When it came to love and Ianto Jones, breaking through the ice surrounding his heart was sometimes harder than taking on a nest of angry Weevils. And Jack Harkness would know, he'd managed both and lived only to tell the tale thanks to a handy little thing called immortality.

He lies now, with Ianto cocooned within the safety of his arms and watches him sleep; pale skin soft in the moonlight filtering through his bedroom window, his eyes a smudge of dark lashes that twitch as he dreams, his lips a plump temptation that Jack is too weak to resist as he dips his head to taste at their perceived lushness.

He strokes a finger over the sharp curve of a cheekbone and stares with barely-concealed sadness at the peace and contentment painted so clearly across Ianto's sleeping features. A sight hardly ever seen when the man is awake and functioning; for from the moment he blinks himself awake to the second he tastes his first mouthful of coffee, Ianto Jones is already hard at work rebuilding the icy fortifications protecting himself from everyone around him.

Jack knows how that feels. He's been there before. It happens all the time. In closing himself off this way, he’s throwing a fortune in feelings away and Jack knows, he knows that someday Ianto’ll pay and it hurts because he knows, knows that despite his best intentions Ianto just wants to be loved and cherished, wants someone who will be there with him to hold him and his heart and trust implicitly in the knowledge that both will be protected at all costs.

“Hey,” Ianto whispers, blinking tired eyes open.

Jack smiles down at him, kisses at his lips once more. “I love you,” he breathes, the admission soft in the pre-dawn light.

“Don’t say that,” Ianto mutters, eyes flickering away then back before he presses forward and stops further words with a kiss.

Inside, Jack breaks just a little bit. Already he can feel the barriers, cold as ice, creeping back up over Ianto’s heart.

fin.