Ianto knew there would always be reasons for Jack to leave, just as he knew those reasons would always be important, even vital, to the world. That didn't mean he didn't hate it when Jack did leave, but he could accept it. Because this was bigger than either of them, and the world and its dangers weren't going to stop for them. It would be ridiculous and selfish to expect it.
He hid a flinch as Jack spoke. "I always preferred Dylan Thomas," he said softly. There had been a time when he could appreciate Whitman's words, but that was passed. Now they just made him think of the Master. And more than that, the image of Jack lying cold and dead was not one he liked to contemplate. Pushing aside his darker thoughts, he smiled and shook his head at Jack. "Can I help it if you have such nice reactions to certain words?" He wanted to be closer, closer really than was possible, wanted to feel Jack under his skin. But for now, resting against him and breathing in his air was enough.
"No," he admitted, "not really. But there's something to be said for the routine of it. I've missed being able to make you coffee." He'd missed a lot of things. He didn't want to tell Jack how every so often he'd forget, make an extra cup of coffee, and take it all the way to Jack's office before he would remember and the ground would seem to shift under him and he would have to retreat to the archives until he regained his equilibrium. He smiled at Jack's feigned innocence. "Because you're dreadful when you don't have your caffeine fix?" He laughed, a soft, halting sound. "I'm very glad the denizens of Cardiff are safe from your moods." He leaned into Jack's touch with a sigh, not wanting to admit that he'd been sorely tempted to just go and drag Jack home. "You had to do your duty," he said, "and I knew you would come back. I trust you." He smiled. "I'm glad. But you're back now, cariad. And that's what matters."