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It's only fair, Ianto told himself. The amount of times Jack's been through my diary...

He'd seen Jack with a notebook earlier. Dark green, bound in leather with creamy sheets. By the time he'd reached Jack in his office, though, the book was gone. Hidden, he assumed.

"Only fair," muttered Ianto. "Only fair after all." He continued to absentmindedly search Jack's desk. Even went through the drawers. No dice.

Footsteps ringing on the grille. Opposite side of the Hub, Ianto reckoned. He nudged items back into their previous positions and reclined in Jack's chair, hoping that the sight of him relaxed would distract Jack from any suspicion where espionage was concerned.

The pad of Jack's boots got closer, and then the man himself was leaning in the doorway. Ianto shot Jack a disinterested look which he knew would irk him. "Can I help you with anything?"

"You're in the chair," observed Jack. "Must mean you're in charge."

Ianto considered this. "I suppose." He steepled his fingers. "Does that mean I have to sexually harass my staff all hours of the day? Because thus far that's all I can conclude you do."

Jack laughed. "Come on," he said, pushing himself off the doorway, entering the room. "Out of the seat. I've got work to do."

Ianto waited. Blank expression. Jack cracked first.

"Okay, okay." He came around the chair and put his hands on Ianto's shoulders. "But seriously—"

"Seriously?" Ianto twisted his head, arched an eyebrow.

"Silence, mortal."

"That's only funny when it isn't true..."

"Fair point."

Jack began to knead the muscles of Ianto's shoulders, and Ianto could feel himself losing ground. "I'll let you get to that all important work, then, sir."

Jack released him.

Several hours passed. Jack said he was going out for a routine investigation. Just some odd readings. Did anyone want to come with him?

Gwen volunteered like a shot. Ianto explained that the gunked up coffee filter held more interest to him, and that Jack and Gwen ought to kit up since it looked like monsoon level storms in the area the odd readings were coming from.

Once he was alone, Ianto beat a retreat to Jack's office and resumed his search. He left no file unturned, no box unshaken, no— Ianto put down that particular item and wiped his hands. He didn't want to know.

Maybe Jack had put it in his bunker?

Ianto unscrewed the lid and climbed down. Darkness. He fumbled for the light switch. Bent his knees to avoid concussion (low concrete ceilings were never much fun) and peered along the small row of books Jack kept on a shelf around hip height by his bed.

Bingo.

Ianto withdrew the green notebook, making a careful note of which books it had rested between so he could put it back in its exact position later. Couldn't sit down, that way Jack would know he'd been down here.

When Ianto opened the pages at random and saw a rough sketch of his own face staring back, his knees had other ideas, and they buckled so that he landed on the sheets, book tight in his grasp.

"What?" he mumbled, turning the page. Gwen's searching eyes held his own.

He turned the page.

Tosh at her computer.

He turned the page.

Owen brandishing a slice of pizza. So alive.

He sniffled. Turned the page.

The back of his own head as he worked the coffee machine. A numb laugh. "Good attention to the suit, Jack."

He turned the page.

Two hands. Two different hands. Ever more numb, Ianto realised one was his.

He turned the page.

A young woman in flapper dress. Beads catching the sunlight.

He turned the page.

A young boy with an older man. Similar features. "Gray," Ianto murmured.

He turned the page.

"John Hart?" But younger. Much younger. Still innocence in those hooded eyes. More mischievous than malevolent.

He turned the page, smiling slightly, and stopped short. Him. He turned again. Him. Turn. Him. Page after page. Ianto—

"Yan?"

Ianto jumped. The book closed with a snap. Too late to hide the evidence now; Jack descended the ladder, turned, shot him a curious look. "What're you—"

Ianto saw Jack's eyes flick to the green in his hands.

"Ah."

"I'm sorry," Ianto began," I just—"

Jack raised his hands, ducked his head to come forward. "Hey, hey. No need to apologise."

Ianto blinked. "What? But this is your... it's..." He stared down at his lap. Opened the pages again. Flipped from sketch to heartfelt sketch. "Have you always drawn?"

"From time to time." Jack laughed dryly. "And time to time starts to mean something when you're working for the Agency."

Ianto stopped on the sketch of John Hart. "The Time Agency, that'd be?"

"Yah-huh." Jack came around. Sat beside him. "He went by a different name then."

"Just like you."

"Just like me."

"You love him?"

Ianto didn't raise his head, so Jack wasn't entirely sure how it would go down when he said, "At one point. Yeah, I think I did."

"What went wrong?"

"Things change. People change. You know the drill." Jack reached around Ianto and turned to the page of the joined hands, then to the page of Ianto's back; to the page taken over by Ianto's cool smile. "I recognise that smile."

Ianto looked at him then. Soft dimple of a frown between his brows. Jack stretched forward, kissed it away.

"Yeah," said Jack as Ianto closed the book and handed it to him. "Definitely a keeper is that smile."

"You think so?"

"I know so." Ianto smiled that cool smile that Jack so loved and crouched his way back to the ladder. "Ianto," Jack called out before he could leave. "If you ever..."

Ianto's hand clenched on the bar.

"If you ever want to ask about something. About me... Just go for it, okay?"

And relaxed. "What," said Ianto, putting his foot on the first rung, "and miss the fun of sneaking around?"

Jack waited until the ring of Ianto's shoes had disappeared, and then he reopened the book, lost in memories.