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Service is an act of love, Ianto thinks. Provided, of course, that you serve willingly and intentionally.
Like how Yvonne serves Torchwood for Queen and Country. (Served. Past tense, now.)
He serves Lisa: checks the painkillers are working, makes sure she’s comfortable, kisses her forehead as she drifts to sleep. (That last one is habit. Still, insomnia remains lingering even now. More so, perhaps.)
He tries to embed love into his every touch - she doesn’t respond to the love in his voice anymore. Still, maybe she can feel it in his fingertips as he checks her temperature, or in his lips as he kisses her before he leaves for the night.
Willingly, yes. Service not born from the feeling of duty but the feeling of love.
Intentionally, yes. Ianto promised her he’d help her, and he always keeps his promises.
He serves Torchwood, he supposes.
He makes them coffee when they request it, hovers behind them as they work, removing waste paper and returning files to the archives when no longer needed. He organises the leaflets and the postcards in the tourist information centre, orders them pizza when they’ve worked hard all day and he thinks they deserve it. He memorises their favourite snacks so he knows exactly what to get them from the supermarket each week, learns to recognise signs of their emotional states so he can... serve them in the best way.
So he serves Torchwood.
But not in the same way he serves Lisa, surely?
No, of course not.
He serves Torchwood willingly, yes, and as for intentionally, well, he sought Jack out himself. but it’s different. He serves Torchwood for Lisa. It’s always been for Lisa.
But he can’t help but notice that maybe he does put a little too much effort into monitoring the team’s facial expressions, that his archival system is perhaps a little too thought-out. (It was based on Torchwood One’s system, though he’d made changes based on his personal gripes.)
So what if they all commented that his coffee was particularly good today?
(Maybe, a part of him whispers, the special ingredient was love.)
So he folds love into Jack’s shirts when he puts them away after washing them. So he leaves specks of love on the bookmark that fell out of Suzie’s book when he slotted it back into its rightful place. So he leaves love on top of this month’s postcard to Tosh from her grandfather. So he pins love into Owen’s lab coat alongside the badges on its lapels.
He makes sure to remember the reason he loves, the reason he serves. (Lisa, Lisa, Lisa)
If... if love keeps him a job at Torchwood then Ianto will continue with his service.
So he straightens his tie and does his job.
When Suzie kills herself, he isn’t sure what to do.
He is tasked with gathering up all her things and driving them to storage, but there’s nothing he can do about her unbeatable high scores across the arcade games in the rec room.
Suzie is replaced by Gwen Cooper, the same one they’d all watched walk around the Plass for hours in the cold. Gwen is different to Suzie, and Ianto has to learn new snacks and facial expressions and body language, which he finds difficult but manageable.
Gwen is different to Suzie, and he has to figure out how to interact with her. Suzie was methodical and clinical, and she spent half the day on her own with that glove, so she didn’t talk to Ianto much anyway, besides the occasional refill.
Gwen flits from report to report, depending on what she is feeling, so Ianto often finds her desk covered in several stacks of files that he’ll have to return later. But she’s nice enough, though her curiosity could prove dangerous.
Still, Ianto straightens his tie and does his job, and pours all the love he gave Suzie into Gwen.
(Suzie betrayed the team and got swept away into boxes. What will happen to him?)
The rift gets more active over time, as if it’s trying to distract them. There’s an neverending list of files currently out of the archive being used in reports, more activity means more missions, which means more washing is needed to be done, everyone is exhausted from the calls into work in the middle of the night, and everyone is doing overtime.
It is fun though. He can’t deny that.
There’s something about keeping on top of a whirlwind that he enjoys.
Down to the archives, off to the supermarket, make everyone a coffee. He’s built himself up a nice routine and the structure is much appreciated.
He finds that there isn’t much time in his schedule to think about his reasons to love. He isn’t much a fan of breaking habit either.
When he returns to work after Lisa died- no, was murdered, he isn’t sure what to expect.
Not much actually happened, in terms of admonishment, as it turns out, so it’s as though the whole incident has been swept under the carpet, but Ianto can feel the eyes on his back when he turns to go down to the basement.
He’s cooled down, he has. There was no saving her, he knows that now, possibly always has. But he still loves her and there are holes in his chest mirroring the bullet holes in hers and he is bleeding love.
He should have gone and seen her more often, shouldn’t have got swept away in the chaos of it all.
God. Just another of Torchwood’s victims. The Cybermen Torchwood One allowed into the world, the rounds Jack ordered Torchwood Three to empty into her.
He straightens his tie and does his job, desperate to regain some semblance of structure.
Love drips into his every action. It oozes out of his chest and leaves a trail of rose petals on the Hub floor. It drops into the coffee unbidden and smears itself across files. Uncontrolled. Unwilling. Unintentional.
He wants to apologise. He knows the coffee must taste awful and he despises it but it’s the best he can do.
He takes a binbag and sorts through the rubbish that’s built up during his time off. How many times did they order pizza? Owen, bloody hell, pick up these files! They’re important!
Love drips into his every action but maybe that’s the key! He lets himself bleed in the hope they’ll be able to trust him again, because now Torchwood really is the only thing he has left and he’d rather bleed out than have nothing.
He’s bleeding so much he’s numb from the pain of it.
He wants to feel. He wants to feel.
God, this is stupid. He’s complaining about his coffee for God’s sake. Piss off. He knows it’s been shit lately, he’s been preoccupied with something. Bastard.
“Kiss me.”
He wants to feel. Just for one night.
The bullet wounds are healing.
Love is no longer spilling out onto the floor. He doesn’t want to let it, either.
Jack says his coffee is returning to his usual standards. That makes him feel better. It doesn’t make him relax though. If he relaxes too much he’ll fall off Jack’s stupid too-narrow bed.
Owen is still wary around him.
It hurts, but that’s the marvel of it. He hurts! Not numb anymore. He hurts a lot, but it’s just bearable and he’d rather it hurt than not.
He makes Owen’s coffee exactly as he likes it. He’s been getting better at doing that again.
He finds the holes fully scabbed over one morning. It had been a quiet night and they’d made full use of it.
Ianto smiled to himself, properly, for the first time in a long while.
He serves Gwen, Tosh, and Owen their coffee with a flourish.
“God, have a nice night did you? Bloody hell, look at him!” Owen’s tone is as flippant as usual, but his eyes flick back to Ianto’s face almost as if he’s testing the waters.
“None of your business, though I’m presuming you didn’t?” he replies, the glint in his eye telling Owen he’s joking too.
“Piss off and get me some biscuits,” Owen says, and Ianto can’t remember the last time Owen smiled at him like that.
He’s proud of himself. He’s really, really proud of himself.