This Jack has burned himself out on secrets. To some extent. To another, he was never so fond of them as other versions of himself were – secrets for the sake of secrecy. He'll keep secrets to alter the playing field, keep accidental secrets born out of weariness too thorough to give everyone proper briefings, secrets because there are things he can't say, he's conditioned not to say...
But he's tired, and he watched this Chicago's last Torchwood get ripped apart next to his hands by the secrets he kept and the ones he drilled into them, and to hell with that. He's not watching that again. He won't.
"Ianto." The name is abrupt, like a yank to a bit. Wrong path. This way. "This isn't Torchwood 3. Chicago's less like Cardiff than you think."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2010-06-10 03:41 am (UTC)But he's tired, and he watched this Chicago's last Torchwood get ripped apart next to his hands by the secrets he kept and the ones he drilled into them, and to hell with that. He's not watching that again. He won't.
"Ianto." The name is abrupt, like a yank to a bit. Wrong path. This way. "This isn't Torchwood 3. Chicago's less like Cardiff than you think."
That's not ambiguous at all.