Title: Lovers
By: ninefics
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto (Jack/Ianto)
Rating: 13+
Spoiler(s): Series 1
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the television series Torchwood, nor any of the cast and crew. No harm is intended. It's all just for fun.

There's at least a dozen points between "partner" as defined as "working relationship" and partner in the "lifetime" sense. Over the course of time, I think Jack and I have passed through them all. Some of them several times.

We started with the working relationship, obviously. I transferred from Canary Wharf just slightly ahead of his arrival and my interview with him was cursory. Because of my history with Torchwood I was essentially guaranteed a position somewhere and it was just a matter of whether or not he would agree to have me work with him. I suppose if we hadn't reached an accord I would have moved on to Torchwood Two, which really is just an archive.

I think they thought they were doing me a service by offering me a post in Cardiff. Of course they had no way of knowing that I wasn't interested at all in being back in Wales. Still, the Rift promised at least something more interesting than wasting hours upon hours dusting relics (such as the caretaker of Torchwood Two).

I assisted him in the background checks of possible employees. I arranged interviews. I served coffee containing a dose of Jack's special amnesia drug to the ones that didn't make the cut. Fortunately I was never called upon to do that often. Our screening process was so intense that Jack only saw the people who would be best suited for the job and the interview was really just to test their nerve.

Suzie was hired almost immediately after me. Someone with skills for technology was sorely needed. The Hub was in a state of disrepair, we had a pterodactyl nesting in the water tower, and very poor control of the rift itself.

Owen was next, hired because of his skill and his attitude. Tosh was another Canary Wharf refugee like myself, although between the incident at Downing Street and then Canary Wharf, she took a few months off to compose herself. She also said she would not come to work if she had to do anything medical and cited Downing Street as her reason. The call to her was made after Owen had been in place for about a month and we were sure he'd remain.

And that was it for the longest time. We lived, worked, slept, played, and breathed Torchwood. Most of us lived near the office and later we would find out that Jack actually lived in the office.

Jack flirted with everyone and everyone flirted with Jack and we maintained a working relationship. Professional partners with a side of casual friendship. And all was well and all was well and then things got horribly bad for a while. I refer, of course, to the trouble with Lisa. That tale's been told and I feel no need to re-open those particular wounds.

After Lisa, there was a rift in our friendship that rivaled the Rift we babysat. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look at myself. I didn't know why he kept me on and I didn't know why he let me live and I wasn't entirely sure why I let myself live. I thought it must have been Jack's version of punishment. Death would have been a mercy, but letting me live and letting me keep working (in my tidy suits and my forced smile) was absolute torture.

Especially because he continued to be nice to me. The flirting kept on. He saved my life in Brecon Beacons. He didn't need to.

Then, back at the Hub, he asked me to stay after he sent everyone home. I expected to be fired. I ended up in his bed. I went willingly, but at the same time I went because I owed him. I owed him for saving my life several times over by that point. I owed him for everything and I felt like I couldn't refuse.

Jack was good. He was careful and attentive and patient and mildly surprised to find out that it wasn't my first time with another man. "So many levels to you, Ianto Jones," he murmured against the nape of my neck. "So much to discover about you."

In the morning, I felt hollow. I'd paid my debts and slept with my boss and I wanted nothing more to do with Torchwood but I couldn't leave. Some sick part of me was waiting for something. For someone to acknowledge me. Realise that I was there and I was worth something and I wasn't just there to pick up after them, even though that was exactly what I was doing. Despite everything. Despite besting them all by hiding Lisa for so long. Despite holding my own against cannibals. I was still nothing to them.

With a little prompting from Tosh, Jack came to me and spoke with me. With me. Not to me. Not at me. Not demanding answers or explanations like so many have done in the past. We talked as equals. I again ended up in his bed, but this time it was Jack who went willingly, grinning like a boy at a festival.

He died. He died and was dead for three days before rising... I know the common cliche would be to say "like Christ" but our joke was that it was more like Aslan. Gwen-as-Lucy staying devotedly beside him, not wanting anything further to happen to him. Wanting to protect his body. Owen-as-Edmund, warmly embraced upon Jack's return.

And then he left again, only to return looking tired, thinner, harder, and darker. Aged noticeably in what amounted to a few days.

This time he found his way into my bed. He slept for twenty hours punctuated by nightmares and shouts. When he woke he gave me his familiar grin (too large, too many teeth, so very predatory) and another ten hours were spent in my bed. Many of those hours were not spent in sleep.