Author's Note: This is the first fic I've published online, so I'm sorry if the formatting and everything isn't right. Please feel free to tell me what you think in the comments! Also forgive me but titles are not my thing. At all. For anything. Ever. So just cringe and try to ignore it. Despite that, I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Torchwood, Ianto and Jack belong to the BBC and RTD

Spoilers: For the season finale of Season 2 and all of COE

Jack was careless with words. He could drop them clumsily, like he was trying to hold too many marbles in one hand, or hurl them out with terrifying force in the passion of a moment. At times like this, all the words he'd accumulated over millennia of travel were potential weapons, and always managed to startle anyone he was with. In his fury, he'd been known to yell words the team couldn't recognize- relics of an ancient or future language. In ecstasy, he'd panted words too quickly for Ianto to catch, but the younger man had never asked after their meaning, or even called attention to them. He felt, for some reason, that this might be safer.

Sometimes it was better not knowing the answers to the questions Jack posed.

Ianto, on the other hand, was precise in everything he did. Each word, letter or sound that he uttered was the result of thoughtful planning, arranged with an almost mathematical accuracy. He didn't waste a single, heavily accented vowel, and as a result, wasn't much of a talker. With a vocabulary nearly as wide as Jack's, barring words collected through time and space, he felt it better to consider a number of potential phrases before voicing his thoughts. In a matter of seconds he would come across the right words and the right tone, and he could feel safe in the knowledge that he had control over at least one aspect of his life. Not everything Ianto said was poetry, but it was exactly what he'd meant to say. So he spoke sparingly, but perfectly.

This habit wasn't without its drawbacks; not only was Ianto hyperaware of his own word choice, but also the phrases used by others. He tried not to take them to heart, well aware that they didn't go through the same careful process as he did. But sometimes, when he was feeling particularly self piteous, it was hard not to remember how accurate the description 'part time shag' seemed to be.

Equally unfortunate was Ianto's high regard for anything Jack said. He knew how little of a connection there could be between Jack's thoughts and what actually came out of his mouth, but Ianto still couldn't stop himself from straining to hear each word. It had begun as a need to impress as a subordinate, a chance to catch anything that could get him closer to Jack, and somehow help Lisa. But now it was more serious; ever since Lisa, ever since he'd decided to become a part of the team rather than throwing himself off a building, he'd had to trust Jack, at the very least as his Captain. Over time, despite the innuendo and flirting, or maybe because of it, Ianto had grown to sincerely respect the man. Jack had somehow managed to drag him out of his misery and force him back to life, and for that the least Ianto could do was listen to what he said. As their relationship-as it was- grew into unfamiliar territory, Ianto began to value Jack's words in a way he didn't properly understand.

He reminded himself again and again of Jack's tendency to exaggerate or understate, but in the same way he kept returning to Jack's bunker, or the way his stupid, treacherous heart would flutter whenever Jack smiled at him, it wasn't something Ianto could help.

Ianto stood up from where he'd been seated on the edge of Jack's desk. He'd intended to return to his own desk, but before he'd had a chance to take a step, Jack had stood too, and wrapped one arm around Ianto's waist. 'Hold on, baby.' Jack drawled in a terrible Southern accent. Ianto cringed and hid his smile. Jack turned him back against the desk and leaned forward, placing one hand on either side of Ianto's hips. 'Tonight I'm taking you out.'
The younger man raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He pushed against Jack, but the older man held his position, waiting with a cocky grin. Ianto rolled his eyes.
'Lose the accent and I'll think about it.' He bargained. Jack narrowed his eyes in consideration, but eventually shrugged and conceded. He returned to his seat. 'Leave at eight?' He asked, his attention already returned to his files. Ianto nodded and walked back into the Hub, wondering if Jack had even realized that he'd called him 'baby'.

x

Ianto grimaced as he pulled on another jumper. 'I hate the cold.' He complained miserably. No number of Cardiff winters could prepare him for the next. From his place on the bed, Jack scoffed. 'I have suggested several activities that would warm you up.' He reminded, not looking up from the magazine he was flicking through. Ianto adjusted the wool around his neck. 'That's one activity.'
'That's not very open minded.' Jack chastised, looking up with a devilish grin. With an eye roll, Ianto changed the subject. 'I have to layer up just to go to the corner shop, only to take it all off again when I get back.' Jack tossed the magazine aside and approached Ianto slowly. He placed a hand on one well padded arm and the other on the small of Ianto's back. 'But, my dear,' He breathed, momentarily preventing Ianto from any form of coherent thought, 'That's half the fun.' He winked, then slapped Ianto's arse before continuing past him to the bathroom.

x

Throughout the meal, Jack had been inching closer and closer, and despite Ianto's many diversionary tactics, eventually managed to rest a hand on Ianto's upper thigh. It wasn't too distracting until Jack finished his meal, pushed the plate away and slipped his hand higher. Ianto gasped and dropped his fork. He grabbed the offending hand and removed it from his body. 'Dishes first.' He asserted, struggling to speak with conviction. The growing reaction in his pants wasn't helping matters. He stood, somewhat awkwardly, and began to gather the plates, Jack following him to the sink with the glasses. These he placed on the side, before wrapping his arms around Ianto's waist and pressing against his back. 'But honey,' Jack whined, his lips by Ianto's ear. 'It's my birthday.' His mouth moved to the back of Ianto's neck and Jack began pressing light kisses along Ianto's shoulders. The Welshman shut his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying not to smell the 51st century pheromones as he took a deep breath in, then out. 'No, it isn't.' He managed eventually. 'You dry.'

x

Ianto could feel Jack's gaze burning into his back as he watched him move about the room. Ianto sighed in irritation. He'd teared up at the hospital, but that was all. Really, it had been ridiculous. He shouldn't be surprised when Torchwood lost innocent people, not anymore. They couldn't save everyone, now matter how much they might want to.
Lacking the energy to make it all the way to the hamper, or even to change into his pajama pants, Ianto left his clothes on the floor and fell heavily into the bed. He rolled onto his side and shut his eyes, squeezing them tight in an attempt to forget the Night Travelers, the Electro, and the look on the boy's face when Gwen told him the news. Torchwood had tried its best, or so Gwen had said.
Sometimes their best didn't cut it. But that was no one's fault.
He felt the mattress sink behind him as Jack seated himself opposite, undressing in silence. It occurred to Ianto then that for the first time, Jack hadn't asked, nor been invited, to stay. Yet here he was, joining Ianto in bed. How domestic.
If he'd been able to feel anything but empty, Ianto might have been pleased at Jack's obvious comfort with their arrangement.

As it was, he simply tightened his grip on the blanket and brought his knees closer to his chest.
'I'll call Child Services in the morning.' He heard Jack say. 'Give them some cover story about what happened to the parents.' Ianto made a noncommittal noise, not in the mood for conversation. 'And we'll keep an eye on him, make sure whatever Home he ends up in is up to standard.' Jack sighed and rubbed his face. 'Still, it's a shame he didn't have any other family.'

Why was Jack still talking?

For once, Ianto didn't care. He didn't care about words tonight, because words couldn't fix this. All night he'd been using them in an attempt to fool himself, blaming the faceless entity of 'Torchwood' for what had happened, but he wasn't going to do it anymore. It was him.
He'd lost the boy's family. He'd lost the other victims, he'd failed the team.
And this realization meant that, even with the stability of Jack's presence, Ianto was hollow.
So what was the point in words?

He heard the hamper open and close as Jack uncharacteristically tidied his clothes away. The mattress dipped again as Jack climbed in, and Ianto held his breath angrily, waiting for Jack to press himself closer and proposition him into feeling better. But Jack stayed where he was.
Even Jack didn't want to touch him.
Even Jack could tell it was all Ianto's fault.
Ianto bit down on his lip painfully, but it wasn't enough to keep the tears from dampening his pillow. He'd thought this had happened in silence, but suddenly Jack's arm was around his waist, and soft kisses were being pressed into his hair. 'I know, sweetheart.' Jack murmured quietly. 'You can cry, darling, it's ok.' Jack's grip only tightened as Ianto let his anger and misery flood him, the sobs beginning to shake his body.
He wasn't clear headed enough until the next morning to realize that Jack had called him two endearments in one night.

x

After packing Tosh and Owen's things, Ianto had spent the night planning. He'd gone over words and phrases to tell Jack how he felt, how to perfectly encompass the sensation he experienced whenever Jack looked at him, touched him, fell asleep next to him. Every option had terrified the shit out of him, but their numbers were dwindling now, and it was only a matter of time before the lack of staff lead to more fatalities, the first of which would probably be him. So when he felt Jack stirring the next morning, mumbling something about moving the boxes to storage and informing the families, Ianto caught his hand and pulled him back to bed, keeping their fingers interlocked. 'Stay.' He asked simply.

Jack frowned, measuring his companion's expression carefully. Ianto's chest tightened. Maybe the word hadn't communicated everything he'd needed it to. He needed Jack to know how important he was. Not as Captain Jack Harkness, the universe's hero, but as the Jack he knew, who'd saved him countless times in countless ways. He needed Jack to know this now, because something would happen sooner or later, and Jack wouldn't have anyone to remind him how worthy he was of immortality.

'Ok.' Jack said finally. Ianto looked back to him, raising an eyebrow in careful surprise. Jack leaned forward and touched Ianto's forehead with his own. 'Ok.' He repeated. He pressed their lips together lightly, both men fully aware that something had changed, but neither with any idea exactly what.

x

The way that man had said it. You two. There should be more people like you two. A total stranger had seen them together and made the leap. You two. Like he and Jack were something real, something conventional. As though all of their hesitation and restraint over months had meant nothing, because to onlookers, to this man, what they were was simple.
You two.
'Well, we are. Does it matter?' Jack asked, something biting in his tone. Ianto's smile faltered. 'Dunno.' He lied.
Yes, Jack. Of course it mattered. Words mattered in this time, and words mattered to Ianto. And although Jack hadn't said it, he'd confirmed it.
Couple.

x

So when the alien toxin invaded his body, weakening his legs and making him drop to the floor, Ianto knew exactly what to say. He'd known for some time, and now, lying in Jack's arms, it seemed right to beautifully, perfectly and finally breath, 'I love you.'

He wasn't surprised when Jack didn't say it back. Because Jack, his Jack, was careless with all his words. Except one.