eelseason | [BTR] [RP] The future teaches you to be alone, the present to be afraid and cold.

The moment Ianto walks through the front of Torchwood, he feels like he's home. It's not his Torchwood of course, but Ianto can only function in this enviroment. He was Torchwood One. Then he was Torchwood Three, the backbone of the organization, wholly in charge of most of its most intimate operations.

He wonders what Jack calls this Torchwood. Torchwood Chicago? It sounds weird, even saying that in his head. He's always associated Torchwood with British, with the Crown. It was begun by Queen Victoria, after all. But Torchwood has never been conventional, and neither has Jack.

He doesn't know about his history with Jack. As he ascends the stairs; he's always taken the stairs in lieu of a lift. Lifts make him nervous, after Canary Wharf. He's always terrified of an emergency happening, and being trapped in one. So he takes the stairs.

His stomach clenches, and he feels a wave of nausea overtake him. He knows nothing about this Jack. Back home, he and his Jack were in the middle of...whatever they were. They'd gone on dates. He supposes they were in a relationship, even if it was mostly made up of shagging and late night film watching.

He stands in front of the door, hesitant for a moment, nodding at Mio as she leaves him. Then he stares some more.

He's gotten really good at staring. He should consider a career in it.

He finally steels himself, and knocks.

Edited 2010-06-10 01:05 (UTC)

One knock, and Jack's focus undergoes a very brief and inverse nova. He hones in on the sound, then his awareness widens to scope the door, whatever he can hear from the hallway outside...

Well, there were no hoofsteps. That's something, at least.

He takes a moment to steady himself, get himself to a position where he doesn't look quite so much like a wolf backed into the corner of a sheep pen.

Calm. He is calm. He's collected, and controlled, and despite the fact that he's been Jack Harkness for all of one short month now, the title's no more a lie than it' ever been.

"Come in."

Ianto opens the door, and steps inside. No, there are no hooves. Ianto looks exactly like a twenty-five year old version of himself should look. He's dressed immaculately, in a dark blue silk shirt, dark wool pinstripe suit, and black tie with silver stripes. He looks the epitome of a well-dressed personal assistant.

If most personal assistants liked to strangle women on their nights off.

He's staring again, this time at Jack, before he regains his composure.

"Hello, sir," he says softly, Welsh accent the same as always. Nothing about him appears the least bit different. Jack doesn't know about the occasional psychosis. He does know about the empathy, but Ianto's trying very hard not to project. Some of his nervousness probably escapes. He's practically having a panic attack.

Edited 2010-06-10 01:27 (UTC)

Jack's very glad that Ianto warned him about that "empath" thing. It gave him a chance to make sure all his shields were up as strong as he could get them. The nervousness registers, but only as a pressure against those shields. Sure, a determined psychic would be able to get through them with relative ease, but luckily for him, Ianto doesn't seem to be determined right now.

Not that it's not setting him off as much as the rest of this situation is – the sight of him, the Sir, the edge of uncertainty in the air between them. He's just gotten good at working through that sort of storm of emotions.

He tilts his head, gauging Ianto. Taking in all the ways he's similar to the ones he's known, all the subtle tics of posture, voice, presentation which are different. Establishing a baseline.

After a moment, he gives a very, very thin smile and gestures to the chair in front of the desk. "How's Chicago been treating you?"

Ianto's not a determined psychic yet, but the Welshman didn't have any intentions of remaining in the dark about his abilities. If he was going to be saddled with the bloody abilities, he was going to learn how to use them properly.

Especially because he didn't like it when he felt sadness in his head. He could only imagine what it would be like to hear agony. It's why he hasn't gone hunting.

That, and he knows Jack wouldn't like it.

"It's been interesting to saw the least," he replied, sitting down in the chair, hands clasped in his lap. "I've met some very unusual people with more than a normal amount of curiosity about Torchwood." He's going to be honest. This is Jack, no matter what Winter says, and he's not going to throw him under the bus.

He's always been exceptionally loyal, even when Jack didn't really deserve it.

Edited 2010-06-10 02:40 (UTC)

Jack tilts his head, watching Ianto out of the corner of his eye. It's a look Ianto has probably not had much occasion to be on the receiving end of. Very calculating.

"Ms. Sandric," Jack says. "You know, the last time a version of you was in this universe, he was on the verge of retconning himself and leaving Torchwood to work for her. I can't say I'm surprised she's expressing an interest in you now. Especially if she assumes she can get an in on Torchwood with it."

That's a rather larger "if" than Ianto might be allowing for.

That was surprisingly candid. He wasn't really used to Jack being that honest with him. Usually the other man made private plans, plans Ianto only found out when the rest of the team did, or if he happened across it while cleaning Jack's office.

He realizes he's nervously jiggling his foot up and down, and stands up, going to the back of the chair, leaning against it. He can't discern why he's so nervous.

"She's wasting her time," he says softly, glancing up at the ceiling. If he was hoping for a distraction, it doesn't work. "I don't intend to Retcon myself." Although, if it removed the dark passenger, would he?

Apparently the last version of himself that was here was seriously lacking in loyalty. Something incredibly jarring must have happened.

"You still drink coffee in Chicago, don't you?" he asks with a small, nervous laugh. "I can make some if you want."

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."

That's not ambiguous at all.

Ianto stares at him, brow furrowed, expression confused. "Of course it's not like Cardiff. You're in a big bloody building," which reminds him far too much of Torchwood 1. It makes him very uncomfortable. He liked that Torchwood 3 was below ground, simplistic, not at all professional. This place brings back memories of Lisa, and then the rats begin again, crawling in his stomach, eating away at him.

"Also, the people here aren't Welsh," his lips curl into a slight smile, and he moves back to sit down. He's taken command of his emotions and facial expressions. Ianto's always been good at a mask. This is awkward for him. He didn't exactly expect Jack to welcome him back with open arms...but he also didn't expect cryptic.

"Speaking of the building...are you overcompensating for something, sir?" he asks, blue eyes staring straight at Jack, lips still curled into that cryptic smile. He's always been good at staring people down too. Also at dispelling tension with a well-timed joke, but he's not feeling very humorous right now. He's faking it.

Edited 2010-06-10 03:49 (UTC)

This tension is... a bit harder to dispel, Ianto. Sorry about that.

Jack is controlling his expression too well. He doesn't let a reaction slip out.

"Yeah," he answers. "A big pile of rubble where the last Wanderer sanctuary was, various factions which at various times have wanted various people in the Tower dead, and being stuck in a universe a long way away from everything you used to know. There's a lot to compensate for, here."

Innuendo, meet weaponized and deployed cynicism. You'll get along well.

"Before you came here, we had two Torchwoods operating concurrently. Nine people, including that other version of yourself. And in two years, this city tore them up and spat them out in a way I've never seen Cardiff do." He gestures to... nothing, really. "Leaving Owen and a man named Daniel Faraday. Two people out of a combined two Torchwoods. Two's not really been my lucky number recently."

He settles on the edge of the desk, checking his tone and dragging it back toward dry from dark, where it had been heading.

"You're probably not from my universe, even before here. Our histories probably don't match up – haven't met anyone here whose history has. So before you decide that you're going to install yourself in the kitchen and start brewing a pot of Colombian..."

He lets the sentence trail off.

He glances at Jack out of the corner of his eye, expression still blissfully blank. Inside, he's a little hurt, but on the outside Jack could have just listed off his grocery list. He looked down at his fingers for a moment, clasping and unclasping them, long fingers on delicate wrists. He's always hated his hands.

"Contrary to your belief, Jack, I did not join Torchwood for the sole purpose of being near you," he finally says, a hint of coldness in that deadpan voice. He's done with the sirs now. And the pleasantries.

He's had an extremely shitty last two days. His head aches and the rats are tap-dancing now. He wonders where they learned to do that. The empathy isn't helping his mood.

"I originally joined Torchwood to help people. I'm good at my job. I'd like to continue doing it." Torchwood gives him meaning. Jack gives him meaning too, but this isn't the slightly flirtatious man he spent the last two years shagging. For all he knows, this Jack is straight.

The thought is vaguely horrifying, but he pushes it down, focusing on the task at hand. He doesn't need Jack to exist.

That's a lie. He does need Jack to exist. He doesn't have much of a persona separate from the other man, but he may have to learn. The thought brings threatens to mentally choke him. He ignores it.

"If your universe is anything like mine, you joined for the sole purpose of using Torchwood technology to undo the cyber-conversion of Lisa Hallett," Jack says, and an instant later, it occurs to him that he's being cruel by bringing that up. An instant after that, he realizes that he doesn't care.

That realization hurts. A little. Not as much as it frightens him. Still, he keeps it all behind walls.

"I do try to tell this to everyone who might expect certain things from me," he says. "I've had people come through who think I know them, when I've had no clue who they are. It's usually best to head off any misunderstandings."

And this is already going about as well as... well, come to think of it, as his last interactions with the other Ianto went. Still. So far neither one of them is behind bars, and no one's broken out the Fuck yous yet, so they've still got the upper hand on something.

"Torchwood here has a history of barely holding its own," he says. "Getting into its own wars and getting targeted in its own right. Coups, assassination attempts, vendettas, and to be honest, one look at global politics and you could have predicted that. When war came to Chicago we were the ones siding with the demons against the angels, and to be honest, there are things you could do in this city to help people which wouldn't have you working under a convicted war criminal."

He lets that little gem hang in the air – just not quite long enough to respond to.

"So I might suggest you take some time to weigh your options."

"I meant the reason I joined Torchwood One," he says quietly, but there's there slightest edge of anger to his voice. He doesn't like having Lisa brought up, but he can handle it. It's not like he didn't spend every day of the last year mentally punishing himself for betraying Jack and Torchwood. He's tried to make up for that.

"But the reason I stayed with Torchwood Three was to make amends for my particularly stupid action of trying to save Lisa when she had already lost her humanity," he finished coldly, his tone practically emotionless. Ianto often weighs his feelings for Jack against his feelings for Lisa.

Jack usually wins out these days, except when he's being an enormous wanker, like now.

"I have never expected anything from you, sir," he begins, adding some extra venom to the sir. "I do what I'm told, no questions asked." He's done some particularly unsavory things under the orders of Jack Harkness, but like a good doggie, he does them without argument. It's what makes him so valuable to Torchwood.

Edited 2010-06-10 14:46 (UTC)

Jack hears that edge of anger. In some states, it'd make him stop and reconsider what he's saying. In the state he's in now, would-up and bitter about his own past, Ianto's past, the past of a Ianto who isn't right in front of him, the snarl of problems that is and always will be Chicago...

Well, anger is better than servility. Better than... addiction, he's tempted to label it, even though the analytical part of him knows the word already. Compliance.

He's a Time Agency compliance officer. It's really only to be expected.

"And the 'follow orders, no questions asked' work ethos works wonderfully in political atmospheres like these," Jack says. "I hear the Germans loved it."

...yes, that was Jack just Godwinning himself. In such a way as to set himself up as Hitler. The narration isn't sure how to react to that.

"You want directives? Ask questions. Before you demand your old job back, make sure you're on the right side."

Ianto raises an eyebrow. As a citizen of the United Kingdom, he's a bit insulted by the reference. World War II isn't exactly ancient history for most of his family. As an intellect, he appreciates the reference. It's not every day someone compares Torchwood to the Nazi party. It's also not every day Jack compares himself to Hitler.

"I don't think I'd look very dashing in that uniform," he says, deadpanning the joke. He's always been quite proud of his ability to remove all inflection from his otherwise pleasant voice. "And you'd look terrible with one of those tiny mustaches."

He finally removed the perfect facade, and puts his hands on the table, leaning in. "Then what the hell do you do here, Jack? Because if you've suddenly gone Hartmen on me, I might have issues."

There's a moment of silence on Jack's end, punctuated by a faint smile flickering across his lips. What the hell do you do here, Jack? Isn't that always the question.

"I don't know."

He's just as lost as anyone, here. He's just learned that people around him are happier when they can't tell.

"I took command of Torchwood a month ago. Before that... in my time here I've coordinated wanderer activities in an Angel protectorate, I've worked security for the local Neqa'el, I've – worked against Torchwood," and there's a hitch there, he lets there be, because something Very Not Right went down between him and Torchwood, and Ianto needs some awareness of that and of how not safe just being around him might be; "I've gone into exile, and I've been tried in the only supernatural court this place has. Tomorrow? Who the hell knows. Today I'm looking at a potential invasion coming down from Boston because one of the Barnam clan of angels got killed here. Today, I'm planning to keep the people in this building alive. And that might mean I'm selling my soul to the demons, and the jury's still out on what that makes me."

He shows a hand.

"The last time archangels came looking for a fight, we gave them a massacre. You decide if that's right."

Ianto murders women. He hasn't here yet, but he will. So he's not really in any place to stand on a high horse and tell Jack how wrong killing people is. He wouldn't regardless. He knows what Torchwood does. They make the touch decisions, and Ianto understands that. He's made tough decisions. When Jack sacrificed the girl to the Fairies, Ianto was the only one who stood by his side. Jack did what he needed to protect the rest of the world.

Even though Ianto knows everytime he commits a heinous act against someone innocent in the pursuit of freedom for the rest of the world, it kills something inside Jack. He wonders how much humanity is even left in the other man. He only looks content when he's asleep...and that's rare.

"I don't think I can judge whether or not it's right. I wasn't there," he finally says, still standing, palms planted firmly on Jack's desk. He glances down at those delicate fingers again. He hates them still. "Did you do it because you thought it was right? No matter what Torchwood did, no matter how...disturbing, we always did it because it had to be done."

"I did it because they targeted Torchwood personnel," Jack says. "I once started a plague on a sovereign world because I thought it was the right thing to do. I've tortured Torchwood agents–"

A slight flinch there, at the corners of his eyes.

"No one needs to follow what I think was right. To every devil, his defense."

He stands, abruptly, walking back around the desk to the corner of the room and leaning back against it, crossing his arms.

"And once, to one version of you, that was enough to have you slinging fuck yous and courting the next faction over." It's a misrepresentation of the facts, but Jack doesn't care. There's a point to be made, here, and he's going to make it. "Like I said, Chicago's not like Cardiff. You're not going to use my moral compass to guide you." The corner of his mouth flicks up. "I refuse to be taken on blind faith."

"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.

Right. Well. He does seem to be mangling this conversation rather well.

Good, echoes back a small corner of his mind. Push hard enough and maybe he'll keep his distance. Maybe he'll leave. And that's one less person for you to snap under your heel.

He gives a thin, and somewhat venomous, smile back. "Politics, Ianto. When a powerful, unknown organization is playing at charity, you don't send the leader of your own to accept it. And Mio is a perfectly capable agent." He raises his eyebrows. "Yeah. I replaced you. You fell through a Rift, and I got Torchwood handed to me with instructions to keep it running. Can't exactly staff positions with fond memories."

This is dangerous territory. All of it. From the quirk of his eyebrows to the tone of his voice, the emotion swirling inside him – he's edging close to a backslide, even if just a minor one, and who's going to be here to stop it? He can recognize, it, but stepping back...

Stepping back means disengaging. There are only so many ways to disengage.

He looks to the door.

"Your moral compass doesn't have a picture of what's going on here," he says. "Why don't you go give it one. Get a sense of the history, here. Talk to people. Ask around. Take a week." His voice is hard. "If you really think Torchwood is where you want to cast your lot after that, I'll consider you, but I won't consider it before then."

What Jack fails to realize and what Ianto refuses to admit is that the Welshman is a certified emotional masochist. Why else would he try to save his unsaveable girlfriend, and then shag the very same person that shot her in the head? There was the delightful emotional attachment he'd developed to also consider.

One of these days he might admit out-loud that he is seriously fucked up and so is their relationship, but today is probably not that day.

He sits down on the desk now, blue eyes hot with anger, but his expression surprisingly blank. Then again, he's extraordinary good at maintaining a facade. He only loses control of it when he is enraged or impassioned, both of which Jack brings out in him, unfortunately.

Goddamn him.

"One week," he repeats, still perched on the edge of Jack's desk. It's almost like old times, except he is almost positive this argument will not end in a rather undignified shag against this self-same desk. He bets the desk is grateful. "And then I can return, if I still want to, no questions asked? Get back to my old duties?"

"I'll consider you," Jack repeats, not giving an inch. No promises. No guarantees. Chicago is notoriously unkind to those.

Just go. It would be nice if Ianto developed a sudden affinity for civilian life, while he's gone. Failing that, if he worked up enough doubts to keep him from coming back. Keep him from crashing right into Jack's orbit again, like every Ianto Jack's run into has seemed to. Hard as it is to believe, Jack is aware of some patterns he falls into, and this one has never ended well for either of them.

It would be so much easier if they could intercept that pattern before it began again, here.

Ianto's not likely to adapt to civilian life. In fact, a life bereft of Torchwood would probably be very bad for the Welshman. Without it, he didn't have grounding, and his current psychosis is likely to take over. Jack can feel guilty about that later though, once he finds out what Ianto is inflicted with.

"I'll go," he says, standing up from his perching position. He walks over to Jack, and leans over him, blue eyes staring down at him. He's always been good at staring down Jack. It's how he makes him do his paperwork...he supposes Mio probably does that now.

"But I will be back," he finished, taking a deep breath. He closes his eyes for a minute, reigning in his emotions. "You aren't getting rid of me this easily."

Jack raises his eyebrows, unphased. That's one nice thing about teetering on the line between Torchwood agent and Time Agent – the skillset is comprehensive, including something of an inability to be bulled.

Is that a threat? he'd like to ask. But asking is giving the conversation leave to continue, and he doesn't particularly want to do that.

So he'll just step up to meet Ianto's eyes, keeping his locked and impassive. His own emotions are neatly partitioned – as neatly as he can manage, anyway – and shoved away.

He supposes it can't hurt, putting off the impression that there's not much to return to.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, his lips curl into a grin. He steps back from Jack, arms going behind his head. He's manic, after all, not entirely sane before Adam, and after Adam he's become a psychopath. Jack intimidates him less now than he did a year ago.

"So, what did the Rift gift you with?" he asks lazily, as he takes a few steps back towards the door. "Super-strength? Super-speed? Never-ending sex drive?" He certainly hopes it's not that latter. Jack might enjoy that too much, and Ianto doesn't enjoy his new-found empathy at all.

...that was an unexpected reaction. Jack's eyes narrow infinitesimally, as that little detail gets added into the running tab of his reactions. Establish a baseline.

"A headache," he says, keeping his voice flat. Well. It did, after a fashion – he spent a good long time with an ocular migraine courtesy of the Rift, before it decided to switch things up on him.

And you? Empathy, or...?

Or this Ianto really does have a different history to his own. And Jack doesn't appreciate that revelation.

Ianto's eye-roll indicates that he's not really impressed with Jack's answer. He's going to let it go, for now. Once he's back he's sure he'll find out. It's inevitable. Ianto's good at finding things out, and he's good at being patient.

He's probably the most patient man alive. He can wait a week to return to work.

"Alright Jack. I can see you can't wait for my arse to leave. So I will." It occurs to him he has no where to stay. He supposes he can hole at in a homeless shelter until he has an alternative.

He didn't exactly expect a welcome-home snog, but he didn't expect to be pushed out the door either. He wonders if Jack really doesn't want him around, or if the immortal is performing another one of his stupid martyrdom attempts.

"Civilian quarters are in the wings," Jack says. He can't... actually read Ianto's mind. But the information he's giving seems pertinent. "Martha Jones is heading up the civilian initiative to look after the Wanderers. As far as I know the man looking to take charge of the archangels is Julien Cuevas, Elashte is the leader of the demons here, and there's probably no shortage of Angels of Knowledge. Enjoy the city."

Preferably in a way which will convince him he's needed more, elsewhere.

One can always hope.

What does he even say to that? Thank you? Fuck you? I love you? He's grateful he doesn't have to live in a homeless shelter, but being this close to Torchwood, with it's vast knowledge, and not being able to absorb it actually makes him ache inside. It hurts, because the one thing Ianto might love more than Jack is knowledge.

He joined Torchwood to expand his horizons. At one point, he thought he was helping the world. Then Lisa died.

But now he wants to make amends for his sins, and Jack isn't going to let him do that without a week. So he'll take that week.

He doesn't realize yet how disastrous that week will be, or he would have pleaded for Jack to keep him around. He would have gotten down on his knees and done anything.

But he doesn't know, so he gives Jack one last fleeting smile, full of a myriad of conflicting emotions and shoves his hands into his trouser pockets, exiting his office with. "Have a nice day, sir."

[BTR] [RP] The future teaches you to be alone, the present to be afraid and cold.

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