Title: Silver Predator
Author: becky_h
Pairing: Jack and Ianto
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers Cyberwoman
Warnings: Angst and a real lack of sap.
Word Count: About 1,000
Beta: Endless thanks to unfeathered, for making my stuff readable.
Prompt/Challenge: The Random Title Generator Challenge
Summary: Everyone seems to have a post-Cyberwoman story. This is mine. Jack and Ianto, more than Jack/Ianto, in the aftermath of Cyberwoman.
Author's Note: Lots of credit to baffled_fandom for making it possible for me to write Ianto.


Jack doesn't clean up for Ianto. It's Ianto who clears away Lisa's body and the bodies of her victims and it's Ianto who gets down on his hands and knees and scrubs the blood off the floor. Jack's not going to do it for him.

Jack watches him work, with his arms folded across his chest and split lip throbbing in time with his pulse. When Ianto looks up at him - with all his rage contained in his eyes instead of spread all over his face in tears and snot and an angry flush - Jack nods and walks away.

While Ianto's in the bathroom, trying to scrub the blood off his hands, Jack goes to his office, gets out the crystal decanter of brandy and two glasses. By the time Ianto's finished and has made his way into the office, he's poured, and is sitting behind his desk with both glasses half full in front of him.

Ianto looks like shit, Jack thinks while he's sitting there and making Ianto wait for acknowledgment. His hands are raw and red, his suit is a disaster and he reeks of blood and bleach. When Ianto's composure frays and he fidgets - just weight shifting and his hands clasping and then unclasping - Jack cracks.

"Have a seat." He says it casually and leans back in his seat but his eyes stay on Ianto.

"Yes, sir," Ianto replies, comes in and sits. Of course he seems perfectly composed, like he's not wearing the imprint of Jack's teeth on his fist and the blood of three people all over his suit.

Jack's been fooled once. He's not going to be fooled again. He leans forward and nudges one of the glasses toward Ianto. "Have a drink. You look like you could use one."

Ianto takes the glass when Jack takes his own, but he doesn't drink. He just holds it in his folded hands and looks at Jack. "Retcon, Sir?"

Jack doesn't answer him, just lifts his eyebrows and takes a drink from his own glass. The spreading warmth is familiar and he takes the second to appreciate it and to un-knot the muscles in his neck.

"Are you going to notify the survivors?" Ianto asks, breaking the silence.

Jack takes another drink and continues to watch Ianto. "No."

Ianto's face has been closed off but Jack can see his answer isn't what Ianto expected. There's just a flicker of surprise in his eyes, the slight lift of one eyebrow before Ianto realizes what he's giving away and stops. "May I ask why not, sir?"

Sir's never sounded more like a euphemism for shit than it does coming from Ianto. "Because you are, Ianto." And Ianto's name's never sounded so much like a growl, sticking right at the back of Jack's throat, guttural and bitten off.

"Pardon?" Ianto asks, and this time surprise makes it all the way to his voice and his eyebrow makes it all the way up.

"You are," Jack repeats and finishes his drink. He sets the glass aside. He wants another drink but he won't let himself have it. "Drink," he tells Ianto, again and this time it really is an order.

Ianto looks at the glass and takes a very small sip, then looks up at Jack, eyes on him and burning. "As long as someone remembers them, they're not really dead. Have you ever heard that, sir?" he asks Jack, softly.

"You're not going to forget anything, Ianto. I'm not retconning you." Jack aches all over with exhaustion, but he's careful to keep weariness out of his voice. He thinks he probably just comes across as flat, and that's fine; he feels flat, too.

"Oh." He takes a slightly bigger drink, but there's something in the hesitation that makes him wonder if Ianto believes him and something in the fact that he's drinking that makes Jack wonder if maybe he does want to forget, in spite of himself. If he wants someone to make him forget. "What are you doing then?" Pause, hesitation and point. "Sir."

He hasn't shot Ianto, he isn't going to retcon him or notify the survivors, hasn't cleaned up. What is he going to do? Jack knows; Ianto doesn't.

Jack takes a deep breath, finds his empty glass and spins it between his fingers and tells him. When he talks his voice is hard, cold and flat. "I'm not going to do anything. You, on the other hand -"

"Oh, what am I doing then, sir?" His voice is silky smooth, but it's even colder than Jack's. It's also extremely patronizing.

I'm going to regret not shooting you if you don't stop calling me sir and pretending I don't know you want me dead. There's enough annoyance, irritation and frustration to revive his anger. It's the anger that brings the flash in his eyes and snap in Jack's voice that he needs now.

"You're going to tell Tanizaki and Carin's families that they were murdered. You're going to contact survivors of Torchwood One and tell them what happened here. You're going to clean up the shit."

By the time Jack's done speaking he's snarling and Ianto's staring at him like he's never seen Jack before. Ianto finishes his drink, one swallow that has to burn, nods and stands. "Yes, sir. I'll get right on it."

Jack looks at him, watches him while he stands and continues to watch him while Ianto leans forward to hand Jack the glass and Jack takes it. Jack doesn't know if the anger and horror in Ianto's eyes will ever completely die, if Ianto has ever trusted him or if he ever will again. "Go home, Ianto."

When Ianto's gone and Jack hears the door close he leaves his office and goes to the lowest level of the hub and starts working his way up. He doesn't know if he's ever going to trust Ianto again, either. He doesn't even know if he's ever going to be able to let a night go by without checking for monsters hidden in dark corners.

Lisa's gone and so is the Cyberman she became, but she left more shattered than the bodies of her victims. There's no way, Jack thinks, to lay these ghosts to rest, or sweep up the mess left by shattered trust.