Title: Tuesday Evening
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Warnings/Rating: Erm...PG-13 ish
Summary: Post-S1. Short fic (500 words) about how Ianto handles Jack's departure.
A/N: First posted 06 February 2007. Unbeta'd. Comments are welcome.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'Torchwood' and have no rights to the show and the characters etc..

Tuesday evening. Five days, two hours, thirty-seven minutes and fifty-three seconds since Jack left. Not that Ianto was counting.

The news on the television drones on quietly in the background as Ianto sits alone in jeans and a t-shirt on his unfamiliar couch. His thoughts drift to the events of the past week as he takes another swig of commercial beer distractedly. He's lost Jack three times in only a couple of days. The first time, Owen shot him; he remembers the panic that shot through him when he turned and saw his Captain's bloody body on the stone floor amidst the chaos. The second time, Ianto didn't think he was going to come back. He couldn't stand to be in the same room as Jack's cold dead body, the only comfort he had was that his friend died heroically for them all. The third time hurt the most. This time Jack didn't die, he wasn't taken away by force, he didn't sacrifice himself for the sake of the Earth, or the universe, or for him…he left by choice. Without so much as a goodbye.

It only took a minute after Jack had disappeared for Toshiko to run a security check on one of the many computers. Ianto doesn't know how long he stood watching the CCTV footage, trying to make sense of the blue box and the smile on his face.

Jack wanted to leave.

Ianto repeated it to himself over and over again, and each time it made a little more sense. Of course Jack went. His boss didn't feel the same way he did, he was just a convenient shag…nothing more. He wouldn't feel guilty about leaving the tea boy, he wouldn't feel guilty about leaving the team because they didn't mean anything to him, no family, no real friends, no place he could call home…no wonder he left.

And so Ianto sits alone with a bottle of beer as company, in his empty and hostile flat, the silence stifled by the TV, and the last remaining drops of light shielded by a pair of old hanging curtains. This was his life now. He thinks he's spent more time at home in these last five days than he has all month, there's no reason to stay at work after-hours anymore, it just brings back memories which he's trying so hard to forget.

A knock at the door brings him unwillingly out of his reverie, and he briefly wonders how long he's been sitting there thinking, a second later he decides that it's probably not best to think about that and goes and answer the door instead. He places his near-empty bottle on a coaster, mutes the TV that he wasn't even watching and goes to see who the unexpected visitor is.

Ianto opens the door to a man. His Captain. His friend. His lover. And finally he hears the words he's needed to hear for days.