Jack Harkness

"I've already heard about my other self," Ianto says. There is anger now, boiling underneath the surface. It's hard to anger Ianto; he's slow to rage and prefers calm. But there's always a point where he begins to assert himself, and contrary to popular belief, he's not Jack's lapdog. Nor is he the passive one in their relationship.

Whatever remains of it. He's not even sure anymore.

"I never used your moral compass," he sits back in the chair, chest moving up and down with his barely-restrained wrath. "I used mine. It just happened to coincide with yours most of the time. Fine, you want honesty? I'm fucking pissed you left me with complete bloody strangers, then instead of picking me up yourself, you sent the female version of me."

There it is, the real person he is inside, the one he's worked years to control. His accent has thickened, and his demeanor isn't as polished. He grew up in the Estates, and as hard as he tries to hide it under expensive suits and a polished accent, he'll always be from the Estates.

"Does she perform all my duties now, or only the professional ones?" he's hitting below the belt, but he can't make himself give a damn.