Disclaimer: don't own them, never will.
Rating: M (R)
Spoilers: Cyberwoman, They Keep Killing Suzie, End of Days, The Empty Child & The Doctor Dances (Doctor Who), Adrift, Countrycide, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
A/N: just a little one-shot that I came up with and since I don't want over think it too much, I'm putting it out there. I apologise in advance for the ending, and promise I will also publish something fluffier sometime soon. Also, I'm still working on "home", so don't worry if you're following that. Thanks to everyone who reviewed my previous pieces. Enjoy!


The first time Jack had asked Ianto to trust him, they were down on the shooting range together. Ianto'd had gun training at Torchwood One, but in the aftermath of Canary Wharf, he'd been skittish and hesitant around firearms, something Jack had wanted to remedy. Initially keeping his distance, Jack had soon given up in exasperation when Ianto repeatedly failed to hit the target and moved in closely, steadying Ianto's aim and adjusting his posture to try for better results. When he'd stepped back, Ianto remained as tense as ever and the shot had gone wild again.

At last he'd moved in, wrapped an arm around Ianto's waist, and held him flush against his own body, extending his arm along Ianto's and curling his finger over Ianto's index finger as it rested against the trigger. Ianto had stiffened so completely in his arms he'd leaned his head on the younger man's shoulder and breathed softly in his ear, "Trust me."

It was the first shot that Ianto'd hit on target. Jack could have sworn he felt as if the bullet impacted on his own chest.


The second time he'd asked Ianto to trust him, was when they were facing down a weevil and Jack insisted on staying between it and Ianto, knowing he couldn't die, knowing Ianto didn't know. A brief, intense glance into Ianto's eyes, and he'd tried to instil in the other man that he knew what he was doing. "Trust me."

The weevil hadn't killed him, nor injured him. The odd, ambiguous look Ianto had given him had made the back of his head burn, as if Ianto'd looked straight through him.


The third time he'd told Ianto to trust him, it was two days after the discovery of Lisa, and it seemed incongruous to utter those words, but Ianto was so desperate, so convinced his life was over, that Jack at last had crouched by the sofa Ianto was sitting on, taken one of Ianto's hands in his own, and had looked up at him, saying, "It will get better. Trust me."

Ianto's haunted, disbelieving look had made his heart break a little.


The fourth time he didn't tell Ianto to trust him. He'd asked. The stopwatch had been lying forgotten and cracked on the floor of his office, Ianto was shaking with new emotions and new experiences, and Jack was trying to tell him it was all right, okay to let go, all right for this to be new, all right to be inexperienced, and although it was hard to focus with Ianto naked, sweaty, and flushed in front of him, his eyes still burning with an earlier orgasm, he'd still put the lube down on the table between them and said, tilting his head and making it a question, "Trust me?"

Ianto had nodded slowly in response, and Jack had felt the intimacy of that trust as a responsibility he'd have to live up to.


The fifth time he'd said it, he'd just returned from the dead, and Ianto was standing in his office, looking for all the world like his destiny depended upon Jack's answer to his urgent question, can you forgive me?

Jack had answered without a second thought, thinking he'd answered already in the form of a kiss. "Of course I can. Trust me."

A weight seemed to fall from Ianto shoulders, and his eyes had burned with something Jack wanted to examine more closely


The sixth time he'd said it, he was trying to convince Ianto he'd meant what he said. He'd come back to them, for all of them, for him. He'd come back and he was staying, the doctor, jilted former lovers, or anything else could keep him from staying on this planet and making it his home.

"I'm not going anywhere, not any more. You can trust me."

Ianto hadn't. The doubt and hesitance had shown in his eyes and made Jack's heart drop in his chest.


The seventh time, they'd been laughing.

The story he'd been telling, something so outrageous he could tell Ianto didn't believe him, the rest of the team wearing similar incredulous expressions. Owen and Gwen challenged him on the validity of the story, Tosh merely raised a speculative eyebrow, and Ianto quirked his lips in that small smile Jack delighted in. He'd looked at each and every one in turn, telling them that really, people with gas masks welded to their faces asking for their mummy, was something that was fact, not his fantasy. At last he looked at Ianto and said, "Trust me."

Ianto had just continued smiling indulgently at him.


The eighth time, he'd had Ianto pressed up against a wall, both their trousers undone, both of them hard.

"You've no idea what you do to me. You really don't. Trust me."

He hadn't registered the look Ianto's face, but he'd heard his sharp intake of breath, and had felt Ianto's hand as it reached for his own.


The ninth time he'd hissed it at him as they were both keeping their voices low in the corridor.

"I will not make exceptions for Gwen's curious streak, and neither will you. She's not to know, and that's final. Trust me!"

He'd turned and left without seeing Ianto's reaction.


The tenth time they were lying in bed early one morning, listening to Myfanwy's morning shrieks as she circled the hub, too lazy to get up just yet. Ianto'd snuggled and then apologised, drawing back just a little as if having done something he thought Jack wouldn't care for. That almost skittish look, after so long spent together, surprised Jack and he'd reached out a tender hand to run two knuckles over Ianto's cheek. "Why'd you stop? Why'd you apologise?"

Ianto'd blinked and then coloured. He hadn't answered, turning his face into the pillow as if hiding, a gesture so childlike it nearly made Jack laugh. And in a flash he'd understood, reaching out to draw Ianto back into his arms, to encourage all the snuggling the young man wanted, he'd said softly, "I know you care, Ianto, and that's okay. Don't ever think I disapprove, I don't, trust me."

Ianto had shivered a little, then snuggled again.


The one time he didn't, it was because Ianto had asked for something he couldn't give. Of all the things he'd expected Ianto to eventually ask him for, love, affection, promises, it hadn't been this.

He'd looked sadly at his lover and shaken his head slowly. "Don't trust me on this, Ianto. Don't, because you don't know me, you don't really know me, what I've done, what I'm capable ofÂ…"

He'd stared at his hands, remembering what he'd been before, a 150 years ago, not the man he was now, the missing years, time spent with John Hart, a reputation he'd now rather forget aboutÂ… He'd lifted his head and forced himself to compose his face into something colder and more distant. "Don't trust me, Ianto. Don't trust me to never hurt you."