and walked over, trying not to imagine what the cleanup had involved. He hadn't been able to forget Ianto's words, or deny that the same thoughts crossed his mind, only he could never bring himself to carry it through. Not that he was ashamed of that – he'd rather be a coward than a soldier; a military pawn in a ruthless game. He didn't think Ianto had had that choice. As he reached the desk the kid spun round in his chair, looking up at Owen. He looked for all the world like he expected to be hit, but he didn't make a move, just waited. The planned words died in Owen's throat. He couldn't bring himself to apologise. It wasn't his way. Still, he had to say something. Clearing his throat, he tried to keep his voice light-hearted.

"Next time... next time run it past me first. Understand? That way I can make sure you do it right."

"What are you two whispering about?"

Tosh's bright smile almost hid the flicker of jealousy. Owen flinched away from Gwen, and in an instant the façade was back.

"Gwen was berating my lack of appreciation for the teaboy's talents. Which is completely unfair. I have a lot of respect for that coffee."

***

"Gwen was berating my lack of appreciation for the teaboy's talents. Which is completely unfair. I have a lot of respect for that coffee."

"Not to mention the dry cleaning."

"And feeding the pterodactyl."

...

...

"Is it weird that I miss him already?"

"No, Tosh."

"Yes it is!"

"Shuttup, Owen."

"Yeah, well... it's just nice to have someone around who understands me."

The first time Tosh caught Ianto completing a piece of work she had left running she was surprised, but didn't think much of it. The second time he did it, this time running several of her tasks without missing a beat, she started to get suspicious.

"That was pretty neat work there. For a junior researcher."

Ianto started, and then gave her a wide eyed, worried smile. He really was very nervous.

"Sorry. I thought you'd left... I was just finishing up. It wasn't that complicated – up in London they're so paranoid you need a couple of dozen passwords just to get to your payslip. You learn to adapt. I've probably used the programs before anyway. Research in Torchwood...well, you know."

She did know... but since the programs were her own handmade ones it was unlikely he'd ever seen anything resembling them before, and curiosity flourished. She didn't have access to his file, true, but she was reasonably certain there was nothing stopping her getting to his recruitment papers. She had salvaged the records of Torchwood One; she had things in her hard drive Jack didn't know about, things no one was supposed to know about. Personnel records wouldn't be a problem.

As soon as he left she practically jumped at her computer. It only took a few minutes to extract the file, though the lack of cross-referenced indexing meant she had to manually scroll through the entire list of Jones' – quite a few, unsurprisingly. Finally she arrived at 'Ianto', and opened it. A quick look through negated her suspicion. He really had just been a researcher – a receptionist, really. She scrolled down further. No indication of extra projects, special assignments...the only thing out of place was the little blue and white icon at the bottom...

Tosh felt her blood run cold. She knew that little icon. She'd seen it before, many times. Nearly every military and government organisation had it, or a variation of it. It was a warning, denoting an individual who had a possibly psychologically damaging past; occasionally domestic violence, most commonly sexual abuse. She was so horrified she never noticed the door to the Hub sliding open.

"Tosh, I forgot to ask you -"

Somehow Tosh knew it was too late, and she didn't even try to exit out. Ianto froze, eyes fixed on the screen. And the cursor blinking just on top of that damned blue and white icon. She could imagine what he was thinking – now she knew what to look for there was nothing he could do to stop her getting the details. After what seemed an eternity he spoke, in a small, almost lost voice.

"It's not in my file. I took it out. Please... please don't tell Jack."

Tosh nodded, stumbling over her own tongue to apologise. She, of all people, should have known not to do this.

"I'm so sorry, Ianto. So sorry. I won't tell anyone, I promise. You have a right to your privacy. Especially... especially about that."

"You'll find it in most of those files. Up in London they like the broken ones. The ones who... won't be missed."

Tosh thought about heavy doors, cold dark rooms and orange jumpsuits, sirens and then, out of nowhere, Jack.

"They do something similar here."

Ianto shared a look with her, conveying an understanding, a mutual need for privacy. For a while both were silent.

"Would you like to grab something to eat, Ianto? Before you go home?"

"Yes. I...Thank you, Tosh."

They ended up having fish and chips, that being the only option at two in the morning. They ate in companionable silence, the first of many shared late night meals. She never asked him about what she'd seen. He never asked her about what she'd said. They didn't need to. They both understood the importance of discretion.

Gwen gave Tosh a curious look. The quiet queen of the computers blushed, and quickly changed the tone.

"I mean... who understands what I'm talking about. You all call it geeky gibberish... just because you're ignorant."

"Hey!"

"Face it, Tosh. No one understands what you talk about. Ever."

"Ianto does. He knew how to depressurize and refragment the copro-seismic dynogenerator, even after the third decryption firewall was down, and -"

"Will you two just SHUT UP? I do not want to hear about how wonderful Ianto is. I am not part of his little fan club. And I still don't have any coffee, which is making me twitchy."

...

...

"He takes care of all the phone calls, too."

"ARRRGHH! SHUT UP!"

"Phone calls?"

"Yeah, you know, the official stuff. The army, UNIT... all that stuff."

"I thought that was Jack's job."

Gwen sniggered.

"It used to be..."

There was no discussion, no particular moment when the decision was made. After Jack left, Gwen slowly started to take his place, the change happening so naturally that even she didn't notice until it was too late. She found the situation almost ridiculous. After all, she was the newest recruit, the one who knew least about Torchwood.

She needn't have worried, though – despite their seniority on paper, Tosh and Owen had no interest in playing Captain. They far preferred to dominate in their specific fields. As for Ianto... to her eternal shame she never really considered him, so perfectly did he fit the role of silently efficient aide. It was exactly one week after Jack left that Gwen realised she couldn't do it without Ianto...and all because of a phone call.

She was searching through Jack's office when the phone rang. This was rare enough in itself. They all avoided Jack's office. Nobody touched anything. But sometimes they needed something – a piece of paper, an artefact – that lay in there, untouched since Jack left. Today it was a small black box that had fallen through the rifts months ago that may or may not be the missing piece in Tosh's latest project, and Tosh was certain Jack had had it last. She hesitated, then took the call.

"Hello?"

"You're not... where is Captain Harkness? Hurry up, woman. This is UNIT. I am General Bridges, the Commander of Military Intelligence and I will not be kept waiting!"

"Uh...I...hang on –"

Shit! Who was he? What the hell was UNIT? Ianto must have seen the look on her face through the glass of the door, because within seconds he was standing beside her, a raised eyebrow indicating a silent question and concern in his eyes. Gwen held the phone slightly away from her, staring at it as if it were about to explode, and mouthed the words 'General of UNIT', then for good measure added 'What the fuck?'. She fought down panic – nymphomaniac gas-creatures and weevils were one thing, but how was she going to talk to a General?

Inexplicably, Ianto seemed to relax at this. Gwen glared at him. Stupid unshakeable teaboy. He never had to deal with this stuff. A tiny twitch of the lips, a smile quickly hidden...then Ianto had taken the phone from her and was lifting it to his mouth. When he spoke, his tone was perfectly modulated without a hint of nervousness, just the right balance between self-assured and submissive.

"Ianto Jones, General Support for Torchwood Cardiff. How may I be of assistance, Sir? No, I'm afraid Captain Jack is unavailable. If you require anything I will do my best... no, I'm afraid that is classified. Yes, I know who you are... I'm sure you can. But that does not change the fact – ah. How many people? I understand. I'll see what I can do..."

Gwen left him at it. The next day, she went into Jack's office and unplugged the phone, wordlessly taking it and placing it on Ianto's desk. The young Welshman didn't speak, but nodded with an almost imperceptible smile. On impulse, Gwen hugged him fiercely before blushing and fleeing back to work. Tosh watched the silent exchange with a smile, Owen with curiosity.

When Jack returned, desks and phones were hurriedly reshuffled, everything put back the way it had been. He charmed his way back into their lives without a hitch. Until the phone rang. As soon as she heard the tone Gwen started grinning. There was a short muffled conversation, and then Jack emerged with an expression of utter bemusement.

"Ianto?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Why did the Prime Minister just scream at me that she refuses to talk to anyone but you?"

"... but while he was gone Ianto took over so I wouldn't have to do it. Now they only want Ianto on the line. After all, can you imagine the Prime Minister trying to deal with Jack? He's on first name terms with most of them. Besides... he's the only one who could explain away the temporary loan of a fighter jet, bowling alley, two trucks of Cadbury's and several footmen to the Queen."

For a moment all three of them bathed in the memory of Jack's ill-fated attempt at a group bonding session. Predictably, Owen broke the silence.

"Well that's just bloody typical, isn't it? I can barely get entry into clubs and the bloody teaboy has the bloody Prime Minister and the goddamned palace on speed dial."

"Oh, give it a rest with the 'teaboy'. We've just spent the last hour discussing how inaccurate that description is..."

Tosh nodded her agreement. Owen opened his mouth as if to reply, but then leaned back in his chair with a smug expression.

"I can think of one more thing Ianto does around here. Something he deserves a hell of a pay rise for."

"What?"

Tosh looked innocently curious, but Gwen had a sneaking suspicion she knew what he was going to say.

Ianto Jones had always understood his terms of employment – it hadn't been the weevil, or the pterodactyl that had got him the job. It had been the almost-kiss, the moment where their bodies pressed together, faces only a fraction of a centimetre apart, lips just missing each other. He knew that, and if fucking the boss was what it took, then so be it. But the moment never came... Jack never demanded what Ianto was, for Lisa, willing to give.

The first time he slept with Jack it was about giving him comfort. He had seen the pain, the loneliness in Jack's face as he replaced Suzie's body with the countless others he must have had to say goodbye to. He could not feel anger towards someone who sacrificed so much. After all that Jack had given him, all the forgiveness and trust, Ianto had just wanted to give something back. So he offered comfort the only way Jack really understood... he propositioned him with a stopwatch.

Somewhere along the line gratitude became love. He wasn't quite sure when – the physical attraction had always been there, on both sides – but he suddenly needed Jack in a way he couldn't explain or understand. He was sure that they had was more than just sex, but he never, ever expected Jack to love him back. It was ridiculous to even consider it. It was selfish to ask Jack to invest emotionally in someone who would only live for what, to him, was the blink of an eye. It was enough to love him, to be there for him when the loneliness became too much to handle alone. He was content with what Jack was able to give, the way that he could make Ianto feel, if only for a moment, worth something. He understood it couldn't last.

And yet, it did last. It survived Jack's departure, and it survived his return. When Jack came back he never said where he had been, but something had changed. Jack stayed the night now, and tried so hard to do things properly, the "21st century way". Almost like love. Ianto had no idea why, and one morning as they lay together in his bed, Jack whispering affectionate nothings in his ear, the need to know overwhelmed him.

"What happened, Jack? What changed? Why... why waste your time on me?"

There was no misunderstanding the question. Jack froze, and then turned away. Were those... tears? Jack so hated anyone seeing him vulnerable. Ianto suddenly wished he hadn't spoken. He wanted to go back to the moment before, when Jack had been happy. Why had he gone and spoiled it?

"I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

Jack stiffened, then pulled Ianto close, still not looking at him.

"No, I want to tell you. It's just... difficult. So many things - you died, Yan. I lost you. I only realised how much you mean to me when I lost you." Jack hesitated, and finally their eyes met. "I'm the one who should be sorry. You aren't a waste of time, Yan. You're anything but. I'm sorry I ever let you think that."

"Jack...you never have to say sorry to me. No matter what."

The first time he slept with Jack it was about giving him comfort. Sometimes, it still was. Of course, it was also about lust, and fun, and the creative use of stopwatches and jellybeans and Gwen's old handcuffs. Occasionally it was to convince Jack that it really was worth his while to be polite to the Minister of Defence for just one day. Usually, though, it was about the need to belong to someone, completely and utterly. If that wasn't love, Ianto decided, it was close enough.

"Well, Owen? What is it?"

"Can't guess, Tosh?"

"Owen, if this is what I think it is..."

"Maybe it is, Gwen. Personally I think it's obvious. He shags the boss on a pretty regular basis...no wonder Jack took him up there...I'd bet you anything he's bent over a conference desk right about now-"

"OWEN!"

Two mugs smashed against the wall in exactly the place Owen's head had been a few moments previously. Laughing maniacally, he ran for it, the two girls hot in pursuit. He was going to pay for that... but it had been worth it.

Now all he had to do was remember to delete the CCTV footage of that little comment, or there would be no coffee for a month.

And that was a fate truly worse than death.

***