Keep Watching

by: rancidaluminum

Summary: Jack learns more about Ianto over a quiet night in than he expected. Little piece of fluff for a rainy day.

Disclaimer: The usual stuff. Not mine.

"More wine?"

Ianto looked up from a reverie to see Jack's eyes gleaming back at him, a slight smile drowsily painted on his square face. He was holding a bottle of wine in one hand, poised above Ianto's own glass. Jack's usually perfect hair was messy tonight, a testament either to the wine he had already gulped down or, as Ianto preferred to believe, being extremely comfortable in the presence of the younger Welshman. They were currently seated on the floor of Ianto's small but tidy flat, sharing a home-cooked meal on the oversized coffee table.

Ianto held up a hand, politely declining the offer."I think I've reached my limit, thanks."

Jack flashed a grin, that flirty, irresistible grin. "Come on, the night is still young, and there's still another bottle in the kitchen. I opened it earlier to let the tannins breathe."

With a raised eyebrow, Ianto retorted, "You don't know a thing about tannins, Jack."

"Sounded good, though." He filled Ianto's glass halfway despite the protest, and with a defeated sigh the other man raised the glass to his lips and drank. "That's better."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get me drunk."

There was that grin again.

"Right. Thought as much."

Jack looked at him as innocently as he could muster. "I just happen to think Italian food goes well with wine- and so does Ianto Jones."

Ianto's face didn't show any emotion, and he looked Jack in the eyes. "You think anything, and anyone, goes well with a bit of wine. Sir." A slight raise in the corner of his mouth appeared, betraying his amusement for just a moment.

Jack laughed and shook his head. "No argument here. But I don't exactly need to get you drunk. It's just a bit more fun that way."

"Well, unfortunately for you, I have a conference call with UNIT and the prime minister early in the morning. Your 'fun' will have to wait for another night."

"Can't we put that off?"

Ianto gave him a pointed look. "We already have. That's why I am doing it tomorrow instead of last Tuesday. And Friday. And why you are not going to be sitting-in this time."

In response, Jack leered at him, mouth open to retort but Ianto beat him to it.

"And no, you are not going to sit-in off-screen long enough to make me uncomfortable in front of everyone. I couldn't look the Brigadier in the eyes for a month after last time. You can't be trusted to be in the room with me." Ianto stood up, pretending to ignore Jack's disappointed look, and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water.

From the kitchen table, Ianto's phone buzzed noisily, and Jack hastily picked it up. "Ianto's phone, Jack speaking."

Ianto hurried back into the living room, bare feet scuffing along the wooden floor. He almost tripped, spilling a bit of water on the ground but recovering quickly. "Jack, no. Give me the phone."

Jack held a finger up.

"Jack." A quiet plea.

"Who is this? And has anyone ever told you that you have an absolutely sultry phone voice?"

"Jack. Give me. The phone." Ianto's face was flushed, and he held his hand out impatiently. "Please."

"Ianto's never mentioned a sister before. You Joneses and your secrets- or is it just Ianto?" He paused, listening, then his face brightened and he broke into a laugh. "That does sound like him. Rhiannon, is it? Let me see if he's available." He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and looked at Ianto, a mock serious expression on his face. "Are you available, Mr. Jones?"

Only Jack could make that sentence sound so damn sensual, Ianto thought with an involuntary shudder. Coming back to his senses, he quickly snatched the phone and headed back into the kitchen. "Hi, Rhi. No, that was nobody. Sorry."

Jack took advantage of being alone by looking around the flat, devoid of much character or anything that might be considered a luxury. It was, in typical Ianto fashion, immaculate, with little to no actual sign that anyone was currently living there. The sofa looked straight out of the factory, the coffee table lacking anything beyond the food they were currently working on, and nothing else in the room besides a small bookcase with a handful of books. Jack stood, wine glass in hand, not trailing his usual greatcoat. They were both dressed casually this evening, Ianto in a beige hoodie and jeans, and Jack in a white button-down shirt, braces dangling from his waist.

Walking to the bookcase, Jack took a sip of his wine and examined the bookcase with interest. It consisted of mostly classics, Shakespeare and Hemingway and Austen, but there was one thing that didn't quite fit- a thin blue photo album. Jack frowned. It was the first thing he had ever seen in the flat that was even remotely personal. He glanced toward the kitchen, but Ianto was still deep in conversation in the other room.

"No, Rhi," Ianto sighed from the other room with a strain in his voice that Jack had come to recognize whenever he was asked about his personal life. "I'm fine. Really. I'm sorry I haven't called, I've just been... yeah. Busy. Sorry."

Jack grabbed the photo album and sat, cross-legged in front of the bookcase. He flipped through it, and when he saw that it was actually full of proof of a life outside of Torchwood, his heart leapt in his chest. Smiling, he flipped through with the silent glee of a man getting a glimpse into a secret world. There were photos of Ianto as a child, posing with a lazy grin and an arm around an older girl- no doubt his sister- and of the two of them in front of a large white house, and one of a very young Ianto looking up at what might be his mother lovingly. She was lovely, with dark brown curls falling over her shoulders and a wide, contagious smile, and it was clear from his face that Ianto loved her. There were more pictures of her than anyone else. She looked ill, Jack thought with a start, and after the turn of a few pages she disappeared completely from the book. More of Rhiannon and Ianto, teenagers now, no longer joyfully holding each other, but pressed together uncomfortably for their parents' sake. Then a picture of Ianto, looking at his feet, hair in his face and a leather jacket tight across his chest. This one Jack traced with a finger, resisting the urge to take it for his own.

There was only one picture of Ianto with his father, and Jack looked at it for a few seconds. It seemed to tell more of a story than most of the other pictures, but he couldn't quite be sure what exactly the story was. Ianto looked 15, maybe, and stood dutifully next to the older man. His father had an arm on his son's shoulder, but it was placed there stonily and without emotion. Ianto looked unhappy, and was looking away from the camera, close enough only for his father's arm to reach him but no closer. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and the wind had made his hair messy. His father seemed a large man, dressed in nice trousers and a collared shirt despite his son's holey t-shirt and faded jeans.

Jack suddenly wanted very much to know this Ianto, the one before Lisa, before Canary Wharf, and more importantly, before Torchwood and Jack Harkness. This Ianto had his own demons, ones that were so painful that Jack hadn't even heard so much as a hint of them. They were well-buried, and he wanted suddenly to unearth them.

The pictures following were the kind of impersonal photos one would get in a Christmas card. Rhiannon and small family, husband and two children, over the years. None taken from his own camera, nothing that would indicate any sort of life outside of his work. There were a few empty pages toward the end where, Jack surmised, Lisa must have been. Then it ended, with two pictures on the final page. One was of Tosh, Gwen and Owen that they had taken a few months ago at Toshiko's birthday party at the pub down the road. The last was an old, yellowing newspaper clipping of Jack- a very old obituary. One of the few, actually. Who knew how Ianto had actually managed to find the thing, but then again he wasn't their archivist for nothing. Jack smiled, a warm feeling growing in him.

"Yeah, I will. No, I really will, I promise. Yeah. Bye, Rhi. Tell Johnny hello, and the kids. Okay, bye." Ianto came back in and plopped down on the couch. "Sorry," he said, leaning forward for the wine and taking a big gulp. "She has a tendency to... talk. I wish you hadn't answered it, she wouldn't stop asking about you. Wondering who the handsome American is that is over so late in the evening. As if she could tell you were handsome over the phone."

"Well, was she wrong?" Jack grinned cheekily from the floor.

"Completely beside the point." He frowned. "What have you got there?"

Jack held the photo album up wordlessly.

"Found that, did you," he said quietly.

"It wasn't exactly cleverly hidden. Why have I not seen this before?" Jack got up and joined Ianto on the couch.

"You have a tendency to specifically not pay attention to my books when you come over." The attempt to be playful was forced.

"Hey, I pay attention. I pay plenty attention, especially when it comes to you, and this album was definitely not here before."

Another sigh, another mouthful of wine. "Rhiannon just found it, actually. Cleaning out her attic. Thought I might want to hang on to it since I don't have any photos lying around, 'cept for those last two. And one of those was just a clipping I found in the archives awhile back."

"So I noticed."

Ianto once again blushed and looked at his feet. "Yeah, well, I don't exactly have anything to remember you by. I had to cheat a bit."

Jack leaned into Ianto, a surprisingly gentle show of affection from a man he had seldom seen do anything sentimental. Ianto didn't say anything but he was pleased by the simple act. He put his head against Jack's and leaned further back into the couch, breathing contentedly with his eyes closed and his hand sitting lightly on Jack's thigh. Moments like these were rare but welcome. Ianto was more accustomed to Jack's ravenous moods than his occasional affectionate ones.

"Tell me about her." The statement had Jack's usual commanding presence but without any real force.

"Who?" It was obvious who, and Ianto was clearly stalling. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Ianto. Please?" He placed the album softly on Ianto's knee. "You must have really loved her."

Ianto sat forward, the tender moment lost immediately as he turned cold in an instant. "I have that thing. Conference call tomorrow. You should probably go." He began stacking the dishes and cleaning the table off icily and without another word.

Jack reached up a hand to stop him. "Ianto, stop. Hey, come on." No response. "Ianto."

The dishes clattered to the ground, shattering, and Jack couldn't be sure if it was an accident or if they had been thrown to the ground. But despite the slightest sign of frustration, Ianto's face revealed no emotions. Dutifully, he bent down and began cleaning up the mess, gathering broken shards in his hands. His voice even and quiet, he did not make eye contact as he spoke. "Leave it alone, Jack. I appreciate the sentiment but let's keep our personal lives separate from... whatever this is that we're doing."

Jack was taken aback and did not bother to hide it. "Excuse me, what exactly is it that we're 'doing'?" He knelt down to help pick up broken bits of plate and silverware.

"You know what I mean. The 'part-time shag' thing."

"The what? You been talking to Owen? I seem to remember a homemade dinner and candles and where I'm from folks consider that a date. "

"Jack."

"Ianto. Look, I think maybe one of us is confused about this relationship and I'm honestly not sure which one of us it is."

Ianto sat up on his knees but still refused to meet Jack's eyes. "I'm not trying to be hurtful, I just don't want to ruin this with delusions of grandeur. What we have is nice, but it's never going to be..."

"Going to be what? What Gwen and Rhys have?"

Ianto scoffed. "Gwen and Rhys don't even have 'what Gwen and Rhys have'. If you wanted Gwen just enough to give her hope, she'd drop Rhys in a heartbeat."

"Alright, fine. I'm not interested in what they have. I don't want a traditional relationship. I don't want stability and marriage and rugby matches with some college buddies, or whatever it is couples like them do."

"I'm not sure that's exactly what they do..."

Jack interrupted. "Not the point. I don't want all that. I don't want routine- I want excitement. I want the nontraditional. I want the undefined because it lacks boundaries and labels and all the baggage that comes with it, and I just want, well, right now I just want you. Because you are the most caring and wonderful man I know, because you are sexier in a suit than any man has a right to be, because you can hold your own in a fight, and because I look at the kid in the picture in his leather jacket and I just want to know him. I want to know you. I want-"

"It was cancer."

A slight pause. "Okay, not exactly the response I was hoping for."

"My mum. You asked. She had cancer."

"Oh." Jack struggled to think of anything to say. He felt foolish for such a big display only to lose words when it really counted. "I'm sorry."

Ianto rubbed his arm absently. "Yeah, well. I was 15. I've had some time to come to terms with it." He looked at Jack and thought for a second, then hesitantly, more honestly, added, "I thought about running away. You know, just for a little while. Only Dad seemed to disappear after that, spending most of the time at the pub, and Rhiannon was still at home and even though she's the eldest, I felt like somehow it was my responsibility to be there for her. So I decided that was more important than my own selfishness, and I did my best to be okay. And I got myself into a little trouble, but mostly I was okay, so long as I didn't think too much about it. It's been ten years, and I still don't want to think about it, really."

"You've always been so responsible. Hell, you're the most grown-up of all of us."

Ianto smiled sadly. "Someone has to be. You certainly aren't going to be the adult. Not sure you're capable of such an atrocity."

"Ouch," Jack feigned dramatically. Then he stood up and offered the younger man his hand. "Come on, let's get you off the floor. I think you've done the best you can do."

Looking up, Ianto looked dubious. "The floor is still covered in... plate. I'm not even close to being done."

"Let the cleaning lady get it in the morning." He helped pull Ianto up from the ground and used his hands to wipe off the bits of shard stuck in his clothes.

"Jack, I don't have a-"

He was cut off by a soft kiss, sweet lips pressed firmly against his own, more gentle than any other kiss Jack had given him. He wanted to protest, the thought of leaving a mess for the morning distracting, but the kiss was so warm and full of longing that he couldn't pull himself away. Instead he gave himself into it, bringing his arms around Jack's waist and coming to rest with his palms up against those broad shoulder blades. He pulled himself closer and tilted his head to the right just a little, the way he knew Jack liked it. Jack's approval came in the form of a quiet moan, and in the kiss that suddenly developed a burning need to devour. Ianto grasped at his lover and matched his desire. They stumbled clumsily from the rubble and towards the bedroom.

"Didn't know you had romantic in you," Ianto managed between kisses.

"Oh, you just keep watching, Ianto Jones. You have no idea."