It was fair to say that Ianto was devoted to his suits. He also took exquisite care in choosing which to wear, coordinating it with the perfect shirt and tie combination to get the most out of his chosen attire each day. He hadn’t always been that way, but since joining Torchwood Three, they’d become essential to him.
It wasn’t that he really had to wear them; the rest of the team dressed casually and no one expected him to do otherwise. But he’d seen the way Harkness looked at him that first time he’d worn one. The suit had got him the job as surely as the pterodactyl had. He’d spent most of what money he had left from caring for Lisa on a couple of better quality suits and they’d been well worth the expense. He knew he looked good in them, he had the right build to carry them off, but that wasn’t the real reason that he’d taken to wearing them.
In a way, his suits were his armour. Every morning when he slid his long limbs into the finely tailored trousers and jacket, he felt that he was arming himself for the day ahead, hiding his vulnerability beneath the calm, professional demeanour that went with them. When he wore a suit he looked older, more capable, and more self-assured. No one could see how scared he was, or how lost and desperate he felt. All they saw was what he wanted them to see, a man in full control of himself and everything around him. That was if they noticed him at all. Suits, it seemed, were as good a camouflage as they were a protection.
He felt safe in his suits; secure in the knowledge that if his new colleagues did happen to notice him, they’d have no inkling of the terrible secrets he was hiding from them. He was simply the butler, the general dogsbody, the guy in the suit who did all the jobs they couldn’t be bothered to do themselves and that suited him just fine. If they only saw the suit, he might just get away with what he was doing behind their backs. It had to work, because Lisa’s life depended on it and he couldn’t let her down.