Rating: G

Word count: ~ 1,500

Warnings: Excessive sap, and enough fluff to create a choking hazard.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the creators, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: When Ianto loves, he does so with his whole heart and no hesitation. There's no need for him to say the words—sometimes, actions speak loudest of all.

A/N 1: Because someone asked, I just wanted to say that my habit of writing in the present tense is because that was the first type of verb I learned in English, and the one I'm still best with. Forgive me if it gets old, but it's easier for me to keep myself straight without a beta that way.

A/N 2: Hah! I can write non-angst Torchwood fics! HAH!

Until the Moonlight Fades

Ianto has never, ever been sensible when it comes to love. He's never particularly wanted to be, either, because love is by its very nature irrational. It is a depth of connection between two people that has no biological reason to exist. Ianto cannot, will not, explain it away as anything but a miracle, two hearts coming together despite all odds. Love is a gift, not a burden, not something to be dissected and studied, and, if given the chance, Ianto loves with every single bit of his heart.

He loved Lisa that way, to the point of blindness, and even though it resulted in the deaths of two innocents, he would not have changed their love for anything. He still loves her, too, but with memory instead of heart, reminiscence rather than immediacy.

Jack is the first one in his heart.

It's a good love, even more than most of them. Jack is wonderful and warm and funny and so beautiful. Like electricity in his veins, and Ianto is addicted. He cannot possibly love Jack any more than he already does, though he respects Jack's desire to keep his distance and doesn't burden him with the knowledge. That's all right, though—Jack is still loved, and he must know it, even if only subconsciously, because Ianto is hardly trying to hide it. He spends almost every night with Jack at the Hub, his own apartment growing dusty and disused because he uses it for little more than storage. Jack knows all of the secrets Ianto can bear to tell him, from the fact that Ianto wanted to be James Bond's M as a child to the fact that red is his favorite color.

(It wasn't before, but Jack doesn't really need to know that, does he?)

Gwen is gone, undoubtedly home with Rhys and more than likely cooing over his wounded arm. Ianto stands in the doorway of Jack's office, watching the Captain. Jack has his head bowed, a defeated slump to his shoulders that should never be, and Ianto would give anything in this moment to fix it, to turn back the clock on this day and make it so that Jack never has to suffer the pain of being second when he always puts his team first.

Owen and Tosh have gone, or wherever they usually go after work—Ianto's noticed that Owen seems to be spending quite a bit of time at Tosh's house now, watching movies, or perhaps watching her sleep. It's sweet, in a tragic sort of way. However, that means he and Jack are alone in the Hub, and that they've again left Jack to deal with emotional fallout of an event on his own.

Ianto's not like them. He won't be. Can't, because he loves Jack too damned much. Jack expects loyalty, because he gives loyalty, and they've all betrayed each other and been forgiven. Ianto is perhaps the only one that knows the wounds still bleed, somewhere deep inside Jack's psyche.

There's a way to help that, though.

Ianto heads down the stairs to switch on the monitors, checking the weather. Thankfully, Cardiff seems to be cooperating tonight, because it's warm and clear, and the moon is nearly full. It's simple enough to access the PA system and set it on a time delay. Then he slips back up to Jack's office and knocks lightly on the doorframe.

"Sir?" he asks softly.

Jack lifts his head like it's a great feat, as if the entire world is weighing down on him right now. "Yeah?" he answers bleakly.

Deciding that he doesn't need more of a response than that, Ianto reaches out to take his arm and tugs him carefully out of his seat. "Come on, Captain. You're moping."

Jack gives him a slightly startled look—Ianto is usually one to respect Jack's moods, and leave him alone when he makes it clear he's not fit for company. Ianto knows that this is out of the ordinary.

But Jack is, above all, a curious man, and he follows easily enough, out of the Hub and up to the rooftop of the Millennium Center. The moon is rising above them, bright and heavy, swollen with light, and it's only a little chilly. Ianto sheds his jacket, draping it carefully over a cleaner section of concrete and then tips his head with a smile.

Jack blinks at him, frowns a little, and listens.

Faint, soft, but growing stronger, the faint strains of Frank Sinatra's voice drift over the redirected sound system, a soft and sweet melody.

"Day by day I'm falling more in love with you

And day by day my love seems to grow

There isn't any end to my devotion

It's deeper dear by far than any ocean."

Ianto bows a little and offers Jack his hand, murmuring, "Might I have this dance?" It's a ridiculous gesture, old fashioned and silly, but Ianto can't bring himself to mind being silly tonight. There's been too much pain today, and they need distance. This is the best distance he can arrange on such short notice.

But Jack doesn't seem to mind. There's a smile spreading over his face, not a broad and flashy grin, but a slow, sweet smile that warms Ianto right down to his toes. That electricity is back again, hot in his veins, but it's not lust or need, nothing but the desire to comfort this strong, broken man, to smooth a few of his sharp edges, if only for a moment.

Still smiling, kind laughter in his eyes, Jack takes his hand, and whispers, "Yes."

As Sinatra changes to Nat King Cole, and Day by Day becomes (I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons, Jack wraps Ianto in his arms and sways with him, each step careful, never far enough from each other that a breath could slip through. Ianto relaxes into Jack's grip and presses their cheeks together, never more grateful for the mere inch of height difference. The Captain's body is warm and solid, anchoring and reassuring, because the night is so bright and perfect that he half-fears it will dissolve away into a dream.

He's always wanted this with Jack, but never known how to ask for it. The idea of feeling to precious, so cared for when the Jack holds him is addictive, a drug he craves and never wants to relinquish. And here, up in the sky to the sounds of Rita Hayworth and Dean Martin, Gene Kelly and Leila Ernst, with the wind around them and the moonlight above them, he can have it and not let go.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" he whispers along with the lyrics, unknowing, uncaring if Jack hears him. "Could I tell you once again somehow? Have I told with all my heart and soul how I adore you? Well darling I'm telling you now."

And Jack, wonderful and warm and funny and so beautiful, leans into Ianto too, and whispers back, "Always, Ianto, with every breath you take."

Jack knows. Ianto closes his eyes and lets his lips ghost over the pulse in Jack's throat. Jack knows, and Ianto has never been more content with a moment in all of his life.

Jack knows, and even if Ianto hasn't said the words explicitly, they've been accepted.

It's more than enough.

It's everything.