Title: Stuck in the middle with you

Author: m_findlow

Rating: PG

Length: 1,452 words

Content notes: None

Author notes: Written for Challenge 408 - Doubt

Summary: Ianto is torn between his new life and his old life.

Ianto stared blankly into the pot on the stove, watching the oats swirl around in the warming milk as they cooked. Swirl, swirl, swirl. It was easier to watch them mindlessly moving with the motion of the spoon than it was to think. He had too much on his mind and not enough proper sleep.

Stir, stir, stir. Milk slowly being absorbed into the grains, turning into an off white slurry. Perhaps somewhere at the bottom of that pot was the answer to his questions.

Without noticing, someone had approached him from behind. Hands slinked their way around his sides, careful not to crease his shirt or get tangled in the buttons. A head rested on his shoulder and he felt the slight prickle of unshaven sideburns against his ear. Whilst Ianto might have been fully dressed, Jack was still there in borrowed pyjamas and a long sleeve t-shirt. He'd been here in London long enough to go out and buy a few new clothes but he was still wearing hand me down pyjamas that were, if not perfectly fitted, at least close enough.

Nothing was said as they stood there, Jack wrapped around his body as he continued to cook breakfast. He hadn't expected Jack to get up at all. He rarely did, preferring to wait until Ianto had left the apartment before rising. He was usually either feigning, or perhaps genuinely, asleep, until Ianto was long gone from the place. It was largely how they both liked it. This whole having to confront each other every morning was more than Ianto could deal with.

As much as he enjoyed being held, he was going to have to move. The porridge was close to ready and there was nothing worse than overdone porridge. Without words, Jack backed away, giving him space to move from the stove to the kitchen counter. It was shameful to feel a sense of relief at being freed from Jack's guilt ridden clutches, even for only a moment. He knew those arms would be back soon enough. When they returned he'd have even more mixed feelings about having them there.

He stared down into the pot. He'd only made enough for one by rights, but he pulled out two bowls from the cupboard and began splitting it up, as if he'd always meant it to be breakfast for two. He grabbed a tin of sliced peaches from the cupboard and worked the ring pull on the top of the can. He could throw a few slices on top and it would bulk out the bowls, hiding the evidence of a breakfast meant to be eaten alone.
Jack enveloped him once more as he worked the can. He could feel his every movement being watched; studied, perhaps. The fork poked into the can once more and laid another slice of peach on top of the bowl. He counted them out. One, two, three, four.

‘Come back to Cardiff with me,’ Jack finally said.

Ianto set the fork down on the bench. He'd known this was coming. Jack had been talking for weeks about going back to restart Torchwood. He just hadn't actually done it, nor had he asked for Ianto's views on the matter. Jack didn't know what to do with himself without Torchwood; sitting here all day in Ianto's apartment, broken up by bad daytime television and the occasional walk outside – enjoying giving UNIT's spies the run-around as they continued to surveil his movements even though Ianto had expressly asked them not to. He knew that so long as Jack Harkness was in London they'd have eyes on him. His relationship, for want of a better term, with Ianto was enough to bother them. Ianto was UNIT now, and anything that threatened that was taken seriously. Not that Ianto knew what threat Jack posed. He was homeless, unemployed and drifting without purpose.

‘I…’ how was he supposed to tell Jack he didn't want to go? His life had been upended three times already. Each time, he'd escaped, jumping between Cardiff and London, setting himself up with new lives. He'd done it again after the 456 had killed him. He'd survived, and what happened afterwards had made him question everything. Skulking back to London had been a desperate act, and though he'd been unpopular for most of the eight months he'd been here working at UNIT to root out all their bad eggs, he had found himself a purpose. A purpose that wasn't going to get him killed, with any luck. He'd been cavalier about his life before, but now he had a second chance to do things right this time. He was no use to anyone dead.

That Jack had finally come back had only complicated things. Jack wanting him back should have been simple. Instead he wasn't sure what they were anymore – sex when either of them were in the mood, but everything else felt somehow broken. Jack was trying, after a fashion. It was Ianto who couldn't find a way to fall back into how things had been before.

He felt Jack's hand on his hip as he leaned even further forward over Ianto's shoulder. ‘What?’

‘I have doubts.’ There, he'd said it.

He felt Jack's head cock slightly. ‘About Torchwood?’

He forced himself to turn in Jack's arms, breakfast forgotten. He needed to at least have the guts to look Jack in the eye. ‘About us. Do you really see this working out? What's changed?’

Jack's frown was devastating. ‘We… we still love each other, right?’ A hand reached up and brushed his cheek. ‘I love you.’

He wished he could say it back but the words stuck in his throat. He did love Jack in his own way, but there was so much water under that particular bridge that he thought he might drown in it. He'd walked out on Jack when he'd no longer been able to live with the awful truth between them that Jack had sacrificed his own grandson to save the planet, and that up until that moment he'd continued to lie to Ianto about everything else. Jack had done nothing to stop him that day he'd moved out of his own flat, leaving Jack to occupy it if he wanted. Then Jack had planned on turning up months later, one last time before leaving Earth for good. Except it turned out Ianto wasn't really ready for life without Jack entirely, thus their makeshift existence until they could work things out. Assuming that was even possible.

Before he had a chance to say anything, Jack's lips engulfed him in the slowest, most tender of kisses. It was so very unlike Jack, that demonstration of absolute adoration and devotion. Jack had never kissed him like this before he'd died, not even after they'd first been reunited. This was a different Jack. One that wanted him because he had nothing else left.

‘I don't think going back is the answer,’ Ianto said, wishing Jack’s desperation wasn’t so obvious and that he was letting Jack down. He didn't know what the answer was, but trying to pretend nothing had changed didn't feel like it.

Jack’s eyebrows knitted together as he tried to interpret Ianto’s reticence. ‘The rift hasn't stopped just because we haven't been there.’

‘Gwen has been managing it,’ he argued. Why did it always have to be their problem?

‘With a three month old on her hip,’ Jack reminded him. ‘It'll be different this time,’ he promised. ‘The three of us, back together. We can rebuild it better than before.’

Ianto chewed his lip. ‘I have a life here.’ He didn't really. He had a job, and a nice apartment. He didn't have friends or a life outside of work. He just had Jack, the occasional shag and part-time evening television viewing cohort.

Jack pulled away slightly. ‘Without me?’

‘I didn't say that.’ This strange cocoon in which they'd ensconced themselves in London was a work in progress, a stepping stone to something else, he just wasn't sure what. Maybe it went nowhere. Maybe they were just kidding themselves that life as it had been before was just a fleeting thing.

‘Okay,’ Jack finally said. ‘We don't need to decide right now.’ What he meant was that he was giving Ianto more time to change his mind. He grabbed his bowl of porridge and pecked Ianto on the cheek. ‘Thanks for this,’ he said, disappearing back to the bedroom, bowl in hand.

Ianto sighed and took the second bowl, tipping it straight into the kitchen tidy, grabbing his keys and heading to work without eating. The trouble wasn't that Ianto had doubts. The trouble was that Jack had already decided.