out_there | TW Fic: Try Your Best (Think About It Later)

Title: Try Your Best (Think About It Later)
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not RTD
Notes: Continued from Part One. An AU based around the sex alien of TW 1.02, "Day One". Thanks to

oxoniensis for the fantastic and insightful beta. Thanks to

in_the_bottle for listening to my whining. Title comes from the Kaiser Chief's "Try Your Best (And Think About It Later)" because I'm a sucker for a title with parenthesis.

Summary: "The alien inside Jones," the scientist says, referring to the kid by name, "somehow sucks the energy out of people through orgasm. So far, it's been fatal three times. How did you survive?"

"I'm not easy to kill," Jack says.

***

"Even when you know the truth, sometimes it does you good to hear it," Owen says, sauntering into Jack's office and standing in front of Jack's desk, hands in his pockets. "With that in mind, I think you should tell me I'm brilliant."

"Compared to what?" Jack asks warily. He's been angry and sullen most of the day. He knows it's not fair to take it out on the team, so he pastes on a smile and tries to indulge Owen's ego.

"Compared to, oh, everyone you've ever met?"

"No."

"Compared to every doctor you've ever worked with?"

"Definitely no."

Owen frowns. "What about all the people you've employed?"

"What are we talking about?" Tosh asks, stepping inside Jack's office.

Jack doesn't say a word. He just points at Tosh and raises an eyebrow at Owen.

"Okay, fine, not in comparison to Tosh because we all know her IQ is higher than the GDP of most third-world nations," Owen rattles off, completely unaware of the sweet smile that lights Tosh's face, "but I don't think I'm asking a lot here. Just a little appreciation for my intelligence."

"I will admit that, not counting Tosh and not counting myself," Jack says, winking at Tosh, "you are the smartest person in this room."

"Oh, that's nice," Owen replies, turning to Tosh for sympathy and getting an amused shrug in return. "I spend four nights here. Instead of going out on the pull, I'm searching for a way to save UNIT Boy and when I finally figure it out, he can't even pay me a simple compliment, not even a few words of encouragement. Where's the love?"

Tosh rolls her eyes, but Jack's reaction is far more serious. "You've got a plan?" he demands, getting to his feet.

"Uh-uh. Not after you've sat there insulting me. Tell me I'm brilliant."

"You outshine supernovas," Jack says fervently.

Owen nods once. "Conference room. We'll explain all."

***

Jack hasn't believed in anything approaching religion in a long time -- excepting the Temple of T'eh'Joor since their main form of worship was group orgies and Jack didn't believe so much as heartily support the established doctrine -- but he takes a moment to pray, to hope and silently beg that this works. Then he squares his shoulders and walks into Ianto's cell.

Ianto's back on the bed, hands under his pillow and it takes him a moment to look towards the doorway. His eyes widen, and he says, "Jack." Then there's a pause, as if he doesn't know if he wants to smile or frown. "I told you not to come."

"I told you I'd be back."

A few easy strides and Jack's across the room, shrugging out of his coat. He remembers the footage Tosh showed him, remembers where he needs to drop his coat, his shirt, his t-shirt on the way to the bed. Braces loose around his hips and trouser pockets heavy with one important item, Jack pulls back the covers on the bed and gets in.

Ianto takes all of this with a fairly good-natured smile, but there's a nervousness in his eyes: terrible, desperate fear and hope mixed together. Jack hooks a leg over Ianto's -- simply because he can -- then slides his hands up under the pillow and tugs the straps free from Ianto's wrists.

"Shh," he says when Ianto starts to say his name and Ianto nods against his shoulder. Once Ianto's hands are free, Jack claims half the pillow for himself. He tugs the sheets up until they're both hidden from the camera.

"Very cosy," Ianto says softly, mouth mere inches from Jack's cheek.

Jack doesn't explain that he's doing it because Tosh can loop the audio feed longer than she can loop the visual footage. She has a soundtrack of previous encounters: silence apart from the rustle of blankets and the occasional sharp breath, a bitten-off groan or the wet sound of kissing. Inside his head, Jack gives himself until the count of five before he speaks. "I can't get you out of here."

"You--" There's a devastating second, everything showing clearly on Ianto's face. Then Ianto draws in a breath, steadying his features and his voice. "Thank you for telling me."

"I'm sorry to say it." Jack really is. It's the last thing he wants to tell Ianto, but it's the only way this will work.

Ianto runs a hand through Jack's hair, cool fingers rubbing against Jack's scalp and Jack falls silent, suddenly not sure who's comforting who. "You tried, Jack. Can't ask for more than that."

"Did you still want--" Jack stops. He needs to bring this up right, needs Ianto to agree. "If I left my gun here, would you still want it? Still use it?"

For a long minute, Ianto is as silent as a statue, striking but etched in stone. "If you're offering," he says slowly, gently, "then yes."

"I'm not offering. Well, not the gun." Jack takes a deep breath. Lying to people usually isn't this hard. "I talked to a doctor I know. He got his hands on something for me."

Jack moves a hand to his trouser pocket and pulls out a deceptively small, harmless looking needle. The liquid inside is clear with a slight orange tinge.

"Live by the hypodermic, die by the hypodermic," Ianto says dryly. At any other time, it would make Jack smile.

"Think of it as a strong sedative. It'll slow down your pulse, slow your breathing. It will affect your nerves, stop you from being able to move or feel things, but it'll be like falling asleep. It won't hurt." Owen swore it would work, but Jack still tested it himself. Apart from the mild panic of not being able to breathe -- the frightening realisation that even if he wanted to yell for help, he couldn't -- it wasn't a bad way to die. Certainly one of the nicer ways that Jack's experienced.

"Into the vein?" Ianto asks, and Jack nods. "Does it take long?"

"A few minutes. It's fairly quick." For one heartbreaking second, Ianto's gaze is pleading, asking Jack for something he can't give. All Jack can do is repeat his promise. "It won't hurt."

Ianto closes his eyes and nods. "Put it under the pillow," he says softly. Jack frowns, not understanding until Ianto adds, "I'll use it as soon as you've gone."

"I'll stay."

"You said you'd miss me," Ianto says simply, but part of it sounds like an accusation. "For me, it'll be over in a few minutes. Stay and you'll probably have nightmares for months."

"No--" Jack starts but Ianto presses his fingers to Jack's lips.

"It's okay. I can do it. I wouldn't make you watch that."

Jack kisses him, stalling for time. This wasn't a complication he'd foreseen. Ianto kisses him back desperately, fingers clawing into Jack's shoulders and Jack knows what to say when he pulls back. "I can't fix this, Ianto. But I can help it end and I can be here. I can make sure you're not alone. Let me."

He holds Ianto's gaze until Ianto sighs and gives in with a small nod.

Jack reaches up, the back of his hand brushing the cotton sheet. He traces the worry lines creasing Ianto's forehead, across the thin skin of his temples, down the prominent curve of cheekbone. "Let me do this," he says softly because Ianto seems to need a little more encouragement.

Jack waits. It feels like hours but it's probably only a minute before Ianto says, "Okay," in a small voice.

In the back of his head, Jack can hear Owen's instructions ("Forearm, find the vein. You can remember that, right, Jack? Because if you shoot this concoction into muscle it's going to hurt like hell. And it's not going to work, so find the vein."). He rubs a finger over Ianto's inner elbow, warming the skin and watching the vein become a little more prominent. He could have guessed from the track-marks on Ianto's arm but he wants to be certain.

He slides the needle in -- no resistance, no word of complaint -- and presses down the plunger. Then he pulls the needle out, gives Ianto a quick smile, and kicks his left foot out the side of the bed, free from the covers where Tosh can see. It's the signal to start looping the security feed.

Under his breath, he counts until ten. (Tosh told him to count to five but an extra few seconds caution won't hurt.) He pushes back the covers and gets out of bed, placing the empty hypodermic into his outside coat pocket.

"Job done?" Ianto asks brightly, like he expects Jack to disappear. Almost like he's trying to give permission.

"Have you ever known me to pass up the opportunity for a nap?"

Ianto shakes his head, and watches Jack get back into the bed. When Jack gets in, Ianto gives the camera above them a meaningful look. "Maybe pull the sheets back up? Stop them from watching?" he asks, and there's already a catch in his voice. It's the first noticeable stage: a slight difficulty breathing as it becomes harder to open up the chest, harder to fill the lungs completely.

"No need," Jack says and Ianto looks at him curiously. "I had one of my team hack into UNIT's servers. They're looping the security feed."

"You broke into," a pause, a breath, "UNIT's security system? Are you insane?"

"Charmingly debonair, certainly. Not insane."

"They could charge you," Ianto says, pausing for another breath. "Working against. International interests."

"They could, but they won't. I'm not taking down UNIT from the inside. I'm denying them one final peepshow. They'll live."

Ianto frowns at him reprovingly; it's a prim but quite adorable expression. "You shouldn't. Do that," he says, breathing getting quicker. That's when Jack notices the rhythm beneath his speech, the short angry gasps as he struggles for breath, trying to force his body to stay in his control. Another minute of this and Ianto will be panicking, hyperventilating himself for no good reason.

"Hey," Jack says, softening the word as much as he can. "Relax."

"At this stage," Ianto says, stubborn and scared. "I don't think. It matters. If I'm relaxed. Or not."

It's easy to get a hand on Ianto's shoulder and roll him over: there's no muscle resistance. Jack hadn't considered that the drugs might affect an ordinary person faster than they affected him. In hindsight, he probably should have.

"Okay," he says gently, "relax. I mean it, this time."

Jack shuffles closer, until their knees are brushing and their chests are touching. Then he lifts Ianto's head and puts his arm underneath.

"I feel like…" Ianto says, and Jack can feel his jaw working against Jack's bicep. His breathing sounds easier in the new position. "A rag doll."

"More like a teddy-bear," Jack replies. He rests his forehead against Ianto's. Ianto's skin already feels cool against his. He works a hand under Ianto's scrubs, fingers splayed across Ianto's back (partly to hold him close, partly to monitor his breathing.) "I met Teddy Roosevelt once. Quite a charismatic man. More so than you'd expect."

It earns Jack a smile. Jack returns it and says, "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Because going to sleep deserves a bedtime story, and bedtime stories aren't the same with your eyes open."

"Really?" Ianto asks, but the word comes out stretched, making it sound deep and strange.

Jack does his best to ignore it. "You are going to close your eyes and you're going to listen. There will be no mockery from the peanut gallery."

Ianto blinks, his reactions slowing, and then closes his eyes.

"You have very pretty eyes, you know," Jack says, since it's the first thing he thinks of. "All shades of blue and grey. Makes me think of the ocean. I grew up near the ocean. Used to play there as a kid. Run straight from my door for ten minutes and there was the beach, sea glittering across the horizon, all grey and blue. Sometimes green, depending on the weather."

Jack brushes a strand of hair back from Ianto's forehead, and Ianto mumbles something that gets trapped in slurred consonants and grumbled vowels.

"It was a proper beach, too, like the sandy ones you get here. We were surrounded by sand where I grew up. Fine white sand of the desert bleeding into the coarse yellow sand of the beach, and then sea. All sunlight and sand, hot on your skin and warm between your toes. Bright, hot skies."

Eyes closed, Ianto nods against Jack's arm, making a small contented "hmmm" noise.

"I love watching the clouds here. An entire sky, overcast and grey, full of rain waiting to fall. There's a part of me that always thinks that's amazing."

Ianto's breathing is soft, so gentle Jack has to raise fingers to Ianto's mouth to feel it.

Swallowing, Jack continues, "We never had clouds. The closest we had was dust clouds before a storm. They'd start at the horizon, near the desert but if they came all the way out to the sea, the whole sky would be a dusky burnt orange. If you watched the ground you could see swirling patterns of sunlight as the sand moved and twisted in the air, caught by the winds. It was deadly, but I loved watching it. It's one of my strongest childhood memories: being curled up under a blanket, safe inside, watching the storm pass."

When Jack raises a hand to Ianto's throat, there's no pulse. Jack closes his eyes for a moment, presses a kiss to Ianto's damp forehead, and then gets up.

Jack walks to the other side of the room. He wants a wall at his back for this. His fingers brush the ridged surface of the alien device in his pocket. It's small, only a few inches wide, a diamond-shaped, flat piece of silver but the beauty of this device isn't how it looks, it's how well it functions. Owen refers to it as an inflatable prison cell; the correct term is a personal energy barrier.

Jack palms it and waits.

It takes a little longer than expected. He'd worried that once the alien was aware of Jack's presence, once Jack offered to help Ianto die, the alien would flee one host for another. It had been the big flaw in the plan because none of them -- not Tosh, not Gwen, not Owen and certainly not Jack -- could figure out a way for Jack to resist alien invasion while pressed close to Ianto. All Owen could offer was blood-pressure medication, something to make sustaining an erection difficult, so he'd have a chance of resisting and keeping the ability to think. (As Jack said at the time, the depressing thing was that it wasn't the first time a doctor had suggested impotence would keep him alive longer.)

As Jack watches, purple-pink smoke rises from Ianto's slack lips. Jack can't decide if it looks more like a cloud or like candy floss. It swirls over Ianto's chest, getting darker, the colour becoming more vibrant. It starts gliding over to Jack, standing tall. Well, hovering tall, Jack mentally amends. There's something vaguely humanoid about its shape: a suggestion of shoulders, a hint of arms.

Jack grins. He loves this part of a mission.

This is the moment when he's honestly not sure if all their research is right, if they've interpreted the data correctly. It's the terrifying moment when things might go wrong in new and completely unknown ways. He doesn't want it to fail but this second of not-knowing, this instant of possibility is scary and exhilarating; in these moments, Jack feels alive.

Jack grips the device in his fingers. Waits until the creature is halfway across the room and then throws the device on the floor between them. It activates with a barely audible hum, a pale light streaming up, forming a cone around the smoke.

Trapped inside the energy field, the alien moans lowly, like a whale song echoing beneath the waves. It darts back forth, from one curved energy wall to the other, movements becoming hurried and desperate.

It looks like Jack's team was right: their atmosphere is deadly to the creature.

Jack thinks he should probably mourn it. It might not have come here on purpose, it might not have meant to feed on people; it might have been just as frightened and desperate to stay alive as Ianto Jones. But Jack doesn't know that for sure. What he does know is that Ianto was willing to die to keep everyone safe. If he only gets to save one of them, Jack's made his choice. He can't regret it.

But he does what he can: he stands guard as its low cries of pain become softer and its movements become more sluggish. Jack watches and he remembers. It's more than most casualties get.

The creature disintegrates into dust, falling into a pile of chalky pink powder on the floor. Jack takes a breath and snaps off a salute.

Then he jogs to his coat, pulls out the needle of adrenaline from his inside pocket and runs back to the bed. As far as needles go, it's frighteningly huge.

Jack remembers Owen's instructions. He presses his left hand flat against Ianto's chest, feels fingers along the ribcage. Counts them to three, stabs between the third and fourth rib and hopes he hits the heart. He depresses the needle, pulls it away, but there's no immediate reaction.

Jack starts CPR. Four quick presses to Ianto's chest, a deep breath into his mouth. His hands are clasped over Ianto's chest, pressing with the heel of his palm.

Halfway through the fourth one, Ianto gasps and flounders on the bed.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Jack mutters, trying to calm him down as Ianto pants for breath and tries to sit up. "Take it easy, otherwise you might feel--"

Ianto wrenches away from Jack, hand pressed to his mouth and then throws up on the floor beside the bed.

"Nauseous," Jack finishes after a moment. "Side-effect of the drugs."

Ianto wipes at his mouth with a corner of the sheet. "You..." He stops, his voice sounding gruff.

"Mint?"

Ianto nods, takes the breath mint from Jack's hand. He sucks on it, and when he speaks, his voice sounds less painful. "You had no intention of letting me die."

"Not today."

"Then why do that? Why let me think..."

Jack rubs a hand in circles against Ianto's back. "Because I needed to."

"Was I supposed to learn some great moral from throwing up? If the message was no big meals before suicide, you could have told me."

"No lesson. It was the only way I could turn the creature inside you into that pile of dust," Jack replies with a grin, pointing to the powder sitting in the middle of the floor.

Ianto blinks at it. Then at Jack. He looks as if he doesn't know what to think. Or what to feel. "I'm free?"

"Not… technically," Jack says sheepishly. "Technically, you're still UNIT's prisoner and still a non-citizen. Also, your family and friends think you're dead and we can't tell them otherwise without being charged under the Official Secrets Act. Trust me, telling loved ones that you were abducted because of aliens is never a good idea, no matter what Gwen says."

"Gwen?"

"One of my team. You'll like her." Jack pauses, trying to imagine Ianto in the Hub. Trying to imagine how Ianto would fit around Owen's jagged edges, around Gwen's soft, embracing welcome, around Tosh's straight lines of honour and compassion. "I think you'd like all the team, actually."

"Does it seem likely I'll ever meet them?" The words aren't particularly helpful but there's a gentle humour in Ianto's tone that Jack hasn't heard before.

"I'm thinking," Jack says slowly, putting the plan together as he goes. When he talked about this with the team, they hadn't planned beyond saving Ianto's life from alien threat. "I'm thinking I should apply to UNIT to have custody of you."

"I'd be your prisoner?" There's a sharp smirk, a raised eyebrow. Ianto clearly finds this quite amusing.

"You could be in my custody. Come see my secret hideout."

The smirk gets a little sharper. "I thought I'd already seen--"

Ianto's interrupted by a pounding on the door, and UNIT guards with guns and berets but a noticeable lack of hazmat suits -- Jack really should talk to them about their standard emergency response planning.

"Captain Harkness," one of them calls out. "You need to step out of the cell now."

Jack rolls his eyes to Ianto. To the guards, he replies, "Give me a minute to grab my coat."

"Sir, the security system has been compromised and--"

"Yes, I'm coming. Really." With a sigh, he turns back to Ianto and says, "Stay here."

"I'll do my best."

***

Over the next two hours, Jack repeats his story to no less than four separate ranks. By the time they get to the General, Jack is really, really sick of repeating himself.

"Alien's destroyed, the kid is fine. Do you need to know details?"

The General harrumphs, shuffles paper and says, "If it were up to me, I'd be holding you in custody too, Captain Harkness." The way he says 'captain' makes it clear he doubts the veracity of Jack's title. Jack considers that vaguely unfair, given that -- this time -- he earned it.

"And yet, you're not." Jack smirks, loving the way the General's face flushes angrily. Jack might not have enough favours to get Ianto out of here, but his history's long enough to ensure he'll walk out of this. If he were anyone else, he'd already be in an adjoining cell.

"No," the General says after a moment, "we're not. But we are holding Jones. I assume you can see yourself out, Captain."

"There's absolutely no need--" Jack says, standing up, but the General talks through him.

"It's not your call to make. We'll be holding the boy until we're absolutely certain your story is accurate."

"He isn't a threat. He isn't a danger," Jack says, or possibly yells. He's frustrated and annoyed, and he hates this kind of bureaucracy. He hates the type of mind that thinks in simple, petty swirls of ego and one-upmanship. "There is no need for him to stay here."

"Scientific curiosity," Dr Whitten supplies, blinking small beady eyes. "We need to make sure there aren't any permanent effects. That it wasn't part of a reproduction cycle, for instance. For all we know, Jones is still a host, just an unaware one."

Since Jack inherited Torchwood Three, he's squabbled with UNIT far too many times not to recognise a reasonable argument. There is a possibility that they're right -- very slim, but it's there -- and he doesn't have the right to take that risk with every life in Cardiff.

So he accepts defeat gracefully and stands with a small smile. "When this is done, when he's cleared, he's a Torchwood staff member. He comes back to us."

"When this is over, when UNIT is certain he is no longer a threat, we'll discuss what happens with Jones," the General replies smugly, leaning back in his chair.

Jack does not punch him, does not shout and does not consider shooting everyone in the room; instead, he nods once and walks out. In some ways, working with UNIT has really made him grow as a person.

***

Jack can be patient. He thinks fondly of Estelle, remembers how long it took for her to agree to dance with him, let alone go on an unescorted moonlit walk with him.

Jack has the capacity for patience, but he lacks the inclination for it.

After the first week goes by, Jack starts to worry. Jack tries not to let it show to the rest of the team; he doesn't want them to think their fearless leader is sitting around wondering where his sweetheart is and what he's doing, but it's difficult. He tries to serenely accept being kept on hold for over an hour every time he calls UNIT and gets the same message ('when anything changes, he will be informed'). When he shows unannounced for a quick visit -- wanting to check on Ianto's health, wanting to be sure Ianto is still in the country -- the guards actually raise arms against him and escort him out at gunpoint.

Finally, Jack asks Tosh, who shrugs and twists a strand of dark hair between caramel-toned fingers. "If I could, Jack," she says worriedly.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that UNIT's put some serious time into increasing their security systems and keeping me out of there. It's supposedly impenetrable."

"You can't get in?"

"Give me a few days, maybe a week. Half of the code is being randomly generated and it's not something that easy to predict--" Tosh cuts herself off, shrugging and ducking her head to the side. "As soon as I break through, I'll let you know. But right now, it's hard to push their system without being noticed."

There's nothing left for Jack to say but, "Thank you," and resist the urge to ask her again.

***

So Jack keeps himself busy any way he can. He scans the Rift, tracks down aliens, snuffles out devices like a hog hunting for truffles. He volunteers to drive five hours out of Cardiff to tell a visiting platoon of Wulfriki to take their shore leave on some other planet (but he noticed Gwen's worried glance as he left).

Jack scrubs a hand through his hair and waits for a red traffic light, and tries not to think about the colour of Ianto's eyes. The taste of his skin. He knows he shouldn't brood on the situation: he's waiting for UNIT, waiting for scientists and their studies, waiting for forms signed in triplicate before he'll see Ianto again. The trouble with working for secret organisations is that there's never a clear complaints procedure, so there's nothing Jack can do.

Being helpless, being trapped, only frustrates Jack more.

Jack's in the middle of not thinking about Ianto -- not thinking about his hands, the solid warmth of his torso under Jack's fingers, the heat of his skin under Jack's mouth -- when his phone chirrups.

The text message from Owen is simple and to the point: Meet me at Eli's.

If it were an alien threat, Owen would say to bring weapons so Jack assumes it's only a social visit. He parks outside and walks in to find Owen sitting in a booth, nursing two beers.

"Here," Owen says, waving Jack over, "sit."

"I'm not really in the mood," Jack says, forcing a smile anyway.

Owen rolls his eyes and pushes a glass in Jack's direction. "I didn't ask if you were in the mood."

"Aren't social gatherings supposed to have an element of--"

"If you go back to the Hub and snipe at Tosh one more time, she will find a way to target your inbox with spam and reset all your passwords. She threatened to come up with even more inventive revenge if I didn't keep you out of the Hub tonight." Owen pulled a face. "And Tosh can be frighteningly inventive so sit down and have a drink."

Jack blinks and drops into the chair opposite Owen. His fingers curl loosely around the cool glass, but he doesn't drink. "I haven't been that bad," he says finally.

"That bad and worse."

"I can apologise to the girls in the morning."

Shrugging, Owen raises his glass and half empties it in three sharp swallows.

Jack watches Owen's throat move, the Adam's apple bobbing up and down, but he doesn't think anything lascivious or lustful. He just notes it absently. "I didn't think I'd been that bad," Jack says, and this time, it's almost an apology.

"Forget it. We understand, but if we have to spend one more night with you moping around your office, looking heartbroken and miserable, one of us is going to snap. My money's on Gwen," Owen adds with a nasty smile. "Next time you pull that fake cheer and the 'I'm not criticising you but I just wanted to point out this little nitpick' routine, I think Gwen and Tosh might combine forces and castrate you."

Jack laughs. He can't help it. His team has always been... imaginative. "Well, I wouldn't want that."

"I'm sure the hundred people in Cardiff you haven't slept with yet would mourn it too."

They sit quietly for a while: Owen quietly drinking and leering at a girl at the bar, Jack staring into his glass. Jack doesn't even have the heart to eavesdrop on other people's conversations. The pub's half-full and upbeat pop music bleeds through the speakers, occasional loud spikes of laughter cutting through it.

Normally, Jack enjoys spending time around crowds, likes seeing people enjoy themselves, hearing them talking, watching them smile and flirt, ignorant and petty and wonderful, going about everyday lives, celebrating meaningless victories and bemoaning every disappointment. It makes Jack feel fond of this time, of the simplicity of the people with their tiny concerns and surprisingly large compassion.

But tonight, it makes him feel alone. It makes him feel the distance of being the only person who knows, an adult surrounded by children playing.

It must show on his face, because Owen gives him a look and says, "Oh god. Please. Stop looking like this is a funeral. We're having a drink, not mourning the dearly departed."

"Must you be so obnoxious?"

"If you're going to be this much of a drama queen," Owen shoots back, but there's a smile hidden amongst the sarcasm, "then yes. Come on. The kid's safe. Sure, he's being held by UNIT and they're on some stupid little power trip and not letting you talk to him, but he's safe. Ever heard of being thankful for the small things?"

"I'm thankful," Jack bites back.

Owen gives him another stare, but doesn't point out that Jack's moping like a teenager. (Jack knows this. His team knows this. Jack doesn't need the obvious stated to him.) "Finish your beer and I'll buy the next one."

Jack downs his in a few fast gulps and shoves his empty glass at Owen. While he watches Owen order drinks at the bar -- complete with pathetic attempts at flirting with the girl sitting there, who is clearly not interested -- Jack takes a deep breath and tries to shake himself out of his bad temper.

Yet again, he internally debates the wisdom of breaking into UNIT and taking Ianto by force. Pro: he'd get to see Ianto again. Con: Jack would probably see him through shared prison bars.

Owen returns to the table with whisky for both of them. Jack takes it gratefully, content to drink in silence.

Well, until Owen swishes the last mouthful around the bottom of his glass and says, "I've never seen you..."

Jack raises an eyebrow.

"I've never seen you like this. So... smitten."

Jack doesn't have anything to say to that, so he shrugs and places his own empty glass on the table.

"I never thought that was your type," Owen says, because he's physically unable to resist indulging his curiosity.

Jack stares at Owen. It's been a long week and Jack doesn't feel up to translating twenty-first century context into a conversation like this. "Is this going to be a man-woman thing?" he asks tiredly.

"Nah. I always figured you were--" Owen flops a limp-wristed hand Jack. "Look at the way you dress. I've been telling Tosh for years that you're not straight."

"Categories," Jack mutters but Owen ignores him.

"Also, I've seen you pull blokes. That's nothing new. But I've never seen you..." Owen waves a hand vaguely from Jack's head to Jack's waist, and flitters it back and forth. As far as hand gestures go, it's not particularly meaningful. "I've never seen you give a damn about seeing them again. Always figured you retconned half of them."

"I do," Jack says, and despite Owen's cynicism, he seems surprised by Jack's admission. "If they're witnesses, I can't let them remember and it's very easy to slip retcon into coffee the next morning."

"But you want UNIT Boy to remember?"

"I like him."

"You like everyone."

"Yeah, I do," Jack replies with a self-deprecating grin, "but I really like him."

Owen gives him a sharp smile. "Enough that you'd be willing to blackmail UNIT?"

"If I had anything that juicy, I would have used it already."

"But if you had something, theoretically, you'd be willing, right?" There's something in Owen's tone that makes Jack very, very wary.

"Owen," he says warningly, "what have you done?"

"I haven't done anything." There's just enough smugness in his tone that Jack believes him. "Tosh, on the other hand..."

Before Jack can say anything, Owen stands up and waves.

It's a matter of instinct, of reflex, to turn and see who Owen's waving to.

At the other end of the pub, Tosh and Gwen walk in, beaming widely. Between them, Ianto walks arm in arm with them. Jack checks him out head-to-foot, notices the simple t-shirt and hoodie, jeans and Adidas sneakers. Jack takes a moment to appreciate the denim stretched tight across Ianto's thighs, and then drags his eyes back up to meet Ianto's bright smile.

"How in the world did you do this?" Jack hisses to Owen. He spares Owen a quick glance and then looks back across the room, fearing Ianto will disappear if he looks away too long.

"It was Tosh," Owen says proudly. "She blackmailed them. Took control of their servers and threatened to wipe out their databanks if they didn't release him."

Jack tries but he can't wipe the smile from his face. "I should be scared of your combined initiative," he says through his teeth as the girls approach with their willing prize in tow.

"Gwen, Tosh," Jack says, nodding a welcome and letting his voice drop lower, "Ianto."

"We have a new Torchwood employee," Gwen says, grinning at him. "Thought we should make a night of it."

***

The night goes surprisingly well. Gwen and Owen only argue the once and it's not about anything serious -- the Premiership and Cardiff's chances of ever making it -- but they squabble back and forth, enjoying the fight like children, until Ianto says, "Actually, I think Gwen's right."

"Like you'd know," Owen replies. "You've been locked away from civilisation for weeks. You don't have a clue."

"Yeah. Because it's not like we have a world wide system of interconnected computers, which stores information on the most trivial subjects and records everyone's opinions on everything. Oh, wait--" Ianto pauses, a finger on his chin and looks up at the ceiling as if he's genuinely searching his memory for this, "I'm forgetting about the internet, aren't I?"

Tosh giggles into her drink. It's pink and fruity and something that Jack is definitely trying next time.

"Oh, yeah, believe some wanker with a keyboard over me. I'm sure they know better," Owen grumbles but there's nothing spiteful in it. It's just Owen being opinionated as always. "Doesn't matter what Unit Boy here thinks, there's no way they're getting into the final. Just no way, Gwen."

Gwen makes some biting reply that has Owen spluttering and quoting figures, or making up statistics as he goes, but Jack doesn't pay much attention. He's distracted by the press of Ianto's lower lip against the glass when he drinks, the curve of his cheeks flushed pink with alcohol. The way his eyes crinkle into cat-like slits as he laughs at Gwen's reply. There's something cheeky, something promising, in that Cheshire Cat expression, and Jack spends a good while contemplating where he'd need to tickle to cause that same laughter.

Jack's jolted from his enjoyable reverie by Owen elbowing him in the ribs. "Oi, your round."

Jack shakes his head and looks around at the empty glasses on the table. "Didn't I just pay for drinks?"

"Yeah, you paid, then we paid. Now it's your turn again."

"Perfectly fair," Gwen adds in, looking for all the world like she's trying very, very hard not to smile.

Jack could argue the point but at the other side of the table, sitting between Tosh and Gwen, Ianto's watching them all with amusement, eyes darting back and forth as they pretend to argue.

"Fine," Jack says, admitting defeat, "but we're all having what Tosh is drinking."

"Oh, come on," Owen whines and Tosh says, "Sex on the beach."

Jack stares at her. "What?"

"That's the name of the drink. Sex on the beach."

There's a pause, silence around the table, and then Owen says, "It's no fun when the innuendo's that obvious."

Jack nods. "I was thinking the same thing."

Jack stands up, shuffles past Owen and then hears Ianto ask, "Jack?"

Maybe Owen's right: maybe smitten is the right word. All it takes is that one word, the vowels softened and stretched by that musical accent, and Jack's grinning, happy to buy the team whatever they want. Give them the world in payment, if they asked for it. Ianto's still paused, waiting for a reply so Jack tilts his head and gives a small gentlemanly bow. "Yes?"

Ianto smiles and then points at his almost empty beer glass. "If it's possible, I'd prefer a Guinness."

"That proves he's a Welshman," Gwen mutters, "prefers beer to sex."

Jack doesn't correct her. He just heads to the bar.

He ends up talking to the girl who Owen's been persistently trying to chat up all night. She subtly tries to initiate conversation and then asks outright if Owen's really a doctor at the local hospital. Jack's feeling generous, full of good will towards -- well, if not the whole world then at least his team -- so he shakes his head and says, "No, he isn't."

She turns to her friend. "I knew it."

"He works for Doctors Without Borders," Jack mentions casually, as if the subject is too boring for him to care about. "He's staying in Cardiff for a few nights before he leaves again. He's got this stupid hang-up about telling girls. Thinks it'll make him look sleazy or something."

It's not the most outrageous lie Jack's told for the sake of sex (he once convinced an entire town he was the Crown Prince of Arethia) but it's probably the biggest lie he's ever told to get someone else laid. Jack's pretty sure it works because she turns towards Owen with a speculative gleam in her eye.

Jack asks nicely for a tray for the drinks, and gets one. When he gets back to the table, Ianto's gone. The toilets are on the far side of the bar so Jack would've seen Ianto pass, but...

"Quit looking so concerned," Owen says. "He stepped out to get some air."

"He said something about there being more people in here than he's seen in a month," Tosh supplies helpfully.

"Out in the beer garden," Gwen adds.

Owen picks up the glass of Guinness and takes a sip. At Jack's reprimanding stare, he says, "What? He's not here."

Jack continues staring until Owen finally says, "Fine, I'll buy him another one when he gets back," then Jack nods and heads outside.

Jack finds Ianto leaning against the brick wall, one knee bent up and head tilted back, staring at the dark sky above them. It's not cold -- not for Cardiff, anyway -- but there's a chill in the air that makes Jack huddle into his coat as he stands beside Ianto.

"Too many people?" Jack asks and Ianto startles, looking over and giving Jack a sheepish smile.

"Just a few." Ianto goes back to looking up. "I know it's only been a few weeks, but it feels like years since I've seen the night sky."

"I did promise to make you see stars, Ianto Jones."

Ianto snorts in amusement, but there's a tightness to his smile. "Should we go back to the others?" he asks, pushing himself off the wall.

"No." Jack says and Ianto looks surprised. "Let's stay here. Talk. Just us."

Ianto glances away so Jack waits. He listens to the pop music muted by walls and windows, the chatter and squeals of conversation silenced to a soft susurrus, like distant swarms of locusts. The light above them falls on Ianto's cheekbones and casts shadows down his cheeks. It makes him look older and far more dangerous than he ever did in those white scrubs.

"What happens now?" Ianto asks softly.

"Whatever you want."

"Jack." It's a soft reprimand. "I was being serious."

Jack doesn't mention that he was being perfectly serious too. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Ianto sighs, shrugs, looks anywhere but at Jack's face. "I mean, how does this work? Tonight's been fun and all, but I'd like to know what being in Torchwood custody means. Judging by today, I'd assume I'm to stay at the Hub, keep underground with occasional escorted trips above."

Jack shakes his head. "I want you working for me."

"Better than being bored," Ianto says, sounding as if he's making the best of a situation he has no control over.

"No, I want you working for me. Same as the others. An employee. You show up, set your own roster. As long as I get seventy hours a fortnight, I don't care when you do them. You get paid, rent a place of your own. Run like hell when I call. That's the quick sales pitch."

"For how long?" Ianto leans shoulders against the wall, turning to face Jack. "Is there a time limit on this? If I work for you for a year, for two, for five, and all goes well, will I be free to leave? Or is this an 'until I die' contract?"

Jack's been a conman -- a very good conman -- long enough to know the most tempting illusion in life is choice. Make a man (or woman, or gender neutral) believe they have the power to walk away at any time, and they'll follow to the edge of the sun. Tell them they're imprisoned and they'll find a way to break free.

"You could leave now," Jack says. He knows it's the right thing to say because Ianto's head whips up and he stares at Jack, eyes narrowed, carefully watching. "Well, not right now. Tosh would need a bit of time to get a false identity in place and a passport organised, then there's flights and fake backgrounds, but we could do it in a few days, at a rush. Then you could go."

"Go where?"

"I don't want you within a hundred miles of London," Jack says firmly and Ianto nods, "but anywhere else is fine. Your choice. No retcon. You need to remember why you can't go to London, why you can't contact family and friends. But if you want to, you can start a new life, unleash that seductive accent on a whole new language."

Ianto watches him and gives a small, slight nod, like he's not even aware he's doing it. "Anywhere, huh?"

"I want you to stay in touch, though. You move around, change cities, let us know."

"Like parole? Check in with a case worker?"

"More like keeping a friend informed," Jack says amiably. "A friend who might get slapped over the wrist by UNIT if the guy who's technically in our custody disappears completely. As long as we know the city, we can tell them you're undercover and they can't do a thing about it."

"Say I'm undercover for Torchwood outside of Great Britain?" Ianto raises an eyebrow. It's an unnecessary gesture given the level of sarcasm in his tone. "I'm sure that would work."

"We could say it was--" Jack frowns, thinking. "A smuggling ring, smuggling alien artefacts into the country. We could say we tracked it back to wherever you are and we're waiting for more information."

"You could think of a cover story for anything, can't you?"

Jack grins widely. "It's a skill."

Jack waits. Not for a direct answer -- he doesn't expect one right now -- but he expects to hear rationalisations, reasoning. The trick is to listen to a man explain the situation to himself and read between the lines. It's enough to tell you what the final answer will be.

It takes a while, then Ianto shrugs and says, "You know, I thought about applying for a transfer after London fell."

"You didn't?"

"Nobody knew where Torchwood Four was. Torchwood Two is a hereditary position, more of a title than a working office, and you lot made it clear during clean-up that you wanted nothing more to do with the organisation as a whole. Transferring didn't seem... viable."

Those are all good reasons for not transferring but Jack's instincts say it's not the real reason Ianto didn't apply, so he waits in silence until Ianto adds, "Lisa wouldn't have..." Then he shrugs again.

"I thought she worked for Torchwood One?"

Ianto's mouth purses as he thinks. It's an expression Jack appreciates for purely shallow reasons. "After she saw what happened, after we had to help clean up, Lisa didn't want anything to do with Torchwood, with dangerous secrets and splinter groups. Besides, all her family's in London. She wouldn't have left."

There's a certain lack of remorse as Ianto says it and Jack wonders if they argued about this, if there were fights in the middle of the night, screaming across the bedroom. Or if Ianto simply held his peace, and compromised what he wanted for who he wanted.

Jack makes an effort to keep his voice light. "Consider this a transfer without the paperwork."

"There's always paperwork."

"Spoken like a true government employee."

Ianto smiles, shaking his head. "A true government employee would point out that there's always meetings and filing to be done too."

"We're pretty light on the meetings. As for the filing," Jack waves a hand, smiling his most charming smile, "it's a fairly idiosyncratic system."

Ianto buries his head in his hands but Jack can see from the curve of his cheek that he's smiling. "Filing is supposed to be methodical."

"I have a highly individualistic team. Everyone has their own methods."

Ianto looks up to stare balefully at him. "Meaning there's no overall record-keeping system in place, right? What if you need information and the person who filed it isn't around to remember where it was put? You need--" Ianto stops, mouth hanging open for a second before he closes it.

"What?"

"About the job," Ianto says, adding, "Do you need an answer now?"

"No." Jack shakes his head. He doesn't need to hear Ianto say it; he already knows what the answer is. He'd bet his pistol that deep down, Ianto's already making plans to sort out their filing and stay long enough that the others learn the system. (Knowing Jack's team, that means forever.) "Why don't you come work with us for a few weeks, maybe a little longer. Think of it as a trial period. Find out if you can stand Owen five days a week without wanting to, well, without actually killing him since I'm pretty sure everyone wants to kill Owen at some point. If you decide you don't want to stay, we can make the arrangements then."

Ianto nods. He licks his lips, a quick swipe of red tongue that catches Jack's attention. "What about this?"

"What about what?" Jack asks.

"You and me. If I work for you, is shagging the boss part of the duty statement?"

"Would that be a deal-breaker?" Jack asks straight back.

He expects Ianto's answer to be coy, possibly a touch flirtatious, but Ianto says, "No," so quickly it makes Jack's breath catch.